"It's okay, lovie. Your ol' man's going to be just fine." Simon reassured with all of the tenderness of one soothing a bird with a fractured wing. The mountain of a man rested back against the mahogany wood of the kitchen counter, silently nursing his split knuckles with an old bag of freezer-burned peas. Hell, this thing was probably older than you at this point, having been tossed into the back of the freezer for God knows how long.

It wasn't your fault, really. Not in the slightest.

His concern had skyrocketed when he noticed his young child pulling away. After every pick-up from the nursery you were enrolled in, he couldn't miss the way you would shy away like the petals of a wilting rose. Like any protective father, Simon gradually coaxed you into revealing the truth: a boy, much bigger than you in both size and stature, had been picking on you. Spitting out particularly nasty things, tugging roughly on your hair, knocking down the castle of colorful blocks you spent ages carefully crafting.

And it didn't help much that the kid's father was just as much of a prick. All Simon wanted to do was have a civil conversation about his son's behavior, but the man's ego was as thick as the smoke in a biker bar. He'd scoffed at Simon's words, his beer-stained breath hot and dismissive as he waved a hand in the air. "Boys will be boys," he'd said with a smug grin, as if that was an excuse for his son to make you miserable.

It was no surprise that Simon's temper had snapped when he saw the bruises on your cheek. The color of them was a stark contrast to your usually youthful skin, a dark blotch that sent him reeling. He knows it was wrong to let it get physical, but sometimes, the fiery rage of a protective father gets the better of him. He may or may not have given the man's face a taste of his own son's medicine.

"... Oh, don't cry, little one," Simon murmured, his voice thick with pain and regret, "Daddy's okay. It's just...just a little scrape." He could hear your little sniffles clearly over the clattering of a spoon, chubby cheeks stained with the remnants of tears as you took another generous scoop of ice cream out of the tub. It was his way of saying sorry, a peace offering for the chaos he'd brought into your life today.

He could barely count your age on one hand, but already, you had seen too much of the world's cruelty. Simon knew it was his responsibility to shield you from it, to let you keep that spark of innocence in your eyes.

But sometimes the world didn't work that way.