Motion Sickness | Simon Petrikov x Reader

Chapter 7 | Bittersweet

You and Simon worked on setting up the exhibit all morning. When lunch time came around, you decided to wrap things up to walk back to your classrooms together. You sat down in Simon's office chair, giving him a cheeky smile as he rolled his eyes.

"Get up, that's my chair." He spun you around gently.

"It's so much more comfortable than the other chair I usually sit in." You groaned, slowly standing up.

"Up you go," he pat your back before reclaiming his seat.

He let out a sigh after you both settled in, opening your lunches to eat. He poked at his food with his fork, moving it around in the container before diverting his gaze up to you.

"Thank you for doing the whole exhibit thing with me," he cleared his throat as he spoke, "it was a lot of fun."

Simon's idea of fun definitely wasn't the same as other people, but it was your kind of fun too. He was comforted with the fact that you enjoyed a lot of the same things he did.

"Thank you for asking me to do it with you. It was very exciting to handle all of those relics and antiques. So much history in such a little space."

Simon nodded, his expression melting into a soft smile. You both sat in silence for a moment, indulging in your meals before speaking again.

"Simon, you should call me more often." You looked up at him.

Simon stared at your for a moment. You could've sworn you saw a flicker of pink color rise to his cheeks, "That would be quite wonderful. Maybe I won't call you so late next time, though."

You laughed softly, looking down, "Sometimes it's nice. It's a good distraction from..." you paused for a moment, "...everything."

Simon's gaze shot right through you, "Is everything alright?"

You thought about it for a moment. Things were better now that you had Simon, but you were still struggling. Your thoughts had been bothering you lately, and sometimes you felt so out of control that all you could do was cry yourself to sleep.

"I'm okay." You reassured him, not so sure if you were telling him the truth.

Simon stayed silent for a moment before opening his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. He looked to the side, setting down his fork.

"Listen, Dr. (L/n), you don't have to keep everything bottled up. You can talk about the things on your mind with me if you need to." He offered, his hand resting next to his lunch.

You smiled softly at his gesture, "I promise, I'm okay." You lied.

And he knew.

But he didn't say anything.

—

When Simon returned home that evening, he threw his keys to the side. He had a decent day with you, but sometimes his emotions could dictate his entire mentality. He locked the door behind him, kicking off his shoes before hanging his coat on a hook by the front door. His scarf slid off as he tugged down on it. He strolled over to his bedroom, looking at the messy sheets laying on his bed. He didn't have much motivation to keep his room organized lately. Usually, he'd freak out if he didn't get to make his bed. But, right now, he didn't have the energy.

He groaned to himself, slipping off his shirt in front of the mirror. He started to unbuckle his belt, struggling to get it loose. His eyes caught his gaze in the reflection, glimpsing at the scars scattered around his torso. He quickly looked away, walking back towards his bed as he slipped off his khaki pants. He didn't like his scars. It was another thing that rubbed his past experiences in his face every single day. Something that wouldn't leave him no matter how hard he tried. Most of the scars were self inflicted, cuts he had dragged along his skin in fits of shock and sadness.