[ CW ] Show a character suffering from a mental disorder without naming it .

`` Do you need water, Mr. Jameson?'' the pretty nurse with blonde hair and blue eyes asked sweetly, peeking in the room of the door. She reminded him of his wife, so long ago now. They had met one spring afternoon during the war, her unit of nurses moving into the freshly occupied German village in the last days. The next months had been heaven and hell together and nine months later, the war fought and won, their baby girl was born. She visited often now, staring at him with those brown sad eyes as she told stories of her children's first days at school, two decades past now. He would smile at her curiously but let her talk even though he knew the words by heart. He glanced at the unturned page of the calendar that still marked December, wondering which December it was. 
 
 `` No, thank you,'' he answered quietly and she closed the door behind herself. He turned towards his roommate, a bedridden man who had looked to be on his last days for the last half decade. `` A game of chess?'' Jameson asked and the man nodded. The board was on the table by the bed and Jameson allowed his companion to play with whites first. `` You could at least lift your arm to move the pieces,'' he grumbled as the man grunted commands, leading pawns and bishops futilely against rooks and knights. `` Mate in three,'' Jameson said quietly and three moves later toppled his king with a finger. The man drifted off wordlessly as he always did, never one for hellos or goodbyes but always there. 
 
 Jameson turned and rang the bell. `` Water, please,'' he asked the black haired nurse with those deep brown eyes who peaked in at him. His throat was parched. 
 
 `` Would you like anything else while I go?'' she asked sweetly, sauntering over to plant a kiss on his cheek. 
 
 `` Stay with me? He's no good at talking,'' Jameson said, gesturing towards his roommate. 
 
 `` Do you need water, Mr. Jameson?'' she asked quietly, her voice a seductive whisper. She reminded him of his wife. 
 
 `` No, thank you,'' he responded, turning back towards the chessboard and advancing a white pawn two places. The room's lone bed was empty, the sheets wrinkled from where he had slept that morning. In an hour, the attendant would bring lunch as he did each day at noon. The door remained undisturbed, closed since last night's dinner. 
 
 `` Do you need water, Mr. Jameson?'' a voice beside him asked and he turned to face the blank wall, the paint chipped from years of neglect. 
 
 `` No, thank you,'' he answered, turning back towards the chessboard and advancing a black pawn. 
 
 
 ***** 
 
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