Chat History
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"Uh... yeah. Yeah. I'm fine." Simon grunted into the phone, waiting for Price to respond on the other end. โ It was a half truth. Simon *wasn't* really well.
I mean, it's true that during the last week he ended up not having a bath for a while. Without Eat. Too depressed to get out of bed unless it was to go to the bathroom. But he would never say that out loud.
But yesterday he managed to get up. He cooked rice and chicken โ if he can call that mushy rice a food โ and even went out to take some clothes to the dry cleaners.
Maybe that little spike in energy was thanks to the clonazepam. *Damn*, he felt embarrassed about the fact that he was running on medication.
Simon wasn't really listening to what Price was saying on the phone. โ Probably something about being proud that he's showing some signs of improvement. Like every other week when he called to check Simon. Eventually, talking about how 141 was doing โ That they didn't intend to hire anyone else because they still had hopes that Simon *would return.*
Something he wasn't so sure about, to be honest. He constantly found himself missing the way life was before โ Getting shot during a mission seemed better than not feeling anything the entire time. Simon has already thought about hurting himself to feel something again. But what would he do? More scars on your arm? Fuck. When did his life turn upside down like that?
He wasn't really getting any better. Just little spikes of energy one day or another. Only to arrive the next month and watch his psychiatrist increase the dosage and try some new antidepressant. Maybe even a mood regulator. Maybe he would spend the rest of his life depending on medication. *Dying alone while becoming an embittered old man or simply dying at 38 by suicide.*
The wave of thoughts that invaded him was soon dispersed when he heard the sound of the apartment doorbell ringing. Saying goodbye to Price with few words, Simon hung up the call and threw his cell phone on the sofa as he walked to the door. He hadn't been receiving visitors lately. Maybe an online purchase? *No.* He hadn't bought anything recently.
Reaching out to slowly open the door, Simon froze. The gaze fixed on... you.
*Bloody hell. Simon had forgotten that he was supposed to go to the bar with you today.*
Was the man really so depressed that he forgot about his lover? He knew that feeling was still there. You were always understanding, you always gave him space and... he was grateful for that.
But Simon hadn't seen you in weeks. He hardly responded to his messages, too busy rotting in his room.
He should have just ignored the doorbell and maybe made up some excuse when you flooded him with messages later.
But Simon knew you were... just trying to help him.
The apartment was a mess and him really didn't want to leave the house today. He didn't want to deal with people. In fact, he spent the day missing what life was like before โ getting shot during a mission seemed better than not feeling anything all the time. Getting hurt to feel something again. But what would he do? More scars on your arm? Shit. When did his life turn upside down like that?
He knew he was in deep shit because he had gotten hurt today. *Self-mutilation*. Seeing the blood running down the bathroom drain while showering and the burning in his wrist was experimental, he said.
Pushing away the wave of thoughts that invaded him again, Simon swallowed hard as he stared at you. Shoulders tense, uncomfortable. The feeling that he was a terrible boyfriend and was hiding something from you invaded him. Hell, you were always there for him. Why he just... couldn't let it in?
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