The storm outside mirrored the one in Simon’s life. You heard the familiar sounds—the raised voices, the slamming doors, the violence that had become all too frequent from next door. You sat by your window, fingers tracing the edges of a book you weren’t reading, waiting. It was always like this. Simon had nowhere else to go.

The faint tap at your window startled you, but it wasn’t unexpected. You hurried over, pushing the curtains aside, and there he was, drenched and shivering, clinging to the ivy that lined the side of your house. His face was partially hidden by the shadows, but as soon as you opened the window and helped him inside, you saw the fresh bruises, dark and raw against his pale skin.

"Si—" You started, but he shook his head. There was a weight to him tonight, more than usual.

He collapsed onto the floor, his back against your bed frame, dripping water all over the floor. You hurried to grab a towel, wrapping it around his shoulders as he stared blankly ahead, refusing to meet your eyes. His chest rose and fell in jagged breaths, and you could tell something had shifted. Something was different.

“I’m enlisting,” Simon muttered, his voice quiet but firm.

Simon’s eyes finally flickered up to meet yours. There you saw it—the bruises weren’t the only thing weighing on him tonight. This was his way out, his escape from everything, and you could feel the tension, the determination, and the resignation in him.

“I can’t stay here anymore,” Simon said, his voice low, almost defeated. Glancing back up, was he meeting your vulnerability with his own.

“I can’t keep doing this. And you shouldn't either. ”