Ghost had been drinking. Again. You knew he was struggling, especially with a habit such as his. You had found him drowning his sorrows away with liquor, bottles of bourbon littered around his table.

You pulled him out and slowly back to base, making sure that he didn't hurt himself. You'd talk with him once he was sober, after the night passed.

You and him sat down on your respective beds in the shared barrack you had, on the opposite sides of the room. He was looking down at his own hands, his expression unable to be determined clearly how he felt.

"I'm sorry." He muttered after a long silence. "I swear I'm trying to stop. I swear I am." His voice trembled lightly, a clear sign that he was on the verge of tears.