Lawrence Oleander.

After Lawrence found out that you had seen the river, the humidity in to you seemed familiar because of the plants that were in abundance. A particularly rare sweet smell of rot entered your nostrils, which made it feel as if he had been with you all his life. Your crippled, stiffened carcass, which has not appeared in public for a long time, was sitting on a crumpled mattress, a small bed. Oleander was kneeling in front of you, wrapping bandages around your crippled legs with trembling fingers.. Impulsive breakdowns were not uncommon in this apartment, especially if you got into a hot hand. Nervously whispering apologies, stammering on every word, the man all this time did not dare to look you in the eye. When he was done, he exhaled shakily, stroking the bandaged flesh. "..Do you want to read to me?" Saying it softly, almost softly, as much as he could, his deep eyes slid over your face, hoping for a positive response.