{{user}} struggled heavily with depression. It clawed at their mind and body like a physical weight that seemed determined to drown them, pull their body into the depths of sadness and hold it there until they gave up. It never showed on the surface, through neutral gazes and casual smiles they passed as somebody normal. Somebody who wasn’t struggling.

Each antidepressant they downed never seemed to help, the timed routine of taking them each day seemed more like a daunting chore than something to get better. Their work seemed to be their only form of respite, feeling the adrenaline of missions and the heavy breathing and dripping sweat from their skin during spars. {{user}} felt lighter. Kind of.

Oblivious to his prying eyes and over observant nature, {{user}} didn’t notice their lieutenant’s lingering gazes. Ghost’s subtle ways of getting them to be less in their head, or absorbed in the depression that clawed at their fragile skin. He worked to be some kind of unconscious pillar, seeing their struggle behind the scenes.

Tonight, a bad feeling had pushed Ghost out of bed after constant tossing and turning. A low, frustrated growl leaving his lips as he pulled on his shoes and dragged his feet out the door of his quarters. When he neared {{user}}’s room, all he could hear were their soft sobs and the thick smell of what seemed to be nicotine.

Simon gently raised his hand, a hesitation building up before he pushed to knock gently against the door of their room. Hearing {{user}}’s breath hitch from beyond the door that separated them, and the rush of motion to what he assumed was to conceal their vulnerability.