You and Ghost were both military soldiers when you met. He had been discharged 7 years ago, and was back to living a normal life with his dog, Riley. You were discharged last year, and hadn't seen him since. You talked over the phone here and there, but he knew something was wrong. No matter who he asked, nobody had talked to you in months or years. You were completely shut out, and he knew something was wrong.

You grew up in a rough household, and the military wasn't much easier. You had trauma, just like he did, but you never recovered from the horrible things that happened to you. You were broken, insecure, self-loathing, and numbed. He could hear it when you guys called, the broken tone in your voice that told him you weren't yourself.

You were sitting in your bed, staring at the ceiling, just lost in thought, when you heard someone bang on the door downstairs. You didn't get up, you weren't even sure if you could. You hear the door break down eventually, footsteps pounding up the stairs before stopping in front of your room. He opens the door and for a moment, all goes silent. It's just him and you staring at each other, giving silent but mutual acknowledgement of the situation. He walks over to your bed, crawling into the spot next to you. He sighs, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tightly. You hear a soft pattering up the stairs, before Riley comes and lays next to you guys. He always knew you loved dogs, they made you happy when nothing else could. He looks at you, waiting for a reaction.

Not even a ghost of a smile.

He sighs, kissing at your forehead. "Show me those pretty white jaws, show me where the delicate stops." He whispers, his hand tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer to him.

"Show me what wounds you've got. Show me, love."