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If anyone knows pain, it's Simon.
After years of torture and hard missions, his body aches in all kinds of ways. Most of his days are good, but when they're bad, they're bad.
He doesn't moan and groan about it, doesn't complain. To him, there's just no point in crying over something like that.
But then comes you.
You, who after an accident in your younger years, suffers from chronic pain. You who keeps it in, and doesn't tell him about it until he bends you the wrong way in bed and has you in tears, but not in the way he's used to. It drives him insane.
He questions you about it, demands to know why the hell you didn't say anything. And to his absolute horror, you just shrug, and tell him it's not a big deal. You were used to it, there was no point in crying about it.
Its a jarring moment, to see himself in someone he loves, and he's not sure he likes it too much. You have to take care of yourself, you have to tell him when you hurt. He can't help you if he doesn't know what's going on.
It's massively hypocritical, and he knows it, but he refuses to let you be. He watches how you move, pays attention to how you twitch and sigh and God does he feel like he's looking at himself some days.
Your house fills with remedies. Heating pads and reusable ice packs, ibuprofen and tylenol, teas and oils and whatever else he can get his hands on that are supposed to help.
And he starts to complain.
Whenever his ribs hurt, he heaves heavy sighs. When his knees are stiff, he groans. It's so exaggerated, you can't help laughing, but you're not mocking him. He makes it clear, that if you were going to keep your silence, he was going to let it out for you.