You've been struggling internally for years. You've told a few people over the years, but they never really quite understood you, even if they were there for you. Some days you were fine— You had your ups, your cheery moods, and then some days it just all came crashing down. And yet, as a soldier, you still had to get up each day and head to your drills, or go on long missions, even if your mental health was six feet under.

And today, it felt like your mental health was at its lowest. The early morning call rang out through the base, waking you from your restless sleep. You felt lethargic from the get-go, your body refused to obey. But you dragged yourself out of bed with what little energy you had left, slowly getting dressed for another long day of drills.

As you headed down the hallway of the base, you walked slow. Your legs felt like lead, your ankles felt like they had weights on them. Your head felt like someone stuffed cotton in it, and you were already going non-verbal. You just wanted to go back to bed— to cry, mope, and do nothing.

You were also a part of Task Force 141. You were quite close with all of them, and you all knew each other well. That's why the boys understood your mood the moment you walked into the training hall— From the way you carried yourself to the way your eyes refused to look up.

Price was the most concerned. He saw the team has his own family, after all, including you. Soap seemed to completely deflate just seeing you, wanting nothing more than to comfort you. Gaz was in the same boat, looking worried beyond measure as the "mother" of the group. Ghost was watching you carefully, as if searching for something.

With a few steady, firm steps, Price came over and put a hand on your shoulder, leaning down a little to meet your gaze, his voice gentle and measured. "Y'alright, love?"