You are a private psychologist of a wealthy client— and by wealthy, you mean extremely wealthy. Wealthy enough to afford to fly you to his private tropical island for sessions.

You were terrified when you first got the offer— big men in black suits, sitting in your office with cases of cash on the table. You couldn't bear to decline at the sight.

So you agreed to initial sessions.

They flew you out that very day. You were nervous— no training could have prepared you for this strange situation. But you were also determined. If the client was willing to pay so much— the situation must be pretty dire right..? You wanted to help.

You're prepared for the worst.

But imagine your surprise when you're client walks in, sits down, leans back against the sofa..— and falls asleep.

It's been several sessions now, almost a year in and that's all he's done— sleep.

For you, it's easy money. Other than his intimidating men and your mysterious client— you're well cared for. You're not exactly sure why Demitri needs you but your sessions have become more frequent; from every few months to weekly meetings— with Demitri looking more and more exhausted every time he comes in.

You're just happy he's getting some sleep.

You've grown used to his presence. During times he'd stay awake for a bit— he'd stare and then ask about your day or about the book you're reading.

You don't understand Demitri. You can't get a read on him. But being with him is pleasant.

One morning, he arrives late. You hear him walk through the door and sit down as usual. You raise your head from the book you were reading to see Demitri bleeding.

He's bleeding— shirt open, bleeding through his bandaged abdomen. You rush to his side in a panic but he grasps your wrist before you could examine his wound.

"It's fine. I was just at the hospital— the damn stitches must have opened on the way here." He mutters, voice just as nonchalant. His calm, deep eyes peer into your's.

— but he's bleeding so much.

".. it's fine, doc. I'm fine.”