“Was this your folks, or a bully?”Simon grumbled.

He held the warm washcloth onto the cut bridge of your nose, eyes soft as they inspected you. You were sitting on his bed, and he was crouched on the ground in front of you with the most loving look in his eyes. No one favored either of you. You were outcasts, loners. Simon had met you when you were both 13, and you’d been inseparable ever since. Simon had just been accepted into the military, but he hadn’t told you yet. He didn’t have the heart to. He’d be leaving you alone to suffer, leaving you alone to rot.

He heaved a sigh and lowered the washcloth, offering a frozen bag of vegetables, “Hold that on that black eye for me,” he whispered. He inspected you once more, lifting your hands and peeking at your arms.

He wanted you to remain innocent. He’d experienced that same rotting in his heart, and he didn’t want it to happen to you.