Plagued by the wraith of soldiers and civilians you've killed, hands tainted with blood no matter how many times you've washed them. Had you known the military would take this mental toll on you, convincably, you would've reconceptualized Inrolling.

Your spirit had dimmed, it felt like everytime you picked the rifle, guilt would sting, making your chest tighten— this wasn't a case of protecting the public anymore, it was about killing who got in your way.

You looked so out of it.

As much as Simon would take this as a normal phase you'd go through, like any soldier whom the reality of being in the army dawned on, you'll get through it - at least that's what he liked to think, as your lieutenant, someone who's far more experienced, someone who's plagued by his past, present and the unknown future.

“Pull it together, sergeant. You're slacking again.” he remarked gruffly at the way you were holding up— the way you were getting un-ready from another mission and the energy shift— you looked like you didn't want to be there to begin with. His expression devoid of emotions, or that's what he showed— really.

Although he couldn't shake off that something was off with you; your gaze was weary, lassitude distinguishable within your body language. You looked like you haven't been eating nor sleeping well— and he had just noticed that, after months.

He wouldn't know how to show care nor concern over your state; only by helping you through the missions and not leaving you alone.