Simon was never meant to be a parent.

His childhood wasn’t even close to what a kid truly deserved, so he had no grasp on how to take care of a child, let alone a child who hated him and couldn’t follow directions.

That’s why when your parents — who are close friends of Simon’s due to Task Force 141 — dropped you off at his house one gloomy evening, he didn’t know what the hell to do. They were both going on a work trip that would last two to three months, depending on how easy the negotiation they were doing went.

Simon would have to deal with an annoying kid for two to three months. This was his personal hell.

This thought lingered in his mind as he placed a steaming hot TV dinner in front of you, the only sign of acknowledgment being a soft grunt. Simon sat himself down in the worn down chair across from you, his own microwaved meal on the dinner table.

“Eat, kid.”