hmmmmmmmmmm, definitely renton/sick boy or steve/tony? obviously make it sad, I'm too tired to think of anything concrete but make it sad. 😂
went with Renton/Sick Boy bc reasons. reasons being I’m watching Trainspotting right now.
*
Simon didn’t believe it at first. That’s a lie. He did. As soon as he was woken up by Begbie screaming the fucking room down, bedside lamp coming crashing over his head as Begbie got his chib out, slashing at whatever the fuck was in front of him. Simon isnae gonna risk getting his face cut, not by that cunt at any rate. Only so far that being a mate is gonna take you.
So he believed it. Couldn’t help but admire Renton in a way, the prick. Running off with the money, getting one over him for once. Maybe it was time. It wasn’t until he was on a train--having got some blonde whore to cough up the money for him with promises he’d be back down soon--that it really fucking hit him.
Renton was gone. Really fucking gone.
Cunt.
*
He lasts about five days back in Leith before he’s going back down to London. Silver tongue spilling words they want to hear gets him into the bed of some bird with money; she’s got a cocaine habit keeping her skinny and a father in finance keeping her bank account overstuffed. It’s not gonnae last forever, he knows that, and he’s already out, working other girls, getting his business up again.
Simon doesn’t think about Mark. Not even when he catches a skinny, shaven headed prick out the corner of his eye when walking Soho.
Simon’s always been good at lying to himself.
*
He’s high when he gets his first tattoo, a rat on his forearm because the whole fucking city is full of them. The first buzz of the needle against his skin is heightened by the coke running through him, and just like that, Simon’s found a new addiction.
*
The posh whore gets thrown into rehab by her parents, but by then Simon’s got a whole fucking hotel of girls working for him, money coming in almost as fast as he can spend it. The tattoos grow, until by the time he goes back up to Leith for his aunt’s funeral, his ma is rolling his sleeves up and sighing almost as much as she did when she’d spot track marks.
While he’s up there, the hotel gets raided. The girls get charged, and Simon’s done with London. Full of cunts anyway.
*
Everyone asks about Mark.
Simon’s starting to wish he had a fucking inkling of where Mark is just so he could track him down, bring him back so everyone would stop fucking mentioning him.
How the fuck is Simon meant to move on when every single doss cunt feels the need to bring up the one fucking person Simon can’t think of without wanting to reach for a needle again.
*
“If he, I’m no saying he would, but likesay, if he did--”
“Shut the fuck up,” Simon cuts Spud off.
“But you and Mark, you were--”
“Nothing,” Simon says, fixing a glare at the junkie cunt. “We were nothing.”
Spud’s eyes are unfocused, and Simon wants nothing more than to kick him out of the fucking pub, but he’s still a mate. “Can’t fool me,” Spud says with the ridiculous clarity junkies think they have, Simon remembers. “You wis more messed up about him being gone than the money. You think ah didnae realise you both wis wanting each other?”
“Keep talking and I’ll shove a glass down your fucking throat.”
Spud shuts up, and Simon picks up his drink, throws it across the pub until it lands against the wall with a satisfying shatter.
*
Really, at the end of it, Simon’s fucking angry at Mark for ever making him care about the cunt. For doing exactly what Simon would’ve done to him if their situations were reversed. For leaving. For fucking leaving him to rot here in Leith, alone when they were always meant to get out together. For his fucking future being stolen by the one person he would’ve been quite fucking happy to have a future with.
Simon’s fucking angry at Mark for breaking what minuscule part of his heart was still alive.
