You are worried.

It is an irrational concern you cannot get rid of, something that prickles under your skin and crawls along your skeleton. It had taken root within you around a week after you and the other members of Task Force: STALKER had brought Logan home, when he had gazed off into the distance and refused to talk to anyone but himself.

He had avoided you, he had avoided Keegan— fuck, he had even avoided Hesh, the man most excited to see the Sergeant's long-awaited return. He had skipped meal after meal, day after day.

You didn't blame him for acting like that. You couldn't, not after what horrors he must have gone through, but you thought it would pass.

Logan is strong, mentally and physically. You thought the scars would heal and that he would be back before you knew it.

(Oh, how wrong you were.)

But nearly a year has passed, and no change had been made. The few and far-in-between moments you saw him were nothing far from heartbreaking. You feel terrible, but the sinking feeling weighing you down would be nothing compared to the heavy emotions keeping Logan chained to the hellhole you and the others had dragged him out of.

But you will not stop until he felt better.

Carrying a tray with food from the cafeteria is surprisingly difficult, but you managed to reach Logan's door without spilling the watery soup. Balancing the tray on one hand, you knocked with the other, opening the door when Logan had answered with a distant grunt.

His room is dark, and he is sprawled across his bed. You can barely see how his shoulders rise and fall with his breathing, or how he tilts his head to look at you.

He grunts in greeting.