Chapter Text
WILHELM
Wilhelm stares out the window of the private jet as it descends on what looks like just ocean and no land. It’s a bright shade of blue, dotted with tiny little islands and volcanic peaks. It’s different from the french riviera, way different than the Monaco marina where they should be. Where he wants to be.
He could be in Monaco with his old friends. He could be hanging out at clubs with Formula 1 drivers and managing to sneak out with girls who speak only French like he did last year. But their house flooded and The Queen absolutely insisted that it would take over four weeks for it to be sorted out even if Wilhelm begged for them to downsize and find an alternative.
Now he’s stuck on some spanish island with zero friends and zero people he knows, probably doomed to royal debriefings and bodyguards behind him all day.
The jet touches down smoothly at Tenerife airport, and they're shoved into black cabs by men in suits almost immediately.
Wilhelm slumps in the back seat next to Erik, their parents in a separate car. He opens his phone as soon as it starts dinging with messages after disconnecting from airplane mode, immediately seeing Instagram stories from his friends, girls in bikinis on a yacht, bottles of beer in a cooler. He groans and tosses his phone on his lap.
“Cheer up, little bro,” Erik says, clapping him on the shoulder. “It’s not the end of the world. Tenerife’s got babes in bikinis and beer too.”
Wille rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure I will be seeing tons of those with mom and dad on my tail.”
“We’ll find a way to sneak out,” Erik smiles at him, holding his pinkie out like they're kids again. “Promise.”
Wilhelm takes his pinkie with his, shaking both of their hands together. “Okay.”
The villa isn't that bad, there’s an infinity pool that looks like it drops straight into the ocean and a big lounge area. Inside, the floors are terracotta and all the walls are painted white. The staff gives them the grand tour, showing them the master suite for The Queen, Erik’s room with a terrace, and Wilhelm’s at the end of the hall, complete with a king bed and en-suite bath that could fit his entire Lund dorm room.
After unpacking. Or after throwing his bag on the floor and saying he will deal with it later, Erik makes him change into his swim trunks and head to the pool.
The water’s warm when he gets in, heated by the sun, and he floats on his back, staring at the cloudless sky while Erik does laps around him.
This sucks. He could be in Monaco right now, flirting with whoever, getting wasted without the world watching and while his mom and dad spend money in the casino forgetting he even exists.
He hauls himself out of the water after a while when his hands are getting pruny, even if Erik keeps insisting he does laps with him. “Come oooon, Wille!” He says, splashing him.
“Shut up,” He says to his brother, wrapping himself in a towel, and flops onto a lounge chair with a thriller he bought at the airport. It holds his attention for maybe twenty pages before he switches to his laptop, half-watching a youtube video as he scrolls Tenerife landmarks on tripadvisor on his phone.
Almost an hour goes by and Erik leaves the pool eventually, telling Wilhelm he is going to take a shower.
Wilhelm has grabbed a bag of crisps from the kitchen and has watched about five youtube videos back to back by the time Erik comes to talk to him again.
“Is this all you’re planning to do all day?” Erik says, leaning against a column, his shirt white and bright against the sun. “Do you wanna go on a walk? Mom’s in a meeting.”
Wilhelm hesitates, looking at his half-watched video essay about some game he hasn't played, but anything beats whatever he’s doing. “Okay.”
They slip out after bribing Erik’s bodyguard, who agrees to tail behind them with the promise of a day off.
They walk down stone stairs behind little houses and wander down to the nearby town. It’s touristy and busy but not too loud like Monaco is, there’s small colorful shops selling souvenirs, street performers singing and dancing songs in spanish that Wilhelm does not recognise. It’s hot and bright and Wilhelm is sure he’s sweating under his clothes.
Erik nudges him as they pass a sign advertising volcano tours in the Teide. “Look at that. We could sign up, hike to the top, and just… throw ourselves in to avoid mom.”
“You first, Crown Prince.” He says, laughing as Erik jumps in place and makes a face like he’s burning in the lava.
Erik laughs too, throwing an arm around Wilhelm’s shoulders. “You would miss me too much. Who else is gonna drag your ass outside?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Wille says, shoving him off. “But I’m starving. Mom would have fed me by now.”
Erik claps his hands together. “Let’s find some dinner, then, little bro.”
Wilhelm looks around as they walk, he points out bar with fairy lights on the windows, Erik shakes his head at it, saying that they need food before they get drunk. He then points at a little restaurant with yellow walls with a little sign saying MIGUEL’s across from the beach, with outdoor tables and a chalkboard menu promising arepas and fresh juices. “That looks good,” Wilhelm says. “Have you ever had Venezuelan food?”
“Nah,” Erik smiles at him, nodding his head for him to keep walking. “We can have some at some point, if you want?”
Wilhelm nods too and they keep walking, ending up at a beachside bar with plastic blue chairs facing the waves. There's surfers in their eye sight, riding tall waves together. Wilhelm orders a beer with lemonade and some grilled seafood skewers that come sizzling hot.
The sun’s dipping lower in the sky, painting everything gold. The sea is glittering a darker blue when Wilhelm looks at it. “Look at those guys,” Wilhelm says, nodding towards the surfers. One catches a wave perfectly, carving through the water like it’s nothing. “Maybe I’ll learn to surf this summer. You know?”
Erik nearly chokes on his beer, laughing. “I would pay to see you try to even stand on that board.”
“It could be my secret talent,” Wilhelm says, smiling as he takes a sip of his own drink, “you never know until you try, right?”
“Maybe stick to your business degree, and then,” He pauses for a second for effect, “you can buy your own surfing school.”
Wilhelm looks at him and sees his big brother and not the future king of Sweden for the first time in a long, long time. It’s weird, how Erik carries it all so effortlessly, like the weight of the crown is just another button on his coat.
They linger in the restaurant even as the sky turns black, chatting about everything and also about nothing at all. Wilhelm misses Monaco, Erik’s got crown prince duties piling up, endless meetings, public appearances, but he’s excited about going around Sweden and discussing policies on everything from education to green energy. Wilhelm’s just going through the motions of his degree at Lund, counting the days until graduation, or at least until he can figure out what the hell he actually wants to do for work.
“Your Highnesses,” a voice interrupts from behind them. It’s Odin, Erik’s bodyguard, materializing out of thin air with an earpiece that makes him look like he’s in a spy movie. He’s got his hands clasped in front of his body and sunglasses perched on his bald head. “The Queen is expecting you back at the villa in thirty minutes. Dinner preparations are underway.”
Erik sighs, setting his beer down. “Duty calls, huh?”
Wilhelm nods, the moment is shattered, but he steals one last look at the surfers fading into the night.
His alarm goes off at seven, he blinks awake to the sound of waves crashing against the air. It’s way earlier than he’d usually drag himself out of bed on vacation. But he wants to be early at the beach so he can get a good spot and maybe grab a coffee on the way.
He thinks about the little group of surfers as he gets dressed, about the way they rode the waves like they weren't over three metres tall. Maybe he could sign up for a surfing class, would his mom even approve that? Or would he have to be taught by someone agreed by her and privately so no one sees him?
The walk down to the beach is quick once he sneaks past Odin and the rest of the guards, it’s seven thirty in the morning but the air isn’t even cool, the sun pounding against his back as he walks.
The beach is mostly empty except for a few people going on dog walks and jogs. He spreads his towel near the water’s edge, strips down to his trunks, coats himself in sunscreen, and paddles in slowly.
The ocean is hotter than he expected, wrapping around him like a warm hug. He swims out into the deeper edge a bit, floating on his back, letting the current rock him back and forth. For a minute, it’s peaceful, the sun is on his face, the salt is on his lips.
This isn’t so bad, he thinks. It’s not a yacht in Monaco, but it's nice.
But then a wave hits harder than he anticipates, pulling him under the water. He kicks up, sputtering, but another one crashes over him, tumbling him like he’s in a washing machine. He’s panicking and suddenly forgot how to swim, his nostrils fill with salt water and he can’t see anything. Shit, this is bad.
He’s not a strong swimmer as it is, short-distance pool laps don’t prepare you for actually drowning in the ocean. The water floods his mouth, his vision blurs with bubbles, and he can only think about his mother having to pull his dead body from the ocean.
But then strong arms are wrapping around his waist, pulling, pulling, pulling until he breaks the surface, gasping, coughing up seawater as he’s dragged towards the shore. His rescuer’s grip is firm, effortless, like they’ve done this a hundred times.
They hit the sand, and Wille collapses onto it, heaving for air, his heart hammering in his chest like it's going to fall off.
Someone is speaking to him in spanish, fast. He’s not sure what they are saying. He looks up, blinking salt water away from his eyes, and… wow. He might be dead and in heaven or his rescuer is actually gorgeous. He has long curly hair plastered wet against brown skin, matching brown eyes that are squinting against the sun, warm hands run across Wilhelm’s chest like he’s preparing to give him CPR. He’s kneeling next to Wilhelm, water dripping from his long hair and onto Wilhelm’s face.
Wilhelm coughs water, trying to think about words in spanish. “Gracias,” He attempts to say as he sits up, running a hand through his wet hair, feeling like an idiot. “Sorry– no spanish.” he says in english.
The guy frowns, tilting his head at Wilhelm. “English? Swedish?” His hands are still on Wilhelm’s chest, warm and steady.
Wilhelm frowns back, surprised. “Swedish? Yeah– I– yeah.”
“Okay,” He smiles at him then, pulling his hands away, running them through his wet curls. “Are you breathing okay?” He says in perfect Swedish, and Wilhelm is almost stunned.
Wilhelm smiles back. “Yeah, thank you.”
“Good.”
“Can I get you lunch?” Wilhelm says, almost desperate to continue hearing that voice like the guy is a mermaid. “A drink? Or- or money?”
The stranger chuckles, low and easy, waving it off as he stands and brushes sand from his purple shorts. “It’s whatever, don’t even worry about it. I’ve pulled tens of tourists out of the water. It’s not apt for swimming if there’s surfers in it, yeah?” He pauses, tilting his head, those shiny brown eyes narrowing as he takes a longer look at Wilhelm’s face.
Recognition flickers. He knows.
“Well, you’re my first prince for sure.” The guy says with a little smile like he wants to laugh.
Wilhelm freezes on the spot, a grimace tugging at his mouth. The moment is gone. “I–”
"Vamos, Simon!" A shout in spanish cuts him off, from a group of surfers further down the beach with boards under their arms, waving impatiently at the boy.
The guy… Simon? looks back, then gives Wilhelm a smile again. “I have to go. Stay on the normal beaches next time, príncipe."prince
And just like that, he’s jogging off, his long curls bouncing against his shoulders, joining his friends without a backwards look at Wilhelm.
He stares after him, watching the planes of his back and his narrow waist as he paddles back to his board and laughs with his friends. Simon. Pretty name for a pretty hero. He didn’t even get a last name, or a number, or anything.
Flopping back onto the sand, he laughs to himself, the sun warming his skin. Okay, Tenerife. You win round one.
SIMON
The door locks behind Simon, he’s shaking his head and shaking saving the drowning prince of Sweden off his mind too. It was no big deal. Tourists underestimate the riptides every day, unable to read the warning signs and the flags.
But he can't help but smile to himself as he walks down the path from their house to the restaurant, thinking about how he almost gave CPR to Prince Wilhelm of Sweden. Rosh is going to love that one.
By midday, he’s clocked in at his uncle Miguel’s restaurant. Or what used to be his uncle’s until he passed away six years ago and left it to his mom. And thank God that Simon and Sara pushed her to keep it instead of selling it. Keeping tbe restaurant meant ditching Bjärstad and their dad’s endless bullshit for good.
And it also meant real summers and warm winters, fresh starts, no more tiptoeing around their problems. Now they have made the place their own. Painted it yellow and added colorful tables that face the ocean, the air is thick with sizzling food and reggaeton blasting from the speakers.
Simon’s on serving duty today, weaving between tables with trays of pabellón criollo and fresh mango juices, chatting up tourists in spanglish. “Enjoy!” He says to a family digging into their pabellón.
In the kitchen, Sara’s chopping veggies, her apron smeared with sauce. She’s been helping out most days since they moved, even though she wants to go back to Sweden as soon as she has some money saved up so she can study. "Table two!” she tells over the sizzle, not looking up.
He grabs the plates, leaning against the window. "Si, jefa!."Yes, boss!
Sara snorts, wiping her forehead with her sleeve. “Just go!”
“Fine,” Simon says, sticking his tongue out at her.
Sara’s quieter than Simon is, she has always been more guarded after everything with their dad and their old school, but somehow here on the island, she bloomed a bit. There’s less dark shadows in her eyes.
"No se peleen.""Don't fight."His mom comes out from the bar, tying her hair up, her laugh cutting through the kitchen noise as she checks Sara’s food. “Good job, mija. Simon, tell table five that their arepas are almost done.”
She’s the heart of it all, their mom. She’s tough as nails after years of scraping by in Sweden, but she’s warm like the sun in Tenerife. Moving here was her second chance too. There’s no more dead-end jobs and shitty shift patterns, there's just this place that belongs in their family and where she pours her soul into.
Simon watches her for a long second, pride swelling. They did this together, the three of them. No Micke, no bullshit.
“Got it, mami,” he says, planting a quick kiss on her cheek before leaving the kitchen.
His shift goes by pretty fast after that, and he’s done by seven with his feet and back aching. It’s the good kind of ache, and he’s about to put his feet in the ocean and feel them against the sand. So it's okay.
He grabs his board from the backroom and heads to the beach. The sun’s still high for a little while, and the waves are calling him. Pablo and Lucas are already there, waxing their boards by the water. Pablo’s the loud one out of the three of them, he has tattoos everywhere and wild stories from his Barcelona days. Lucas is a local and was Simon’s first ever kiss.
“Ey,” Pablo calls, fist-bumping him as he drops his stuff. “We thought you weren't coming.”
“Nah, just helping Sara for a few hours.” He looks at the water, the waves crashing slowly. “Any good ones yet?” He says as they out together, the ocean swallowing his feet and his ache away as he predicted.
They surf, Simon races Pablo on a little wave and laughs when they both crash face first. Lucas’ turn comes, and he catches a big one, riding it like a pro. They spend a long hour like that, racing each other and letting the sun dry their skin.
But as he rides another big one, shaking the water from his curls, he swears he spots a familiar figure on the beach. Tall and skinny, blonde hair catching in the sun.
Could that be... Prince Wilhelm? Watching him surf with an intense stare, like he’s memorizing every move he makes. Simon squints, his heart doing a weird flip. Could that actually be him?
He falls into the ocean, and when he comes out sputtering, Lucas is in front of him and he can't see the beach anymore. “Well done, Simon.” He says, smiling, holding an arm out for Simon to hug him.
He mentions it to the guys as they pack their things up for the day, the sun dipping lower in the sky. “Did you see a guy watching us?”
Pablo laughs. “Nah, dude.”
Lucas shrugs it off. And by the time they’re done for the day with their boards strapped to their backs, the prince is gone, like a ghost. Weird.
Simon shakes it off, saying bye to his friends and walking home with the heat washing off his back. Probably nothing. Why would the prince be watching him anyway?
He wakes up at dawn and has a quick coffee and bowl of cereal with his mom before she opens the restaurant. After saying bye to her, he goes straight to the beach for morning waves. And after nine o’clock, he heads to the restaurant to help Sara with prep. He chops onions for the sofrito, sneaks some masarepa with cheese, gets told off by his mom.
By midday, he’s sweaty and smells like tomatoes but the sea breeze is calling his name. He and Sara grab their towels and flop onto the sun-warmed sand just beyond the restaurant’s patio, sharing a shady spot under a palm.
The beach is full of tourists putting sunscreen on or making sand castles. Simon watches them as he stretches out, letting the heat soak into his skin, while Sara scrolls on her phone.
“Did you hear that the swedish royal family are spending their summer here?” Sara says out of nowhere, popping a piece of dried mango into her mouth. “Apparently their fancy house in France or whatever flooded, so now they’re here instead.”
Simon snorts, keeping his eyes on the horizon where surfers look small like ants. He knows exactly that they’re here, since he pulled the prince out of the water and all. But there’s no way he’s telling her that. Sara would tease him endlessly, or worse, worry about them coming in the restaurant and having to cook for them.
“Yeah. I bet they’re in some mega-villa. Taking tax money to fuel their jet.” He says instead of what he really thinks.
Sara rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “You’re such an eco-warrior, Simme.” She says, having the last bits of their mango bag. “Can you imagine the royal entourage in the restaurant?”
Simon laughs picturing their mom smiling at the Queen in her apron. She’s all about hospitality, but Simon’s got zero patience for tourists, royal or not. “Nah, they’d probably send security first to check for poison.”
Sara nods, deep in thought. “I just hope they don't ruin the island with a private party or something.”
Simon hums in agreement, but his mind drifts to that prince’s wide eyes post-rescue, the way he stammered about buying drinks. He was very cute. He pushes the thought down, focusing on the sun on his back instead.
Their lunch break ends too soon, and they're back to serving tables quickly.
When work is finally over, Pablo and Lucas are waiting for him at the beach. They paddle out, the waves are way bigger today, the adrenaline is pumping in his veins as Simon drops into a tall one, carving it clean. He feels like he’s flying, every worry dissolving in the water.
He’s here again. Prince Wilhelm. Simon sees him when he darts his eyes away from Pablo trying to do a backflip on his board. He’s sprawled on a towel on the beach, his eyes glued to the water. To them. To Simon? Their eyes lock, and the prince is too slow to play it off, flushing pink under the sun.
Simon smiles. He waddles over and out of the water, planting his board in the sand with a thud. “Are you watching me, príncipe?”
Wilhelm flushes a deeper shade of red, scrambling to sit up. “What? N- no!” He tries, “I like to watch you– and- and your friends surfing. You’re really good.”
Simon laughs, it comes out easy despite the weird flutter in his chest. “Thanks.” He looks at Wilhelm’s clothes folded on the towel, his shoulders pink from the sun. He puts his hands on his hips. “Do you want to try?”
“Maybe another day,” Wilhelm says, smiling up at him, squinting from the sun. “I still owe you a drink for saving my life.”
Simon hesitates, his eyes flicking over Wilhelm. Fuck, the prince is so cute. “You do. But I thought you would be forbidden to talk to a commoner.”
Before Wilhelm can say anything else, a shout echoes from the water, his friends are waving at him to come back. Simon grabs his board, tossing over his shoulder, “See you around…” He looks at Wilhelm up and down, at his chest and his long legs, he nods. “...príncipe.”
He jogs back to the guys in the water, his heart racing like he did something forbidden. He did, in a way. He tried to flirt with a prince who probably shouldn't be out on his own anyway.
Lucas raises an eyebrow as Simon straddles his board. “Who was that?”
Simon shrugs, pulling his hair up into a ponytail to keep his hands busy. “The prince of Sweden.”
Lucas bursts out laughing, like it’s the dumbest joke ever. “Yeah, right.”
Simon bites the inside of his cheek and doesn't say anything as he gathers enough momentum to stand on his board.
That night, Simon is sprawled in bed, the fan on his desk doing a poor job against the humid air. His phone glows in the dark against his face.
simon
guess what lol
rosh
what
ayub
ur gay?
rosh
duh
simon
shut up
the swedish royal family are here
ayub
in tenerife??
simon
yeah
rosh
wtf
i thought they went
to monaco in the summer
simon
apparently their castle flooded
or whatever
sara told me
rosh
how sad
ayub
devastating 💔
simon
i havent told you the best part yet
i saved prince wille from drowning
rosh
no way
ayub
stop lying bro
simon
i'm serious
i think he wants me
to teach him how to surf
ayub
no way
rosh
is this a fanfic youre writing or something
ayub
lmaooo
simon
guys lol
i'm serious
hes cute too
ayub
i wanna meet him when we visit
rosh
totally
simon
okay you will
rosh
bet
ayub
bet
WILHELM
He’s deep into a chapter of his book at the beach when a pair of feet appear in his peripheral vision.
He looks up, and there he is. Simon, his long curls dry and messy like he just rolled out of bed, wearing a thin button-up shirt with only two buttons on, flapping open in the breeze. His chest looks warm, inviting, all smooth skin and subtle muscle from whatever surfer magic he does daily. Wilhelm’s brain short circuits for a sec. This is the first time he’s seen him with clothes on and somehow it's worse. Or better.
“Príncipe,” Simon says, smiling big.
“Hey,” Wilhelm replies, blinking up at him.
And then, Simon says, “Are you ready for that surfing lesson? My friends aren’t coming today, so it would just be me and you.” And Wilhelm almost feels dizzy.
He passes his book from hand to hand. “I– um.”
Simon drops down next to him on the sand, close enough that Wilhelm catches a whiff of coconut and sunscreen. “Are you scared of journalists?” he says, looking at Wilhelm with an eyebrow raised. “Or what?”
Wilhelm hadn't even thought of journalists, or his mom, or the crown. He’d only thought about the smell of Simon’s sunscreen so close to him. He'd only thought about looking like an idiot in front of the guy that saved him from drowning.
He clears his throat, “I’m scared of going under the waves again,” he whispers, rubbing the back of his neck.
Simon smiles, wide and genuine, those brown eyes shining with amusement. “Good thing I’m here, ey, príncipe?” He stands quickly, holding out a hand. “Let’s go.”
Wilhelm stares at Simon’s hand for a second, considering. Thinking if it's worth it to get papped just so he can spend some time with this boy who looks like a mermaid.
He grabs it.
Simon lifts him up effortlessly, “Get your things.”
Wilhelm shoves all of his stuff in his bag and watches as Simon grabs a spare board from a stand nearby. The sand is burning under Wilhelm’s feet, making him hop a little as Simon straightens up and peels open the last two buttons of his shirt like it’s nothing, shrugging it off to reveal brown, almost golden skin that he’s seen before but somehow it feels different today. The shirt gets tossed into Simon’s bag along with his flip-flops.
“Ready?” Simon says with a smile like he’s daring Wilhelm, “You can put your bag next to mine, no one will take it.”
Wilhelm does, dropping his stuff on the sand next to Simon’s with a thud, feeling exposed without his book and his phone.
When he turns around, Simon is holding both boards under his arms, that smile widening, his brown curls catching the sunlight. They head to the water’s edge, waddling awkwardly into the shallows. The ocean is cold on his legs but a relief from the scorching hot sun, but his blood is thrumming inside his ears.
“Do you surf every day?” He asks, trying to make everything less awkward.
“Pretty much,” Simon says, paddling out a bit easily. “When I'm not working at the restaurant with mom.”
Wilhelm looks at him. “How come you speak Swedish?" He says, hoping he’s not intruding.
Simon hoists himself onto his board, laying belly-down, his slim arms dangling in the water. Wilhelm watches him for a second and then does the same, climbing up with way less grace, his board wobbling under him.
“I was born in Sweden,” Simon says, not looking at Wilhelm. “We only came here six years ago after tio Miguel died.” He adjusts his position. “Put your feet together, pointing toward the water– like this.”
Wilhelm shifts, his toes dipping in. “I’m sorry,” he says, genuine, the words feeling small against the open ocean.
“It’s okay.” Simon smiles a little. “He left mom the restaurant, and it meant we could move here. Best decision she could’ve made, really.”
Wilhelm nods, the board rocking gently under him. “Better weather, for sure.”
Simon chuckles, the sound low and warm, straightening his back as a small wave comes their way. “Paddle when I say.”
Wilhelm nods.
“Now!”
Wilhelm digs in, his arms burning as he pushes forward, the wave lifting them. They hit deeper water, Simon glides next to him like he was born for this. “Okay, up- stand up!”
Wilhelm pushes off his belly, his knees bending, trying to stand on his feet. He manages a shaky stand for two short seconds before he tumbles into the wave, the salt flooding his mouth, his body rolling in the water. He surfaces sputtering, laughing despite the fall, wiping water from his eyes.
Simon’s right there, treading water with a big smile, reaching out to haul him back so they're together in the water . His hand lingers on Wilhelm’s arm to make sure he’s okay. “You’re not too bad,” he says. “For royalty.”
Wilhelm splutters more water, shoving Simon’s shoulder playfully, their boards bumping. “Hey, I’m sure plenty of royals can surf.”
Simon rolls his eyes, but it’s light, playful, as he gets off his board and waddles closer to adjust Wilhelm’s stance again. “Stand?”
Wilhelm does as he’s told and Simon stands on his board in front of him so they’re face to face, chest to chest. Simon looks so small like this, Wilhelm never realised how short he was until now. That confidence of his really makes him look like he’s seven feet tall, unreachable. But he’s here. In front of Wilhelm. And he's real and warm and Wilhelm can smell shea butter on him.
Simon is talking, pulling Wilhelm out of his thoughts. “They sure do try when they come here in their jets, acting like the ocean’s their playground.” His hands slide to Wilhelm’s hips, his warm palms pressing firm through the wet fabric of his trunks to hold him steady.
The touch sends a jolt through Wilhelm’s body, fuzzy warmth blooming in his chest, skin buzzing where Simon’s thumbs dig in just a little. Simon’s so close now, their faces are inches apart, his curls are dripping onto Wilhelm’s shoulder, his brown eyes locked on his hands that are on Wilhelm’s skin.
“Steady,” He whispers, his breath ghosting Wilhelm’s cheek. “Feel the board under you. Shift your weight here…”
Wilhelm swallows hard, nodding, but he can only focus on the way Simon’s body sways with the current, brushing against his. He moves his feet to match Simon's position. “Like this?” he manages, his voice straining to come out.
“Yeah, perfect.” Simon’s smile turns softer, almost approving, but he doesn’t pull away yet. “So, what’s a prince doing in Tenerife anyway?”
Wilhelm huffs a laugh, trying to play it cool despite the way he could trace Simon’s cheekbones with his lips if he leaned forward a little bit. “Our house in Monaco flooded," Another small wave nudges them closer, Simon’s hands squeeze Wilhelm’s hips to keep him rooted to the spot. “This is terrifying.”
“You’re doing good.” Simon says. Letting go of Wilhelm for a second to watch him. Wilhelm straightens up, maintaining his balance for a few seconds. Simon smiles again. “Do you go to uni?”
Wilhelm nods, extending his arms for more balance. God, he must look stupid. But Simon doesn't seem to care. “Yeah, doing a business degree while I decide what I want.”
Simon laughs a little. “Decide what you want.” He says, almost like he’s making fun of Wilhelm. He shakes his head, “I'm doing environmental sciences.” Simon says, finally sliding off the board and getting on his own. “I’m trying to save the planet from people with private jets like you.”
Wilhelm knows he should probably be angry at him, fight back, but he’s watching the lines of his back and his legs as Simon stands up on his own board, meeting his eyes. “I’m kidding.”
Wilhelm bites the inside of his cheek, shrugs. “I’ll have you know I’m all about recycling.”
Simon sputters and then laughs, almost losing balance on his board. Wilhelm feels a fuzzy feeling in his belly at it, like he’s not the only one affected by their little push and pull.
When Simon stops laughing, he smiles. “Okay- watch.”
He demonstrates how he stands up from his board, his body arching gracefully, and Wilhelm tries again, managing five long seconds as Simon cheers him on.
“Well done!” Simon says, laughing bright and carefree, his wet hair sticking on his neck.
Wilhelm laughs, laying back down on his board on his back, staring at the clouds and the sun, feeling the heat on his stomach and his limbs.
Simon’s the first to break the silence, wiping salt from his eyes with a frustrated huff. “There’s tourists everywhere.” He says. “They're littering our beaches and not being responsible for it.”
Wilhelm nods, kicking his feet on the water. “Yeah,” He says, “Do you have any policies for that? In some places littering is illegal.”
Simon looks over, paddling closer, his board nudging Wilhelm’s. “Not really, just some cleaning parties once a week in the summer.”
Wilhelm closes his eyes, thinking. “Maybe you could make a difference and help change the law.”
“I’m just one person,” Simon sighs. “How much can I change?”
“Don’t say that,” Wilhelm sits up, looking at Simon’s face, his closed eyes and long eyelashes, his brown skin almost glowing golden in the sunlight. “Most things start from just one person’s ideas, don't they?”
Simon nods, his eyes opening, turning his head to look at Wilhelm. “What would you do if you weren't a prince?”
Wilhelm thinks, sitting up on his board, his legs dangling in the water. “Maybe I would travel the world.”
Simon nods, not convinced. He’s watching a wave building in the distance. “Are you ready?”
Wilhelm stands up after Simon, and he lasts longer this time, carving a wobbly line on the wave before the board sends him forward, tumbling into the foam.
He surfaces laughing, salt water streaming down his face, and Simon’s right there again, smiling as he hauls Wilhelm up by the arm. His hero. Again. Simon’s grip is strong on his shoulder, steadying him as another ripple pushes their bodies even closer together in the water, skin on skin through the thin barrier of wet trunks.
“Close,” Simon says, his voice husky and low, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners with that infectious laugh. “You’re getting it, though. One more?”
Wilhelm’s hyper-aware of the heat where Simon’s palm presses his shoulder when he nods, the accidental way Simon’s foot brushes against Wilhelm’s thigh as they get back on their boards, the way droplets cling to Simon’s lashes like stars.
His heart is racing, pounding in his chest, pulling him towards Simon like an invisible string. He can’t stop staring at the curve of Simon’s mouth, the way the salt water beads on his collarbones, the little scar on his jaw that Wilhelm suddenly wants to trace with his thumb.
Simon paddles a few strokes ahead, scanning the horizon. “Watch me.”
He nails the next big wave by himself, popping up smoothly and carving it like it's a sculpture, his eyes shining in pure joy as he rides it out. Wilhelm watches from his board, mesmerized, that fuzzy warmth spreading in his tummy again, spreading hot and sweet until his fingers feel tingly.
Then a smaller wave sneaks up on them and Wilhelm tries to pop up too fast and he stumbles like a baby horse. Simon is laughing and turning at the same time. Both boards shoot out from under them and they go under the wave and the foam.
Wilhelm surfaces first, coughing, wiping water from his eyes, and Simon’s right there, only inches away, treading water, his his long curls plastered to his forehead, his chest rising and falling fast. Their knees bump under the surface. Wilhelm can see every freckle on Simon’s nose, every drop of water sliding down his neck. The ocean pushes them closer for a second, noses almost brushing, and Wilhelm’s heart is pounding so hard he can feel it in his temples.
He’s going to kiss me. The thought hits so clear and loud he forgets how to breathe for half of a second.
Simon’s eyes flick down to Wilhelm’s mouth for a long second before he coughs suddenly, turning his head, the moment breaking like ice. He pulls back a couple of inches, water sloshing between them, and flashes that easy little smile like nothing happened. “Okay?” Simon asks. “Ready to get out of the water?”
Wilhelm swallows, his throat tight and sticky, mouth tasting like salt water, his cheeks burning hotter than the sun. “Yeah,” he manages, forcing a laugh that sounds fake even to him. “Yeah, I’m ready.”