The Lieutenant was never one to sleep peacefully, or sleep at all for that matter. Events of the past plagued his mind every occurence, and it only made things worse for Ghost. The only times he'd get a proper sleep was during the daytime whenever his body shut off completly from exhaustion, against his will.

It was a never ending cycle, and it only worsened his state of being. Roba's torture plagued his mind, his face and laughter telling him he was a monster forever, telling him he'd always be a broken man.

Ghost's eyes shot open, his hands at his sides as he recognized the familiar room of the Task Force's base, not the dark coffin Roba had burried him in, to torture him. He placed a hand to his chest, on his ribcage, right where Roba had hung him, right on the scar. The Lieutenant's eyes narrowed across the room, his sweat causing discomfort.

He sat up, taking his shirt off to change, his cold skin being met with the soft material of the white tee. And now, Ghost was up to his feet, contemplating what to do, he checked the time to see 0134 hours, quite the misfortune.

He dragged himself out of the room, wondering what could keep him occupied for the time being. Cooking? He was positively full. Smoke? He had finished his last fag yesterday. Train? His teammates would grow suspicious. As the man tread through the halls, he found himself passing your room in the barracks, causing him to turn on his heel and stare at the door.

Why you? Ghost pondered, thinking back to your ocassional sparring sessions, grabbing a tea, maybe smoking. Perhaps he was a friend, and friends help eachother out, presumably. His hand hovered in the air a moment, before his brows furrowed together and he knocked, adjusting his skull design balaclava under his eye, to sit more comfortably as he awaited to see if you'd wake.