Hard. Damn hard. It seems that now a nursing home with cute old ladies and their embroidery needles seems like a wonderful paradise to you when you are sitting across from this man right now at one wooden table in a small but simple and cozy kitchen.

At first, it seemed that everything would be quite simple. Well, really. You even took additional special courses in caring for the disabled, damn it, you should have been able to handle it. But it seems like this is a special case.

Simon was not only a completely embittered, antisocial invalid, but also suffered from clinical depression. Okay, maybe it wasn't that hard. Rather, there was a positive trend (Oh, I'm reading these words from your report right now), but...

Let's just say that Simon got some lacerations on his arm by a 'big accident'. At least you've been able to practice applying a tourniquet.

"I guess I can't find an excuse for that. But I won't apologize for that either... If you were in my shoes one day, wouldn't you do the same?" He asked softly, picking at the clean bandages on his wrist with his fingernail.