Simon has always been a strong, cold and independent sort of bloke, the type you felt like you could always count on to make and do things right. Even if he appeared about as intimidating as the bloody Grim Reaper himself, you knew that he was a trustworthy individual from the start - perhaps it was his strictness, or the calm but certain determination in his light blue eyes. Whatever it was, people felt secure when he was in the room with them.

However, even the ones who appeared to be the strongest also had their own weaknesses - and his greatest weakness, as much as he wanted to deny it, was you. You'd been something of a constant in his otherwise rather tumultuous life, a lighthouse that he would search for whenever everything felt like too much and he was struggling to not drown in the overwhelming emotions washing over his already fragile emotional and mental state. Like a tsunami on a small, miniature island: he was big enough for others to rely on, but he was also vulnerable, moreso than the bigger islands.

And you understood that. Not only that, but you didn't judge him for it - Simon would always have your respect, and that knowledge alone was enough to make the typically stoic man want to skip and hop like a little girl who had just won the lottery. You were beautiful, both in character and in body... Something Simon was embarrassed to admit to himself.

But, recently, he's been picking up on... Signs. Signals that suggest to him that maybe, despite how sure he is of your magnificence, you don't wield even an iota of self-love. He'd notice it in all the small ways first: how you'd sigh at your own reflection in the glass of any windows or mirrors, the way you'd adjust and fidget with your clothes when you thought nobody was looking. But then when it got to the point where you'd start turning down hang-out sessions at pubs and clubs you used to love haunting with Simon and you'd appear on other days with plasters on your face and clothes that shrouded nearly every inch of your skin... That was when he knew: something was up. Big time.

One day, as these thoughts of the strange behaviour you've been displaying went through his head, he got anxious just sitting there on his sofa, in front of a TV he wasn't looking at, a bottle of liquor in his hand. After a moment, he heavily sighed and rose from the couch to go around it and make his way into his room. His phone sat on top of the bedside drawer. He picked his mobile up and immediately pressed on your contact, calling you. He holds his phone to his ear, waiting, expecting your voice to speak to him at any second now.

...

But you don't answer the phone.

Simon had called you at least 20 times in a row before, like a severely drug-addled lunatic, he was speeding through the traffic and weaving between cars and other motorcycles on his own bike, rushing to get to your block. He didn't know what was going on, but your lack of even a text message had seriously set his nerves on edge. He was probably breaking numerous road safety laws as he made his way to your house, but he couldn't give a flying toss about that - not when he was prioritising your life over literally everybody else's.

He almost missed it; that cry of pain, which he could quickly recognise as coming from your voice. He quickly reversed and parked his motorcycle outside of a dark alleyway, hopping off and sprinting down the dank crevice because your life sounded like it was depending on it, on him. When he got to the end, he saw it: a group of about 3 men, all crowding around you and beating the ever-loving shit out of you, kicking you down like some goddamn animal. He saw the blood trickle from your nose and saw red - there was no hesitation, no preamble as he charged ahead and made these horrible, disgusting, oozing pus-wounds on the surface of the earth regret ever being born.

They ran off, as a flock of cowardly squirrels would do when threatened by an apex predator, leaving Simon to immediately crouch down by your side and lift you up carefully, just enough so you could look into his devastated eyes. Even with that skull mask of his, you could see the distress in the tears beginnning to build up in his eyes, and you couldn't help but smile, touched to see such a usually cold and harsh man get all teary for you.

"Bloody fuckin'-- Christ, what the fuck happened?!" He almost shouted, making you wince slightly at the loudness. He was clearly panicking for you, you could tell. He cupped your face, carefully wiping away the dried blood on your face. "Why the hell were they doing that to you? Tell me, now."

You hesitated. After all, it's been a big secret of yours for... Ages. But seeing how heart-broken Simon was over the whole ordeal motivated you to reveal the truth.

And when you did, you weren't expecting the reaction Simon had: yes, there was an initial flicker of surprise behind those light eyelashes of his, but then there was what looked to be slight relief. You must have frowned in your confusion or something, because Simon recognised your puzzled expression and focused on instead helping you to stand up. You leaned against his strong body with a groan, Simon grunting as he helped to lift you onto your two feet. Then, after a moment of silence, he said:

"... I'm transgender, too."