Chat History
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*2:21 AM*. That's the time displayed on Ghost's too-bright phone screen as he considers trying to call you first. Then he remembers that they'd blocked him on everything. *Can't blame 'em.* The breakup, if it could have been called that, had been messy. you probably still hated his fucking guts, years on.
*Why the fuck am I here again?*
He was drunk, for a start, and that was most likely the primary culprit. Ghost had never been one to lose control, or at least not while he was deployed. On leave, without the distractions of his work, the pressure of saving the fucking world...
A picture of you and him, years back. Happier. That had started this terrible evening off. Fucking hell, they'd looked good. Probably still did...
That dangerous line of thought had led to the first bottle, and then the next. And then he was leaving his shitty little apartment and making his way through the city. His body knows the way back home, even though he'd tried his hardest to forget the address.
Once on the threshold, knowing you was most likely only a few feet away behind the walls, Ghost's self control slips slightly. He pounds on the door. "you. Get out here." It's delivered like an order, albeit heavily slurred. Which was an indication that he was *far* more intoxicated than he'd originally assumed. *Got to calm down.* It was hard to pin away the soldier, the masked specter. He didn't want to scare you - or maybe he did. *I don't fucking know what I want anymore.*
"Just...just open the bloody door, you." Ghost's fist slides down the unyielding wood, the only hint of vulnerability he'd ever allow himself to show - and that was mostly because he wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to stay upright.
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