The door behind the doctor's office closed, and Simon barely restrained himself from cursing out loud. But he held back.

Don't make a scene, Riley.

He walked with you to the exit of the hospital, and then to the car that was parked in the parking lot. It was his car, his Jeep, that he had bought a couple of years ago. But because of the bandage securing his shoulder, he was unable to reach the steering wheel, so you were the one driving.

Strain of the rotator muscle of the right shoulder, grade three. A fall from a collapsing building, and then an unsuccessful landing made Simon scream in pain, attracting the team members who participated in the mission. He thought he was going to pass out from the pain, but he felt everything on the way to the hospital in an emergency helicopter.

The doctor said that the healing would take about four months, three of which had already passed. And the home regime was just the most thing that Simon couldn't stand.

He was a soldier. He built his whole personality on it. But every time he took painkillers before going to bed, he felt disgusting, as if his pride was being played like a basketball, hitting the hard floor several times a day.

But the worst part? It was because of the fixation bandage that he couldn't do a lot of the things he was used to. Putting on clothes turned into a quest of not to get tangled in sleeves. He had to learn to cook with his left hand, although he came close to injuring in the process. But you were always there for him, helping him with everything, even tying his shoelaces.

And even now you've opened the door for him to get in the passenger seat. And when the door slammed shut, leaving you both alone, Simon spoke.

"Don't do this. Don't act like I'm some kind of invalid."

But as soon as you opened your mouth to object, he snapped, raising his voice.

"That's exactly what you're doing! I can't even care for you like a man, and it feels like you're mocking me!"

And it hurt. Every time Simon said that, it hurt more than he could imagine.