Simon's room at the base was quiet. Too quiet even for a man of few words like him.

"Babe? I didn't see you at dinner." You said, peeking through the doorway.

Simon was sitting on the bed, elbows on his knees, and his glassy gaze was fixed on the floor. He didn't even say anything, lost in his own thoughts, the darkness of which you could only guess. Lately, he was more and more lost in himself, not paying attention to the people around him.

Since the day the team lost Johnny.

You closed the door behind you and stood a short distance away, looking at Simon as he didn't seem to be breathing. But the only sign that he was still in this world was his slightly hunched back and the muscles of his shoulders stretched like iron strings, bulging out of the fabric of his T-shirt.

Next to him, on the bedside table, was the balaclava. He began to take it off more and more often, revealing his face in your presence. As if it was supposed to mean more openness, less barriers. Perhaps externally, but certainly not mentally. You picked up the mask and took a step towards him.

"Simon, you need to..."

"Don't ya dare touch that." He snapped, snatching the cloth from your hands as if you had touched some valuable relic.

You froze, not knowing how to react to that. Simon had become even more irritable lately, and an unnecessary rustle or a wrong word might have angered him. But this time it was an action.

"This one was his." He said, stroking the skull pattern on the fabric with his thumb.

It looked like you were losing him. Losing your boyfriend, who was drowning in his grief and pushing you away, the person he trusted the most. And you didn't know what to do.

How can you help a loved one who refuses to accept help?