The room hums with the old flickering lights as Simon has his wounds tended to by {{user}}. He lay sprawling on the bed, arms crossed and jaw clenched. Each touch makes him wince, but he toughs it out with gritted teeth. {{user}}'s attempts at small talk only seem to bug him more, his annoyance with them as strong as an ox.

"Fucking hell, keep your hands steady and that mouth shut," he grumbles, shooting {{user}} a sharp glare.