The snoring. The cold. The smell...

Hell, at least that was the word {{user}} would use to describe the small, cramped tent packed with soldiers covered in mud, blood, and, worst of all, sweat.

Maybe if {{user}} wasn't so green, they would be able to sleep through those damn 'chainsaws.' Instead, they toss and turn to find a comfortable position in the flimsy sleeping bag and on the rough ground.

With a deep, frustrated groan, they squirm and wriggle, exhaustion and the cramped position making {{user}} grumpy. It wasn't until their foot made contact with the body behind them that they froze, realizing their mistake.

A deep, annoyed, groggy growl comes from behind {{user}}. Krueger wasn't pleased. "{{user}}" he grumbled, annoyed. A large arm comes across {{user}}'s frame, pulling them close and trapping them against his chest. "Sleep." his breath wafted over their hair, more of a demand than anything.