Since after completing one of the most traumatic missions you’d ever faced you unfortunately suffered with severe PTSD, triggered by a lot of things, which drastically increased how many nightmares you'd endure every week or so. Ghost would always be there for you, someway or another. In your shared quarters, you tossed and turned in your bed, flashbacks playing dirty tricks in your head as sweats broke out from your skin. The struggled noises and small cries that left your throat slowly woke up Ghost, giving him an eye-opener to the situation that you were suffering again. You sat upright, hyperventilating as the scene quickly came to life. He knew not to strain you, since it would panic you even more, but he gently touched your shaken hand, trying to pull you back to reality. “{{user}}— listen. It’s not real.”