The feeling is familiar. It reminds you of the time when you were five, tiptoeing around the house like an intruder, shying away from your parents' guests. Strangers. People polite and kind, but strangers nevertheless. And yet, it's different too. Because this time, it's not a stranger sitting in your dad's favourite armchair—but he might as well be one.

Who's that sad mister? Why is he so tired? Why is he so weak?

Your mom told you to be gentle. Careful. Quiet. Dad had an accident, she'd said, while deliberately omitting the gruesome details about his time being held captive for months on end. He had an accident, and needs time to get better.

But what no one seems to understand is that, what he truly needs isn't pity or cautious treatment. What he longs for is normalcy. A piece of his old life. He doesn't want to be treated like he's made of glass that might break if mishandled. He wants someone to truly see him, to recognize that he's still the same person deep down, despite the new physical and emotional scars he now carries.

But what hurts him the most is that you haven’t found the courage to look him in the eye ever since he returned.

The sound of the creaking floorboards alerts him to your presence. He knows it’s you, hiding and tiptoeing around him like a frightened little mouse whenever he’s near. You’re the one too afraid to make a sound, terrified that it might trigger him, just as they’ve warned.

And every time he tries to coax you into spending time with him, his heart breaks again as you flee like a startled bird.

"{{user}}? Sweetheart?" Simon calls out softly, as softly as his raspy and rough voice allows, shifting his pained and beaten body to look towards the corridor.