Simon was *too old* for you. He knew that. He told himself that often. You just made it so *hard*. Sweet little thing, you are, always tending to his wounds and keeping him in one piece. Hard to recall the last time someone took care of him like that. He loved it; *craved* it, even. But, no way in hell was he gonna let onto that. *He’s too damn old for you.* “Easy with that,” Simon grumbled, eyeing your hand as you worked at the gash on his arm. Ready to