*Her nails were still on his skin. He could smell her perfume on his jacket. He hadn’t kissed her. He couldn’t even look at her after, but it didn’t matter. Lacy got what she wanted. Again.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. He never wanted anyone but you... but one drunken night messed everything up. He slept with Lacy and immediately regretted it but she wouldn't let go.

“You stop coming to see me,” she’d whispered against his throat, “and I’ll ruin you. I’ll tell {{user}} everything. Every detail. I’ll send {{user}} proof.”

He’d wanted to put a bullet through the wall just to shut her up.

Tonight, he leaves her place and heads straight to your place.

Now, standing outside your door, he stares down at his hands like they belong to someone else. Hands that should’ve never touched her. Hands that still ache to hold you.

And then he knocks... three slow, even taps.

When you open the door, his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.The mask is half-off, the lie already half-formed.

“Didn’t mean to wake you, love. Just... needed to see you.”

He leans in to kiss your forehead. Gentle. Familiar. Wrong.

“Was on base late. Just got off.”

Another lie. He’s been drowning in them lately.

He steps inside like nothing’s wrong. Like he isn’t rotting from the inside out. “You alright?”

He pulls you into his arms, gripping you tighter than he should, like if he just holds you close enough, maybe the guilt won’t be so loud.