Page 29 of Sweet Thing

chapter 14

where are we now?

Simeon sat nervously at a small chrome table outside Zimt & Zucker Kaffee Haus. The early summer afternoon was bright and warm, and the location he had chosen was the halfway point between his own home and Pieter’s, with only ten minutes walk either way. The café, across the river from the Reichstag German Parliament complex, was central, public, yet quiet enough to have a difficult private conversation. Occasionally, groups of tourists on foot milled up Schiffbauerdamm, heading to see the impressive architecture of the glass-domed Reichstag building and surrounding area.

Simeon was jittery, absently tearing a paper napkin into strips, while staring distantly at the too and fro of pleasure barges ferrying tourists and commuters up and down the River Spree.

Simeon glanced up as the waitress delivered a glass of water with a slice of lemon, and a frothy, milky Latté in a tall glass to his table. Suddenly torn from his reverie, Sim smiled at the young server and thanked her. She looked down at him and waited for a moment. Covered in a confetti of shredded tissue Simeon was suddenly embarrassed. He gathered the destroyed napkin into a ball. The waitress put her hand out and glared at him like a School teacher confiscating a prohibited item from a student, and with an impish smirk, Sim gave her his trash.

Simeon focused on the Latté on the table before him. The foamy milk was topped with a sprinkling of dissolving cocoa powder. The scent was delicious. This was the first time in over a year that Simeon had a cup of coffee sitting in front of him, for him. He was so nervous at meeting Bastian that he had succumbed to his craving. A little whiny voice inside had convinced him he needed something to help him cope, something more than the tidal breathing techniques and positive affirmations.

Now, staring at the Latté, salivating at the thought of his first sip, Simeon doubted himself and his thought process. A year without stimulants, and now dealing with this man had made him think he needed an artificial kick to cope. Simeon shook his head. If he drank the Latté, where would it lead? It was ridiculous to believe that coffee was now a gateway drug for him. Sim pushed the tall glass across the table just as Bastian Roth sat down. Simeon looked up and flushed crimson at the moment his gaze met Bastian’s hopeful azure eyes. Sim bit his bottom lip and looked away and back again, tongue-tied.

It had been a month since their last ill-fated liaison. Bastian was not in a couture business suit, but wore casual, fashionable clothes. Grey denims and a scarlet short-sleeved shirt that clung to the lean hard muscle of his chest and displayed his sculpted biceps and pale skin. His natural blond hair was swept back from his high brow, but strands fell from the fringe, to be nervously swept back into place. In daylight, Bastian Roth was even more attractive than Sim remembered. He licked his lips unconsciously; Bastian’s blue-eyed gaze collided with Sim’s, making Simeon feel nakedly vulnerable, yet completely enthralled.

“You ordered for me, how very thoughtful. Thank you, Simeon.” Bastian drawled, his baritone voice deep, rich and oh so German. A shrill of desire ran up Simeon’s spine at hearing it; his damn body was betraying him once again. Sim said nothing, just gave a nonchalant Gallic shrug of his shoulders.

Bastian selected a packet of brown sugar from saucer his glass rested on, shook it to loosen the contents, then ripped the packet, and poured it into the Latté. All the while his eyes caressed Simeon’s face.

Sim couldn’t help noticing the warmth of the gaze and the way Bastian’s lips hitched to a tender smile. Simeon’s imagination had built Bastian Roth up to be a terrible ogre, a hateful, hurtful man, an enemy to be thwarted. However, the man sitting opposite him was friendly, attractive, unassuming, and totally adorable.

“I’m so very sorry Simeon,” Bastian began earnestly as he stirred the sugar into his Latté.

Sim was alarmed by the directness; there was to be no preamble, no walking around the subject of their meeting.

“I could say I had too much to drink or make up some other feeble excuse, but that was not the case. I don’t know why I assaulted you. It was wrong, and I am deeply ashamed of my actions.”

Simeon was speechless. A ball of feelings moved from his belly and lodged at his sternum. He was afraid of what would happen if they moved to his throat. What would he say?

“Are you okay, physically? Did I damage you?” Bastian continued conversationally.

Simeon still had no words, but he retrieved his phone from his jacket and tapped the screen until he found the photo Pieter had taken. He slid the phone across the table. Bastian picked the phone up and glanced at the image. Simeon watched the man’s face, judging him on his reaction to the photo. He wasn’t afraid to show Bastian exactly what he had done. Bastian’s hand flew to cover his mouth, and Simeon saw his eyes bulge in horror and begin to water.

“OH MEIN GOTT, Simeon! Scheisse! I… I… had no idea it was this… oh.” The exasperated tremble of shock in Bastian’s voice could not be faked or disguised. Bastian’s hand shook as he held Sim’s phone and stared at the image of rainbow bruising on Simeon’s rump. The bruised imprints were the same shape as his very own fingers.

Bastian put the phone back on the table and slid it to Simeon, his eyes cast down in shame. He pushed the Latté away and rested his elbows on the table edge. His head rested in his hands, fingers locked in blond hair.

“Scheisse, Scheisse, Scheisse!“ Bastian exhaled, thoroughly disgusted with himself.

Simeon found his voice.

“Seen enough eh? Enfoiré!” Simeon snarled. “I know I attacked first… I shouldn’t have raised my hand to you, but I didn’t deserve that. I was in fucking agony for days. I had to explain to friends why the hell I couldn’t sit still. I had castings for fuck’s sake. Do you have any idea what you put me through? I’m just trying to get my career back and…“ The feelings flooded out in a barrage of anger Simeon had been storing up for weeks. His cheeks were pink, and he gripped the edge of the table to stop himself lashing out in his usual, predictable, slap-happy way. Suddenly, Simeon’s rage was stopped in its tracks. ”What the hell is wrong with you?” he exclaimed.

Bastian looked up, and Simeon was shocked to see tears running from reddened blue eyes. Sim inhaled sharply. He’d made a grown man cry in public. Oh, my Gahh’d. This is so embarrassing. Simeon glanced around; relieved the Kaffee Haus was so quiet. There was little footfall on the pavement, or traffic passing the road beside the cafe. Simeon recalled what Pieter had told him about Bastian’s recent traumas. He took a deep, steadying breath and wondered what Pieter would do in this situation. Sim fumbled in his pocket, retrieved, then tossed a ten Euro note on the table. Simeon’s chair screeched as he stood. He moved around the table, gripped Bastian by his arm, and pulled him to stand.

“Come with me.”

Bastian submitted dazedly to the command as Simeon pulled him to walk. They crossed the road and walked arm-in-arm along the river bank until Simeon sat Bastian down on a bench facing the water. Apart from the pigeons and starlings sitting on the riverside railing, there was no one around to hear their conversation.

Bastian stared out across the river to the contemporary buildings lining the riverside. Berlin had been devastated by Allied bombing during WW2, and the replacement buildings were tall structures, clad in polished marble, with thousands of windows. Bast was not a fan of the modern architecture that devoured Berlin and scowled distractedly as he looked at the shiny, soulless modern buildings.

“Is there anything you wish to talk about?” Simeon ventured, a tangle of new feelings making him wonder what on earth he was doing. He had no idea why he cared, but annoying as it was, seeing Bastian so distraught actually upset him. Simeon wanted to understand why.

“You really should have nothing to do with me, Simeon. It would be best if you left me alone. I will never contact you again, I promise. I cannot think of any way I can make up for what I have done to you.” Bastian’s hands cupped his face as he sobbed.

Simeon couldn’t help it. His right hand moved as if directed by some kind of hidden force and rested on the scarlet shirt covering the man’s broad, muscled back. He began to rub comforting circles. His left hand pulled Bastian to rest his head on his shoulder. The sobbing grew louder.

“Chut maintenance, ne vous inquiétez pas, tout sera ok,” (Hush now, don’t worry, everything will be okay,) Simeon purred comfortingly. He didn’t know what else to say. Am I even doing it right? This was all new to him. Old Simeon was vacuous, self-consumed, and flighty. He would run as soon as anyone started to get emotional with him. The new, sober and alarmingly more sensitive Simeon, felt a mixture of dismay and confusion by the way the situation had flipped on its head.