Chapter Text
Simon slipped even further down the booth of the 24 hour fast food restaurant, his meal left almost forgotten on the table. A lone siren screeched past the window and he watched the flashing lights recede into the distance. He vaguely wondered if they were for Micke; if one of his neighbours finally snapped and called the authorities after Simon stormed out.
He reached for the burger on the table out of habit more than anything else, he dropped it back onto its wrapper before he even took a bite. He instead lifted the top off and fished the sauce covered pickle off and popped it into his mouth. He licked his fingers and allowed himself a moment to relish in the childish indulgence.
Eventually he sighed, crumpled the wrapper and shuffled himself out of the booth to deposit his half eaten meal into the bin. He stepped back to allow someone to pass him as they made their way through the door and towards the counter.
He glanced over his shoulder as they ordered, looking particularly out of place at 3am in a burger restaurant in an intimidating dark suit. He just noticed their broad shoulders and the suspicious way that their jacket fell over something on their hip when the door opened again, almost hitting him in the face.
“... changed my mind! Please can I have large fries? And… Oh, sorry. Are you okay?”
Simon had reeled back slightly to give the newcomer space to step into the restaurant and babble about his order. The person in the suit turned to face them and seemed to be waiting patiently with his arms held behind his back. The girl behind the counter tutted and returned to her phone.
Simon looked down at his hoodie and noticed with dismay that there was sauce and grease smeared all the way across it.
“Oh no! Your clothes! I’m so sorry. I didn’t think there’d be anyone here, there never usually is. They tell me to stay in the car but there’s never usually… I’m so sorry. Here.”
The babbling man had withdrawn a stark white handkerchief from his coat pocket and handed it to Simon who took it and started dabbing at the gloop on his chest. He really hoped he could get the marks out, it was his favourite.
Suddenly he heard a clatter and an “Oh shit!” from the girl at the till. “Crown Prince! I didn’t notice. I’m so sorry, Your Highness.” She cleared her throat as if trying to start again. “What can I get for you?”
Simon’s head snapped up and he looked at the handkerchief owner. She was right, it was the Crown Prince.
He was now even more annoyed about his hoodie. He handed back the soiled handkerchief with a frown. “Thanks,” he muttered.
“I can get you something better to clean it? Let me–”
But Simon cut him off. “No, thanks. It’s fine. I was just on my way out.”
Crown Prince Wilhelm did a weird sidestep to block his way. His annoyance levels were now verging on angry. He’d already had a really bad night, and having his moping interrupted by royalty had not helped matters.
“Please. Let me do something. I really didn’t mean to walk into you.”
“I said it’s fine. I just want to go–” He’d nearly said ‘home’, but that certainly wasn’t where he wanted to be right now.
“Do you need a lift somewhere?”
“No. Honestly. It’s fine.”
There was a pause, then: “Okay.” The Crown Prince stood to the side.
Simon stalked past him to the door, glancing over his shoulder briefly to see Crown Prince Wilhelm watching him with a morose expression on his face. He yanked the door open and stepped into the night, pulling his jacket up to protect his face slightly from the biting April wind.
***
Stupid fucking weather.
Simon cursed every deity he could think of as he trudged through the increasingly heavy rain.
It had started as a light drizzle as he left the restaurant and got steadily heavier the further away he got. There were no buses running at this time of night so Simon was having to walk the two or so miles to Ayub’s flat.
Ayub (02:46)
Dude. Get a taxi.
You’ll fucking freeze.
Simon (02:48)
No. It’s fine.
I’ll only be another twenty minutes.
Ayub (02:48)
Fuck that.
I love you, bro but I’m going to bed.
Simon (02:49)
Fuck you then.
Ayub (02:50)
I’ll leave the key under the rock outside.
Don’t drown.
Simon (02:51)
Thanks, Ayub.
See you in the morning.
Ayub (02:52)
Sweet dreams, Simme.
Simon shoved his now rain-splattered phone deep into his coat pocket and was just about to cross a side street when a car swung round the corner, narrowly missing him.
“Shit!” he exclaimed, jumping back.
For the second time that night, the Crown Prince stumbled towards him, hands outstretched with a hurried “Sorry! Sorry!”
The car door had been left open when Wilhelm had stepped out and Simon could see the conspicuous looking man from the burger place behind the wheel.
“Jesus Christ! What was that for?” Simon said, stepping back from Wilhelm’s hands.
He dropped them and took his own step back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just… wondered if you wanted a lift?”
Simon scowled at him. “I said no.”
“I know you did. But that was before it was raining this hard. And I wondered if you were regretting your… stubbornness.”
“Excuse me?” Simon’s list of reasons that this was the worst night ever were slowly adding up, but being personally insulted by the next in line to the throne was an unexpected addition.
“Please let me help.”
“I don’t want your help. And quite frankly, this is bordering on harassment now.”
Wilhelm looked slightly panicked at that. Good, thought Simon.
“Can I go now?” Simon gestured to the massive black car blocking his way.
Wilhelm stepped back. “Yes. You’re right. Sorry. I shouldn’t have… Yes. Of course.”
Simon stepped around him and the back of his car and crossed the road. He’d just made it to the other side when he felt something being pushed into his hand.
He looked down to see a huge black umbrella and Wilhelm retreating back to his car. He looked back at Simon as he got to the door.
“I hope you have a good rest of your night.” And he smiled slightly before ducking out of view. The car drove off a second later leaving Simon speechless with his mouth hanging comically open. Still getting soaked with rain.
He closed his mouth and gave himself a mental shake. Annoying rich boys with their meddling and their impractically large umbrellas.
But once he’d checked that the car was definitely out of view, he reluctantly opened the umbrella and hurried the rest of the way to Ayub’s, arriving markedly drier than he might otherwise have done.
***
“Dude. Where the fuck did you get this from?”
Simon groaned from his place on the sofa. He opened one eye and squinted at the mid-morning light streaming through the windows. Ayub was standing by the front door brandishing the umbrella like a sword.
Simon had left it propped there as he’d snuck in last night before collapsing fully clothed onto the blissfully already made up sofa. Ayub was a saint.
The saint swung the umbrella around a bit and prodded Simon’s shoulder with it. Nevermind.
He groaned again. “Fuck off, Ayub,” he said, feebly.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Good morning,” Simon grumbled, swinging his legs around and sitting up. He rubbed his hands roughly up and down his face.
“Seriously? Where’s it from? Is Micke robbing high end accessory boutiques now?”
Simon snorted. “It’s not Micke’s.”
“Oh yeah? Whose then?”
For some reason, Simon didn’t feel like he wanted to tell Ayub about his chance meeting with the Crown Prince.
“A friend.” It sounded ridiculous to his own ears.
“A friend?” Ayub raised an eyebrow sceptically. “Who?”
“No one.” Simon shrugged.
Ayub stared at him for a moment, but then must have decided not to pry.
“Okay,” he said. He dropped the umbrella into Simon’s lap. “I’ve got to go to work. Are you hanging around here all day?”
Simon looked at the time on his phone. “No. I’ve got a shift later. I’ll just grab some food and then go.”
“Don’t eat me out of house and home!” Ayub called as he walked to the front door.
“I made that pasta!” Simon yelled back.
Ayub just laughed as he closed the door behind him.
***
Simon padded out of Ayub’s shower towards the kitchen. He eyed the umbrella as he passed it and allowed himself a moment to wonder what on Earth had happened the previous evening. He opened the fridge and pushed things around until he found the bowl of leftover pasta he knew would still be there.
How had he ended up with the Crown Prince’s umbrella?
He sat down at Ayub’s table and speared some spaghetti onto his fork with more ferocity than was necessary. What was the Crown Prince even doing in Bjärstad? Did Simon look like some damsel in distress that needed saving? It wasn’t his fault the Crown Prince was a klutz who had a hero complex. He’d been completely minding his own business and would have made it to Ayub’s fine without any help. Although he would have been considerably soggier. But a bit of rain never hurt anyone. Even at nearly 3 o'clock in the morning. After a terrible day.
Okay. So maybe Simon was secretly pleased that he’d had an umbrella. But he still wished it hadn’t been this particular umbrella. That had probably cost a week’s salary. Maybe more. How much were expensive umbrellas? Simon couldn’t believe this was where his train of thought was going.
But he supposed if it wasn’t pondering the price of royal umbrellas, it would probably be overthinking why he had been in that fast food restaurant in the first place.
Oh yeah, he thought, frowning at his pasta. Micke.
Fucking Micke. Again. Simon thought he’d been well-shot of his dad when he was a teenager. He and Sara had cut off all contact with him after his mum had moved out and they’d all been better for it.
But then Simon had reconnected with him. For some unfathomable reason. Sara said he was too forgiving and let people walk all over him, and she was probably right. But then she’d gone and got a place at a university in Stockholm and their mum had moved with her to keep an eye on her. And Simon had stayed behind.
He sometimes wondered why he’d made that decision. Why hadn’t he gone with them? He’d said he was staying because he liked his life. He liked his job and his friends and the town he’d grown up in. But maybe in reality he just didn’t want to go to the city. Maybe he was scared of change, and opportunity, and new experiences. He’d once told his friends that he’d wanted to get out of Bjärstad, but then when it actually came to it he hadn’t taken the chance.
But whatever the reason, he’d stayed and had moved back in with Micke. Micke who was trying to get clean, for the umpteenth time in his life. And had been doing great. Until he wasn’t.
Simon had returned home from a long shift at the shop he worked at to a flat full of his father’s friends. And everyone was drunk. Simon had stormed and raged and eventually chased everyone out. Then he’d stormed and raged at Micke, who had tried to placate him with the usual.
It was just a few beers, Simme. Nothing more.
“Can’t a guy just let loose once in a while, Simme?” he’d pleaded.
“Not when they’re a recovering addict, Dad,” Simon had snapped back. “Jesus Christ, Micke. You just don’t get it!”
“I’m sorry, Simme. I promise, it won’t happen ag–”
“No, Dad. I’m done. That’s it. You can fuck off. I’m leaving.”
“Simme, please stay!”
But Simon had grabbed his coat and slammed the front door behind him. He heard Micke yank it open and yell down the stairwell.
“Fine then, you ungrateful bastard! See if I care!”
Simon had held his tears in the whole way to the restaurant, and by the time he’d got his food he could feel that all the sadness had left his body leaving only simmering anger and emptiness.
How had he let his dad fail him time and time again? Why did he keep going back? Why did he still love him and want his love in return when all he’d done was hurt them?
He jumped as his phone rang next to his pasta bowl, dragging him out of his morose thoughts. His face lit up when he saw his mamma’s name on the screen.
“¡Hola, mamá!” The pixels making up her smiling face slowly came together.
“¡Hola, mi amor! How are you?”
“I’m okay, thanks. How are you both?”
“Good. We’re good. Sara is at the farm today and I had a day off so I wanted to see how you were doing. Are you at Ayub’s?” She squinted at the screen.
“Yeah.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He didn’t want to tell her about storming out of Micke’s apartment the previous evening. “I came over after work yesterday to say ‘hi’ and stayed over.”
“Ah, say ‘hi’ from me too, please! I miss you both!”
He laughed. “We miss you too, mamá. Ayub says my cooking isn’t as good as yours.”
“I’m sure it is, mi amor.”
Simon sighed happily and let the warm glow of his mother’s words wrap him in the hug he so desperately wanted. They chatted back and forth about nothing in particular until Simon regretfully had to hang up and leave for work.
“Okay, Simon. Please look after yourself. We’ll speak soon, hmm?”
“Sí, mamá.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
He pushed his phone into his pocket as he got up to put his dishes in the sink. After a moment’s thought he quickly washed them up as well as Ayub’s breakfast things, realising he probably owed Ayub a few months worth of done dishes for all the times he let Simon crash there.
***
The bus to work was crowded and smelt of disgruntled, damp commuters. The rain from last night had settled to a steady, light drizzle but it was still enough that Simon’s curls were plastered to his forehead by the time the bus had arrived.
He was now trying to push them out of his eyes without elbowing the young mother next to him, whilst her baby quietly mewled in protest to the cramped conditions. He unhelpfully thought about the umbrella propped next to the door at Ayub’s flat and half wished he’d picked it up. But then he thought about wrestling it onto the bus and decided that wet hair was less embarrassing than poking someone in the eye with an impractically large umbrella. He internally grumbled to himself about princes never having to squeeze themselves onto public transport for the rest of his journey.
When he got to work he was wet and annoyed. Annoyed about being wet, and annoyed about how he didn’t have to be quite as wet, and annoyed about how it wouldn’t have been realistic to bring the umbrella anyway. And then annoyed that he was taking up so much of his own time thinking about the fucking umbrella.
It meant he was completely taken by surprise as he was turning a corner with an armful of boxes nearly tripping straight over the owner of said fucking umbrella.
“Sorry!” Simon yelped as he tried to balance the boxes.
“No, sorry. My fault. I was in the w– Oh!” Crown Prince Wilhelm’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead. “It’s you!”
Simon took in the sight in front of him. Wilhelm had been crouched in front of a shelf filled with snacks, whilst a different but equally intimidating looking bodyguard stood behind him, her arms comically full of packets of junk food. He had stood up quickly upon nearly being trodden on and was now holding two packets of cookies out towards Simon in a calming gesture, as if he was a wild animal that might run. Or pounce.
“I don’t need any cookies. Thanks though,” Simon said.
Wilhelm looked confused for a moment, before realising and sheepishly putting the packs back on the shelf. Simon put the boxes down on the floor and started moving things around on the shelves. Wilhelm hadn’t moved, but was just looking at him curiously.
Simon ignored him for a few more seconds before sighing. “Can I help you with something?” he said.
“Oh! Erm… no. I’m okay, thank you.”
Simon carried on what he was doing, but with slight irritation noticed that the Crown Prince still hadn’t moved.
Simon pushed his hands on his knees and stood up, facing Wilhelm. This made Wilhelm panic slightly and he turned as if to leave, before changing his mind and turning back. The move made him do a twirl on the spot, which was one of the most ridiculously unprincely things Simon had ever seen. He raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a smile.
Wilhelm seemed to gain strength from the amusement on Simon’s face and grinned at him. “I’m glad you got home okay last night,” he said.
“I didn’t. I got kidnapped and I’m being held hostage and forced to work retail.”
Wilhelm’s face dropped for a moment before he realised.
“You’re joking.” Wilhelm sighed in relief.
“Yes, Your Highness. I’m joking. I got home fine. Thank you.”
Wilhelm seemed to be unable to think of anything to say, as if still slightly scared of Simon.
Simon decided to put him out of his misery. “And thank you for the umbrella. It was appreciated. I’m afraid I don’t have it with me, so I can’t give it back.”
“Oh no! It’s okay! It was a gift. Keep it, please.”
“Thank you. Although it doesn’t quite fit in my umbrella stand. With my other massive umbrellas.”
Wilhelm looked at him for a few seconds.
“You’re joking again.”
“Yes. I’m joking again. I don’t have an umbrella stand. Or any other umbrellas for that matter. Just one, ludicrously large umbrella. That was a gift from the Crown Prince.”
Saying it out loud sounded ridiculous, and Simon had to laugh. Wilhelm’s eyes lit up, and for a moment he laughed along with him.
“Well, I hope the umbrella enjoys its new home.”
Wilhelm smiled warmly, before catching himself and starting to move away.
“I should…”
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Simon blurted, causing Wilhelm to turn back around in surprise.
“What do you mean?”
“At the restaurant. And then again in the street. I was rude, and you were only trying to help. I was having a bad day. And I’m sorry I took it out on you.”
Wilhelm looked intensely into Simon’s eyes. Simon felt like he was being X-rayed; it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation.
“That’s okay,” Wilhelm said. “I shouldn’t have pushed so hard. I’m sorry you were having a bad day.”
“Thanks.”
“I hope today is better?” Wilhelm looked young in his hopefulness and Simon suddenly felt warm under his collar.
He cleared his throat slightly. “Erm… yes. It is. Thank you.”
Wilhelm smiled brightly and nodded. “Good.”
They looked at each other for a few seconds, before Wilhelm seemed to remember himself again. “Well, I really do need to be going now.”
“Of course.” Simon felt flustered and tried to busy himself with a box.
“But it was nice to see you again.”
Simon looked up to see Wilhelm turning to go, his bodyguard following behind him.
“Yeah, you too.”
Wilhelm looked back over his shoulder and smiled before disappearing around the corner.
Simon put the box down and put his face in his hands to try to hide his smile. Oh no.
Simon was pulled from his mini breakdown by a voice behind him.
“Who the fuck was that?”
He could always rely on Rosh to bring him back down to earth with a bang.
“Was that the fucking Crown Prince?” she loudly whispered as she got closer.
“What? Uh… I don’t know. Maybe.”
“What do you mean maybe? Weren’t you just talking to him?”
“No. I mean yeah I was. But… yeah it was him. I think.”
He wasn’t sure why he was making such a mess of this very basic interaction. Yes, Rosh. It was the Crown Prince. Isn’t it weird that he was in here? That would have been a much more reasonable response. And come to think of it - why had he been in here?
“What’s wrong with you?” Rosh said, pushing his shoulder.
“What? Nothing!”
She raised her eyebrow at him.
“Whatever, dude. You’re being weird.”
He laughed weakly. “Yeah. Thanks.”
She picked up the box he’d abandoned at his feet. “Ayub said you were at his again last night.”
Simon rolled his eyes and snatched the box off her. “Why’s he reporting me to you?”
“Because he cares, Simon. You know that.”
He blushed and looked away. “Yeah, I know,” he mumbled.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, fine,” he said.
She stared at him. He’d never been able to pull the wool over Rosh’s eyes, she sometimes didn’t push but today was obviously not one of those days.
“Simon–” She sighed exasperatedly. “Simon, you need to get out of there.”
“I know,” he snapped, then stopped himself and sighed. “Sorry. It’s just– I know. But it’s Micke. And he’s trying.”
“Not fucking hard enough,” Rosh grumbled.
“I know. But it’s not always a straightforward thing.”
“Yeah but, Simon, you’re his kid, not his mentor.”
“I know. But I’m not a kid any more. I can manage him.”
“But what I’m saying is that you shouldn’t have to.”
“What if I want to though?” He was raising his voice again. He knew she was trying to be helpful, but neither of them got it. Both Rosh and Ayub had left home as soon as they had enough money to, but neither of them had addict parents to complicate matters. He sighed. “I just want him to be better. For himself, but also for me and Sara. Imagine how great it’d be if when she qualifies, he can come to the graduation. Or…” he trailed off.
“Simon… she wouldn’t even want him there.”
“I know,” he said. “But I still want it to be possible. And he is doing better. Mostly. Last night was just… a blip.”
“A blip?”
“Yeah. A blip. Please, Rosh. Just… trust me, okay?”
She levelled him with a look. “You know I trust you, Simon. I just think you’ve got blurred vision when it comes to Micke. You’re so desperate for him to get better that you don’t see the damage he’s doing in the meantime. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I know,” he said. “I appreciate the concern. But honestly, I’m fine.”
She held his gaze for a beat longer. “Fine,” she said. “Are you coming to the match this weekend?”
He smiled at her as she carried on stacking the shelves he’d abandoned. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
***
Simon took a deep breath in the hall before putting his key in the door and pulling it open. He was hit with the smell of cleaning products and the sound of a vacuum cleaner.
“Dad?” he called out as he pulled his coat off and placed his shoes by the door. “Dad?” he called again as he carefully placed the umbrella in the corner before walking into the living room.
The vacuum cleaner quickly cut out and Micke stood up, looking a bit ridiculous with one hand on the vacuum and another holding–
“Is that a feather duster?” Simon asked, raising an eyebrow.
Micke half hid it behind his back and smiled sheepishly.
“Simme. You came back.”
Simon frowned. “Yeah. I came back. Don’t make a big thing of it.”
Micke tried to tamp down his smile. “Okay. Yeah. Good. I mean– can I get you a coffee?”
Simon slowly moved towards the sofa and the coffee table that was now free from the bottles and cans that had adorned it last night.
“Yeah. Sure. Coffee would be great.”
“Good. Great. Yeah. I’ll just…”
Micke awkwardly pushed the vacuum cleaner into the cupboard and disappeared into the kitchen, clattering around with mugs.
“How was work?” he called.
Simon breathed carefully through his nose. He knew Micke was trying; and he knew that recovery was a winding path, but he was also wary of the whiplash he was constantly getting.
“Fine, Dad. Work was fine.”
I met the Crown Prince. Again. Isn’t that weird?
“Good. Good. How is Rosh? And Ayub?”
Simon knew that his dad knew where he disappeared to whenever he stormed out. Which was more frequently than either of them wanted to admit.
“Good. They’re both good. Rosh has a match this weekend.”
“Ah, great!” Micke came back into the room carrying two plates and–
“Are those…?”
“I made them myself,” Micke said, proudly, offering Simon a lopsided cinnamon bun.
Simon took one suspiciously. “When did you make these?”
“This afternoon. I… uhm… I was hoping you’d come back here after work. So I thought I’d…” he trailed off.
Micke never said sorry. He’d hurt Simon in so many ways over the years. Small ways, big ways, catastrophic ways. And even though he did often show remorse, he never ever apologised. Simon got it, he understood. Saying sorry implied responsibility. And Micke was incapable of taking responsibility for his actions. But sometimes he tried to make amends in different ways, and the cleaning and baking were some of those ways. Simon had had his fair share of apology baked goods in his time, even if he’d never had an apology. And it would do. For now.
They fell into an awkward silence, Simon focusing all his attention on stirring milk into his coffee.
“So… I– uhm. I thought I’d spend the weekend at Rosh’s. Go and see her match and then go back to hers and watch something.”
“Yeah. Sounds great.”
“Do you need me to get you anything before…”
“No! No, I’ll be fine. I’ll just watch some stuff here as well I think.”
“I’ll go straight from work tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
The silence descended on them again. Simon shifted awkwardly in his seat.
“I… uhm. I think I’m just going to…” He gestured to his room.
“Oh! Okay. Yeah. Sure. Of course. Long day.”
“Yeah.”
He raised the hand holding the cinnamon bun awkwardly as he backed out of the room and into his bedroom. He closed the door behind him, leaning his head against it. He threw the bun in an arc, landing it with a thunk into his bin.
He never knew what to expect when he came home, especially after an argument. He sometimes preferred it when Micke was sulking and refusing to speak to him. But whatever this was, it never lasted.
Rosh was right, he needed to get out of here. But he still had this desperate hope that one day he’d look up and everything would be better. And it would have been worth it. He sighed and flung him down onto his bed. Maybe one day…
***
The rain had carried on into the weekend, and Simon and Ayub were now huddled at the sidelines of the football pitch while Rosh and her teammates ran around in the wet, getting progressively more muddy.
“It’s fucking grim,” Ayub grumbled, ducking further into his hood and shoving his hands into his pockets.
Simon was jumping up and down on the spot trying to keep warm as drops dripped from his hood down his nose.
“You should have brought that ridiculous umbrella.”
Simon snorted. The umbrella was now propped in the corner of his bedroom at Micke’s. It had greeted him when he’d woken up this morning, illuminated by the watery light peeking around his blinds. He’d almost picked it up, but then thought better of it. He regretted that decision now as the rain had thoroughly soaked through his jeans making them stick uncomfortably to his thighs.
“I hope she appreciates this,” Simon said.
“Yeah. She’d better.”
“Fuck this, there’s no way I’m staying until the end.”
“What about our sleepover? It was going to be like old times!”
“Not if we die of hypothermia before we get there. I’m going home at half time.”
“Fine.” Ayub shook the water from his face, splashing Simon.
“Hey!” he yelped.
“Sorry, bro. Seriously, why didn’t you bring that thing with you? We could be happily dry now.”
Simon shrugged. He didn’t really know why he hadn’t brought it. For some reason, thinking about it made him feel weird. “Dunno,” he said. “It’s too big. It’d have been a pain.”
“Yeah, but this is literally what umbrellas are for. Why do you have it anyway?”
Simon shrugged again. “I told you. A friend gave it to me.”
“Simme, everyone knows you only have two friends -” (“Hey!”) “ - And there’s no fucking way Rosh gave you that thing.”
“It was just… someone I met the other night.”
Ayub ducked around him to look at him, a shit-eating grin breaking out on his face. He wiggled his eyebrows. “Someone you met?”
Simon laughed and pushed Ayub’s shoulder. “Fuck off. Not like that.”
Ayub grinned. “Why are you blushing then?”
“I am not blushing,” Simon said. “It was raining, and someone gave me their umbrella. End of story.”
“Hmm.” Ayub eyed him suspiciously, but graciously opted to drop it. “Whatever,” he said. “I still think you should have brought it.”
“Yeah. Probably,” Simon said, trying to calm down the weird swooping feeling in his stomach as he thought about the umbrella still dry at home. “Maybe next time.”
When Simon got home after abandoning Rosh’s match, he could tell something was wrong as he approached the front door. It was slightly ajar.
Simon pulled it tentatively.
“Dad?” he called. There was no answer. “Micke?”
Simon stepped across the threshold and into the hall.
The coats had all been pulled off the coat rack and thrown on the floor. The pockets were all pulled out, some of them ripped. Simon’s heart started beating faster as he made his way further in.
The living room was in disarray; drawers were pulled open, cushions pulled out of their covers, plant pots upended. Simon whimpered as he saw the keyboard he had saved up for flung to the floor, two of the keys missing. He righted it carefully and peeked into the kitchen. Just like the living room, all the drawers were pulled out, their contents strewn across the surfaces. The drawer that normally held Micke’s medication had been completely wrenched from the cupboard, empty bottles littering the floor.
Simon slowly crouched down and picked them all up, his heart sinking as he quickly took stock of the empty packets. He emptied everything into the bin and slowly made his way to his room.
He gasped as he pulled the door open. His bedding had been ripped from his bed, the mattress discarded to the side, a big tear down the middle. All of his clothes had been haphazardly scattered across the floor and his computer was missing from the desk. He crouched down and picked up his favourite purple hoodie, the hood halfway torn off. Underneath it lay the umbrella, miraculously unharmed. He picked it up in his other hand.
He looked around and shook his head, before turning on his heel with a fierce expression on his face and walked out of the front door for the final time.