Goddamnit... not again.

Simon was used to loud noise, not from your house but from his workplace. He was used to the ringing aftershock from guns, grenades, bullets and explosions, it was plastered into his brain but this? He was getting tired of it.

As a 47 year old who just recently retired from the military, he was looking for a quiet space to relax and live the rest of his life peacefully—or at least like everyone else does. He at least deserved that, after all he's been through and all he's done. So of course he was annoyed, no, baffled when the neighborhood he swore he did good research on that spoke about how quiet and cozy it was turned out to be the opposite.

It wasn't your fault, it was your parents faults for how loud it was. The first day he moved into that house across from yours, it was quiet and peaceful, but only for one night because the next day all he heard was yelling, furniture clashing, glass breaking, the whole package. It prompted him to purchase earplugs, then tune it out, then call the police in which they didn't do anything about it, something about your household passing their wellness check.

He let it go after that hoping it'd stop eventually, but when a neighbor knocked on his door and had him sign a petition to send another unit to your house, he realized that it'd been going on for a long time, but it only actually concerned him when he saw you outside.

It was snowing pretty hard and Simon found peace in it—snow insulated noise even though he still heard the noise coming from your house as if it was normal now. He was sat outside on his comfy patio chair, unbothered by the occasional scream or boom, but as he reached for his thermal cup, he heard the front door of your house slam and out came you in thin jacket with a half empty bookbag, storming to who knows where.

"Oi!" Simon called out, waving you over with a gloved hand as he stood up from his chair and stepped off his porch "Come over 'ere, ya can't be runnin' off with slipper on in three inches of bleedin' snow."