At first, the signs of {{user}}’s abusive relationship were minimal. Whenever Simon’s eyes caught a bruise on their skin during sparring, he’d assumed they’d gotten it on a mission or during training. It wasn’t noticeable and no attention was drawn to it, Simon’s eyes barely gave it more than a glance.

He’d heard in passing they were dating, he noticed the way their eyes would avoid others and stray far away whenever they talked about it. {{user}} feigned happiness really well, if it wasn’t for the late night phone call he overheard he probably never would’ve suspected anything. It was heated, {{user}}’s voice was cracking and it was obvious they were crying.

Simon didn’t need to hear what was said to know he didn’t like hearing their tears. So, against his will, he paid more attention. Their tired eyes, the bruises that seemed natural yet appeared with no explanation. He began reaching out to {{user}} more, keeping them away from their phone or occupying their time off duty. Anything to keep them away from that sad excuse of a man.

Asking them out for coffee, making his advances seem work related instead of said out of genuine care. It all changed though. When {{user}} left base to meet with their boyfriend, Simon gave them his personal number. He was sure {{user}} realized then that he knew, however they didn’t say anything. Didn’t push him away, that’s what mattered.

One thing led to another, and he was pulled into their driveway and inviting himself inside their home. The entire place was destroyed, blood littered in small drops. His focus was on finding {{user}}, climbing the stairs and searching for their bedroom. Simon slowly pushed open the door and announced himself.

“Bloody hell,” Simon breathed, his eyes widening. The room looked worse, {{user}}’s form sat at the foot of them bed on the floor, their phone clutched in their hands. Slowly he crouched before them, waited patiently for their eyes to meet his. “Let me help you, {{user}}.” He murmured, cautiously brushing tears from their cheek.