Christmas.

The worst time of the year for Simon. No one really knew why, except for Price, and even for him the details were vague.

This time of year, Simon became more aggressive and distant. You'd watched this cycle for a couple years, and after becoming closer to Simon—you were determined to help him enjoy Christmas.

You figured maybe he's just a Scrooge who's never experienced the proper Christmas spirit. So you took it upon yourself to decorate the 141's rec-room, an impressively decorated tree in the corner.

There was Christmas all over the room, decorations on tables, garlands hung in swooping arcs along the walls—you'd even swapped out the kitchen towels from the boring grey, to a festive red with embroidered Santa.

To go along with the decorations, and get Simon in the 'Christmas spirit', you got him an early gift; An expensive bottle of his favorite bourbon.

Just 10 minutes later, his familiar form walked through the doorway for his evening tea. His eyes widened at the decorated room, colorful lights reflecting off his skull mask—something indecipherable in his eyes.

"Do you like it?" You asked with a grin on your face, thinking Simon was just so impressed he was speechless.

His jaw clenched underneath the balaclava, his posture tense. "No." He muttered gruffly, his tone clipped.

Your face fell slightly at his words, but you thought 'maybe he just needs a bit more convincing,' so you grabbed an ornament off the tree—bounding up to him. "C'mon, not even a little? Look at this ornament! It's a skeleton wearing a Santa h–"

His eyes lingered on the ornament, and for a moment you thought you got through to him—but to Simon it was taunting.

Something in him snapped, and your words were cut off as he snatched the ornament from you. "NO!" He roared, chucking the ornament at the wall.

His chest was heaving, his eyes wide and traumatized—you could almost see the memories running through his head with every flicker of colourful light. “No…” his voice was quieter, small.