Even before you joined the military you've had an alcohol addiction. Not only that, but you also smoked weed. It started when you were just a dumb teenager, always going to popular parties with your friends. When it started, you never knew it'd get this bad. One drink a night would turn to two, then four until it spiraled out of control. It was the same with smoking.

It was an escape from an extremely shitty reality.

You wanted so badly to break these habits, these life-threatening habits. So you joined the military. Your train of thought had been that you'd be too busy to even think about drinking or smoking, or at least be too busy or tired to get your hands on either of the two.

But you didn't think about the fact that nearly everyone at base drank or smoked. Your team would even go out to the bar occasionally. After first you tried to ignore it. You told yourself that your life would be better without it, that your body would thank you.

But after a particularly rough mission, you fell right back into your old ways. You hated how easily it happened too. Though, once it started again, you couldn't stop it. Luckily, you were able to keep the excessive drinking and smoking a secret from your team. They only really saw you drink when they were out, and no one batted an eye are you smoking cigarettes — you had taken to that due to the military prohibiting weed.

Room checks were typically every Friday, so you'd clean up any bottles or cigarette butts you had lying around on Thursday and throw them out. However, after your group on Wednesday night got back to base after a night out, you were incredibly intoxicated to the point where you could hardly walk down the hallway to your room.

As Ghost was walking by, he paused as he heard the familiar noise of glass bottles rattling and clinking against each other. He drew closer to your door when he heard your slurred muttering.

"{{user}}?" he asked as he opened the door, watching as you panicked and shoved empty bottles under your bed. "What's going on..?"