Chapter Text
- Sweet Tangerines - And Your Sweeter Touch
It’s one of those lazy mornings where Simon has enough free time to be scrolling through his phone on TikTok.
There is still plenty of time before he needed to leave for Hillerska, and he’d gotten up all early and bright in Anton’s apartment. Unlike Simon, though, Anton had taken his sweet time in getting up, and it wasn’t too long ago that Simon heard the shower turn on. He assumed that Anton would be out soon, giving them enough time for a quick breakfast together.
It was one of those things they’d started doing more recently, especially as Linda allowed for Simon to sleep over at Anton’s more often. Once or twice a week, one would come over and they would spend the night together, curled up to watch a movie, lazy kisses until they stumbled over to the bed. Anton wasn’t a big cuddler, even though Simon was, which was an unfortunate thing. He’d tried, initially, to lean against Anton when they first slipped into bed, and the elder had indulged him for a few quick minutes before pushing away from Simon’s body, muttering something under his breath. And, well. That was that.
Simon sleeps well despite the lack of cuddling–he’s gotten used to it, at this point–even though he sometimes wishes his boyfriend would revel in the soft intimacy of just being close more often. Nonetheless, he doesn’t complain, because he does genuinely enjoy these relaxing little nights. Especially when they get quiet mornings like this, and Anton drives him to school with a hand on his thigh.
Because Anton has a whole car. An apartment, too.
It’s a little weird sometimes, for Simon to be with someone who’s so… grown. Anton has been living like an adult ever since he turned 18 a few months ago, despite being in his final year of school, still. He’s even got his life figured out–splits his time between school and the stables that his family has owned for generations because he wants to take over the business once his parents decide to retire. It’s a good, stable option, clearly, because even as he does beginner level work just to help out, he gets paid the same as other workers and it’s a handsome enough amount. Enough to afford a rented apartment, anyway.
It makes it hard for Simon to relate to him, sometimes. Because Simon hardly knows what it is that he wants to do, whether he even wants to stay in Bjastard. But they don’t talk about the future very often, and Simon very much content with that.
He shakes his head lightly when he realizes he zoned out staring at his TikTok, focusing his attention back on the video he was watching. He hits like with a smile on his face before the run-time has even finished, grinning at the content. It’s that TikTok trend about peeling oranges, where you ask your partner to peel an orange for you and record their reaction. The TikTok he was currently watching was the sweetest rendition of the trend, too–the girl had asked for an orange, not even mentioned peeling it, and her boyfriend had simply hummed and passed it to her. Peeled!
Simon admits he’s a bit of a romantic, that way. He likes these… things, these acts of service–likes doing them for those he loves, likes when they’re done for him. It’s just, it’s the simple stuff, really, just–effort. A small action. It’s about noticing things, honestly. Noticing your partner for who they are and–and knowing what they would appreciate. Because that can only happen if you’re really paying attention to them, if they’ve got your heart every time you’re in the same room. It’s about the subconscious care that comes with liking someone, the pleasure you get when you do things for them, things that make them feel loved.
He's slipped out of his reverie when Anton’s footsteps sound against the wooden floor, and Simon twists his head to smile up at his boyfriend from the couch. Anton grins at him, leaning down to press their lips together.
“Morning,” he murmurs softly, hand around Simon’s neck. Before the younger can respond, though, Anton leans in closer, slipping his tongue between Simon’s parted lips. He sighs against his lips, his big hand shifting from Simon’s neck to his jaw.
He presses a final peck to Simon’s lips, before standing up. “Hard to resist holding that pretty face.”
“Breakfast?” he asks, not waiting on a response from Simon. As he enters the kitchen, Simon sighs, nodding before trailing after him.
“Cereal?” Anton queries once he’s inside, popping the drawer open to pull a bowl out. “You could make toast if you don’t want that.”
“Cereal’s good,” Simon shrugs, not feeling strongly either way. He grabs a bowl as well, making himself a bowl with the milk and cereal Anton left on the counter.
Simon takes a seat on one of the stools next to the small island, humming quietly as he eats. Anton doesn’t bother sitting down, choosing to lean against the kitchen counter as he finishes his food. They engage in basic conversation between bites, and it’s moments like these that it’s hard for Simon to believe that he has a boyfriend. That he’s had a boyfriend for three months.
It's a little insane to think about, especially because he’d never expected to find himself in a relationship. Especially not one with Anton. And despite that sounding bad, it really isn’t! It’s just… a little weird. He’d known of Anton, because everyone knows everyone in their small town, but he’d never really considered Anton a prospect, as such. Well, not until Anton had asked him out at a common friend’s birthday party.
Look. Does Simon enjoy thinking about how he was prepared to reject his boyfriend initially, and only said yes because of the crowd of people that had surrounded them once Anton asked the question? Of course not! But, well. It is what it is. Instead of focusing on their tumultuous beginnings, Simon focuses on the now. Because it’s good, now. He’s happy. Anton is nice, really nice. He had been really nice on their first date, and it’s what made Simon want to keep meeting him. There was a certain excitement when they first started dating three months ago, a small fire lit against Simon’s skin; but at this point, he’s already felt it dwindle. Which is fine by him, because they’re good together, and he keeps Simon occupied and makes him laugh. Is it the cheesy, clichéd, excessive romance? Well, no, but it’s not like Simon expects that in real life–that body-crushing, fireworks erupting, heart beating out of its chest type of love is reserved for movies and books that drone on and on about what it’s like to find the one, not for the practicality of real life.
Besides, what Simon and Anton have is good. They get along, can talk to each other, their families are great friends, they’re so similar; from the same place, the same elementary school. It’s familiar, practical. It’s good.
“Do you want me to pick you up after school?” Anton asks as he places his empty bowl down in the sink. “It’s starting to get cold.”
Simon shakes his head, “I’ve got choir,” he says. “You’ll be at work by then. It’s okay.”
“Hm,” Anton hums, nodding. “Right, okay. Let’s plan something for tomorrow, then?”
“Sure,” Simon grins, pushing a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “We could go to the arcade? It’s such a cute date idea, I’ve been wan–”
“Nah,” Anton shakes his head, and the corner of his mouth twists up into a slight smirk. “I’d rather you come over, or something. Need a night in with you on my bed.”
Simon’s mouth parts open and he feels red cross over his cheeks with flushed embarrassment. He clears his throat and nods, although a small part of him thinks he’d really rather just go to the arcade. “Yeah. That sounds good.”
Anton sends him a grin, before his phone pings and he picks it up, texting someone back. Simon glances down at his own phone, seeing that there’s still around 15 minutes left before they need to be on their way. He’s about to go back on his phone, too, when his trailing eyes catch the fruit bowl next to Anton.
His eyes zero in on the oranges, and he feels a smile creep up his face, remembering the video he saw that morning.
“Hey,” Simon asks, trying not to laugh as he swallows a bite of his cereal. “Could you pass me an orange? I wanna eat one before we leave.”
“’course,” Anton nods, grabbing an orange as he places his phone down. He throws it over to Simon, who catches it.
Okay. So, Anton is not as instinctive as the boyfriend on TikTok. That’s fine.
“Could you please peel it for me, actually?” Simon asks after a beat, pushing the orange towards Anton.
The elder raises an eyebrow at him, snorting as he picks up his phone. “Can’t you just do it yourself?”
Simon pauses in his seat.
A moment of silence passes by, and he stares at his blissfully unaware boyfriend, who’s scrolling through Instagram, if the movement of his fingers are any indication.
He takes a deep breath, “I’m still eating,” he adds. “And we need to leave soon. I don’t want to eat in the car, it’ll make me dizzy.”
“You’re almost done,” Anton points at his bowl. “You’ll be fine. Just peel it yourself.”
“Okay, well,” he pushes the bowl of cereal away, feeling frustration grow in his stomach. “The food is irrelevant. I’m asking you to peel this orange for me. Can you?”
“Ugh, Simon,” Anton groans. “What are you trying to start right now?”
“I’m not starting anything,” Simon narrowing his eyes. “Why can’t you peel the orange for me?”
“Because it’s messy,” Anton rolls his eyes. “And I don’t feel like cleaning up right now, okay?”
“It is not that messy,” Simon blinks. “It’s the smallest favor in the world! I’d do it for you if you asked.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask.” Anton chuckles, pocketing his phone. “If you’d do it for me, just do it for yourself.”
“You’re serious?” Simon asks, disbelief coating his voice. “You’re not gonna do it?”
“No. I told you, and I meant it. Just do it yourself, why would I do it for you? It’s not that deep.” Anton responds, turning away as though to declare the conversation over. “I’m gonna take a piss and then we can leave. Grab your bag, okay?”
“Actually,” Simon shakes his head, stool scraping against the floor as he stands up. He breathes through his nose, “I’m just going to take the bus.”
Anton pauses where he’s standing.
“Are you kidding me?” he snaps. “Over an orange?”
“It’s not–“ Simon stops himself, breathing out instead. Anton doesn’t get it. “It’s not about the orange, but whatever, Anton. Forget about it.”
“Your wish,” Anton scoffs. Simon steps away, grabbing his backpack from the couch. Now that he’s taking the bus, he needs to rush, so he takes quick steps towards the front door of the apartment. He vaguely hears an, enjoy the fucking bus! from Anton, huffing as he ignores the words.
See, this was the thing about Anton.
He tended to be…
Simon doesn’t know how to describe it. It’s just, sometimes it felt like Anton didn’t really like him. He knew Anton enjoyed his presence and always does mean it when he says he likes Simon, but it’s just… not in the way that Simon wants to be liked. Anton sometimes seems to move about life with himself on such a forefront that it’s hard for him to notice anyone else, and it sometimes made Simon feel like Anton liked the way Simon makes him feel. Or–or that he won a prize by getting Simon, by getting him to say yes, getting him to be his boyfriend. It seemed like Anton saw him as this vague entity, this thing, this trophy, seldom understanding who Simon really is.
The orange fiasco makes him feel so ridiculously upset that he doesn’t know what to do with himself when he’s seated on the bus. He clenches his fist, mouth pursed as he stares out of his window. Was he expecting Anton to immediately present a perfectly peeled orange for him the moment he asked for one? No, of course not, he knows that Anton’s not gonna read his mind about wanting the orange to be peeled.
But that’s the part that he can’t get over.
That he did ask. At the end of the day, what did he do, but ask his boyfriend for a small favor?
It feels so–feels bigger than just the dumb fucking orange. There’s a low ache in his chest because he feels so upset. It just–hurts, he guesses. And Anton is, he’s good. They’re good together, he likes Anton, and that makes it so much worse. He doesn’t want to cry over an orange, but he can’t help but think that it has to mean something deeper.
And it’s–
It’s just fucking annoying to think about. It was an orange. A dumb, idiotic TikTok trend, an even stupider orange. It’s just–how hard is it to peel an orange? Simon feels anger simmer under his veins because oh my goodness, it’s an orange. What type of person goes through all those mental gymnastics to start an argument with their boyfriend over just peeling the fucking orange? How inconvenienced did this one orange make Anton’s life, exactly?
Whatever. It’s unfortunate that anger is one of those all-consuming emotions that really sits at the core of your stomach, because now Simon has all this antsy energy that he’s not sure what to do with. Screaming would help, perhaps breaking things. Neither of which he can do on public transport, of course. As a result, he picks up the next best option: pulling out his phone and hitting the mute button on his text thread with Anton.
There. Not that Anton had texted him just yet, to be frank, Simon wasn’t even sure that he would. He couldn’t figure out what Anton was thinking half the time, his actions so far apart from the things he says. Of course, he knows that this is a fight that won't take them long to get over, and honestly, a part of him just wants to get it over with, because the last thing he has energy for is a prolonged fight with his boyfriend.
The bus comes to a stop and he’s pulled out of his thoughts. It’s only then that he glances at the time, and realizes that he needs to absolutely book it to even think about making it to class in time.
The run to class isn’t pleasant especially since he ends up being five minutes late, neither is the way he’s huffing breathlessly at the door of the classroom, nor is the look he ends up receiving from Mr. Englund when he enters with an apology laced across his lips.
“Let’s try to be on time for class, alright?” he says as Simon walks to his usual seat. He mumbles an apology under his breath, cursing as he sits down.
“Hey,” a quiet voice next to him speaks. “Morning.”
Simon glances over to Wilhelm, nodding curtly. “Morning,” he says, looking away and pulling a notebook out. He was not in the mood for speaking to anyone right now, all he wanted to do was take his time recovering from this terrible start to the day.
“How was your weekend?” Wilhelm asks, and Simon looks away from his notebook to take a glance at him.
For being the Prince, Wilhelm was oddly really normal. In fact, Simon would say he’s one of the few people he actually does get along with at Hillerska, which is funny considering who he is and what he represents. Not that Simon ever hides it from him; it was his hot mouth–that has a penchant for voicing out critiques about the archaic institution that is the monarchy–that had prompted Wilhelm to speak to him in the first place. It was interesting because the last thing he’d expected was for Wilhelm to actually agree with him instead of sharing the views that all his elite friends clearly do. It was odd being acquainted with the Prince because they were. Simon wouldn’t go on to call them the best friends in the world, but they got along well and gravitated to each other during their overlapping classes–seldom beyond that, though, since Simon was hardly friends with the people Wilhelm was friends with. They’d be talking, and Wilhelm would mention something absurd, ranging from just the mention of ‘Erik’ (the fucking Crown Prince) and ‘Mama’ (the Queen (!)) casually or a reference to some crazy state trip he’d taken, or the vastness of his childhood home (the Palace), and Simon would be reminded of the fact that Wilhelm was royalty.
It’s what makes it funny, actually. That speaking to Wilhelm is so much like speaking to any sweet, dorky boy his age that it feels weird to be reminded of the fact that Wilhelm belongs to a royal family. It’s almost hard for Simon to see him that way–not when Wilhelm is all smiles and gentle words and funny jokes.
On a different day, therefore, he is a lot more receptive to–and enjoys–the small talk with Wilhelm in the middle of class. Today, though, he’s not over the pissed feeling in his heart just yet, annoyance coursing through his veins because what a shitty morning to have. He breathes through his nose, trying to make his voice as even as possible. “It was good.” His reply is curt, and he knows he sounds short, but he’s not in the mood for much else.
“Did you end up going to the fair with your sister like you were planning on?” Wilhelm continues.
“Mhm.”
“That’s awesome.” Simon can hear the smile on his face. “How was it? Fun?”
“Yeah, it was fun.”
“Cool,” Wilhelm replies with a hum, Simon’s eyes trained on the reading they’re supposed to finish within the class period. “Did they have a lot of rides? I don’t know if you’re a fan of them, but–“
“Can you just–not.” Simon snaps in an obviously irritated manner. “They were all shit and I don’t want to talk right now.”
His heart pauses when he realizes the tone in which he spoke to Wilhelm, mouth falling open in horror as his head snaps up till his eyes meet the Prince’s widened ones. He looks taken aback if not slightly hurt, of course, mouth fallen open, before he rolls his bottom lip under his teeth in a nervous tick, and goodness now he looks like a kicked puppy.
Simon’s horrified.
“Oh my God,” he says breathlessly, placing a distressed hand on his forehead. “Fuck, Wille I – I’m so sorry– I – I didn’t mean to, ugh–it’s just this morning is –“
“Did they leave you stuck on top of the Ferris wheel, or something?” Wilhelm interrupts, the corner of his lip quirking up.
Simon blinks, taken aback. He shakes his head lightly, a frown of confusion etched on his forehead. “Um–“
“Or were you too short for all the rides?” Wilhelm continues, the small smile growing into a full grin.
“What are y–hey!” Wilhelm’s words register in Simon’s brain. “What the fuck, I’m not that short!”
“You’re tiny,” Wilhelm raises an eyebrow, correcting his posture to sit up straighter, tilting his head down when he talked to Simon as if to exhibit his point.
“I am not, you’re just–“ huge is the word he wants to use, but his eyes meet Wilhelm’s broad shoulders that strain against his expensive sweater and suddenly his collar is tight, a pink beginning to grace his cheeks because damn that sounds so wrong to say. “A fucking giant or something,” is what he ends up settling on, the words coming out in a petulant grumble as he trains his eyes down to the book on his table. God, why do his cheeks feel so hot? His stomach’s swooping weirdly, too.
A chuckle resounds next to him, and he glances at Wilhelm, who places his elbow on the table, turned completely to face Simon, a playful smile on his lips as he rests his chin on his palm.
“Awesome comeback, Simon,” he says, voice hinted with the same teasing tone that he’s been speaking in and his eyes are twinkling, what the hell.
“10/10, I know.” Simon mumbles in reply, fiddling with his pencil. Fuck, why can’t he form an intelligible thought right now?
There’s a short laugh from Wilhelm, and then a pause falls over them. Simon glances at him from the corner of his eye, but the blonde is opening his mouth to speak before he can process anything else.
“So, uh,” Wilhelm clears his throat, voice softer, a tad more hesitant as his fingers tap against the wooden table. There’s pink on the apples of his cheeks, “Was… was the fair really that bad?”
And Simon cringes internally, realizing that the back and forth with Wilhelm had made him completely forget about how rude he’d been to him. He feels incredibly bad, especially since Wilhelm was being so, so nice, as he always is. Simon was even surprised he remembered the fair that he’d mentioned at the beginning of last week, telling Wilhelm about how he went every year with his sister.
Weirdly enough, he also realizes that in the process, the irritation about the orange peeling and everything that happened after had slowly subsided. Talking to Wilhelm definitely… helped, with that.
“No, I–“ Simon sighs. “The fair was great, actually. It’s just–ugh, I’ve just had an annoying morning, and I just… wasn’t in the mood. Not that that’s an excuse for being rude to you,” he rushes to finish.
“I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you,” he apologizes quietly.
“Don’t worry about it,” Wilhelm responds softly, gently touching Simon’s elbow in a comforting squeeze. His hand is warm and big around Simon’s skin; he can somehow feel the heat through the layers of his uniform. “We all have our days.”
Simon smiles gratefully at Wilhelm, nodding to express his silent gratitude for accepting his apology. See? How was Simon to remember that he was the whole Prince when talking to him just felt like speaking to an amazing boy in his class?
“But I hope everything is fine,” Wilhelm continues, voice quiet. “You know, about this morning, I hope–“
“Prince Wilhelm,” Mr. Englund’s voice interrupts them, and Simon almost snaps his neck trying to focus back on the task they’ve been given. “I believe that I gave you all permission to speak to each other so that you could discuss your difficulties with the text, not engage in non-academic conversations.”
Wilhelm mumbles out a string of apologies under the strong gaze of his teacher, though his apparent anger doesn’t stop Wilhelm and Simon from sharing a soft giggle at his expression.
Simon is sitting in the library during workies when Wilhelm walks up to the table he is at.
“Hey,” he smiles down at Simon, who responds in the same way. Wilhelm is holding Simon’s notebook in his hands, the one that contains his History notes that he’d borrowed from him for the one day he’d missed class over the last week.
“Thanks again for letting me borrow these,” he says with a grin, and Simon nods immediately.
“Of course, Wille,” he replies. “Anytime.”
“Are you working on the Math homework?” Wilhelm asks, taking a look at the sheets of paper that Simon has in front of him.
“Yeah,” he exhales loudly. “I’m trying to. Can’t say I’ve made much progress.”
“Oh,” Wilhelm nods slowly, pausing for a second. He runs a hand through his hair, tucking a stray piece behind his ear. Simon’s noticed that it’s like a nervous habit of his, or something. That, and nibbling on his nails. “I could, um,”
Wilhelm takes a deep breath, “I could–help you out? If, uh. If you’d like.”
Simon holds back an amused smile because he’s not sure why Wilhelm sounds so nervous. He’s pinked in his face like he’s just asked out the love of his life, not asked his classmate if he wanted help with some Math homework. The second in which Simon is thinking that in his head, though, makes Wilhelm grow more nervous, if his over explanation is any sign:
“It’s just – I, um, I finished it already, so I thought – maybe – if, you know, if you’re struggling, or, uh, I don’t know, like –“
“Would you, actually?” Simon interrupts, palms flat against his table. Wilhelm is a lifesaver for offering to help, because Simon knows he’d have wasted an unnecessary amount of time trying to explain the assignment to himself.
“Yeah, of course,” Wilhelm nods enthusiastically, pointing down to the chair next to Simon. “Can I–“
“Yeah, yeah,” Simon nods, scooting slightly as Wilhelm pulls the chair out and sits down.
He looks at the problem Simon is stuck on, grabbing his pen and angling himself to start explaining the solution to him. He’s actually really good at it, Simon thinks he would make a good teacher, because he’s super careful, and frankly… gentle, almost, as he takes Simon through the explanation. He doesn’t get annoyed or makes Simon feel stupid for asking a silly question or making an elementary mistake, just helps him fix it. What really gets Simon, though, is the smile he gives once Simon does solve a problem successfully, all proud and sweet and crinkle eyed.
“Yo,” Henry’s voice sounds in his ear, and he twists his head to find the blonde skidding to a stop next to their table, dragging the o in the greeting. He bends down to be leveled with Simon and Wilhelm, taking a look at the scattered pages around them as he drops his bag on the floor.
“Are you guys doing the Math homework?” he asks. “This shit is so hard.”
“Yeah,” Simon nods sympathetically. “Wille’s teaching it to me.”
“Oh, hell nah.” Henry blinks, standing up. “I was going to ask if I could join you because I cannot get this done, but I’m good if you’re the one explaining it,” he says with a raised eyebrow, looking at Wilhelm.
“Hey!” Wilhelm flicks his thigh in response. “I am not a bad teacher.”
“Yeah, you’re a harsh one,” Henry rolls his eyes, slinging his backpack over his shoulder as he turns to leave. “Walter was on the verge of tears last time we studied together,” he says with a pointed look.
“Good luck to you,” Henry says to Simon, hands raised in the air as he walks away.
And wow, Simon can’t help but laugh in disbelief because Wilhelm was being the exact opposite right now. There’s no way Wilhelm, with his sweet self, was that strict. Henry was definitely fucking with him. The prince grumbles an ‘ignore him’ under his breath as Simon laughs, turning their attention back to the work. It doesn’t take them too long after that to finish up, and Simon stretches his arms out in the air, relief coating his brain.
“Thank you so much,” he says gratefully. “Seriously. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Of course, um,” Wilhelm nods. “Anytime.”
They talk about random things for a little after that, but Simon can tell that Wilhelm wants to mention something substantial when he runs a hand through his hair, glancing down at the table with a paused exhale, before looking at Simon, “I wanted to–uh, how… are you feeling? Since the morning?”
Simon blinks, not expecting Wilhelm to follow up all these hours later. That’s… actually really, really sweet. And he is definitely feeling better, though he’s still annoyed that Anton didn’t peel the stupid orange. In the morning, though, it was definitely worse–especially because getting a tardy on top of a fight with your boyfriend is just overwhelming.
“I’m better now,” Simon finds himself smiling. “Really. I was just–I mean, I’m still annoyed at whatever happened, but I’m not really thinking about it like that, so it’s not upsetting.”
“That’s good.” Wilhelm nods with a grin. He takes a deep breath in, “You know, if you–“
He clears his throat, throat bobbing like he’s choosing his words carefully, “If… by any chance, is there… anything, you know, I can do to… help… or uh, make you feel better,” he squirms. “Just, uh, you know?”
(Simon is convinced that Wilhelm has got to be the nicest guy alive because–how do you grow up with the childhood he grew up with, and end up like this?)
Simon sighs softly, refraining from letting the words get it through my boyfriend’s head that he should stop being an ass slip past his mouth. Instead, he snorts with a shake of his head, “Yeah, you can help. Can you peel an orange for me?”
Wilhelm blinks slowly at him, but the pause of confusion lasts for a short fleeting moment before he’s nodding wholeheartedly.
“Yeah, of course,” he tilts his head, before turning around to reach into his bag for something.
And Simon’s heart pauses, because what. He can feel his throat drying up, and he tries to open his mouth to say something, anything, but then Wilhelm is placing a zip-loc bag in front of him and–
“Thanks for reminding me, actually,” Wilhelm smiles, opening the plastic seal and pulling out one of few tangerines in it. “I got these during lunch because I knew I was going to meet you to drop your notebook off,” he explains, and Simon is actually rendered speechless.
“Um,” Wilhelm clears his throat, and his eyes are trained to his hands, but Simon cannot look away from his face. “You’re always eating them during workies, so…”
Simon is going to die. He’s going to fucking collapse right now.
He’s convinced he’s never been redder in his life before.
What the fuck.
And then Wilhelm’s arm moves forward, and there’s a segment of the tangerine being held out to him.
“You didn’t–“ Simon’s stomach swoops to depths he wasn’t aware existed, because fuck, when did Wilhelm even start peeling? “I was just–I was joking, I–you didn’t have to–“
He can tell he looks like a tomato. God, his heart has never raced this fast in his entire life.
“You didn’t actually have to peel it for me,” Simon clears his throat, averting his eyes from Wilhelm’s gaze.
“It’s no big deal,” Wilhelm laughs casually – easily. “It’s just a tangerine.”
Simon almost melts into his chair.
(After school, Anton skips work to come pick him up. It’s a sweet gesture, and he pauses their walk to stand in front of Simon to begin to apologize to him, but then Simon catches a glimpse of Wilhelm in one of the gardens behind where Anton is stood. He’s on the phone with someone and doesn’t notice the couple, his hair neat and jaw sharp, and all Simon can do is think about the tangerines, and Wilhelm’s earnest face as he offered a segment to Simon, and he knows Anton is apologizing to him but he’s registering none of it because he can’t look away from Wilhelm and the way his lips curl into a sweet smile. He’s only broken out of the spell when Anton places a hand on his shoulder, and Simon musters up the best smile he can, focusing on his blue eyes instead of Wilhelm’s deep brown ones because–
Because the man in front of him was his boyfriend. Right.)
- The Cold Air - But I'm Surrounded By Your Warmth
The sun is inching up the sky when the doorbell rings, and as Simon pulls the front door open, he grins up at Anton.
“Hey baby,” he murmurs in greeting, taking a step closer. Anton immediately wraps his arms around his waist, their bodies flush together. Simon has to reach up on his tiptoes to kiss him, fingers curling around the hair on the back of his neck. They share a soft kiss that Anton is weirdly quick to pull away from.
“Morning,” he gives him a peck. “Let’s go.”
Simon laughs, rolling his eyes lightly. Swaying slightly in Anton’s hold, he presses his palms flat against his chest, “Already?”
Anton places even more distance between their bodies at this, giving his waist a squeeze as an apology. “Yeah, we really need to go. I have to reach earlier today since I gotta meet up with Anders and finish our project–we weren’t able to, yesterday.”
Simon’s mouth forms an o in understanding, and he nods, cupping Anton’s face for a moment. “Got it. Let me just get my bag and say bye to Mama.”
“Okay. Be quick, please.”
Simon rolls his eyes again, making a beeline to his room to grab his school bag and gym bag, given he had rowing practice before classes. His mom, now sitting in her own room with a post-breakfast cup of coffee is met with a quick hug and a kiss to her cheek as Simon says a quick goodbye to her, her fond laugh resounding through the house as he walks out.
“Faster, please,” Anton insists as Simon takes a second to shut the door, fumbling with the handle as he’s also trying to sling his backpack over his shoulder.
“I was in there for a minute,” Simon responds, side-eyeing his boyfriend, who’s already started making his over to the car.
“A minute too long.” he hears Anton grumble under his breath, and he blinks in surprise.
“Jeez,” he scoffs softly. “Sorry.”
“It’s whatever,” Anton says, voice layered with exasperation.
“Why didn’t you pick me up earlier if you knew you had an early day?” Simon asks pointedly, because he was not sure why Anton was acting like it was his fault alone.
“I forgot I was picking you up this morning,” Anton huffs out, and Simon feels his heart drop to his stomach.
“Oh,” he says, voice small. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his puffer, shoulders curling in on themselves. Well, that felt great to hear. His heart clenches in a simmering pain, the feeling permeating through to the rest of his body. They’d decided earlier that week that Anton would pick him up, because the elder had gotten increasingly busier which meant they didn’t have all the time in the world anymore. Simon had been looking forward to seeing his boyfriend, but clearly that feeling was not reciprocated.
“Hey, come on,” Anton nudges his shoulder, seemingly noticing the subtle pout on Simon’s lips. “Not–fuck, I didn’t mean it in that way, I didn’t forget, I just–I’ve just been busy, that’s all.”
“It’s okay,” Simon swallows thickly. “I get it,” he says, and Anton slips his hand in Simon’s jacket pocket to intertwine their fingers together. Simon’s throat chokes up, and he finds himself staring at the neutral expression Anton was sporting. He’s trying so hard to be understanding, but even when he tries to make excuses, he can't, and the only thing he finds himself looking at is a boy who doesn’t even care. It’s distinct enough that he finds himself thinking back to when they first started dating, when he was kind, attentive, fun; genuinely interested in Simon. He knows Anton, is the thing–the type of guy he is. He’s got many acquaintances who knew him well, and that’s what he knew of him even before they started dating; Anton always had the reputation of a genuinely chill, regular, nice guy. Simon had seen that for himself when he started running into Anton and his friends–seen the way he had a close bond with the people he'd been friends with since elementary, how much he cared for them.
And then Simon had been on the receiving end of that behaviour, on their first date and the following ones; how Anton would hold his gaze when he talked, how tender his touch was, the fond laugh he would let out at Simon’s bad jokes. He saw it, the same care and consideration he extended to his friends, now being extended to him. It’s what made being with Anton good, that, even though on their first dates Simon didn’t feel that nervous rush of excitement towards him, it was still fun. It’s what made Simon want to date him, because they got along well, Anton was a great guy, and they had a lot of fun together, and Simon’s heart beat a lick faster when Anton kissed him for the first time, and–
Then he’d asked if Simon wanted to be his boyfriend. And Simon had thought: this is good, this is comfortable. These are the relationships that last. So he’d said yes.
And he looks at them now, the stark change; finds himself wondering when it even happened. How, the boy who’d texted him to ask for a second date the moment Simon had shut the front door on him as goodbye, had forgotten that he had to pick Simon up, knowing that it would the the only time they would get to meet in the week.
It feels like Anton still possesses all the caring qualities that drew Simon in, he just doesn’t direct them towards Simon, now.
The sound of Anton hitting the open button on his keys shakes him out of his stream of thoughts and he tightens the grip he has on his gym bag as he reaches the passenger seat. Pulling it open, he drops his bags on the floor of the car, frowning as realization hits him.
“Fuck, I don’t have my jacket,” he grouses, looking up at Anton, who’d already taken a seat and started the car.
“It’s–Simon, we’re late,” he emphasizes, grabbing Simon’s wrist to tug him in.
Simon blinks, “Anton, I have practice right now and I’m pretty sure August is gonna make us run – I, it’s cold as shit, and I can't run in my puffer, I’m sorry, let me just go back and–“
“We don’t have the time,” Anton insists, his tone sharper. “Look, I probably have a jumper or something in the back, just take that, alright?” he huffs, pointing to the backseat littered with a couple bags and other random stuff.
Simon eyes him tentatively, “Are you sure? Because–“
“Simon.”
“Okay!” he rushes in defense, getting in quickly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Let’s go.”
There’s barely any conversation in the car on the drive over, neither of them interested in putting too much effort into it, either. Half of the ride is also spent in Simon digging around in the backseat to find the aforementioned jumper that Anton supposedly had in his car, but the nearer they inched to Hillerska and the more Simon sifted through the backseat only to end up with no jumpter, he realized he would actually have to start preparing to face the cold.
“No hoodie,” Simon declares with a sigh as Anton pulls up to the front gates of the school.
“I’m sorry, I really thought I had one,” Anton cringes. “I–I would give you my crewneck but I only have a t-shirt on inside,”
(Simon doesn’t bother to point out Anton does have a puffer that he could wear atop his t-shirt, especially given that he’s probably going to stay inside for most of the day.)
“It’s fine,” Simon mumbles, gathering his bags and stepping out of the car. He has to walk across the front of the car to begin walking down the path that leads to the entrance, and Anton’s side opens as he steps reaches closer.
“Simon–hey,” he grabs his wrist, and Simon turns around so they’re standing facing each other next to the care.
“Aren’t you getting late?” Simon asks, eyebrow raised.
“Are you mad at me?” Anton asks urgently, light eyebrows pulled together. His hands grip Simon’s shoulders desperately.
“I’m not–“ he breathes in deeply, and at least he cares this much is the pathetic thought that voices in his head. “I’m not mad,” he responds quietly, looking down as he tries to make his voice sound as even and not-mad as possible. Though he can immediately tell that there’s no way Anton is going to buy it, because he can hear the disappointment in his voice.
“I’m so glad,” Anton exclaims immediately, pulling him into a tight hug with no hesitance. Simon chokes as he tries to reciprocate, and–well. He’s a better actor than he thought, he supposes.
The hug lasts a few seconds, and once Simon successfully pulls away, Anton grabs his waist to pull him in for a kiss. It’s weirdly searing for 7 AM, what with how the elder tangles their tongues together with wandering hands across his body.
“Simon! Anton!”
Simon pulls away with a start at the sound of Felice’s voice, coming the form of a yell from behind them. Anton seems to be hesitant in letting go of him, if the way his hands linger on Simon’s waist is any indication–and they turn around to find Felice and…
Wilhelm.
His throat dries up at the sight of the two of them, now walking over to where him and Anton are stood. Felice is sporting a bright smile on her face, a cup of coffee in her hand, with Wilhelm trailing behind her, hands buried in his pockets.
“Hi,” he says, finding it kind hard to gather his voice. “Uh–morning,” he says awkwardly, not really knowing the appropriate way to behave when you’re stopped mid-makeout.
“Morning!” Felice responds. “Wille and I were just getting a quick morning walk in when we saw you guys, so we thought we’d say hi,”
“The weather’s perfect,” Anton nods in agreement, and Simon smiles, turning to face Wilhelm, who’s got his gaze fixated on the concrete in front of him.
“Hi,” he says gently, voice directed right at Wilhelm. At the sound of his voice, Wilhelm’s head whips up, mouth falling open and closed before a soft smile is gracing his face, hand tucking hair behind his ear.
“Hi,” he replies back, voice tender. Simon looks at him, their eyes locked at each other. The peaks of the sun’s rays make the brown of Wilhelm’s eyes shine lighter than usual, specks of golden and green traced along the edge of his iris.
“Morning,” Anton’s voice behind him snaps him out of his reverie, and Simon’s heartbeat increases. Wilhelm looks away, too, finding Anton’s gaze instead. He gives him a tight-lipped smile in greeting, a soft morning muttered somewhere under his breath.
So… this was a recent development. It started because of Sara, because apparently her and Felice are long-lost twins who are now attached at the hip. As a result of their budding friendship, therefore, Simon has been finding himself hanging around all these people. And it’s–well, it is fun, especially because when it isn’t for the obnoxious 3rd years, Felice and her friends are actually pretty cool. She’d ended up inviting Simon and Sara (and upon finding out that Simon had a boyfriend, Anton, too) to a party almost three weeks ago, and he’d found himself growing increasingly more involved in the social circles at school–at least more than he ever thought he would, with the clear disdain with which he was treated when he first joined.
A part of that social circle, of course, is Wilhelm. And if he didn’t before, Simon would definitely have to admit that him and the Prince of Sweden are friends, now. And though it’s not just because of his proximity to Felice now, it has made a difference. Because at this point, it feels like Wilhelm is around all the time. And it’s not a bad thing at all, because Wilhelm is actually amazing. Simon’s started learning a lot more about him (even the story about headbutting a guy in a club–the reason why he’s at Hillerska in the first place), and despite his slightly misguided behavior sometimes that lets the royal, privileged upbringing shine through, Simon genuinely doesn’t even mind because he can always tell that Wilhelm is so well-intentioned. Simon feels heard when they talk, like Wilhelm actually, for whatever reason, cares about what he has to say and how he feels. They get along really well, and it’s fun to hang out with him–especially as they’ve grown more comfortable around each other and Simon doesn’t hesitate in treating him like he would treat Rosh and Ayub, for example.
Only…
Well, there’s a slight, minor, non-relevant inconvenience.
Wilhelm is, kind of, sort of, undeniably very, very attractive.
It’s true. Objectively! It’s the combination of everything–the unfairly sharp jaw, the unbelievably high cheekbones, the slope of his nose and the dip of his Cupid’s bow. The dark blonde hair, all flowy and wavy, cascading down the sides of his face when he brushes them away with his hand (big hand, by the way. Big with long fingers. And very attractively prominent veins). He smiles with crooked teeth and he looks beyond adorable doing anything at all, and Simon finds it hard not to stare when he bursts into loud laughter and his eyes shine, or when his lip twitches in nervousness, or when he’s nibbling on the end of his pencil while doing a reading and his brows are furrowed in concentration, or–
It's–whatever, really. Simon’s just never been in such close proximity with someone who he finds attractive. That’s it. And, you can’t really blame him for being attracted to Wilhelm; of course he’s going to feel some type of way when this borderline renaissance angel keeps circling around his orbit.
Like, sorry he has eyes, you know?
It’s just something he’ll have to get used to, is all. Being friends with a really, really gorgeous person. It’s kind of hard to adapt in the moment, but he’s tried to keep the awe he experiences when greeted by Wilhelm’s form at a minimum. It’s not easy, per se. But Simon will just have to learn to live with it.
(He has to. Right?)
“I’m gonna get going, baby,” Anton interrupts after a minute of catching up. He kisses Simon’s neck, squeezing his hip under his cold palm. “See ya!” he bids a quick goodbye to his boyfriend, Wilhelm, and Felice, getting in and driving off.
Simon’s stuck staring at his car even as it drives down the road, and he finds his hand trailing over the spot on his neck that Anton just kissed. It sent his cheeks burning but Simon’s afraid that it was out of embarrassment and not shyness or adoration in any form, and when he looks back to face the two of them, his eyes meet Wilhelm’s–who is looking at him already, an intense look in his face, the line of his jaw tight like his teeth are clenched together.
Felice begins talking about how she has to begin getting ready, and Simon sends her the best smile he can muster, even though he’s more inclined to melt into a puddle under Wilhelm’s eyes.
“See you at practice,” he bids goodbye to Wilhelm, voice floaty and weak. He gets a gruff see ya in response, and Simon’s body lights up as though a match had been struck, his skin the surface.
There are a multitude of occasions where Simon has been pretty pissed at Anton (orange-gate being the most recent addition), but this one is really in contention to taking the cake.
The Swedish winter is obviously no joke, and like any person would, he’d been trying to address said winter in the most appropriate way, but of course his boyfriend had to rush with utmost urgency, like he was the King or something.
And now, a chilled rush of wind passes whistles through the trees they are surrounded by, and Simon’s left in nothing but a thin full-sleeved t-shirt, and God, the Swedish winter is really no joke, and he’s going to freeze–
“You cold?”
His head whips back at Wilhelm’s voice, and he turns around to face the Prince, who stops to stand beside him. He can hear the distant voices of Nils, Vincent, and whoever else in the background, fucking around before August arrives. He can hear the birds chirping, the water of the lake swishing. But it’s all distant, faded, low in the background, because the loud noise is the small frown on Wilhelm’s face, features etched in concern.
“I–“ Simon stutters, taken aback by Wilhelm’s sudden presence. It takes him clearing his throat to regain his focus, and he offers him a crooked smile, “I’m okay.”
And then, because the universe hates him, the strongest gust of wind he’s felt all morning titters by them, and Simon shivers visibly, teeth clenched together. Wilhelm, watching with hawk-eyes, obviously calls him out with a raised eyebrow of judgement.
“I’ll be okay,” Simon corrects, wrapping his arms around himself.
Wilhelm’s mouth falls open, and he purses his lips, eyes trailing all across Simon’s body, with a gaze that Simon finds himself heating up under. “You’re gonna freeze,” he comments, pushing closer to Simon.
“Well, I can't do much,” Simon huffs, exasperated as he throws his hands in the air. “Forgot my jacket.”
A beat of silence stretches over them, and Wilhelm’s still just looking, nibbling on his bottom lip. The pause stretches for a moment longer, and Simon’s just about to switch the conversation to a different topic when Wilhelm crosses his arms in front of his body, and pulls his grey Hillerska hoodie off in one go.
And then he actually holds it out to Simon.
“Wille, no,” Simon blinks in response, taking a physical step back because of the way his heart lit up at the action.
“Simon, yes,” Wilhelm retorts, pushing the hoodie further towards Simon, extending his hand forward. His fingers twitch against the fabric, and Simon has to bite his lip to hide his smile because when he looks up to meet Wilhelm’s eyes, they’re staring at his hoodie, a light pink blooming against the apples of his cheeks.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Simon exclaims once he’s refocused on the conversation (and not thoughts about how pretty the Prince looks when he blushes), his voice laced with incredulousness.
“I’m not,” Wilhelm shakes his head. “Take it.”
“I – you’re gonna freeze, Wille,” Simon says, voice exasperated as he points to Wilhelm’s clothes. Granted, he’s wearing a light jacket under–so more protected than Simon would have been–but Simon knows it isn’t enough to take the hoodie off to give to someone he had only known since the term started.
“I run hot,” Wilhelm explains, voice earnest. “I’m serious. I’m gonna start sweating in like, 5 minutes. You look like your blood is near ready to turn into ice.”
Simon stares at the hoodie. Really stares at it. Then, he looks at Wilhelm. Really looks at him.
“I’m fine,” he repeats again, voice choked up, because–
Because who does this? How is one person this nice, and how did Simon ever get blessed enough to call said person his friend, let alone have his presence in his life?
“You’re stubborn,” Wilhelm snorts, like he’s corrected the adjective used by Simon. He takes a step closer–close enough that Simon can feel the heat radiating from his body–and pushes the cloth in Simon’s hands. “Just take it, please? If it’s–if it’s some other reason, you can say no and I won't push. But… if you’re not taking it because you think I’ll be cold, then don’t. Uh, be worried, I mean. In fact, don’t even think about it. I’ll be fine, I promise.”
Simon swallows, glancing between the hoodie and Wilhelm’s face, laced with sincerity. Slowly, he takes the hoodie out of Wilhelm’s hands, holding it between his fingers. He swallows thickly, “Thank –“ his voice comes out all scratchy, so he clears his throat. “Thank you,” he says, voice quiet, yet not absent from great gratitude.
“Of course,” Wilhelm beams at him, seemingly glad that he could help Simon out.
Simon raises his hands over his head to put the hoodie on, and he’s immediately met with an attractive scent, amber and grapefruit flushing his senses, and he can recognise the cologne–has smelled it on Wilhelm before–but being surrounded by it makes his knees feel almost weak for a second before he steadies himself.
Once he’s worn the hoodie, he looks down at his chest, smoothening the soft fabric under his fingers. The sleeves reach his knuckles and it is a bit oversized on him, given that Wilhelm’s taller and broader, but that actually makes for a really comfortable fit. And shit, why has his own Hillerska hoodie never felt this good?
When he finally looks up, Wilhelm is staring at him, lips parted oh-so-slightly.
His eyes are trained on Simon like he’s seeing something he hadn’t braced himself for.
(Or maybe something he’d thought about too many times and wasn’t prepared to actually witness in real life.)
“What?” he says, almost defensively under the Prince’s intense stare.
Wilhelm blinks once, twice, before snapping his head to the side, mouth covering a quick cough.
“Nothing, just,” he responds with a sharp breath, clearing his throat after. “Uh. Suits you, uh the–the um. The… hoodie, I mean.”
“Thanks,” Simon smiles at the compliment, chest beaming with inexplicable joy. At his smile, he sees Wilhelm relax visibly, shoulders sagging as he sends a grin right back at Simon.
“And,” Simon breathes in, pulling the hood so that it rests over his curls. “Thank you for this, really. I meant it.”
Wilhelm shakes his head softly, a small smile playing across his lips, “I wanted to,” he says, voice dropping down to a whisper, almost. Simon’s breath hitches, for some reason, and he wets his lips.
“Um,” Wilhelm straightens up again, tone changed from the wistful, quiet one to more gruff version with a cough. “You just–you looked cold, so…”
“I was cold.”
“Well. There you go.”
Simon narrows his eyes, looking at Wilhelm, who’s suddenly bashful, if the red all over his cheeks is any indication. And God, Simon just wants to know. It’s this intense feeling he feels erupting in his stomach when he’s with Wilhelm; the feeling that yearns to know more–know everything–about Wilhelm, about the expression on his face, about the reason why he can’t meet Simon’s eyes, about the bitten skin around his finger, about the way he rubs his chest out of anxiousness, about his love for macaroni with falukorv, about the crestfallen expression on his face after a call with his Mom, about all the stories from when him and Erik were a child, about–
“It’s almost too comfortable,” he forces out of his mouth, effectively stopping the racing thoughts in his head. “I might have to steal it.”
Wilhelm chokes on air, looking like a deer in headlights. “Right. Yeah. Sure.”
Simon finds himself laughing, and a loud yell halts their conversation. It’s August, finally arriving and calling all the boys to gather around for practice. Oh, to have literally any other person as Team Captain.
With a glance towards Wilhelm, who’s fiddling with his fingers, Simon smiles, “I’m kidding,” he clarifies. And after a pause–
“Mostly.”
Wilhelm ends up spluttering over his words, all red in the face like a tomato before they are all gathered around August, receiving the same pep talk they do everyday. Simon really wishes rowing was something he didn’t have to participate in, but he also knows he’s nowhere close to dropping out of it because of the extra credits it provides. He just hates it so much, and he especially hates it today, when August makes them spend the entire practice on a run.
Though the temperature doesn’t drop further and the heat from his body due to the physical exercise does help, he’s immensely grateful for Wilhelm’s wonderfully comfortable hoodie, which he finds himself nestling in without really meaning to. They both are running together, Wilhelm not being subtle about him steering towards Simon intentionally to avoid August and whatever bullshit he had to say. But Simon’s not the most athletic guy in the world, and he can tell that he’s really slowing Wilhelm down when the rest of the boys disappear deeper into the woods.
“You should,” he tries to catch his breath, holding onto a tree for support. “You should catch up with them. I’m slowing you down.”
“Simon, I really don’t care,” Wilhelm laughs, breathing deeply as he takes a break, too. “I’d rather take an extra hour here than join August and Vincent and whoever,” he grumbles, not hiding his distaste for the 3rd-years.
It’s honestly validating to have someone dislike their presence as much as Simon does (if not more–Wilhelm really can’t stand his 2nd cousin), because he’d developed enough of a distaste towards them when he’d first joined Hillerska and they were hell bent on reminding him that he was beneath them everyday. He was already biased, and because everyone bowed down to them, no one shared the same disdain for them. Until Wilhelm.
Simon laughs softly, and Wilhelm grins at him, before looking behind him.
“Hey, do you wanna take a different route?” he asks suddenly, pointing to another trail path behind him. “Short-cut.”
“What, like cheat?” Simon blinks.
“It’s rowing practice,” Wilhelm replies, tone laced with amusement. “I think it’s okay if we don’t run like, the 10-thousand miles August wants us to run.”
Simon can’t help but laugh at the exaggeration, and before he knows it, he finds himself agreeing to follow Wilhelm. They develop the pace of a light jog, and the sun grows slightly brighter as they make their way through the forest. It is an area he’s never explored before, and he finds that Wilhelm only knows about it because of Erik, his brother. Simon doesn’t know much about the Crown Prince except for the fact that Wilhelm really idolizes him; leans on to him for support. And, well, that information is enough for him to prefer Erik over the Queen, who’s more hell-bent on maintaining a rather rocky relationship with her second child.
They reach a plainer path with dried grass and small stones, following the edge of the lake right behind Hillerska, and even though Wilhelm braces him by letting him know that there’s an incredible view somewhere on this route, he doesn’t expect this.
“Holy shit,” he whispers, standing next to Wilhelm. Their shoulders brush against each other as they take in the view, the lake only a few metres away from them. The sun’s pale orange rays skirt over the blue of the water, reflecting in to create a beautiful shade over the waves. Distantly, the trees are lush and green, a light fog, the morning mist brushed against their leaves. And neither of them say anything, and Simon finds his body relaxing, taking a lung full of fresh air, feeling a buzz of peace ringing in his ears.
“This is incredible,” he says, turning to Wilhelm, who smiles.
“Yeah, Erik was always upto something crazy when he was here,” he snorts. “I’m not surprised he found this place.”
Simon hums in response, nodding as he turns to look at the lake. A beat of silence passes over them, and he looks at Wilhelm’s side profile, his eyes gentle as they bore into the scene in front of him.
“Must be hard,” Simon says quietly. “Being away from him, I mean.”
“Yeah,” Wilhelm lets out a hollow laugh. “It is.” he pauses, sighing. “I just… it’s weird. To go from having him around all the time to not, I guess.”
“I can’t imagine,” Simon shakes his head. “Were you close as kids?”
“Super,” Wilhelm laughs. “We’ve always been close. Like, always. He’s one of the few people I can talk to and–“
He gestures vaguely to the lake, “He’s told me about so many things,” he says, referring to the beautiful spot. “Taught me so many things. Half the person I am is because of him,” he shakes his head, a fond smile on his face.
“He sounds like a great brother,” Simon smiles, enamoured by the fondness in Wilhelm’s voice as he talks about Erik.
“He is,” Wilhelm grins. “Some of my best memories from my childhood are the times I spent with him. Though we did get into a fair amount of trouble as kids.”
Simon can’t help but feel a corner of his mouth quirk up at the thought of Wilhelm goofing around with his brother as a kid. “Oh yeah?” he grins. “What’s the worst story?”
Wilhelm lets out a breathless laugh, running his hand through his hair, before pausing for a second. “Well, this isn’t the worst one, but it’s my favourite,” he shakes his head.
“I was… 14? 13, maybe? And him and I were up at midnight,” he explains. “And we were obsessed with watching the Great British Break Off –“
Simon lets out an audible snort.
“Then we got into an argument about who would win if we went on,” Wilhelm snickers. “So, obviously, the next step was to get into our own little competition.”
“We snuck into the kitchen, and we were making pancakes,” he says matter-of-factly. “Except… we totally burned them. And we set off the smoke alarm.”
Simon’s mouth falls open, “you’re joking.”
“Nope,” Wilhelm grins. “That wasn’t even the worst part. We obviously were way too loud and we ended up waking up our security detail. They thought there was an intruder, Jesus–some guy was ready to tase whoever was in his sight. That woke Mama up, of course, so we got a 2-hour lecture at 1 AM about behaving ourselves.”
Simon slaps a hand over his mouth, bursting out into loud laughter. It feels nice to hear about the stories of Wilhelm’s childhood, especially as he remembers them with so much fondness. Clearly, Erik is someone who’s really important to Wilhelm, and he really, truly understands because it’s the same way he feels about Sara. What really gets to him, though, is the way Wilhelm recites the story completely normally–and it is, it is mundane, just two boys having fun, but it’s weird to be reminded of the consequences. Like, of course making pancakes in the middle of the night becomes a thing when you’re the Prince and live in the palace.
He snorts at the reminder, shaking his head lightly.
“What?” Wilhelm asks at the action, head tilted.
“No, it’s just–“ Simon shrugs, laughing. “It’s just funny. I really forget sometimes.”
“Forget what?” Wilhelm blinks, turning so that they’re both facing each other.
“That you’re like…” he lets out a breathless laugh, “the actual Prince.”
Wilhelm’s forehead creases into a frown. (He looks adorable.)
“I mean, like, I know, of course,” Simon explains, scratching at his cheek with his finger. “But you’re just–you act like… any other guy, you know? You take shorter routes to cut practice, make really stupid jokes, laugh like a dork–“ he gestures vaguely with his hands, “you make pancakes with your brother in the middle of the night,”
Wilhelm’s staring at him with his lips pursed, an unreadable expression on his face. Though he’s got a really intense look in his eyes–Simon has seen that stare before, it’s hard to miss.
“I don’t know, I guess you just feel like Wille, to me.” Simon shrugs, kicking a rock with his foot. “Not… His Royal Highness, or whatever.”
There’s a beat of silence, and he looks up from the ground to meet Wilhelm’s eyes, afraid that he may have said something wrong. He’s almost ready to open his mouth in apology when the boy in front of him surges forward, wrapping his arms around Simon’s shoulders. It takes a minute for him to even register what’s going on, breath hitching as his body takes in the overwhelming feeling of being surrounded by Wilhelm’s warmth, his arms tight and strong around his frame, his slightly musky yet attractive scent invading his senses, and Simon melts into the hug to snake his arms around Wilhelm’s waist. Wilhelm’s chin rests on Simon’s shoulder, his hand fisting at his own hoodie that Simon is wearing.
They pull away after a second, and Wilhelm immediately covers his face over his hands, rubbing at his eyes.
“Sorry, I–“ his breath hitches, eyes downcast. “I shouldn’t have done that without asking you.”
“No, that’s okay,” Simon rushes to disagree, because he really didn’t mind. Wilhelm and him are… friends, so doing something like this is normal. In fact, he’s glad Wilhelm hugged him, because, well… he’s a really, really great hugger. “I didn’t mind. At all. Really.”
“Still,” Wilhelm sniffles softly, and Simon frowns at the sound. “I’ll ask next time.”
Simon’s heartbeat increases exponentially for whatever reason.
“Um,” he hesitates, taking in Wilhelm’s hunched shoulders, glistening eyes, and the way he struggles to meet his eyes. “Are you… are you okay?”
“Yeah, I am,” he smiles wetly, and Simon can instinctively tell that it’s genuine. “Really. I just–“
He lets out a breathless laugh, running his hand through his hair to push them back.
“No one’s ever said anything like that to me before.”
“I don’t…” Simon shifts his weight between his feet, nibbling on his lower lip nervously, “is that, um, do you mean that in a good way? Or bad?”
“God, good,” Wilhelm answers immediately, his voice airy, a genuine smile quirking his lips. “In a good way, Simon. In the best way. You don’t even know.”
- Free-falling In My Mind - You Catch Me Before I Drown
Simon has never felt this way in the music room before.
Before, when he first joined Hillerska, he quickly realised that none of the people there were interested in being friends with him, rather, they chose to look down on him for whatever reason they thought best. In their eyes, Simon gave them many–working class, socialist, non-boarder. They could take their pick.
As a result, the music room was where he would often end up – his own safe haven, free from the taunts of the boys in class. He would spend hours in there, singing along to made-up tunes, playing notes on the piano, humming to warm his voice up. As a result, even as he did find friends at Hillerska, he would still end up in the music room, always looking at it as a safe space.
So feeling this way in the music room is definitely new.
This being the anxious pit in the bottom of his stomach, the absolute sledge of dread that’s currently churning his insides.
He glances at the clock, and realizes there’s twenty minutes until he’ll have to drag his feet to the choir director’s room, and give his audition for the song that the entire choir will end up singing at the year-end jubilee. He’d spent the last few weeks working on it, going over every note, every lyric, over and over and over again until it sounded nothing short of perfect, and it did, at some point, and he was so proud of it, except…
Except now, his mouth opens shakily as he tries to sing, and when he does, all he can hear is an off-key note, a non-sensical metaphor, a flat vowel.
He rubs a trembling hand across his chest, trying to calm himself down. This is a huge opportunity, he knows it is. It’s the kind of thing he moved to Hillerska for in the first place, and all he can see is his choir teacher’s disappointed face if he were to sing this terrible song for the audition, and–
The one good thing is that he can identify that he’s spiralling. He takes a deep breath, trying to find the answer within the white walls of the room, but he’s not even sure what he’s looking for. Divine intervention, perhaps. The piano stool scrapes as he gets up with a deep exhale, pacing around the room before sliding down the wall, pulling his knees close to his chest.
It's not like he’s never performed before. He has, on several occasions, even his own songs. So he knows what nervousness is–the flutter in your stomach you get before you’re about to perform in front of an audience–but he’s never experienced this. This dread that is so good at convincing him that all the work he has put in is for nothing, that he is a terrible singer.
He clenches his eyes shut as another wave of insecurity passes through him, and before he can second-guess himself, he pulls his phone out of his pocket, and dials Anton’s number immediately.
This opportunity is too big for him to pass up on–to mess it up because of whatever anxiety is swirling through his stomach right now, and he desperately needs someone to talk him down, just tell him that he’s good; that all will be okay.
It takes a few rings before Anton picks up.
“Hey baby,” Anton’s voice filters through the speaker. Behind him, there’s a soft gush of wind, a distant horse neighing. “What’s up?”
“Hey,” Simon croaks out, trying to keep his voice as stable as possible. “Um, are you busy?”
“Uh,” Anton exhales loudly. “I’m at work so a little, yeah–but, everything okay? Talk to me, baby.”
“I–” Simon breaks off, pressing a hand to his chest. “I don’t know. I’m still at school. I’m–I have the audition for that Hillerska song rendition in a bit, and I was just practicing and it sounded so bad, and now I can’t tell if it’s the song or if it’s just me, but I can't – fuck, I’m scared I’ll mess it up, or–”
“Simon,” Anton interrupts him with a laugh. “That’s it?”
“I –“ Simon’s voice cracks, and he swallows thickly, unshed tears finding their way against his eyes. “Yeah, but I’m just, I don’t know, I’m so–“
“Baby, you’ll be fine,” Anton insists. “I was worried, I thought something actually happened.”
There’s a pause, a voice yells in the background.
“I told you I’m busy, let’s talk about this later, okay?” Anton continues, his voice distracted. “Just take a deep breath, I’m sure you’ll do amazing. You always do, baby.”
“Wait, Anton–“
The line goes dead before he can finish his sentence, and he’s lost, staring at the red heart beside his boyfriend’s contact name.
He glances at the time again, fifteen minutes until he’s supposed to leave for the audition. The pit in his stomach hasn’t gotten better, in fact, it only seems to be getting worse. He tries to take a deep breath, swallowing as much air as possible, before scrolling through his phone with frantic hands. He rings Sara next and realizes that she’s at the stables right now, probably riding, and he has no idea when she’ll be free. His mom is at work, definitely too busy to talk him out of his panicked state. Rosh is at football practice and Ayub is visiting his grandma.
Fuck.
Out of options, his hand automatically pulls up the contact of the person that’s been hovering at the back of his mind.
Wilhelm.
It was only a couple weeks ago that he’d talked the prince out of a panic attack. They were in the library when he’d gotten a call from his Mom–well, the queen–and she’d mentioned some plans for him over the summer that had worked him up to a panicked state that by the time he’d walked back to the table they were working at, he was red in the face and barely taking full breaths. Sara has had panic attacks before, so Simon thankfully knew what to do, and he’d walked Wilhelm to his room after the prince had calmed down and thanked him incessantly.
And… that’s what friends are for, right? Surely, they were close enough at this point…
He doesn’t have the time to ponder over this any further, because the panic in his chest flares up again, and he hears the rings of the call before he’s realized he’s even hit the green button.
“Hello?”
Wilhelm’s voice sounds through the speaker and Simon’s breath catches in his throat.
“Hello?” Wilhelm repeats. “Simon?”
“Yeah,” Simon rasps out. “Yeah, I–fuck, are you… are you busy right now?” he tries to make his voice as stable as possible, but he knows it ends up sounding small and weak, a new set of tears rolling their way down his cheeks.
“Uh,” Wilhelm stutters. “Give me a second.”
Simon blinks the tears away, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. He can hear muffled voices speaking in the background – Wilhelm’s talking to someone – and he frowns, trying to decipher what they’re saying, but before he can, the audio clears up again, and it’s Wilhelm speaking to him.
“Sorry – yeah, is – is everything okay?” he asks, and Simon can hear the concern in his voice, and he’s not sure why, but it only makes him cry harder, silent tears cascading down his face. He’s trying to find his voice, but all he can do is sniffle pathetically into the speaker.
“Simon?” Wilhelm repeats, voice pinched. “Are you – fuck, are you crying? Where are you right now?” there’s more movement in the background, a door slams shut.
“Music room,” Simon manages to whisper.
“Okay,” Wilhelm exhales. “Okay. I’ll–I’ll be there in a minute, okay? Don’t move.”
The call ends and he drops his floor to the ground, burying his face in his thighs. He wills himself to stop crying, and manages to actually stop – though his breathing remains short, and the feeling of everything being utterly wrong does nothing to leave his chest. His lungs have turned into fists, and he isn’t sure if he’s about to explode or cry again, when the door slams open and Wilhelm crouches in front of him.
“Oh, Simon,” Wilhelm breathes out, face etched with concern as he gathers Simon in his arms. And Simon finds himself clinging to him desperately, chasing the warmth of his hug, grasping at his shoulders and breathing in his cologne. He vaguely registers that Wilhelm has a black suit on, but he can’t focus on much else except the soothing hand rubbing up and down his back. It takes him a minute to get his breathing normalized, and he pulls away after a second.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Wilhelm asks quietly, leaning away to sit cross legged in front of him.
“Fuck, it’s so stupid,” Simon croaks out frustratedly, shaking his head.
“Hey,” Wilhelm nudges him with his knee. “It’s clearly not.”
Simon takes in a deep breath.
“I have that audition today,” he bites his lip. “For the Jubilee. With my original song.”
“I know,” Wilhelm says, voice soft. “You were so excited about it.”
“I was,” Simon closes his eyes. “But I just – I ran through it again, and it just – it sounds so wrong, Wille, I – I don’t know what to do, I can't – it sounds so off, and I just hated it, and I started spiraling and –“
He cuts himself off, shaking his head, “I don’t know if I can sing at the audition. I feel like a fucking joke.”
He doesn’t know why he says it like that. He doesn’t mean for the last word to come out as cracked and quiet as it does.
“How…” Wilhelm takes in a sharp breath, and Simon looks at him carefully. “How does your brain manage to convince you that you’re anything but phenomenal?”
Simon looks away at that.
“Simon,” Wilhelm calls for him, voice earnest, a comforting hand clasped over his knee. “I’ve seen you sing. I’ve heard the song you wrote. You’re incredible. Every choir performance, every time you sing, fuck, I can't stop watching you, hearing you –“
“But why,” Simon asks desperately. “Wille, I’m not even–“
“You are.” Wilhelm insists. “Simon, you are. You sing like you mean it, you…”
“You sing from the heart, like it hurts.” He continues, as sincere as ever. After a pause, a small smile breaks on his face, “I don’t know if you know this, but I wasn’t exactly happy coming to Hillerska.”
Simon snorts at the sarcasm, knowing full well how resistant Wilhelm was to switching schools.
“I was so upset that day, so pissed off, and I don’t think I smiled once,” he says. “Until I heard you.”
Simon’s breath hitches in his throat, and he raises his head to meet Wilhelm’s brown eyes, dripping with honesty.
“You… your voice, what you sing… it’s incredible. It’s all incredible,” he whispers. “You’re incredible, Simon.”
Simon swallows thickly, staring into Wilhelm’s eyes, and he finds his heartbeat raise again – in a different way than before this time, body tingling as he registers Wilhelm’s genuine appreciation, and he suddenly he feels full to the brim with an inexplicable warmth, and it’s all encompassing, and he’s breathless again, but in a good way, and–
“Sorry,” Wilhelm laughs awkwardly. “I–that might’ve been–weird.”
“No,” Simon shakes his head quickly. “Not at all.”
Wilhelm shoots him a smile, and Simon takes the moment of silence to breathe normally again, feeling the tension in his chest dissipate slowly but surely.
“I got singing lessons when I was a kid, you know?” Wilhelm mentions, grinning at him.
“Really?” Simon asks with a raised eyebrow, finding his body relaxing more and more by the minute.
“It was like a supplement to the piano lessons,” he explains, which Simon was already aware of. Wilhelm had actually helped him out with some of the piano playing of the song, in fact, since he knew how to read sheet music and Simon didn’t. “I was awful at it, obviously.”
Simon lets out a snort at that, feeling his eyes twinkling with mirth, “Oh, yeah?”
“Just terrible,” Wilhelm cringes. “My teacher once told me, Wilhelm, you are great at singing just okay.”
The laugh that bubbles out of Simon’s mouth is unstoppable, and they’re both reduced to giggles before they know it.
“I was ten,” Wilhelm grins. “My teacher and I were both traumatized. I haven’t sung seriously since.”
Simon can't stop smiling. “That’s tragic.”
“Nah, that’s a blessing to the world,” Wilhelm shudders dramatically, referencing his sub-par singing skills. “You not singing, though… that would be tragic.”
Simon swallows. There’s a heat blooming in his chest that has nothing to do with embarrassment this time.
“You make people feel things when you sing,” Wilhelm says, quieter now. “That’s rare.”
“Thank you,” Simon breathes out. “Wille, seriously, I can't – I would’ve been so fucked if it weren’t for you, I –“
He’s interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.
“Prince Wilhelm?” the voice on the other side says. “We must leave now.”
Simon’s brows furrow, and he looks at Wilhelm, who flinches.
“Do you have somewhere to be?” Simon asks, registering the formal clothes as they both stand up.
“It’s just a dinner,” Wilhelm waves dismissively. “Mama insisted I come, apparently the guests who are attending are ‘really important,’” he rolls his eyes.
Simon’s throat runs dry, because…
Because why is Wilhelm so casual about it? About the fact that he paused whatever he was doing, wherever he had to be to… help Simon out?
“Why…” Simon’s throat tightens. “You didn’t have to… drop what you were doing to…”
A knock interrupts him again, and this time, the door is pushed open. A man who Simon recognises as Wilhelm’s bodyguard steps in, lips pursed together.
“Your Highness, her majesty insists that you must start now,” he says, sending a pointed look Wilhelm’s way, who sighs loudly in response, and fuck, did Wilhelm disobey the Queen? For him?
“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” Wilhelm grumbles. “I’ll be out in a second.”
“Wille,” Simon whispers, mouth parted open. “Why…”
“You sounded upset over the phone,” Wilhelm shrugs slowly, looking down at the floor, his foot kicking against the tile. There’s a slight red creeping up over his neck when he sighs and looks up, meeting Simon’s eyes, “I didn’t want to leave without knowing you were okay.”
Simon can’t find the words to express his gratitude. Hell, he can’t get any words to materialise against his vocal chords, so he walks over and wraps Wilhelm up in the tightest hug he can manage. “Thank you,” he whispers against his chest, “really,” feeling his eyes well up with tears – the good kind, this time – while Wilhelm only squeezes him back in response.
His bodyguard clears his throat again, and Simon pulls away with a reluctant sigh.
With one last smile, Wilhelm walks toward the door, pausing right before he’s about to step out of the room. With one hand on the doorknob, he twists his body to look back, “Simon?”
“Yeah?”
“Your song’s gonna be the best one in the room.”
And Simon believes him.
(Is this what it’s like? To be understood… without having to ask for it?)