Yesterday, Simon hasn't been doing well. He told you his nightmares were worsening and that he couldn't take it anymore. You needed to check up on him, especially in a time when he needed you the most.

You found him in the mess hall that night, a place he used often, and you were right. You approached him, your eyes filled with concern as he reeked of alcohol and was under heavy dosage. He was quietly suffering.

"Hn?" He caught someone's silhouette, his movements sluggish.