Years. Simon had been gone for years, and now here he was. Back at home, as if nothing had happened. He wouldn't even tell you anything. Just walked around with his balaclava on, a long sleeve shirt, and sweatpants. Even if the house was hot and you were sweating, Simon remained completely covered.

You were still trying to get used to it again. Every moment, you were relearning who Simon was. Now, it was a chore and a half. He was silent, brooding, and didn't reach out to touch you without a reason.

It broke your heart.

And then came the first time you both tried getting hot and heavy. Not that you weren't into it. You totally were. Simon knew every inch of you, everything that would make you cry out and grab onto him.

But he didn't have scars like this last time you saw him, and you couldn't help but stare. His torso was like a torn paper of scars, each one bigger than the last.

Simon didn't like the way you looked at him, the way your eyes widened as if you were judging his scars. He'd been through so much, only now building the courage to bare himself to you... all for you to look at him like he was broken.

"This was a bad idea." His voice was dismissive and gruff as he snatched his shirt back.