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You'd say you've gotten good at navigating the minefield that is Simon. You've been together a while by now and you've learned how to handle him so he feels safe and can be himself. It's been a long process that's far from over but you wouldn't have it any other way. Simon is worth all the time, all the effort. And if it means losing a limb in the process, crossing that minefield to get closer to him is worth it.
Simon would say he's gotten good at defusing the ticking bomb that he is. He's been with you for a bit now and he's learned how to trust you more, how to be vulnerable with you. His walls are lower than they’ve ever been and it has actually lead to good things.
But sometimes things don’t go as you want. No matter how hard you try, how carefully you try to navigate Simon. Sometimes just a tiny thing, a gesture, a word, makes everything explode, traps you in that minefield without knowing where to put your foot next, how to reach out to him without stepping onto another scar, tearing it open in a violent explosion.
Like now. It’s so goddamn stupid you could kick yourself. You've been arguing about whose turn it was to choose the movie. Something so insignificant, so trivial. But it's been a long day for both of you and what started as a joking argument has turned into an actual one and now you don't know how to stop it. Your voices are raised, you’re both shouting the frustrations of the day at each other. You hate arguing with Simon, just as he hates arguing with you.
You know it’s a normal part of any relationship, but with Simon it scares you. With Simon you never know when it could turn into him leaving. Into him pulling away. Yet you find yourself unable to stop your frustration from dripping from your tongue like venom. Simon’s not doing any better.
"Your movie choices are questionable anyway!", Simon throws into your face. "I suffer through them just for you. But they're horrible really! They all suck. I want to watch something that actually entertains me!"
Okay, that stung. Just a few days ago you'd shared one of you favorite movies with him. A movie that changed something in you when you first watched it, a movie that slightly tilted your world view. You didn't expect him to like it but that stung. And in your mind his sentence turns into you not being entertaining enough.
So you step forward, trying to hold back tears. "Yeah, as if your", you jab your finger at his chest, Simon flinches back "movie choices -"
You freeze. He'd taken a step back, raising his hands to shield himself and your heart drops, shattering at your feet. His big eyes are watching your next move in apprehension.
It should be ridiculous, really, someone as capable as Simon, a trained soldier, flinching over you putting your finger on his chest. As if you could actually inflict harm on him. As if you wouldn't rather die than hurt him.
But it's not ridiculous. It's a fucking fist to the face.
The sudden quiet makes your ears ring and Simon doesn't seem to be any better. His chest is heaving. His arms are still up, shoulders hunched, his entire stance small and scared. He’s ready to block your blows, ready to deal with you finally putting your hands on him.
His breathing is loud and quick and you want to guide him to calmness but you don’t know how when you caused his distress in the first place. This is new territory. A new step you took that landed you directly over a mine and it’s exploding right now. Exploding in slow motion, letting you see the details of everything you’ve built with Simon shattering and crumbling into dust.
Then his entire demeanor changes and you almost get whiplash. In a flash he’s squared his feet, narrowed his eyes and dropped his shoulders. His hands have gone down but they’re fists at his sides and there’s nothing relaxed about his new stance. You just watched every wall he’s let down for you come back up in the matter of a second.
His cold gaze almost hurts, his eyes distant and calculating, trying to guess your next move. Like a shield of ice that slipped into place before his soul, keeping it hidden from you.
"Simon -" It's whispered. A plea.
He takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders and then starts walking towards you with purpose. For an irrational second you think he’s going to hit you for scaring him. You think he’s going to get revenge on you for everything that’s ever been done to him.
The next second you’re ashamed for even thinking that. He’s not going for you. No, it’s worse. He’s going for the door of the living room behind you.
You’re helplessly watching, your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, throat dry, almost painful. Your heart is hammering so hard it feels like it’s trying break your ribs from the inside. Trying to break free so it can follow Simon.
You’re frozen as he leaves the room. Every single muscle in his body is coiled tight, ready to whip around and stop any threat. Stop you should you so much as breathe too hard.
Holding your breath, tears gather in your eyes, dripping wetly down your cheeks. This is it, you’re waiting for the telltale sound of the door to the apartment opening and closing, Simon walking out of your life because this is irreparable.
The relieve you feel when you hear the bedroom door instead almost brings you to your knees. Then you hear the lock to the room turn and your heart breaks all over again. He’s locked you out of his safe space.
Fuck.
You sink down onto the floor and start crying in earnest. You never wanted to scare him. Never wanted to provoke that reaction. You had only pointed your finger!
You’re not even sure if you’re crying over what you’d just done or if your tears are for Simon, how he must be feeling right now. The one person he’s let in raising their hand at him, making him feel unsafe.
He’d thought you’d hit him. He’d thought you’d put your hands on him in a harmful way.
The pain coursing through you makes you breathless as you cry for Simon and everything he’s endured, as you cry over what you’d just ruined.
Hopefully he can’t hear you from the bedroom. You don’t want to cry over this, it’s not your place to cry when Simon is the one hurting. But you’re so scared of losing him of losing your best friend of losing your forever that you can’t help it.
In a weird twisted, crooked way his reaction is prove of how much he trusts you. Trusted you. He’d trusted you enough to let his guard down so far that a gesture of yours caught him off guard. You’ve never seen him so surprised by something someone did, his eyes always all over everyone. He’s always so aware of everyone and everything.
The fact that he felt safe enough to even be caught off guard shows just how close he’d let you. It was a privilege, a gift. A fragile little thing with broken wings in your palms and now you’ve crushed it.
You try to calm your breathing more. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Deep, slow. The way you instruct Simon to breathe when he’s battling his demons.
Demons he might be battling right now. And suddenly your tears run dry and you jump to your feet. This really isn’t the time to feel sorry for yourself. So you get a slippery grip on your emotions and push them back for a later time.
Rushing to the bedroom, you raise your hand and pause. You can hear Simon’s steps in the room; he’s walking in circles like a caged animal. You’ll be damned if you don’t at least try to help, doesn’t matter if this is your fault in the first place.
You knock.
His steps halt.
And then they approach the door, soft thuds drawing closer, you can see the door handle turn but it doesn’t open. And then he’s frantically shaking it, apparently not remembering locking it.
“It’s locked!” His voice sounds so confused and scared that your chest feels like it’s caving in.
“You locked it, baby. You can unlock it. The key is on your side.”, you try to say in a calm soothing tone but you’re pretty sure your voice is shaking.
The turning of the key is frantic and the door gets ripped open and then you’re face to face with Simon and his eyes are wide, flitting all over the room, disoriented. His chest is still heaving, even worse than before, and when you see him shaking, you know there’s no stopping it.
Simon’s eyes lock on you and he doubles over, his hands clawing at his chest and neck, he's breathing too hard, always in until his chest must feel like it’s exploding.
“Can’t… breathe…”, he chokes out, eyes utterly terrified, tears starting to drip as he’s frantically trying to breathe and not drown in his feelings.
You don’t know if this is a ‘touch helps’ kind of panic attack or a ‘don’t you dare touch me’ panic attack and you’re scanning over him trying to guess, when his hand grips your shoulder in an iron grip and his wide eyes look straight through you.
He’s still hyperventilating and your heart seems hell bent on matching his hectic panting. Grabbing his arms, you try to steady him as he goes down, his knees buckling. He’s heavy in your hold and your muscles scream but you put your all into preventing him from falling and hurting himself in the process. At least you manage to slow his fall and then he’s on the floor on his hands and knees. One of his hands tries to dig his fingers into the floor as the other fists his shirt, damn near ripping it.
You have to do something even if you don’t know if it’ll help or make things worse. There's no forgiving yourself if you don’t at least try, even if it’s fishing in the dark. If it doesn’t work, you can change the approach. But doing nothing won’t help anyway. So you wrap your arms around him. “I’m going to lay you down, baby. I’m going to hold you.”
You don’t think he hears you but maneuvering him without telling him feels wrong anyway. And then you do exactly as you said, you tug Simon with all your strength towards you and he topples over onto his side, landing on top of you instead of the floor and you’re glad you’re there to soften his fall. Even if you’re pretty sure you’ll have bruises from it.
Immediately you wriggle partially out from under him, keeping him on your thighs, in your lap and you wrap your arms around him.
“I’ve got you, Simon. I’m here. You’re in our apartment. Everything is okay. You’re safe, baby.”
Tears silently start dripping fdown your face again, when he curls in on himself clawing at the floor and you know he will black out if he doesn’t get his breaths more even.
In a desperate attempt you put your hand over his chest and push. “Simon, breathe out, baby, come on. Out.”
You exhale in an exaggerated way next to his ear and you think you hear him exhaling the tiniest bit, before he’s sucking air in in in. But that’s something. He can hear you, he reacts, which means he’s allowing you to guide him.
You press again. “Good, again. Ouuuuuut.”, you exhale and this time he manages to get a bit more air out. The way your top is sticking to you with sweat makes you shiver but you don’t give any attention to your own body being stressed. It will calm down when Simon does.
You continue. You don’t know how long you talk to him like that, reassurances between commands to breathe. It’s probably only been a few minutes, but you’re exhausted like you’ve been going for hours, fighting for every exhale until finally his breathing is back to a rhythm that’s as close to normal as it can get in this moment.
The exhaustion rolls over you as if you’ve had the attack yourself and your body curls over him, resting your head on him as he shakes in your lap and breathes.
The thumping of his heart under your cheek is still way too quick and he’s shaking like a fucking leaf, so you drag your tired body out from under him and turn him onto his back. Goddamnit he’s heavy.
Looking at his face resupplies your tears. His cheeks are wet, he’s pale as a sheet and his arms are clutched tightly to him as he continues shaking. You know he’s somewhat aware of his surroundings again but he’s still victim to his mind and body.
Remembering what he’s asked for before in moments when he’s needed grounding, you crawl over him and lay down with your full weight. Your head rests on his chest, near his shoulders and his arms, curled over his chest, dig into your own uncomfortably but that doesn’t matter right now.
Your own body shakes with his as you raise your hands, gently lifting his head - after a silent “please” because he resisted for a moment until his eyes focused on you - and pull a rug closer so he can rest his head on that instead of the hard floor.
Your entire body sags with relief when he pulls his arms out from under you and wraps them around you instead. His hold is tight as if he’s trying to make your bodies merge into one. As if he’s trying to push you into his ribcage to keep your right next to his heart.
His heartbeat slowly returns to normal under you and yours follows his lead. When he lifts his head and presses a kiss to your forehead, you curl your fist tighter into his shirt and finally try to push yourself off of him. The slight tightening of his hold on you makes you settle again.
The broad palms of his hands are warm and soothing as they pass back and forth over your back. You press your lips to his chest through his shirt and his next exhale is long and shaky.
He moves, jostling you slightly, and you try to get up again, but he doesn’t let you. His voice is low and tired as he says: “Hold on, lovie.”
You do and he sits up, maneuvering you in his arms until he’s got one arm around your back and one under your knees. Then he stands up and even though his movements are slow and exhausted the little to no effort with which he handles your weight still steals your breath.
His heavy steps take you both back into your bedroom and he puts you down on your shared bed, crawling in with you immediately.
You turn onto your side, as does he and then you’re looking at each other, the exhaustion on his face making you feel your own all the more.
Simon moves his hand, covers one of yours and squeezes twice. Immediately you return the gesture. A small sleepy smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. The reassurance behind that gesture making both of you melt into the mattress.
Still there’s so much talking to do and you end up whispering “We need to talk about this, Si.” into the small space between you, where your joined hands lie.
He brings your hand up to his lips and presses a kiss to each of your fingers, before letting it fall back onto the covers, still in his hold. His eyes are exhausted but you know you can’t sleep without having discussed what happened.
“I need you to know, Si”, you swallow against the tightness in your throat “I would never, ever hurt you. I’d rather chop off my own hand than touch you in a way that could cause you harm. I’m so sorry, Simon, I-“
“I know.”
You shut up, big eyes on his and he smiles, kissing the back of your hand this time.
“I know.”, he repeats and practically watches the gears in your head turn. So he takes a deep gulp of air and continues. “It’s not you, ‘luv. It’s the fucking past. Not your fault that a damn finger is all it took today to set me off. It’s my brain being a fucker.”
You’re so relieved you could cry again. He didn’t think you’d hurt him. His brain just didn’t make the distinction between the finger belonging to you or someone else at that moment. In that moment it was only a hand raised against him.
Still, maybe there’s a way to prevent that in the future? So you tentatively ask: “What can I do so you feel comfortable trusting me more? So you don’t feel like you’re endangered by a gesture from me?”
“I trust you.”, he states calmly and you shake your head.
“There has to be something I can do better. So it’s easier for you to trust-“ The way Simon takes your joined hands and brings them up to his throat, abruptly shuts you up. He's pressing your palm against it so it would be easy to squeeze and hurt and – you try to pull it back and he forces your hand harder against his throat with his own. You freeze completely.
“I trust you.”
Your eyes widen and fly to his from where they’d been locked onto his throat and the way your hand is curled against it in a chokehold.
His eyebrows are drawn together and his eyes fixated on you, willing you to understand. The soft caress of his thumb on the back of your hand - a hand that could cut off his oxygen if you wanted - makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest.
“Okay.”, you whisper and he finally drops his hand, allows you to slowly draw your hand back from his throat. Your eyes are still widened and lock onto his neck again. Leaning forward you press a kiss to the delicate skin over his Adam’s apple and feel him swallow heavily under your lips.
When you look at hom again his eyebrows are still furrowed and warm palm finds your cheek. “I’m sorry, I reacted like that to something so small.”
You shake your head and nuzzle into his hold, giving a little kiss to his thumb. There's desperation in his eyes and you whish you could kiss it away.
“I’m sorry, ‘m all kinds of fucked up, ‘luv. Wouldn’t fault you if it’s too much. If you want to –“ Your hand covers his mouth and his eyes betray the surprise at that gesture.
“Don’t you dare, Si. Don’t you dare even say that. As if I’d want that. You shouldn’t even think that. The only reason why I mind the panic attacks is because I know how heavily they weigh on you. You can flinch, you can scream, you can break, I don’t mind. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t enjoy seeing you hurt, if I could I’d make it stop, but I’ll take that as long as I have you in my arms at the end of the day.”
His hand gently draws your hand away from his mouth and he whispers: “But I’m a handful, lovie. How can you not mind the hassle?”
You smile at him, a little mischievously. “Good thing that I’ve got two hands then, baby.”
He snorts, while his entire face softens, and draws you in closer, you're pressed into his chest, his arms around you and he showers your head with kiss after kiss.
“I thought you were going to leave me.”, comes your muffled voice abruptly halting all of Simon's movement. Gently he pushes you away a bit so you can see his sincerity when he answers.
“Never. As long as you’ll have me.”
Your eyes water and he tilts your head up, with the tip of his finger under your chin, and presses the softest of kisses to your lips. “Don’t care about the flinches and panic attacks and hard moments as long as I get to be in your arms at the end of the day.”
You laugh, when he uses your words against you, a cracked, teary laugh and kiss him again.
“Fuck I need a nap.”, he groans once you’ve managed to stop spelling your love against the lips of each other. You giggle.
“We both do, but drink something first. You’ll wake up with a headache if you don’t.”, you say and he groans with the effort of rolling over and drinking out of the bottle on his nightstand.
He doesn’t know what he did to deserve you, what he did to find someone so caring. Who looks at his hard exterior and handles it with soft touches and patience. He doesn’t know what he did right in his life, because he for sure can’t remember ever doing anything right, to find someone like you. He’s not going to let you go and if he has to beg at some point, then he’ll strangle his pride with his own two hands and do so.
When he faces you again he grins. “Mission accomplished, Sir.”
You groan and hide your face in your hands, missing Simon’s soft expression at your flustered state. God you’re so cute. Especially when you’re voice comes out all embarrassed when you say: “You can’t say that! You know what it does to me when you call me that!”
He wraps his arms around you again, pulling you close, your bodies fit to each other, immediately finding comfort in each other. And he can feel a wave of calmness crash over him, making him sleepy and slow. “Ya can do something ‘bout that when we wake up. Don’t think my soldier’s up to doing any long marches right now.”
He’s expecting it when your hand wriggles free and slaps his shoulder. “Simon!” You can feel his upper body shake with silent laughter.
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Si.”
Your eyes are heavy, your muscles finally relaxing after all that tension of earlier. Your bodies melt into each other. You can feel Simon’s breathing getting slower, a telltale sign of him falling asleep.
“I love you.”, you mumble again before sleep takes you.
Simon’s too far gone to reply but you feel the two squeezes of his hand on you, pressing his love directly into your skin.