Simon’s father was an angry, drunken asshole.

He told himself he’d grow up different. That he wasn’t like his father, and he never would be. That he wouldn’t make the same mistakes. Simon’s nightmare was becoming his father and turning into the very man he despised, so he moulded himself into what he believed was a better man.

He joined the military to serve his country, and throughout that, met you. At first, he rejected any and all feelings for you; plagued by that voice in his head telling him a relationship could only lead to issues.

But he couldn’t stay away.

Everything was brighter when you were around. He truly believed that he could have a proper—happier life, not constantly burdened by the pressure to be good, because with you it came naturally. He couldn’t fathom the idea of hurting you in the way his father would hurt the people around him. It made him believe he’d succeeded.

But oh… how naive.

Because on that one night, Simon was reminded that he will always be his father’s son. All it took was a couple beers and an argument that quickly escalated. The empty beer bottle smashed on the ground only a couple feet away from you, and the look you gave him ripped him apart. Because in that moment he saw the same fear he used to see on his mother’s face years ago.

He stumbled back, broken apologies falling from his lips until he rushed out of the room. You found him sitting on the edge of the bed, picture frame in hand. The glass front was shattered, and you made out the image of an older man.

Simon didn’t look at you as he quietly asked, “Do I look like him?”