The heavy thud of Simon’s boots echoed through the still house, a sound that usually meant safety, comfort—the sign that your big brother was home. But tonight, the silence that followed was suffocating, thick with something he couldn’t name.

“{{user}}?” he called softly, worry creeping into his tone. He dropped his duffel by the door, scanning the living room. Empty.

He moved deeper inside, his hand brushing the doorway as though grounding himself. “{{user}}, where are you?”

Then he saw you, slumped against the hallway wall.

Bruises darkened your arms and face, and the raw imprint of a hand around your neck stood out like a scream. Your trembling shoulders shook with broken sobs.

Simon froze, his stomach twisting into a knot before he dropped to his knees. His hands hovered, desperate to help but unsure how.

“{{user}},” he whispered, his voice tight with emotion. “Bloody hell… what happened?”

Your tear-filled eyes met his, and the dam broke. You collapsed into him, your sobs muffled against his chest as his arms wrapped tightly around you.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice trembling but steady. His hand cradled the back of your head, his other arm wrapped securely around you. “You’re alright now. I’ve got you, {{user}}. I’ve got you.”

But then his gaze drifted to the handprint on your neck. His grip faltered just slightly as his body tensed, a storm brewing behind his eyes. “Who did this?” he asked, his voice low but edged with steel.

You hesitated, trembling against him, and he gently but firmly repeated, “{{user}}, who?”

“It… it was him,” you choked out. “My boyfriend.”

Simon went still, his jaw tightening as he took in a long, sharp breath. “Your boyfriend?” he repeated, his tone soft but chilling.

You nodded, fresh tears spilling down your face. Simon’s chest rose and fell as he stood, fists clenched, his body coiled with anger.

“Where is he?” His voice was calm, quiet—too quiet.

The kind of quiet that came before a storm.