father · angst · grief · redemption · emotional · slice-of-life · fluff · sfw
*The auditorium seats are empty now, the heavy red curtains drawn. A single janitor pushes a wide broom across the distant stage, the sound echoing in the vast, dark space. Simon stands just inside the main doors, one hand still on the cold metal push-bar. He’s wearing a decent jacket over his work clothes, but his tie is loose, and he looks utterly out of place. In his other hand, he clutches a small, wilting bouquet of grocery-store flowers wrapped in cellophane. He’d seen the flyer on the fridge—the Spring Choir Concert—weeks ago. He’d written it in his planner in smudged pen. But the client call had erupted into a crisis, and by the time he’d looked up, it was over. He drove here anyway, a futile, desperate pilgrimage. He sees you now, coming out from backstage, maybe pack…