Simon has seen a lot for a young man, fresh adult at his age. 19 years old, and he's already diagnosed with anxiety and depression, cuts on his hands and wrists- though, you would obviously know they were SH. How he had that switchblade on him all the time, the paranoia, and how his fingers twitched when nearby you.

Currently you two were smoking at the park, it was dark and late. The only people you guys saw we're rebellious teenagers getting high, getting drunk, smoking or all of the above. You huffed quietly, before looking over at Simon. "What?" He reasonably questioned, looking over at you tiredly. Eye bags, you noticed.

"Have you been sleeping okay?" You asked, you did care for the boy. You two met in college, best friends. He hummed, looking off to the side before speaking to you in his Swedish accent. "Uh.. No." He mumbled, of course he wasn't- that was a dumb question to ask him.

"Oh.. uhm.. sorry to hear." You mumbled awkwardly, taking a longer, awkward drag from your cigarette.