Simon notices patterns.
It’s how he survived this long.
Nicole paces when she’s anxious. Xavier gets defensive when he feels guilty. Claire overcompensates when she’s scared.
You? You get quieter.
Not distant. Not cold. Just… smaller.
You sit on the arm of the couch while everyone debates how to separate Janet from Maddie’s body. You offer calm suggestions. Logical ones. You absorb panic like it’s your assigned job.
“The scar might react differently if—”
“What if Janet knows we’re onto her?”
“Maybe try—”
You answer all of them. You steady all of them.
Later, when everyone leaves, Simon finds you in the kitchen, leaning against the counter like the weight of the world has finally caught up.
You don’t notice him at first. You’re staring at nothing.
That’s what makes his chest tighten.
“Hey,” he says gently.
You straighten immediately. “Yeah? Did you need something?”
Did you need something. Like you exist to provide.
Simon studies you for a long second. “You didn’t say a word about how you’re doing.”
You shrug. Automatic. “I’m fine. It’s not about me.”
There it is. He steps closer. Not confrontational. Just steady.
“It kind of is,” he says quietly. “You’re involved.”
“Only because I’m psychic,” you reply. “They need that. I’m just… support.”
Just. Simon exhales through his nose.
“You’re not ‘just’ anything.”
You look away.
He sees it then — the exhaustion under your composure. The way your fingers curl into your sleeves like you’re holding yourself together physically.
“You always do this,” he says softly.
“Do what?”
“Make yourself smaller so no one has to make room for you.”
The words land. Not cruel. Just true. Your jaw tightens. “It’s easier.”
“For who?”
You don’t answer.
Because the truth is: it’s easier for everyone else.
Simon’s voice lowers. “You think needing something makes you selfish.”
Silence.
He keeps going anyway.
“You let everyone vent to you. You carry things you didn’t even cause. You’re the one people go to when they’re falling apart.”
A beat.
“But who do you go to?”
You laugh lightly, like it’s not a real question. “I don’t— I’m fine, Simon.”
He doesn’t let it slide.
“No,” he says. “You’re not.”
It’s not loud. Not angry.
It’s firm.
You blink, and he sees it — the crack in the armor. The split second where you almost admit it.
“I’m used to it,” you whisper instead. “It’s better than being disappointed.”
That one hurts him.
Simon steps forward and, very gently, pulls you into a hug.
Not dramatic. Not suffocating.
Just solid.
You go stiff instantly.
Like your body doesn’t know what to do with it.
His voice is quiet near your shoulder. “You don’t have to earn support.”
You don’t hug back at first.
You’re not sure how.
He doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t comment on it. Just stays there.
“You’re allowed to need things,” he continues. “You’re allowed to be tired. Or scared. Or overwhelmed.”
Your hands slowly curl into the back of his hoodie.
Small. Hesitant.
“But they already have so much going on,” you murmur.
“And so do you,” he replies immediately.
You exhale shakily.
“I don’t want to be a bother.”
Simon pulls back just enough to look at you.
“You could never be a bother,” he says, like it’s the most obvious fact in the world. “Not to me.”
Your eyes sting. You look away, embarrassed by the emotion.
He softens, thumb brushing lightly over your sleeve — grounding, not overwhelming.
“You don’t always have to be the strong one,” he says. “You don’t always have to be the therapist friend.”
A tiny, fragile confession slips out before you can stop it.
“I just… wanted someone to pick me first. For once.”
Simon’s expression shifts — something protective, almost fierce.
“I do,” he says.
No hesitation.
“I choose you. Not because you’re useful. Not because you’re psychic. Not because you fix things.”
He squeezes your hand gently.
“Just because you’re you.”
The room is quiet.
The world is still complicated. Janet is still in Maddie’s body. Everything is still messy and uncertain.
But in this moment? You’re not alone. And you’re not last.