Page 30 of Sweet Thing

Bastian’s head nestled in the crook of Simeon’s shoulder and throat. Sim could smell lavender in Bastian’s blond hair. He breathed deeply and continued to soothe, as the man in his arms sobbed pitifully.

Why was he not telling Bastian to grow a pair and fuck off? A confusing sensation twisted in his gut. Simeon had planned to meet Bastian head on, all guns blazing. However, the broken man in his arms stirred something unfathomable in Sim’s chest, and he could not push him away.

Bastian clung to Simeon’s T-shirt and sobbed for several minutes before lifting his head and rubbing the tears from his eyes. He sat back, inhaling the fresh cool river air, willing himself to calm down.

Simeon watched in silence, waiting for Bastian to unburden himself and tell him why he had been crying so publicly.

“Thank you, Simeon. You offered a kindness I did not deserve. I am in your debt.” Bastian sniffed, the delivery of thanks sounding strained and severe with that German accent. Bastian inhaled deeply again, and then stood abruptly, addressing Simeon once more with clipped severity.

“I apologize once again for the trouble and distress I have put you through. I assure you I will trouble you no longer.” He did not meet Sim’s eyes, but bowed and turned to leave Simeon sitting on the bench, deeply confused. Simeon’s eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. He stood furiously and shouted after him.

“Hey, what the fuck man? You can’t just walk away without an explanation. And where the fuck is the Polaroid you stole. I want it back you know.”

Bastian paused; he took a breath to center himself and turned. He strode back toward the bench.

“I need to know.” He said, “Why did you label the Polaroid New York’s in Love? It’s from one of Bowie’s worst albums.”

Simeon was taken aback that Bastian had known the song reference. It was true, the song was terrible, but Simeon was such a devoted super-fan that David Bowie could have burped and it would still have sounded melodious to Simeon.

“Hey, don’t knock Bowie. He is the love of my life!” Simeon blurted out like a slighted teenager. They both stood in a silent standoff by the riverside bench; Sim eyed his black boots and then looked up. His eyes met Bastian’s, and they both grinned.

“I was in New York, and I was in love”, he confirmed, with a nonchalant shoulder shrug as if it was obvious.

“I will send the Polaroid back to you. I don’t know why I took it. Maybe I was jealous. You and Pieter looked so happy, so in love… Maybe it reminded me of my loss. I don’t know?” his voice trailed with sorrow.

Simeon sat down heavily on the bench. Bastian was only half-right. Simeon had been hopelessly in love when the photograph was taken.

“It wasn’t like that,” Sim corrected, “Peety was never in love with me, not like that. It was a one-sided attraction… unrequited.”

“Oh… I’m… sorry.” Bastian stuttered in embarrassment, “I do nothing, but make life uncomfortable for you Simeon”.

Simeon shrugged his shoulders. “I heard you lost your boyfriend. I’m sorry, I don’t know what I would do if I lost a lover. Of course, I’d have to fall-in-love and have a man actually fall-in-love with me first”, he babbled. “I have no idea what you are going through, but if you need to talk…” Simeon added, wishing he could get control of his mouth.

Bastian slumped down beside Sim on the bench; his face crumpled, and he covered it with his hands again.

“His name was Matti… Mattieus Mueller,” Bastian said through his fingers, suddenly overcome with a compulsion to talk about the love of his life. It was as if, for a moment, talking about Matti made him real and somehow made him live again. Bastian hated that no one who knew them both spoke of Matti anymore, maybe because they didn’t want to upset him. Nevertheless, Bastian needed to talk, needed desperately to remember his lover's honey colored skin, the sound of his voice, his musky scent, the way his raven-dark curls fell boyishly over his brow. This was neither the time nor the place, but, then, there was no better time or place.

“If you want to tell me about him, I’ll listen.” Simeon offered. Bastian sighed like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“What would you like to know?”

“Where did you meet?”

Bastian paused in thought. He couldn’t recall what he had told Simeon about himself. “I restore period buildings—bring them to their former glory. I’m very particular about historical accuracy. Matti was an Interior Design graduate. He was my intern for six months.” Bastian took a deep breath. “I knew as soon as l laid eyes on him…” Bastian pulled his phone from the pocket of his jeans and tapped the screen to show Sim the screensaver image. It was a photo of a man in his mid-to-late twenties. He looked Italian or Spanish with dark tanned skin, warm chocolate brown eyes, full lips, and black, jaw-length curls. His physique was slight, but his muscles were compact and well defined.

“Oh Bast, he was super cute!” Simeon sighed. Bastian hitched a breath at the familiarity of hearing Simeon call him Bast; it was what Matti always called him.

“I wasn’t out when we met. I couldn’t come out. My father …” Bastian trailed off. Simeon recalled being told that Hugo Roth was a homophobic, racist old bastard.

“I was in love with Matti for six months and could do nothing about it. We saw each other every day at the office. Every day I just wanted to run my fingers through his curls.” Bastian stared at the pavement, seemingly lost in his reminiscence.

“So how did you get together?” Sim prompted. Bastian chuckled at the memory—

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