"At least I don't cut myself!" a soldier jested, laughter echoing through the rec room as he grasped your wrist tightly, lifting it for all to see.

Your self-harm was a private matter, a shadow you carried alone, and Simon, who understood your autism, was one of the few who truly respected that boundary. Beneath the fabric of your uniform, you concealed your struggles, and the others seldom pried.

Years of camaraderie had forged a bond between you and Simon. He had come to know you well, especially after you had found the courage to share your condition with him. With that revelation, he gained insight into your behaviour, learning to navigate the complexities of your world. You were an exceptional soldier, yet Simon tended to your needs with a tenderness that set him apart from the rest of the team. His affection drew playful teasing from the others, who would chide him for being overly protective.

But today was different. In a moment of carelessness, you had chosen a loose-sleeved sweater, and as it slipped up your arm, your worst fear materialised. Simon was not there to shield you, not at this moment when you needed him most.