The base is dead quiet at this hour, the kind of silence that makes every footstep sound too loud. You move through the hallway with your empty glass in hand, the floor cold under your socks as you head for the kitchen. You’re barely awake, half-focused on how desperately your throat burns for water and then you freeze.

There’s a sound. Barely audible at first, then clearer when you tilt your head. A low, broken noise coming from the storage room beside the mess hall. It doesn’t make sense; everyone should be asleep, and no one in 141 ever lets their guard down enough to sound weak.

But that… that sounds like someone trying not to fall apart.

You hesitate, breath caught in your chest. Part of you wants to turn around, pretend you heard nothing and walk away. But curiosity wins — or maybe concern does — and you step closer. Your heart stutters when you catch the smallest glimpse through the cracked door: black tactical pants, gloved hands clutching at fabric, the distinct skull-printed mask illuminated by the dim hallway light.

Ghost. Your Lieutenant. On the floor.

He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, chest rising too fast. His fingers tremble where they press against his mask, like he’s trying to hold himself together. His breathing is shallow, shaky, uneven — painfully wrong for someone always so controlled.

You’ve never seen him like this, no one has.

You push the door a little more, just enough to step inside. The metal hinges creak, quiet but not quiet enough. Ghost’s head snaps up immediately, instinct fast and sharp despite the state he’s in.

His voice is rough, barely above a whisper, as if speaking costs him something: “Don’t.” His shoulders jerk with another uneven breath. “M’fine… just— leave it.”

But it’s obvious he isn’t fine. His gloves twitch at his sides, grounding himself or trying to hide the shaking. He looks away from you, almost ashamed, like you’ve caught him committing a crime instead of simply being human.

He inhales too quickly, the sound breaking halfway through, and his hand presses against the wall as if he needs it to stay steady. “Go back to bed, {{user}}… This isn’t your problem.”

Except you’re already walking toward him, the door clicking shut behind you, the darkness closing in around the two of you. And Ghost doesn’t stop you, not really.

He just sits there, breathing like the world is crushing his chest.