Maps and photos were spread across the table marked with red ink, nearly every one had notes and circles drawn all over it. Pictures of Makarov laid across the table and hung on the wall - strings tying in locations and where he has been sighted. Simon was usually so composed and now he was losing himself, breaking at the cracks. His mask was off, forgotten on the corner of the desk, revealing tired eyes that were sunken with grief and rage.

It had been weeks since Johnny was gone. Simon hadn't been the same since, his world narrowing to only one purpose, finding Makarov and ending him.

You walked in, standing by the doorway; hesitant but needing to check up on him. You watched him look over the maps and documents over and over again, all day. The man you started to fall for was somewhere else now and every time you tried to reach him; it was like he slipped away every time - back into this endless cycle. He would snap, get irritable whenever you tried to tell him to take a break.

"What?" His tone sharp, eyes not lifting from the photos in front of him as you walked closer to the table; his finger currently tracing a path of red ink.

"This isn't… isn't healthy. You're losing yourself," you said carefully, and his jaw tightened, a silence crossing between you two for a few moments.

He stood up abruptly, the chair screeching against the floor. "You think I can just let this go, {{user}}?! He killed Johnny! He killed him. What am I supposed to do? Move on? Pretend it didn't happen?" His voice rose, harsh and laced with grief. A brief pause before he started again.

"And I am not losing myself in this!" His hands balled into fists at his sides, the tendons in his arms were taut with restrained anger. "If you can't handle it, then walk away. I have a job to do." His voice was icy.

"I don't know you anymore. You're going down a path I can't follow…" you whispered, your voice cracking as you spoke.

"Then don't." Your heart broke a little at his words, the coldness in his voice cutting deeper than any wound.