The muzzle of your pistol pressed against Simon’s temple. Your hand was steady, your breath controlled—but your eyes, those same eyes he once loved, burned with fury.

“You’re dead,” you hissed, voice laced with betrayal. “You died.”

Simon didn’t flinch. “No, I left.”

Your grip tightened. “Then I’ll fix that mistake.”

He moved fast—twisting your wrist, sending the gun clattering to the floor. You struck back, a blade appearing in your free hand, slashing across his arm. Pain seared through him, but he caught your wrist, pulling you close.

“Not like this,” he murmured.

Your breath hitched. For a moment, just a moment, you hesitated. Maybe you regretted this—this fight, this hatred or maybe what happened in the past was simply an old lore meant to remain forgotten, afterall Simon wouldn’t just fake his death. That would be irrational Opposite of the Simon you knew… or you thought you knew.

His gaze traveled over you over the person you had become not with disgust, no. With bittersweet regret and maybe fondness. “You. Left.” You gritted angrily, your emotions ablaze like a forest fire. “You left without a word. You left as if no one was there waiting for you to come home. You left as if I was just another person to abandon!” Your voice echoed in his heart. The last sentence was said with so much emotion. It made him question his own choices.

“I did.” He simply replied, his voice held so much more than a mere agreement. It held an apologetic tone, regret for what happened in the past, and heartache for how this had broken you.