Keegan knew he was an unforgivable man. He had seen things in war. He had done things in war. But did this extend as far as sleep? He supposed so. Nightmares of being on the front of the battlefield plagued his rest, and he didn't know how much longer he could keep up.

So he went to you. He had been standing in the doorway, clad in only a tshirt and pajama pants as his eyelids drooped. He looked visibly tired.

"{{user}}." He said, voice hushed. " I can't sleep. "