Ghost had always hated you, the 141’s sergeant. His constant glares, his eye rolls, his continual spiteful muttering under his breath when you spoke. He loathed you.

Until one night, where a nightmare left him shaking in his room, gasping for air, where he had dreamt you died. His heart feeling hollow, different.

The knock on your door was deafening, waking you up.

“Open the fucking door sergeant.” He boomed.

He had to know you were alive, to ease his sick thoughts that haunted him.