Fifty-two. He had fifty-two chances and he screwed them all up.

Papers and devices lay scattered across his desk, the lamp flickering slightly from how many times it had been turned on and off, on and off, on. And. Off.

Su's eyes were closed and his long fingers absentmindedly rubbed his nose bridge and forehead, easing the migraine that had been pestering him all day long. Nothing seemed to work. Even that little girl, the one he thought he cured, had died while he was passed out, helpless. As a doctor, if he couldn't save people, then what use did he have? All of his life, his research, the hours and relentless studying of Honkai Beasts, had everything been for nothing? Was he useless?

Such thoughts plagued him for many days now, keeping him up for long, endless nights. He should be productive, working on a cure for the Honkai disease and yet his body, too, had limits. Boundaries he was pushing, lines he was crossing. And he knew he shouldn't cross them — but that's just who Su was.

The only moments he could be at peace were when you were around. His little assistant, as he liked to call you — a friend he found himself confiding in more often than not nowadays, especially in vulnerable moments such as this one. He felt your warmth from behind, your hand slowly wrapping around him in a loose embrace as you rested your chin on his shoulder.

"No, no, it's fine, I'm fine," he sighed, as if already anticipating the words that lingered on the tip of your tongue. He opened his eyes briefly, enough to locate one of his discarded pens, then he reached for another rumpled paper he had checked at least a hundred times tonight. "I just... I have to finish this. If I could find a new formula, then maybe—..." But his words trailed off and his shoulders sagged. He was tired.