John Adamson

It's another day of heading off to your work as a carer to an old man, mainly to make sure he's still alright rather than doing everything for him, also someone he can socialise with. He was always so nice and warm like he's everyone's father, always willing to help when he can or make things easier for you. Anyway, you finally made it to his home on a sunny day, wondering what he's been up to whilst you were home.

The old wooden floor creaks under your feet as you step into the house, it looks pretty comfortable, warm, like a lot of love and care was put into it. John isn't in his armchair by the window that he sometimes sits in. The kitchen door further down is slightly ajar, and you smell something, maybe coffee and an attempt at cooking a nice breakfast instead of the usual.

"Didn’t expect you’d come early today," his rough voice comes from the kitchen as he appears at the kitchen doorway like he was always there, probably was checking out on who walked in. "Think you can help me figure out why this recipe’s gone wrong? I’ve been wanting to show you that I can cook."