Third-person (Cian) P.O.V

He roughly slid another pen across my intimidating thick dark oak desk, launching it off to clatter some distance away, probably dripping ink everywhere. It wasn't the first pen to end up broken and exploding ink everywhere on and around the desk. He had been breaking... Crushing to smithereens, really, numerous pens the last few weeks. Work was actually getting done swimmingly, and he had caught up on everything, even items to which he had no idea required his attention. He had just needed several copies of the same files in order to fill them out, as half the time they had ended up splattered- or soaked depending on the pen he used- when his thoughts caused him to grip the pen too hard or put too much pressure when signing or noting. So, as he sadly finally signed the last paper with nothing more left for him to even really do, he sighed roughly, leaning back in his ergonomic swivel chair of doom. People usually tended to pale when they saw him seated in the chair at his desk, apparently the scene pushing them to believe that nothing good was going to happen. It often was true, but he found amusement in the expressions his imposing figure struck before anything had even happened.

He groaned, rubbing his tired, blood-shot eyes before carding a hand through his very disarrayed and very ever so slightly oily hair. Even in this state, he couldn't handle even the sight of his bed, only seeing the ghostly image of the kid's immobilized body. He hadn't much touched the room other than to grab some stuff, like clothes. Otherwise, he mostly slept on the couch or used the guest bathrooms, too lazy to fix up a bed in one of the numerous unused guest rooms he had minimally furnished then left to its own devices.

Yawning, his bleary eyes dragged to the area around his wrist where his watch would normally be. Confused, he frowned down at it for several moments before waking his computer to find out the time. He'd run across his watch some time later he was sure, and while annoying that he didn't have it on him as he usually did, it wasn't anything so important as to give more than a passing consideration.

"Seven... In the morning," Cian muttered to himself, trying to remember when visiting hours officially were. It didn't stop him from coming whenever, blatantly ignoring the frowns and veiled disapproving comments, which was probably why he was having so much trouble remembering when they were supposed to be.

Pritcher, though allowing him to visit and look in on Ashe, didn't condone Cian entering , speaking, or touching Ashe. The first few times he had visited and done such things, his heart rate had spiked, EEG and various other monitors peaking and causing alarms to issue out.

Cian scratched along his jaw, feeling the lengthening bristles against the back of his knuckles, wondering when he had last shaved before shrugging at one more meaningless thought. He had been too full of himself; still was. He hadn't considered other's lives, how his actions would affect others. He was selfish, childish and now supremely guilt-ridden with one of his only true friends only able to 'put up' with him at the moment. And Ashe was still in a coma, in a lonely room full of monitors and white doctors' coats and the stench of cleaning products. He wished he still didn't give a shit about anything of any true importance, but one stray moment of thoughtlessness and he was back to Ashe, whether or not of his own volition. And drinking? Oh, he had definitely tried that, but it only caused him to crash deeper into nightmares revolving around Ashe that he couldn't get away from or differentiate between. No, the best he could do was work himself into an exhausted stupor, forcing himself to endure an insomniac's schedule. Sleep? I wish there wasn't such a word or need for that.

Cian got up, planning to head over to visit Pritcher, screw the time, but luckily even in his stagnant state, he realized that he really needed a shower and change of clothes. It was as he was walking from the guest shower to his couch slash bed that his cellphone, luckily discarded nearby connected to the outlet, jingled a tune specifically set for if Pritcher called it. His clean clothes had been hung over the side of the couch, but he vaulted over it nude, towel ending up somewhere other than around his body as he snatched up the phone and answered, "Yes, Pritcher?"

His voice sounded almost breathless, but Pritcher ignored it if he had even noticed, "Underlord Cian, we have waited long enough doing what we could on our own. I think it's time that you considered what I presented to you. In fact, I demand that you stop all your sulking, pouting and general guilt-wallowing. Nothing has worked; we need to be more aggressive and inventive, and I really think this is the answer and will be much better for all around."

Cian was quite surprised at all Pritcher was able to say in one breath, wheezing at the end and all, "Okay..."

"You really need to- What? Okay? What okay?"

"Okay, we'll try your way, but I want to meet them and I want whoever you choose to have a full background check before even thinking of allowing them entrance to his room."

"Come down here soon then, but you better pull your damn self together. I don't want you looking like a bum or an underfed scruff-"

"I'll be there in the hour," Cian stated, hanging up on the hounding Pritcher. He was secretly happy how Pritcher had just treated him, but he also felt that he didn't deserve the light-hearted verbal shoving that Pritcher enjoyed to do to his friends.

He sighed as he returned to the bathroom after dressing, pulling a razor through the overgrown bristles and brushing all that needed it before grabbing his wallet, keys, laptop with its case and slotting some files into the spaces within the case before leaving the building for his sleek car. Knowing that he didn't want to do this didn't matter, because he was doing this for Ashe; for him so he can get better, not for his guilty or anybody else.