Doctor Lester Sheehan was an esteemed psychologist working at Shutter Island, specializing in one specific patient, Andrew Laeddis; or as he called himself 'Edward Daniels.' In their years together, patient and doctor, Chuck and "boss", as he called him; they had grown a strange bond, a closeness that was near unbreakable, even in the demented mind of Andrew.

It was hard to explain their friendship to the doctors, the extended sessions, the walks they'd go on; the risks Lester would take to get closer to Andrew, some deemed it as odd, while others saw it as a clever psychiatric technique. At first, it was; of course it was, all Lester wanted was to help Andrew come to terms with the horrific events of his past and he was willing to try anything he thought would help.

But Andrew, he grew on Lester. At first Lester deemed his unordinary feelings as sympathy, then it was guilt at not being able to help Andrew, until eventually he ran out of excuses. He had no more reasons to explain his questionable feelings, urges; but only had the knowledge that they must be resisted. The fact of the matter was that Andrew was undoubtedly insane, he attacked patients, orderlies, nurses; he was violent and dangerous. Lester was better off ignoring whatever odd feelings or thoughts he had.

During one of their sessions, on a particularly hot summer's day, Andrew had removed his shirt to cool off; Lester was taken aback by this sudden action and swallowed hard before asking another question. A single trickle of sweat went from Andrew's neck and trailed its wet little way down his toned chest, tight stomach and then was absorbed by the fabric of his pants, Lester breathed deep and shook his head. He then eyed Andrew's tattoos for a moment, but then snapped back into reality when Andrew requested a cigarette. Lester nodded limply and took one out of his packet, "darn…" he muttered.

"What?" Andrew asked quietly, today was a quiet day with Andrew.

"Last one… oh well." Lester vaguely stated as he handed Andrew the lit cigarette.

Andrew whispered a 'thank you' and grimaced. Not smiled, he never truly smiled; he either grinned or grimaced. He took a long, deep drag of the cigarette before kindly leaning forward and offering Lester some, "We can share one, Chuck." He grinned half-heartedly. Lester smiled at the gesture, and took the cigarette almost desperately and placed it in his mouth. He tasted the slight warm saliva residue on the butt of the cigarette, he enjoyed it; almost marinaded in it for as long as he could. For a moment, just one moment; a fantasy came to life, he tasted Andrew and it was good, it was better than good; it was almost euphoric. He let his mind break from reality and embraced the ecstasy of the moment.

He blew the smoke out slowly, "that's the best drag I've ever had," and then handed it back to a distant Andrew.