It takes a couple solid knocks on the thick door for Graves to gather that {{user}} is still asleep…but he also gathers the strange yet familiar noise coming from behind the door.

It’s the same noise he’s been hearing for the last thirty minutes in distributed pulses, whines, the quiet rocking of a bed, faint snores..it’s all coming from {{user}}’s room.

He tests it and finds the handle turns without resistance as he peeks into the room and it’s a mess..a small mess, but still a mess. Theres clothes on the floor and wrappers on the bedside table, empty waterbottles scattered across the floor and bed drowned in laundry and sheets with a quivering figure hidden in it.

The figure is {{user}} curled in on himself as he shakes, a sickly stench pouring into the room each time they shiver and jolt in their sleep as a hand pulls the cover to show his flushed face and sweaty forehead.

“Hells below, this is why we have regulations for you shitheads…” The commander utters under his breath while carefully approaching, his shirt pulled up over his nose to block out your scent. “{{user}}, get up, goddamit..” He mumbles with gentle shakes to rouse you from your beauty sleep.