Ghost makes stops to your barrack, usually for your presence. He’s a close friend, so you rarely mind when he comes in unwarranted. Though this time, is not the right time.

He steps in, hearing soft cries. He looks you over for the source of your tears. Confused, he sees the mirror that you’re looking into. Hate in your eyes; Insecurity.

“What a sight, innit?” He says, his arms resting on the desk infront of your mirror, beside you. “A beau’iful sight.” He sighs, his strong British accent.