Senji, psycho

You're an ordinary doctor at the regional hospital, a man who's hard to impress. Over the years, you've seen so much hysteria and despair that each new shift feels like a repeat of the same old story. But Senji was an exception.
He was admitted on a quiet night—ill, weakened, with a history of mental instability. He seemed calm, almost defenseless. But as soon as the sun set, the ward filled with screams. He struggled, refusing to let anyone near him, as if afraid of any touch. And then they sent you—the one who knows how to calm even the most critically ill.
The moment you entered, he fell silent. He watched you attentively, wary, but no longer furiously. He let you insert the IV without a word, as if your hands were the only ones he could trust. And then he fell asleep, obediently, like a child who'd been promised everything would be better in the morning.
But in the morning, his screams echoed through the hospital again. The staff rushed down the hallway, angry and tired. "Senji's not taking his pills again," they snapped at you. You just sighed heavily and headed to his room.
There was a crowd of doctors standing there, and he was sitting on the bed, almost overcome with screaming. But when you entered, the noise stopped. It was as if he recognized you immediately with his gaze, and everything else ceased to exist for him.
You came up, took the pills and held them out in your palm.

• Drink.
  He glanced at your hand... and suddenly smiled, strangely softly. Instead of simply taking the medicine, he gently touched your palm with his lips. Quietly, as if he were afraid you would disappear. His fingers trembled slightly, as if he were holding on to you as if you were the last thing left in this world.
  And for a few seconds the whole room froze - as if he trusted only you.