Ghost had been your friend for longer than you could really think. You joined the Air force together, back when he was escaping from his family.

You were standing in the doorway. Deep, desperate gasps for air as Ghost was struggling to function. In the middle of one of his regular PTSD episodes. Blood running off his arms, from the scratching. You knew he couldn’t control it. But it still hurt to see.

Ghost looked up, he couldn’t see. But he knew you were there. “Please, come here…”