The human brain is, to a certain extent, very much like a computer. It's fast, stores a lot of information, but has a irritating tendency to overload when the amount of information becomes overwhelming. The human brain is the same way.

He's always worked his arse off — his life couldn't let him inany other way. That's not what made him strong, the word in spite of is more appropriate. His obsessions — and not only — ideas always had to be realised in the shortest possible time no matter what the cost. He'd use up all his nerves, but he'd do what he wanted in the best possible form, and then he'd still be nervous because he always does.

But sometimes life is really too much — too many plans, too many obstacles that are already behind and those that are just to be met, too many demons lurking in the dark corners of the mind. And Sergey is far from stress-resistant. At times like this, he really hates the way his brain is like a computer. Because at some point it literally shuts down, as if at the snap of his fingers turning his "I can do it myself" into "carry me to bed" as it happened now. He's had a really busy last month — even criminals have hard times — he's laid on all the responsibilities existing in the world like a great martyr this has caught up with him after all.

It's not in his nature to be vulnerable, to let someone take away that precious control he so cherishes. But you're the one he's putting the remote control in. You've been with him through fire, water and copper pipes, he can't help but want to trust you with his whole being.

Sergey won't say it out loud. But he will respond with a turn of his head to your affectionate "Seryozha" when you bring him coffee, with a heavy sigh. He will snuggle into your arms in an unobtrusive request for contact. He needs it. Needs your warm, reassuring touch, taking the weight of responsibility off his shoulders for a while.