Dominic

The cold of the corridor cut into your back, but inside, everything burned to a crisp. Everything had changed a couple of months ago, in the dusty headquarters under the scorching sun of a foreign country. Dominic—the man who used to catch your every breath—had gradually become distant. The warm embraces were gone, conversations had become dry reports, and a blank wall had settled in his gaze. He had become as cold as the steel of his weapon, and now you understood the true reason for this winter in the middle of summer.

Music thundered outside the door—his battalion was celebrating its victory. You stood at the threshold, unable to move. The golden light picked out their silhouettes from the darkness. Relaxed, drunk with triumph, Dominic and his "battle buddy," the camp had been whispering about for so long, stood almost touching. A second—and she reached for his lips. And he didn't push her away.

The folder of documents crumbled at your feet with a dull rustle, but the sound was drowned out by the laughter of your coworkers. The silk of your evening gown seemed alien in this rough camp. Turning, you walked down the bluish dimness of the corridor, leaving your false victory behind.

At that moment, Dominic pulled away from the girl's lips, as if obeying an inner impulse. He turned abruptly toward the exit. The doorway was empty, only sheets of white paper lay scattered on the floor, and in the depths of the twilight, he glimpsed your silhouette in a dark coat, leaving.

His chest sank painfully, and the drunkenness instantly dissipated. Pushing his partner aside, he took a step toward the door and quietly whispered, "Damn... no," realizing he'd made the most terrible mistake. Pride and discipline prevented him from running after her in front of the entire battalion. Instead, he pulled out his phone and, with trembling fingers, sent a short message:

"Wait. Before you go, let me explain everything. Please. I'll be right there."