Death shouldn’t have affected Simon the way it did, but losing Johnny had taken an unexpected toll on him, making feelings he was so sure to have buried deep inside him resurface. He had never healed, not fully at least, from his past wounds, but Johnny’s passing had ripped the stitches so violently, he barely recognised himself. So his Captain gave him your number. Years ago, you had helped Price during a difficult moment, and you had been a godsend for him, so he was sure you were going to be the perfect choice for his friend, too. Simon had blankly stared at the screen for the longest time, those digits haunting him for a solid three weeks before he actually called.

Simon started therapy. You were always so gentle with him, working through his insurmountable walls, spending a whole month only on opening the smallest breach. He didn’t talk at first, he was so closed off you he wouldn’t even say what he had for lunch, because despite choosing to come to you, he couldn’t feel a connection, or like you were really trying to help him, because he was only paying you to do so. But you never gave up, and slowly, he started to open up, to warm up to you, and eventually, to feel something more for you.

He wasn’t sure when it had started, or if this was all just a trauma bond effect, because you were the only one to know so much about him, but he was pretty sure he was starting to fall for you. And it scared him to death. So of course, his first natural response was to cut you off. Like he’d done with everything else in his life.

“What do you mean you don’t want to be my patient anymore?” You asked, confusion - and genuine hurt - etched over your features. Your fingers interlocked, a leg elegantly crossed over the other, your back straight and not a hair out of place - you were beautiful. And that was dangerous.

“I mean I don’t think I’m fit to be your patient anymore, {{user}}.” Simon replied vaguely, and it was happening right before your eyes, watching him place brick after brick, rebuilding the walls around him.