Chapter Text
The sun was beginning to set earlier, the summer months were beginning to fade as winter began to rear its head once again. The temperature as dropping significantly the second the sunlight was obstructed, it was only a matter of time before the first frost would settle across the country. With Christmas related things already lining the shopping aisles, it was officially the count down to the end of the year. Simon counted the amount of pumpkins lining the steps of houses, some more extravagant than others.
Clutching the strap of his bag, Simon could not ignore the guilt that had settled in his stomach since he arrived at Oxford Road. The buses were not any more fun, instead it gave him more time to think over what his mother had written to him over the past couple months. His disappearance from the house in late August, only to be added with another stint away and a letter him telling them he had run off to the army. Simon thought of the way his mum said she had cried, the way his brother stopped talking to her, and the fact that his dad grunted that he was finally manning up.
The closer he got to the house, the more his legs began to shake, he regretted coming back to the council estate. He wanted, so desperately, to wash his hands of the place. He always thought once he had left, he would never look back, any yet he was tied to this place. He never wanted to step foot in Sedgeborough Road again. He wished that he had taken up John’s offer to spend his long weekend with him and his family, but the guilt of everything was weighing down in his chest. He could not gatecrash the MacTavish home again, but he also could not avoid his family anymore.
Sat on the wall of his house, he saw a familiar arm filled with more tattoos and scars than the last time he had seen them; also looking a lot more tanned than Simon remembered. With a buzz cut and a fresh bruise, Vinnie put his cigarette out on the base of their boot a Simon approached. Despite the new bruise, and the fact that they were smoking even after promising that they would have stopped, Vinnie smiled brightly at the sight of Simon. It had been far too long, there was something about Vinnie that was different, and air of confidence that was not there a few months ago.
Him and Vinnie had been mates for years, having lived next door to the Rileys, ever since the fateful day Tommy kicked the ball over the fence. Pleading with Simon to go round and get it. When Vinnie opened the door, he saw something familiar in their house. Simon only knew Vinnie and the weird girl in the year above, who would kick his teeth in if someone looked at them the wrong way. Nevertheless, that did not stop Simon, barging through the house, just to lob a ball back over the fence for his brother.
Vinnie was the only constant in Simon’s life, the only friend he had ever had. He would never admit it, but the day Vinnie told him that they would be joining the RAF, was the day that Simon felt something akin to heartbreak. Time was moving on, they were getting older, and Vinnie needed an out. He could not live at home much longer, not with the constant fights with his old man, or the inability to escape how people perceive them. Vinnie was the only person in Simon’s life who he could rely on, and it was strange to see that person leave.
“Eyup,” Vinnie said, smiling even brighter, pushing themself off the wall, Vinnie stepped closer towards Simon,“Alright, kid?” he asked, pulling Simon into a tight embrace.
“Alright,” he replied, pulling away, he got a proper look at Vinnie. He looked bulkier, with actual meat on his bone, less skinny and a little more healthy. He stopped worrying about how much Vinnie was eating, or how much he may be smoking, not everything was fixed, but parts were getting better, “Didn’t think we’d be seein’ you for a while,”
Shifting on their feet, Vinnie sucked in a breath, “Yeah, well,” they shrugged, “Mum wanted to see me, found out I was off to trainin’ again soon. Wan’ed to see us before, told me that me old man were out, but ‘e’d come back early. Weren’t too ‘appy to be using me,” Vinnie laughed pitifully, “Things were said, things were thrown, and I was punched,” he tried to make a joke out of it, but their smile was strained, “ah well. But, I’ve ‘eard you’re ‘alf way through trainin’ now,” Vinnie said with a wide smile growing on their face, “‘Ow’s it all?”
The question struck Simon, he was not actually sure how it was all going, the way they started as soon as they made it to the barracks made time move at a rate that might as well have broken all the rules of science. He would wake up, sit through training for most of the day, by the time he got to the evening, he was exhausted, “Yeah, it’s goin’ alright,” Simon shrugged, other than the fact that his bones ached, his brain hurt and some of the lads in his room did his head in. There was a strange feeling that he belonged there, he could not place it.
Something flashed over Vinnie’s face, Simon never liked that look, it normally indicated that they were about to do/say something they probably should not, “What about Scotland?” Vinnie asked, knocking their shoulders against Simon’s, “‘Ow was that?”
Simon’s chest burnt at the question, that was the most fun he had experienced since Vinnie left for the RAF. He was unsure on how to even phrase the sad statement, his life had become boring and he was miserable. The guilt built up under his skin once again, “Yeah,” Simon nodded, averting his gaze, “It was alright,”
“Oh yeah,” Vinnie chuckled, “is that why you’re blushin’,” he teased, putting a bit more weight behind their shove this time, “Ah, c’mon, who’s the lad?” Vinnie tried to coax out of him.
With his jaw threatening to go slack at the question, Simon’s palms began to sweat, “There’s no lad,” he rushed out a little too quickly. Vinnie had that knowing look on their face, the same one that Simon wanted to punch from time to time, because it meant that there was someone in the world who saw through all his bullshit. Simon sucked in a breath, he had never explicitly told Vinnie he was gay, they knew long before he did, “‘Is name’s John, and there’s not much to say,” he added, before Vinnie could pry anymore, “Met ‘im right before I went off to Yorkshire, now didn’t I,”
Unconvinced, Vinnie narrowed his eyes at Simon, “‘E been writtin’ you letters?” he asked.
Simon smiled slightly, the letter had been hidden in his copy of Amerika, John would tell Simon all about what was going in his life, in school, with his family. Simon could hear the lad’s voice in his head, complaining about people Simon may never meet,“Yeah,” Simon could not help the smile that was on his face, it was sickening, “‘E offered me somewhere to stay this weekend,” he said, his face dropping once again.
Vinnie slapped his arm, “‘Ow comes you didn’t go?” he scolded.
Simon hit Vinnie back in his stomach in retaliation, “Gotta be ‘ere, now ‘aven’t I?” Simon bit back. A silence fell between the two of them, there was a noticeable lack of children screaming and birding singing. There was a harsh wind that was coursing through the streets, and clouds overhead that threatened them with a down pour. Vinnie nervously cracked their knuckles, while Simon bit the inside of his cheek, “Mum wan’ed me to come back, I didn’t tell ‘er when I was going off, just that I was gone,”
“Christ,” Vinnie scoffed, “Did what I did, fairs,” the two of them looked at one another, for a moment it felt like old times. They were not the adults they were trying to become, instead they were just kids again, waiting for the moment they need to return to the bleak rooms they slept in. Simon felt a sense of comfort eroding away at the guilt, ever so carefully. Vinnie leant into Simon, the smell of smoke flooded his sense; he opted to ignore the question of how many they had smoked. But that was not meant to least, he never had good things long enough.
The front door swung open, the two were rudely interrupted. Their head snapped up, twisting around to find Kathleen stood in the door way, with her mouth wide open, she let out a gasp as she saw Simon for the first time in seven weeks. The guilt built back up under his skin, he placed his hands firmly at his sides to stop himself from clawing away at it. Her hair was a little shorter, and the colour was darker, she must have dyed it for the winter months.
She had thrown on a zip up hoodie in her hurry out of the door, Simon had not given her an explicit time of when he would arrive. The light blue hoodie that had seen far better days, covering up a random t-shirt that had bleach stains coving most of the front. She had tied her hair back, displaying her typical hooped earrings that she never went a day without. Her nails were chipped to buggery, her hands were dry and crack. And despite the fact she caked on ten quid foundation, from Superdrug, to cover the bruises, she smiled at the sight of Simon.
Running down the small path, Kathleen could not even be bothered to put on shoes, not when her eldest was with in reach. Vinnie and Simon pushed themselves off the wall, Simon had left his bag leaning against the stone. Simon opened his arms, letting his mum fall into them, bringing him into a tight embrace that he would never get sick of. She brought a hand up to the back of his head, muttering how happy she was to see him again, “God, it’s really you,” she gawped, pulling back and giving Simon a proper once over, she placed her hands gently on each side of his face.
Simon smiled, bashfully,“Hiya,” he said, the grin only widening on his face. His heart melted at the sight of his mum, it had been too long since she held him this tight, held him with this much care, “You alright?” he asked, he did not miss the fading make up, the bruise looked old, but that did not make him any less angry.
“I’m amazing now that you’re back,” she gushed, looking him up and down. Pulling away, she finally took notice of Vinnie. He had been stood there awkwardly, their own mum did not seem this happy when she saw Vinnie. Instead of pulling him into a tight hug, she made comments on how masculine he was looking, asking if he had gotten anymore tattoos, how he should grow his hair back out, leave the RAF, and so on.
“Vikki,” Kathleen gleamed, she pulled Vinnie into a tight embrace, Vinnie could not help the way his heart broke at the care Kathleen always had for them, “It’s been ages, how are you?” she asked, taking in Vinnie.
Simon cringed, clearing his throat, “Mum, y’know it’s Vinnie, now,” he corrected, Vinnie really had not been around enough after everyone found out who they were.
“Shit,” Kathleen muttered, “Sorry, sweetie,”
“It’s alright,” Vinnie shrugged off, their posture ridged and shoulder tense. He was itching for another fag, the packet in their back pocket.
“What I was thinkin’ is,” Kathleen started, clapping her hands together in front of her and her face lighting up even more, “hangs about we get ourselves a chippy?” she suggested, “I’ve got nothin’ in, and it would be a nice welcome back meal, for the both of you” her smile reached her eyes, Simon hoped that one day he would have the same creases in his skin. He hoped that he could have the same light in his heart that Kathleen always seemed to carry, he was never going to be able to naturally look after others like she does, always filled with such care for those around her.
“Sounds nice, mum,” Simon agreed, his heart aching at the thoughts he tried his hardest to push away.
Simon did not missed the pained look that flashed across Vinnie’s face, there was something more that was left unsaid between them. In a way there always had been, there was always this part of Vinnie that he could not reach, not matter how hard he tried. The walls they built were just too high, “Not today, Mrs. Riley. I don’ wanna intrude,”
“You’re always welcome,” Kathleen reassured, reaching out and placing a hand on Vinnie’s bicep, giving it a gentle squeeze, “Y’know that?”
Simply nodding, the words caught in Vinnie’s through, even after all these years, they got stuck. Simon’s heart clenched painfully, “Ta,” he replied. Desperately, Simon was just about to ask, but was cut short, “I bes’ be off,” Vinnie announced, his voice returning back to what Simon was used to hearing, “I’ll catch you lot tomorrow,” giving a small wave, Vinnie reached for the packets of fags as soon as their back was turned, Simon wonders how many were already gone.
The familiar smell of home flooded his senses, the smell of Tommy’s deodorant flooding down the stairs, the hint of cigarettes and the chippy. Slipping his shoes off, Simon took a deep breath in, with some naive optimism, he hoped that the nest couple days at home would go better than he was expecting. It was a strange sensation, he did not know how badly he would miss this place, maybe he missed the familiarity and the comfort. Maybe he just missed his mum, maybe he missed how he and Tommy used to be, maybe he missed hanging out with Vinnie. Simon bit back the bittersweet memories, of a time that never truly was.
They all gathered around the table, like old times, with the leftover chips pilled into the middle of the table. They had already eaten their portions, but nothing was going to stop them from having the left overs. They spoke about Simon’s training, about John and Carla three doors down, about the mundane. Tommy remained fairly quiet, when he begrudgingly trudged down the stairs, Simon felt his skin crawl. As the two grew older, their relationship grew increasingly strained, Simon hoped that it would get better once he left, but the way Tommy looked at him was like nothing he had seen before.
Simon kept prodding at the chips in front of him, he was possibly defying the laws of biology by eating more, but he had missed the chippy down the road violently while he was in training, “Though’ abou’ your A-Levels much?” Simon asked, turning to Tommy.
A scowl only contributed to grow across Tommy’s face the more Simon tried speaking to him, “No’ doin’ ‘em,” Tommy shrugged, playing with the food in front of him.
Simon was taken aback by the confession, out of all of them Tommy was the last one who was most likely to end up in uni. Simon remembered when Tommy was younger, the dreams he would spout out when their old man was not around. Kathleen place down her fork, letting out an exacerbated. Simon felt his stomach drop, this clearly had not been the first time they had discussed this, “No’ this again,” she gritted through her teeth, “I’ve told you, your doin’ your flamin’ A-Levels,” she scolds him, taking her hands away from her face, “jus’ like your brother did,”
Throwing his weight to the back of his chair, it let out an unmissable groan under the strain. Pushing away all the crockery and culturally, Tommy’s bit out, “Wan’ me joinin’ the army like him too,” he raised his voice. Simon glanced over at Kathleen, who’s mask was slowly slipping away, “Fuckin’ off, withou’ a word,” Tommy turned to Simon, smirking, “Thinkin’ I’m be'er then everyone ‘cause I go’ ou’,” Simon’s grip on his fork tighten, “‘Cause ya think you are, be’er than us, only came back ‘cause mum asked,”
“Oh, pack it in Tom,” Kathleen hissed, “I ain’t askin’ you for none of that shit, and you know it,” Tommy finally moved his attention away from Simon, “You’re gettin’ a better life than what me and your dad’s had, and that means uni,” Kathleen said, her voice rising. But before she could say anymore, the front door creaked open, all three of them tensed for a moment. The same heavy footsteps traipsed in through the door, “No’ a word to ‘im,” Kathleen pointed at Tommy before the conversation was officially dead in the water.
Simon’s grip on his fork did not loosen, rather than, his appetite drained from him as his knees began to sweat, “Alright,” Michael called out from the kitchen, his voice was the same gruff, grating sound Simon remembered.
The tension in the room quickly filled, this was not abnormal, but not knowing why left Simon a little unsettled, “Food’s in the oven for you, love,” Kathleen called back, “Plen’y more chips ‘ere for you,” she added. Simon let the fork fall from his unrelenting grip, he gave a small glance at Tommy. He had always been enamoured by the old man, he had never seen Tommy shut down this easily. Something had changed over the past year, something Simon had not noticed.
Setting himself down with a sigh, Michael tucked into his batter sausage and chips, “Been down the Stag and Dog, tellin’ ‘em all about my son, finally bein’ a man,” he joked to an empty room. Simon ran his tongue along his teeth, Michael had not changed in seven weeks. He was the typical middle aged geezer, with a receding hair line, his buzzed hair had been greying since he was in his thirties. The tattoos he had gotten over the years were blowing out and fading, cheep quality from nights out or when his mate pitched up with a tattoo gun one day.
Simon never understood his version of being a man, in fact he despised it. The idea of drinking away most of one’s like, hurting the people who one’s supposed to love, creating a place that is meant for escaping — rather than returning to, “All them lot though’ you were turnin’ into a queer, told them,” he explained through a mouth full of food. Simon gritted his teeth, he thought of all the places he could have been, all the people he could have been with, “told them, not my lad, nah,” Michael announced with a sense of pride.
Michael continued on, rattling off the conversation that he had with his mates down the pub. Simon gritted his teeth, trying his hardest to let the backhanded compliments wash over him. This was the first time Michael had ever shown any sense of pride towards his son, and it all felt like it burnt Simon’s chest. Simon bitterly reminded himself why he had gone home, he thought about his Mum and Tommy, he thought about the guilt that twisted in his stomach at the thought of how he left. The problem was that Michael still lived in the house.
The ringing in his ears go louder, Simon thought of all the ways he could get it father to stop talking. Rather than that, he let the old bastard monologue about Vinnie, about how Simon is becoming an actual man, about the pride he’ll bring to the family. It was not as if Michael let the family have much pride, but Simon could not force the words out of his mouth, the venom that this was his ticket out of the North West.
Simon could not help but glance at Tommy, who had spent most of the time avoiding Michael as if his life depended on it. He practically sprinted upstairs once they were all finished with tea. Kathleen began collecting the plates, not bothering to call Tommy back down to give them a hand, she walked them over to the kitchen, where a bowl of soapy water was sitting ready to be used. Michael grumbled, patting Simon on the back and giving him a half arsed ‘well done’. Sighing, Simon ran his fingers through his hair, pushing away the anger that simmered under his skin.
The chair groaned as he pushed his weight against the back of it, picking up the final two plates, Simon slowly approached the door frame to the kitchen. Looking quickly over her shoulder, Kathleen let out a sad smile, one that broke Simon’s heart every time he saw it. Simon remembered the photos from when she was around his age, seeing who she was before she married Michael, “Ta,” she smiled lightly, but the exhaustion seeping into her voice.
Placing the plates next to the sink, “I’ll do all this,” Simon said, stepping towards the sink, gently moving her out of the way. Plunging his hands into the borderline boiling water, Simon flinched, puling his hands back out of the water, “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he gasped, reaching across for the tap, wanting to add some cold water to the bowl. Simon looked over his shoulder, scowling as he saw his Mum chuckling, “Don’ you feel that?” he asked.
Chuckling, Kathleen shook her head, “Nah, used to it,” she added, picking up the towel from the handle of the oven, and drying the crockery sitting on the dry wrack.
Simon reached out for another plate, placing it in the water, “No’ the only thing you’re used to,” he muttered low enough that Michael could not hear, but the comment did not sleep past Kathleen.
“I’m no’ talkin’ about this, Simon,” Kathleen chided, placing the dried plate down with so much care. There had never been an occasion where Kathleen slammed something down out of anger, she never closed a door so hard the hinges threatened to fail. There had only been a handful of occasions where Simon had watch her get angry, albeit, Kathleen was always calm and collected; knowing exactly what to do in an emergency. However, when it came to matters such as her own marriage, Simon never understood why she would endure it.
Kathleen and Michael met young, they were around Tommy’s age at a push, not long later Simon was on his way. The lads were toddlers when the two got married, it was a strange day, but it was one of the good ones Simon liked to remember, “No one’s gonna blame you if you kick ‘im out,” Simon grumbled, if he was a betting man, most people on the street would celebrate the fact he was no longer around.
Kathleen let out an exasperated breath, “You don’ understand,” she shrugged off, her shoulders deflating. Gripping the plate under the water, Simon hoped there was a lot he would never grow to understand one day, “‘E weren’t always this miserable, there was a time where he was…” the words seemed to fail Kathleen, her face contorted as she tried to find a word adequate enough to describe him, “decent,”
Gritting his teeth together, Simon hissed, “You can’ keep makin’ excuses for him,” he watched as Tommy defended the man like his life depended on it. Maybe he hated it so much becuase he used to do the same, passing off the blame to the person with the bruise, rather than blaming the person who caused it. Nevertheless, one day, when he was fifteen he snapped. Punched back just as hard, and the rest, Simon was told the rest through his Mum.
Kathleen stared down at Simon, “Maybe when you’ll find someone, you’ll understand,”
His stomach twisted uncomfortably, the flash through of John ever raising a hand to him made him feel ill. He had only known the lad a couple months, and yet here he was wondering about the future they would never have, “I hope I never do,” Simon mutter to the water as Kathleen turned her back. Maybe it was a promise to himself, refusing to continue on the family that was trapped in the cycle of dysfunction and abuse.
The rest of the plates had thankfully been washed, Simon shook his hands above the water — reaching out for the tea towel that Kathleen had been using. Exhaustion seeped deep into his bones, he had been up since an ungodly hour. He wondered how comfortable John’s bed was, it would be a nice improvement from the concrete slab that he called a bed upstarts. Simon contemplated giving him a call, letting John know that he made it back to Manchester safe, and definitely not to hear that Scottish bastard whinge about his exams.
“Talk with your brother, please,” Kathleen’s voice cut through his thoughts. The requested caused the smile that had been growing on his face died down in an instant.
“An’ say what?” Simon scoffed, wiping his hand on the towel, “He in’t gonna listen to me. Can’ even stand to look as us, let alone willingly take my advice,” he hissed, keeping his voice down as hard as he could. He could hear the TV playing in the background, probably some match highlights or something, not that Simon cared enough to know what his old man was watching.
Kathleen gripped the bridge of her nose, letting out an exhausted exhale, “There was a time where you two were thick as thieves,” her eyes had this sadness behind them, it was the same look she got when she got the latter detailing her son had joined the British Army without her knowing. And it was the same look Simon grew up seeing every time him and Tommy had an argument.
Simon’s stomach clenched at the bitter memories, how one day they went from playing with each other, pretending to be adventurers to having a scrap in school; and to this day Simon does not know why. All he remembered was that Tommy threw the first punch, and the next thing he knew, they were being separated by Mr. Denis and Mr. Watkins. The sadness behind his Mum’s eyes hurt his heart, the way she tried to hold back the tears as she yelled at the two of them. The situation was only made worse when Michael just patted them both on the back, and said they were just being lads.
“Yeah,” Simon scoffed again, “when we was little,” Simon bit pushing down the memories of their arguments, their scraps and everything else in between. The silence that settled between them began to suffocate him, the anger that had been simmering at the back of Simon’s mind for years. Conceding, Simon sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face, “Fine,” he groaned, “Fine,” looking back at his Mum, he pointed a finger at promised, “But if this don’t work, don’t be shocked,”
His footsteps echoed around the hallways as he climbed the stairs, which let out an ungodly moan as he placed his weight down. As Simon approached the landing, he noticed the familiar door closed. The posters on his wall had not changed in over a year, plastered all along the glossed door were Radiohead, Blur, Franz Ferdinand and Artic Monkeys. The only band that they were able to agree on were the Artic Monkeys, and that was just because Simon had heard so much of it through the bedroom wall.
At the top of the stairs, Simon stopped, sighing as he glanced over the door. Raising his hand, knocking on the door as lightly as he could, Simon ignored the way the back of his knees and the way his palms began to sweat. Anxiety was bubbling up in his throat, swallowing it down, Simon knocked on the door. The music did not stop, nor did Tommy make an effort to turn it down. Simon took a step back, as the door knob was harshly twisted and the door swung open. The music only grew louder as the sound barrier was broken.
The dull ringing of the phone echoed around Simon’s mind, thankfully he was not subjected to it for too long. Above him the inky sky gave way to a few sparkling specs here and there, Simon always wondered what the sky would look like if he was far enough away from the city. He wondered about the colours that would dance around, the way the night sky would make his issues feel like nothing in contrast. The solitude, that was what he enjoyed, glancing up and watching as the world settled down for a few moments.
“Eyup?” the familiar voice etched through his thoughts, he despised the amount of comfort it gave him, “What’s wrong?” Vinnie asked, Simon could hear some rustling in the background, the guilt of whatever he was disturbing settling in his stomach immediately.
“Mind pickin’ me up?” Simon’s voice cracked pathetically, “I’m outside me ‘ouse, just down the road a bit,” he explained poorly. The shock refusing to leave his system, this was not the first fight he had ever been in, and it was far from the last one he would end up either. But his face still thrummed with the well known ache supplied by cuts and bruises, blood had dripped into his mouth at a rate that was too fast for him to wipe away, “Got into it with me brother,”
Vinnie let out a sigh, running their hands over their face, “Yeah,” he said over the chatter of the background, Simon did not miss the apology they muttered to someone, “I’m just dow the Peak right now, give us a few minutes,” he said.
Nodding weakly, as if they were stood right in front of him, Simon hung up the phone, not wanting to take up any more of their time. It was hard enough with the plan that he was impulsively concocting in his mind, tears threatening to spill out of his eyes, as the overwhelming urge to disappear became ever present. Glancing back up at the sky, Simon thought about a life where things were normal, however, if he thought to hard, he would begin mourning a life that he would never be allowed to have.
He scoffed at himself, maybe his old man was right, he was becoming too soft. Maybe he had become soft since he had met John, he had never been excited to speak with another person more than John, nor had he ever counting down the moments to speak with him in any capacity. This foreign feeling that made a home in his chest hurt more than it should have, rather than it being the easiest thing in the world, it was a brutal reminder of how broken he was. He had not cried after a scuffle in years, not since he was at least eleven. And yet here was.
Simon imagined what the inky sky would look like if he was far enough away from someone where an abundance of light pollution. Wondering if there would ever come a time where he would observe the stars as they should be, he had seen pictures at school, but nothing would amount to the real thing. This was a weak attempt to take his mind off the failed conversation, the failed visit home, and the overall failure that is his life. He knew that he should not have gone home, but nevertheless, he had gotten soft, and gave into his Mum’s pleas.
His pity party was cur short, with the agonising scrap of Vinnie’s car as he slammed on the breaks. The weak attempts to distract himself from it all were interrupted, the car should have been scrapped years ago, long before Vinnie bought it. He remembered all the times were the both of them would spend hours on end tinkering with the car to some degree, the days were they would celebrate it turning back on were some of the best he had.
The crunch of the hand break broke through the silent street, the engine was left running as he put it into neutral. Vinnie swung the door open, stepping out onto the pavement, “Fuckin’ hell,” they breathed, leaning against middle section between the drivers door and the back passenger seat. Crossing their arms, Vinnie repeated, “Got into it a ‘bit’?” Simon did not miss the snark in his voice.
His heart fell into the concrete, he was not in the right state to even consider expelling the situation from start to finish. His nose hurt, his back was humming with an excruciating discomfort and he was convinced that many something’s were sprained in his body. But the overwhelming waves of pain he struggled to pin point where hurt the most, “It’s nothin’ much,” Simon tried to dismiss, in a desperate bout of hope that the conversation would end. But he and Vinnie had done this too many times, and he despised the way Vinnie looked at them when he got into a fight.
“A bit?!” Vinnie gawped, “Ya look like you’ve been chuck down some stairs,” the random comment sent a wave of humiliation through Simon’s body, the shock of the spot on guess caused his chest to tighten at a rate that threaten him to lose his breath, “Jesus,” they groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face, “get in the fuckin’ car,” Vinnie hissed, tossing themself back into the driver’s seat.
Simon awkwardly readjusted the strap of his bag, walking over to the boot of Vinnie’s car. He could still map out the dents int he boot, even in the poor lighting, Simon had memories it, from all the days they spent trying to reverse the damage. Slamming the boot shut, Simon walked around to the passenger side of the car. Suppressing a wince as he sat down, Simon let his body breathe for the first time on the past hour, “‘Ow much petrol you got?” Simon asked awkwardly, desperately trying to take Vinnie’s attention off of him.
Vinnie let out another sigh, rolling his eyes, “Full tank,” he replied, “why?”
“Ever been Scotland?”