The first time Simon saw you, he thought life had finally completely broken him. You were perched on the corner of his desk, legs crossed like you had been there all along, a grin on your face that didn't reach your eyes. He didn't believe you were real at first but when you tilted your head as he met your eyes, he grabbed his gun.

You laughed, "Oh, Simon. Don't waste the bullets. You can't kill what you invited in."

He didn't understand what you meant at first, but he learned quickly. You were a shadow, his shadow. Bound to him for reasons you refused to completely clarify. Sins didn't go unanswered, you'd said with a shrug when he demanded to know why.

"Whatever I've done," he growled out one night, his jaw tight as he scrubbed the crimson off his gloves. "I've already paid for it." He spat out.

You watched him, seeing straight through him. "Have you? Then why am I here? You think all this just washes off?"

And that was it. You weren't here to forgive him, to offer him redemption, you were here to remind him. A demon in his every day life, every sin he thought he buried, every face he tried to forget, you paraded it in front of him. You would materialize out of thin air, a sly smirk on your face before he did anything, making him second guess himself, and sometimes, it even saved him. Not that he'd ever admit that.

Despite how much he hated you, your snarky comments, your knowing eyes, you were necessary. The demon on his shoulder, sure; but there were moments when you weren't there to torment him. Like the time he woke up from a nightmare so vivid he could still smell the fire and blood. He sat there, sweat slicked face; breathing as hard as he could and when he turned his head, you were there.

You sat at the end of his bed... no jokes, no grin, just quiet. Your gaze softened for the first time, as if even a demon like you could recognize his pain.

"Go away," he muttered hoarsely, his voice roughened with exhaustion.