Page 60 of Sweet Thing

CHAPTER 29

Ricochet

It was a Friday night, just five days before the craziness of Fashion Week began. Simeon arrived at his boyfriend’s home bearing pizza and snacks. Bastian wasn’t home from the office yet.

On entering the apartment, Sim strode down the timber-floored hallway and into the open plan living space. The large square loft was a mixture of old and new architecture. The renovation of the apartment had been one of Bastian’s passion projects. He’d kept the period features that survived the war, and added design elements to assist the building in standing for another hundred years. Polished steel and wide, self-cleaning glass skylights strengthened the roof. They displayed a smattering of stars and the ambient glow of Berlin city lights. Original timber beams and brushed brickwork were juxtaposed against smooth plastered white walls, giving the space an open, airy feel. There was a large screen TV on the wall to Sim’s left, opposite a comfortable seating area that was bisected by a low square glass coffee table.

Simeon insisted that whenever he and Bastian were both in Berlin on a Friday night, they would have a homely date night. The intention of watching a film was always there. However, they rarely got to the end of any movie they watched at home. It had become a comfortable, familiar dance. Fingers would become entwined, leading to snuggles, kisses, and slow, drawn-out arousal, with neither of them wanting to admit that they weren’t paying attention to the movie, until it all got too heated and one or the other pounced.

Simeon happily carried out a few homely chores and then slumped on the couch. He turned on the TV and pressed a few buttons on the remote control to cue the latest Space Wars blockbuster on Interflix. Now, with the movie ready, a pizza warming in the oven, popcorn, candies, and two long tall glasses of iced lemon tea sitting on the table, everything was set to perfection and Simeon was just waiting for his lover to return home and join him.

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Simeon drummed his fingers on his tummy and stared at the TV screen paused on the opening scene of the movie. He checked his phone; it was twenty minutes past seven, Bastian was late. There were no messages from Bast and Simeon was a little pissed-off. But it was Friday and only twenty minutes delay, he told himself.

Simeon grabbed a handful of popcorn and tossed individual kernels into his mouth, chewing noisily as he considered watching something else on the TV, but he decided against it. Bastian would be home soon, and then Sim could be the attentive boyfriend, look after his man, and soothe the worries of the week away with a few little techniques he knew made Bastian melt in his hands.

Time ticked on, and Simeon stared at his phone screen watching the minutes as they passed. It was ten past eight now, and Sim’s anxiety began to break the surface and overtake him. He trusted Bast, more than he’d trusted another living soul. The man had not let him down once since they’d become exclusive. Sim thought about the plans they had for the next few days—clothes shopping, an exhibition, and a meal in a trendy restaurant. And there would be lots of sex. Since Bastian got his mojo back, they had been fucking like teenagers in the first flush of love. It would be a full weekend.

He reached out, grabbed a handful of candies, and began tossing them one-by-one towards his mouth, snickering when one missed and slipped down the back of his T-shirt. Simeon wanted to call Bastian to find out where he was. But he’d sent a text message earlier when he was on his way with the pizza, so Bast knew Sim was already home, and another text, no—that would be clingy, and that was old Simeon. He’d tried so hard not to let himself go down that road. New Simeon could cope with a little delay. He did not want to be one of those high-maintenance, clingy boyfriends. Whatever was going on, it was not all about him. Sim assured himself that Bastian was just delayed at work and would be home soon. He could master his need for instant gratification.

Simeon’s life had changed so much since he and Bastian decided to become a couple. Having such a thoughtful, attentive, trustworthy boyfriend made a huge difference to his life and calmed his anxieties. Sim felt like he’d blossomed in the relationship and wondered why he hadn’t tried monogamy earlier. Life was so much easier without having to run the gauntlet of the dating circuit and get his rocks off with strangers. And sex was so much sweeter knowing the intimate little things that turned his lover on. He thought back to all of the cock and ass Polaroid’s he’d collected as souvenirs of his hedonism, and shuddered. Simeon Duchamp had grown up, and the thought of ever putting himself back on the dating scene was one he did not envisage. His choice was made now. He wanted to be with Bastian, maybe have kids one day, and grow old with him. The thought of them having a child together made Simeon’s heart flutter.

Sim breathed, In with Love, Out with fear and visualized his anxiety washing away with the ebbing tide to try and get a hold on the irrational disquiet in his gut.

He heard the distant clunking sound of the birdcage elevator, and a minute later the front door opened. Simeon’s whole body flooded with a rush of instant relief. He sat up and casually called “Hey baby,” as if he hadn’t been fretting minutes before. Bastian never replied, so Sim turned to look at his partner’s face, which was held in a furious grimace, and his eyes were dark with rage.

Bastian tossed his keys into the bowl by the door. He loosened his tie as he strutted into the apartment, and then his eyes met Simeon’s concerned gaze, and Bast stopped dead. He glared at him as if he didn’t recognize the nubile young man spread out like a delectable offering on his couch.

Simeon was alarmed by the look and his gut twisted with fear. He’d never seen Bastian so angry before. He cut the awkwardness. “Are you okay?”

“Simeon I—” Bastian stuttered looking alarmed. Had he forgotten their date?

“You’re late,” Sim pointed out. “What happened? What the fuck’s wrong?” Sim rose to his feet and moved to stand in front of Bastian. He leaned in and drew him into an embrace, but Bastian’s body was stiff and unyielding. He didn’t return the hug. The rejection of his affection stung, and a spike of alarm punched Sim in the chest, stealing his breath.

“Um… Sorry. I can’t do this tonight. I have a late meeting. You’ll have to go. I’m sorry”, Bast said coldly.

Simeon’s belly erupted with rage. He stepped back, and the space between them was suddenly an ocean’s width. “What. The. Fuck? You’re kicking me out?”

“No, I’m not kicking you out”, Bast reassured adamantly, but his voice was edged with anxiety. He moved away, slid out of his jacket, and hung it on a peg by the front door to avoid the anger in Sim’s eyes. When he returned he gripped Simeon’s shoulders, “I’m not kicking you out. I’m saying that, much as I would love to spend the evening with you, plans have changed and we’re going to have to do this some other time. I’m sorry,” he insisted again. “I know you’re disappointed. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Bastian kissed Simeon on the brow, but it was more of a fatherly gesture than romantic.

For the entirety of their relationship, this had never happened. Bastian would call if he couldn’t make a date, and even called when he was on his way to meet Sim so that Simeon didn’t get anxious. It was one of those thoughtful little things that Bastian did that made Simeon feel so special, so loved.

Simeon glared at his lover but said nothing. Inside his heart started to crack, just a little. He was seething with fury at being sidelined for what? Business? What kind of business could Bastian do so late on a Friday night in his own home?

The atmosphere between them grew frigid. Disgusted, Simeon turned from Bastian and stalked to the couch. He wore a petulant pout as he thought over his options. He could be his usual over-dramatic self and argue like a banshee, or he could go quietly, and ensure that Bastian kept his promise to make it up to him. They had plans for the whole weekend, so, whatever he did to make up for this would have to be pretty damn good. Simeon sat down heavily on the couch, reached for his black leather boots, and slipped his feet into them.

The door buzzer sounded, and Simeon’s eyes shot suspiciously up to meet Bastian’s. He saw the fearful, startled look in Bast’s eyes. What the hell is going on?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sim was disturbed by his boyfriend’s unusual behavior.

“Fine, fine, go now. I’ll call you”, Bastian said insistently, virtually shooing Simeon towards the door as if he were a hookup and his real partner was coming home. Bastian rushed ahead and pressed the downstairs entry buzzer at the door.

“Okay, okay. But you owe me!” Simeon snapped as he reached for his phone, and then grabbed his blue velvet jacket from the coat hook on his way to the front door.

Bastian opened the door and gave Simeon a peck on the cheek as he pushed him out into the hall. “I’ll call you,” he said and then closed the door in Simeon’s face.

Numbed from head to toe, Sim stood there staring at the dark oak front door, his mouth ajar in shock. What the hell was that? Simeon was stunned. Whether Bast said Sim was being kicked out or not, it was clear to Simeon that it was what had just happened. Why did Bastian want him out of the apartment? Who was he meeting with? What the hell was he hiding? Dazed, Simeon stared at the door and thought to knock and ask Bastian what was going on, but the rejection of his embrace hurt so deeply. Simeon didn’t have the words to express how he was feeling; he didn’t want to risk seeing Bastian look at him again as if he were an inconvenience, a burden. His heart raced with anxiety, and he wanted to sob. The sudden rift between them made Sim feel distinctly vulnerable. Simeon heard the whir of the art deco birdcage elevator and so headed towards it. Who was this mysterious guest meeting Bastian to talk business at eight thirty on a Friday night?

When the elevator car arrived, the doors were dragged open, and Simeon stood to stare at a man in a dark suit, crisp white shirt, and black tie. The overpowering scent of expensive cologne wafted from the stranger. It made Simeon cough. The other man was in his late fifties or early sixties, had a rugged Mediterranean complexion, and from his bone structure had surely been very handsome in his youth. But now the man was weathered, and from what he was wearing, worked as an undertaker, or a CIA Agent. Simeon’s hackles bristled when the man’s eyes fixed on him.

“Entschuldigen Sie, bitte“, he said as he stepped forward, his voice deep and dangerous. Intimidated by the man’s presence, Simeon stepped to the side and let him exit the elevator. The man swaggered on down the hallway, and Simeon stepped into the lift. As he turned around to face forwards and drag the cage closed, Simeon saw the man pause outside Bastian’s front door, and knock.

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