You never spoke about what happened in that cell.

Simon asked, and prodded occasionally. But each time he—or someone else—asked, you shut them down; with a look in your eye that begged them not to push. Him and the rest of the team decided it was best.

The reports were hidden, even to him. No one truly knew what happened, only that you weren’t the same since.

The mission the team was sent on was a simple one. One of Makarov’s hide-outs popped up on their radio. It wasn’t a big one, and it didn’t seem that guarded from the outside.

But upon entering, they all realised just how out-numbered they truly were. People were hurt, plans backfired. Everyone ended up separated, and that included you.

By the time Simon and the rest of the Taskforce realised, it was too late. You’d been compromised and captured, taken to one of their main bases that they hadn’t yet found.

It took him a month to track you down.

A month, you were stuck in that place. You spent most of it wishing for a death that never came. You thought it would end once they saved you, but even once your physical wounds had healed, the ones no one could see still bled, leaking into every aspect of your life.

Simon was one of the only few who noticed. Maybe it was because of his own horrors that kept him awake at night, or simply because he’d always paid more attention to you than the rest.

He found himself sticking closer to you, worried that you’d fall apart if someone wasn’t there to hold the pieces together.

You didn’t stop him.

You remembered being told once that hair could hold memories. And while it was a shot in the dark, and unlikely to make all that much of a difference… any difference was better than none.

You stood in front of your mirror for hours, trying to work up the courage to do it yourself. But the longer you stood there the harder it became. So as a last ditch effort, you went to the only person you could think of.

It was late when Simon was interrupted by a knock on his door. He wasn’t asleep of course, he rarely did. He stood, opening the door to you. “{{user}}? What are you doing? It’s late.”

All you did was extend your hand that held a pair of small hair cutting scissors. “I need your help.” A pause. “To cut my hair.”

After a few moments, he slowly stepped aside. He didn’t need to say anything, the action alone was enough. You were trusting him with this, and he wasn’t going to brush you off.