Chapter Text
⁓ WILHELM ⁓
In the first moment, he couldn’t see anything. The stage lights were blinding and made his eyes water a little with their scary brightness. Wille all but felt his way forward on the stage until he reached the mic-stand and grabbed it. It was the only thing on stage he could take a hold on. A blink or two cleared his sight – and it took his breath away. The room was filled with people. They were the same as earlier in the evening when he had opened the night with Henry and the others. But back then he didn’t have the time to take it in with the dance and his hunt for balance and the chaos whirling around him. Now, he was in front of them all by himself. There were faces – hundreds of pairs of eyes locked in on HIM, watching him excitedly and full of expectation.
Wille swallowed against his dry throat as a gust of panic washed into his guts. Pearls of sweat formed between his shoulder blades and came running down his spine inside the corset. But as the rustling ebbed away and eager calm settled on the audience, Belinda stepped up. She rose her gaze from the floorboards where Wilhelm’s eyes had tried to ground himself on a blotch of spilled paint, and a flirtatious smirk ran across her face.
“Good evening dolls and pussycats", she gasped into the microphone with a smoky voice, and the crowd was already hooked.
Okay, at least the mic was on. This was a good sign. The opening went smooth as could be, with a little tease, a bit of banter, a flirt with the front row that came so naturally, Wille wondered who the hell was talking, because it surely couldn’t be him. But when it was time to start his real program, there was – nothing. Quiet. Where the fuck was the music? Wilhelm frowned internally. Was Simon letting him down for real? Would he actually make Belinda belly flop, comfortably reclining at his mixing panels with the switch blinking OFF and watching him drown? Wille squinted, trying to spot the curly head in the sound pit in the far back of the room to give him a nudge – or much better his gloved golden middle finger – but the stage lights shone too bright and he couldn’t see a thing. Belinda was still talking, but she wasn’t a full-time comedian, she couldn’t do this forever. And as her last impromptu speech came to an end, Wilhelm’s heartbeat seemed to go down with it. Which was fitting, because if the speakers stayed silent, why not his pulse join them? If Wilhelm was lucky, he would just drop unconscious and thus escape the boos and angry whistles of a frustrated crowd that would set in in a few moments. But really – what had he expected? How else could this show go if HE was the main act – Wilhelm ‘Disappointment’ Lundberg?
When he had dropped the last funny thing that had come to his mind, he was full on panicking and ready to end it all with a dramatic mic drop. And there – finally – the intro of his first song set in. Three times hallelujah and thank God (or the sound jerk who had come to his senses, but nahhh, Wille wouldn’t go that far) the playlist was there. And panic or no, it was engraved in Belinda’s memory, and with a deep inhale she set out to knock them all off their feet. Smoothly, softly she started her playback show, feeling the reactions, the vibe to find that the crowd’s attention was still hers, and with some circling of her hip and a cheeky wink she wrapped them right around her finger.
The first song wasn’t the best yet. Belinda needed a moment to get into it, to adjust to the overwhelming sensation of her first big performance. But the second song hit all the right spots, and the third one had the audience erupt with applause. Fuck you, short applause breaks! They were doing well. With all the fear and the bumpy start they were doing exceptionally well and they knew it. Wille needed this. And Belinda savored the cheers like a good wine, with a smile that was beaming – genuine, and oh so pretty! It didn’t feel difficult at all. It was real and filled her chest with a bubbly sensation. Damn, it was so, SO good! With slow strides, Belinda crossed the stage, joking, flirting in between her songs, ensnaring the audience like a siren. The weight of the microphone lay heavy in her hand – the silvery magic wand that could turn a stammering jerk into a fairy, and the crowd into her willing devotees.
Three songs in, and Belinda was at her best. Wille could feel the tension slipping off his shoulders, the tightness in his jaws slackening, the joy – the actual joy – of performing on stage bubbling up in his tummy. He didn’t pay attention to his sore feet anymore that had been screaming in agony when he had jammed them into the extra high sandals, didn’t give a fuck about posters on the wall, because in HIS show there were no spins required. It was just them, Belinda directing his body, his voice, and Wille following, dazed by the dopamine rush that was better than any other high he had ever experienced. And the music – it sounded so good now that it was finally playing! So different from the shitty bar loudspeakers back at the old place, that were prone to crack and wheeze at the most unfortunate moments and make everybody wince. Wille had to admit that THIS sound setup was on another level. Apparently costly and played by someone who knew how to handle it. A someone who was hiding somewhere in the far back of the room behind his boards and panels, impossible to detect in the darkness of the big auditorium, and that Wille wanted to throw over his knee and give a thorough spanking once he was done for causing him a live-stage heart attack. But now the sound boy was making up for the delay, and Belinda shone like the star she knew she could be.
Eventually, her eyes had adjusted to the bright lights and Belinda let her gaze dance across the tables and seats from right to left, take in the smiles and admiration that reflected on her, and little Wille inside wanted to cry. Because this was it. This was the feeling he’d been searching for all his life. The feeling of appreciation. Of recognition. Of doing well, actually impressing them with his talent, with the things he could achieve if he was doing them his way. With sparkling eyes, Belinda took in the scene – until her gaze locked with a familiar figure standing a little off at the main bar counter, beaming the biggest of smiles up at the stage, framed by a soft torrent of black curls and making Belinda’s eyes widen in delighted surprise. When their eyes met, Felice put up her hand and waved excitedly, and Wilhelm had to restrain himself from waving back at her. Of course she was there. Of course his best friend would come to see him after he had made her fetch his stuff. And fuck was he proud that she was there to witness his triumph! Until he discovered the other person by her side who was leaning against the bar top, arms crossed in front of their chest, glaring up at him with thin lips.
Erik. The sight had Wilhelm freeze. What the hell was he doing here? This wasn’t real! Erik of all people. Erik, who had called him nasty and kicked him out of his car in the middle of the night. Erik, who had looked at him like his mama when she was utterly disappointed with Wille. Erik, his big brother, that he had lost to his dream of being a star. Erik attending the show unannounced. Erik standing in the audience. Erik watching, as Wilhelm pretended to sing songs on a club stage – the little useless brother, clad in a dress and golden gloves, doing a drag show. And everything arranged by Felice, the traitor. Innocently, she clung to Erik’s arm as she said something into his ear, and Wille wanted to growl. Oh, they would so have to talk later! Have a serious talk about boundaries and scaring Wille to death by bringing his brother to his show. They would have a diva standoff, Felice and him – and this time, for the first time ever, Wille would win! Because this was just too much.
For a second that felt like an eternity and a half, Wille stared at his brother and his best friend by his side. He tripped over his song, brain washed blank by the view that displayed at his feet, and just like that the line he was supposed to sing was gone from his memory. For a long moment, Wilhelm felt like falling, like the wooden boards beneath his feet had given way and he was going down, sucked up by gravity to be flushed into the womb of mother earth herself. Why must this always happen to Wilhelm – his dream turning into a nightmare in the blink of an eye? Wasn’t there one goddamn half hour he could have for himself, just to feel good? Just to be whole for a little moment in time?
Their eyes met and Wille’s mouth got dry. Erik’s eyes were a light brown, so akin to his own. But would he be able to SEE, see Wille through the same eyes like his, see the person he could be? Or would he just see the freak, the clown, the embarrassment? Wille wanted to tear his eyes away from his brother’s judging look, but – blame it on the late night, the river of anxiety they had already crossed, the rush of adrenaline that was pumping through their veins or the room full of people who genuinely appreciated the show – Belinda wouldn’t let him. It was HER night – not his. There was no way the whiny little coward who owned their body would ruin this for her. Damn, she was tired, so tired of running, so tired of hiding. The show must go on or whatever they say. Belinda was the show! And with a curious, hot feeling in their chest, Wille felt his panic ebb away and being replaced by Belinda’s elevated calmness.
Fuck it! It was THEIR half hour of fame. If Erik was there to see them go down, they would go down in flames. So Belinda held his gaze when she dived back into the song that was playing, red lips silently shaping the words against the microphone. And after a few beats, Erik’s countenance started to soften. Eventually, Belinda tore her eyes away and focused on the other faces in the crowd, that were meeting her with the sparkle of awe and excitement. And she raised her arm, threw her head back with a smile, catwalked the stage and gently rolled her hips. Belinda couldn’t dance, but she could sway! Slowly, she moved to the music and teasingly presented her leg (her LEG, oh boy, there were miles of it) to the hollering crowd, bent her lean body like a twig, lived and suffered through her big heartbreak anthems all the way to the grand finale. A huge wave of applause washed over her when the music faded out, and she cordially curtsied to the crowd. A man in the first row stood and handed her a rose he had stolen from the vases on the tables. Belinda took it, cheeks glowing, and blew him a kiss before she waved everybody goodnight.
With his heart beating up high in his throat, Wilhelm took a row of bows as he slowly retreated to the back of the stage. When the curtain closed in front of him, a small wheeze escaped his trembling lips. Only now did he realize that he was wet through. A continuous stream of sweat was trickling down his face, and his gloves were so damp he was afraid he might have grown webbing between his fingers like a frog. Only tonight he didn’t feel like a nasty, croaking toad. Tonight, he was the princess. The fairy tale princess in her golden shoes, and his face was hurting from the big smile that was tearing it apart. A smile that was so real it hurt. No wonder he couldn’t maintain this grimace in his everyday life. It was straining his facial muscles so hard that it drove tears to his eyes. But he couldn’t do anything about it. He was just so happy.
Wille took a moment to hide his face in his hands and squeal into them. He needed to release the excitement before he was ready to step down and walk back to the dressing room on his wobbly legs. Then he remembered Erik, and his smile fell. Was he still there? Were him and Felice still standing at the bar? Or had his brother fled the club and blocked his contact, maybe recorded his performance with his phone to show it to his parents? Fuck, no! This spot on his bingo card could well have stayed blank tonight. But before Wille could make up more terrifying scenarios in his head, Henry jumped on him and gave him another heart attack.
“Woah, man, this show was a blast!”, he yelled into his face and pulled him into a hug that was far too tight for a sweaty, breathless Wilhelm.
But there weren’t too many occasions of him being hugged by anyone – especially not with cheers – so Wille received it with a little huff, when the air was pushed out of his lungs in Henry’s eager embrace. His friend had already taken off his make up and changed into street wear. But apparently, he had stayed to see Wilhelm’s show. There was no glint of jealousy or grudge on Henry’s face, only genuine excitement. It stirred Wilhelm’s heart to feel supported like this by one of the legendary Paradise birds.
“There’s someone waiting for you in the dressing room. They said they’re family. You're so lucky, queen – them coming to see you!”, Henry rambled on, and suddenly, the warm lump in Wilhelm’s chest froze – and cracked.
He couldn’t wait to change and get into his comfy clothes a minute ago. Now he wanted to turn on his heel and get back up on stage to do some awkward background dancing for Florence, who was just starting her show, go to the bar and take the trash out to the bins in the eerie dark side alley or work as a waiter for the rest of the night and walk more blisters into his feet if it only kept him from having to meet his brother eye to eye. In a wig and dress. Again. But he didn’t have a choice. They were there – expecting him to show up and wouldn’t go away. And Wille knew it would not get easier if he kept his naturally impatient brother waiting for too long. So Wilhelm yielded, walking to the butcher like the good lamb he was, heart fluttering in his chest like a caged bird. Nervously, he all but crept along the corridor, the hallway stretching out for miles in front of him, and the clinking of his heels on the concrete making him wince.
⁓ SIMON ⁓
The lights dimmed. The spot flashed on and painted a bright yellow circle onto the red curtain. Simon couldn’t tell why, but his hands suddenly felt cold when he placed his fingers onto the faders that would start the music. The music for him. Or her? Actually, he didn’t even know what to expect – or who. Simon didn’t really care either. He just hoped it wouldn’t be bad. Be it because he didn’t want to see hallway boy's dream pop, or because he didn’t want to find himself being strangely attracted to a loser. Whichever it was – his show better be good. The playlist he had handed him was decent enough, ‘Black Velvet’ sticking out like a mistake. Which it was, to be frank. But this one hadn’t been his own choice. The rest? Nice. Pretty even. It was stuff Simon could very well go with, big names with pretty voices. It were songs he wouldn’t mind making love to. Not that he was planning anything like it. Duh!
When the curtain swished open, Simon’s jaw dropped. And it didn’t ascend to close the big gap of his mouth for a good while, because FUCK! The apparition that emerged from behind the fabric was – dazzling. Simon wasn’t into girls. There was no doubt in his heart about where to turn when he was feeling antsy between his legs. He’d tried for a while but never found them appealing in a physical way. But THIS? Boy, this sight hit different. Because the figure on stage wasn’t a girl. It was an artwork.
When Belinda moved towards the microphone, smiling a shy but disturbingly alluring smile into the crowd, Simon forgot everything around himself. He just stared, listened to the melodious, smoky voice that sounded through the speakers crystal clear. Simon had never heard Belinda talk. He’d heard her whine and nag and hiss – but Wilhelm had never used his real stage voice on him. Which Simon hadn’t missed so far, because Wille’s boy voice was very nice, full and light in equal measure. It had even sounded hot when Wille had shouted at him, and Simon would absolutely have to go and see a therapist about that. But THIS voice – damn, Simon would want Belinda to read him a bedtime story. Or record him a podcast. Or whisper some unhinged dirty talk against his neck while he was riding her. Him. Whatever. Simon couldn’t think. He was all ears and watched and laughed with the audience, because that drag queen was genuinely funny, and no one was more surprised about that fact than Simon. Until his eyes dropped down to his mixing panels for a second and Simon jumped when he found his screen flashing at him, reading ‘giraffe boy/playlist/idiot/10-10.30/6 songs’. FUCK! In a rush, his hand flew to the fader and pushed it up. He didn’t even check whether Belinda was ready, but the way she got into the song right away made him think she was being okay.
She was more than okay. She was good! Relieved, Simon found that Wilhelm hadn’t lied when he’d said he could do better. It was a different him. Given, he wasn’t a dancer. But his performance didn’t need no dancing, didn’t require anything apart from the show girl’s presence, which was everywhere in the room. The man inside this dress couldn’t dance. But he could walk. And walk he did, slowly, deliberately, step by step, microphone in hand, pulling the crowd in with his elegant movements like he dragged his short train across the stage boards, softly batting his long lashes. Her lashes. Their. Never mind. Simon was getting confused. Maybe it was time he called the queen by her name, because ‘giraffe boy’ didn’t quite cover it anymore.
When Belinda acted out the playback, Simon’s heart was stomping in his chest. And the way she ate the performance, how she owned the stage when she couldn’t even do a fucking twirl, had him follow the show in awe. Good he had arranged and saved the playlist to his board in advance, because Simon’s brain had gone into shutdown, and he sat and stared like an idiot, eyes zooming in on the incredible shape in the long dress, the legs in the sparkling tights that were so unbelievably LONG he wanted to wrap them around his neck like a scarf. The hands in the golden gloves that were clutching the mic-stand so delicately, caressing it in a cheeky tease, the lips, that were red like sin itself and forming the words of the songs effortlessly, flawlessly like they were their own. But most of all – the thing that drew Simon in like nothing else – were the eyes. The sparkles that lit Wilhelm’s eyes up, so the brown of their irises seemed to explode in fireworks with joy – the joy of living his dream, of doing what felt right, of being the best version of himself.
The diva on stage did her show, and Simon finally found himself busy with working the mixing panel when he had found his wits again to give her the best sound possible. After all, she deserved it. And for a moment, Simon even forgot about his jealousy. He was completely caught by the performance, the show that was so much more delicate – not as humorous as Casper’s, but because of it somehow much more intimate. One awkward moment, Simon thought he had caught Wilhelm losing the line for a second. It was only a heartbeat or two, but he’d frozen like a deer, and Simon wondered what he had seen in the audience that had made him falter. But it was only a glimpse. Maybe he would tease him about it when the time was right. Maybe he wouldn’t. Right now, Simon didn’t know how he would face the boy again after all this at all. Belinda even ate the ‘Black Velvet’ insertion, although it was not her best one. And when the finale came up, Simon tasted blood on the lip he had gnawed on in excitement.
The show was over much too quickly, and the warm feeling that spread in Simon’s chest when the final applause washed through the room and up onto the stage to sweep the performer away didn’t come as a surprise. It felt almost like pride, like Simon had done anything to contribute to the success. Well, technically he had. But his part had not been very significant. It could have been done by a CD player. Still, his lips pulled into a broad smile as he watched the idiot in the black dress bow in a very ladylike manner and retreat to the back of the stage, until the curtain dropped to block the view on his cute little ... shut up!
Simon wanted to jump and run, to meet him backstage and throw himself at Wilhelm, to give him a tight hug and tell him how well he’d done. But there was the next act just seconds away from coming up, and he had to sit at the panels for another hour. The urge to do something incredibly stupid that would embarrass him to the moon and back would surely ebb away until then. Which was good. Because there was no way he could fling himself at the guy like a proud parent and praise him like a dog who had retrieved its very first stick. Thinking about it, hallway guy really didn’t need to know how much Simon had liked his show. Why – what good would it do? The arrogant prick would just pick on him even more if he got a hint of Simon acknowledging his talent. And he would look down on him from an even higher pedestal from then on. He’d sneer at the sound guy, who had succumbed to his request and played his music (with a little lag, but hey, Simon was only human) and thus admitted who was having the whip hand in their so far neatly balanced ‘relationship’.
Oh fuck it, Simon would keep his mouth shut and the guy at a distance. Because gorgeous show or not – he was just a lip synch idiot after all, right? Even though that dress had hugged his silhouette like a second skin, and Simon had never found it so hard to NOT focus on a pair of hips before. Anyways – there was still work to do, and Simon would not get all distracted and mess up (again), only because giraffe boy had done some sexy sways.
Sexy.
Uhhgg.
⁓ WILHELM ⁓
When Wilhelm entered the dressing room, a whirlwind of hair and warm skin and sweet perfume rushed upon him and almost swept him off his feet. When she finally let go, Felice grinned at him with rosy cheeks.
“This was so … Oh my god, Wille! The show was incredible!”, she squeaked, and Wille couldn’t help but smile back at her, ears glowing red with embarrassment and not a little pride.
But the grin quickly faded from his lips when his gaze trailed over to where Erik was standing bent over his dresser, awkwardly examining Wilhelm’s assortment of beauty products. Wille watched him nudging the blush brush like it was a live animal ready to bite, opening a lipstick and closing it again with a click like he’d never seen one before. And he hardly noticed Felice, who excused herself with a small smile and left the room. With a lump in his throat, Wilhelm approached the table.
“See anything you like to try?”, he asked in his Wilhelm-voice, and Erik’s gaze jumped up to meet his.
Wilhelm could see his brother’s eyes widen at the sight of Belinda standing right in front of him in all her grace and glory. For a moment his mouth was open like he wanted to say something, then he closed it again. Wilhelm was pondering if he should get out of his dress real quick, switch to the brother-version of himself to make Erik more comfortable. But then – this was Wille’s home base, his changing room, his fucking dresser. And Erik should keep his paws off his lipstick just as Wilhelm had never been allowed to play with Erik’s Star Wars figures. Who had all looked kinda gay for the record, and Wille’s Marvel collection had been much cuter. And had the cooler capes, duh!
Erik retreated from the table and stood upright. Wille noticed Erik had to roll his eyes up a little, because with his plus ten heels, Wille was towering over his older brother for the first time in his life. Erik scanned Belinda’s features like he was trying to see through the mask, trying to find Wille under the layers of makeup, but couldn’t. So he came up with a joke.
“You stole mom’s hair.”
A little huff escaped him with the line, and the lopsided smile spoke volumes about his uneasiness. But Wilhelm wasn’t in the mood for lame jokes.
“What are you doing here, Erik?”, he asked in a voice that he forced to sound calm, even though inside he was trembling, scared for the answer.
Erik wrung his hands, and Wille realized his brother was standing in front of him in the same awkward way like he had stood in front of Simon in the afternoon. It hurt him to see his brother like this – speechless, cringing – when Erik was the one who was always cool, always composed, and he hated to be the reason for his uneasiness. Still, after all that had happened, Wille had deemed their relationship dead. So what was he doing in the theater? Erik let his gaze drop to the floor and opened his mouth again. He was drawing in a breath, searching for words, until he finally came up with an answer.
“Felice said there was something I should see. That you’d be doing a show tonight and that I wouldn’t wanna miss it.”
Wille pulled his face into a frown. This sounded far too easy and too little like Erik. So he cocked a doubtful eyebrow at him. Which was much more impressive in makeup with his eyebrows sitting much higher up on his forehead than usual. And it did the trick.
“And she said she’d rip my balls off if I didn’t come”, Erik gave in and looked at Wille with a defeated face.
For a moment Wille held his breath – then he nodded with a little laugh. Yes, this sounded a lot more like Erik – and very much like Felice.
“So, was it worth it?”, Wille asked. “Having your balls threatened to see your baby brother on stage?”
Erik looked at him with an expression Wille couldn’t quite sort out. Then his face lit up in a smile.
“Hell, it was a show”, he gasped. “Can I …” Erik reached out his hand, but didn’t dare touch him, like he was made from glass. “Can I look at you?”
Wilhelm held his hands out and turned. Slowly, so his brother could get a good view of his style. Erik looked him up and down with an irritated frown.
“Where did you put …? I mean where is your …?”
Yeah, right. Because THIS was the most important question. Wille rolled his eyes.
“It’s art, Erik. It takes years to learn how to dress up like this. How to move, to talk, to look. I’ve put a lot into this.”
With these words, Wilhelm plopped down at his dresser and started to slowly peel out of his gloves and wig. Erik watched with big eyes.
“Can you open the zipper for me?”, Wille asked.
Erik stepped behind him and with a softness Wille remembered from their early childhood, when Erik would still hug him goodnight, he pulled down the zipper. His brother’s eyes got even bigger when underneath the black dress a just as black corset came to light. Wille sat and watched through the mirror, fake lashes and makeup still in place, as his brother looked down on his bare shoulders and neck.
“Wow”, Erik gasped. “But this is sexy.”
“It is”, Wille smiled. “You should try it!”
With a quick move, Erik stepped back. “No thanks. But … thank you for the show, I guess. It’s been … impressive.”
It pained Wille to realize how much his heart fluttered in his chest at those appreciative words. How they had come from ‘nasty’ to ‘impressive’ with only one show. But then Wille quailed when his thoughts drifted to the consequences of Erik’s discovery. He could no longer look at him when he whispered.
“Will you tell mom?”
Erik took a moment before he stepped back up behind Wille and carefully put his hands onto his bare shoulders. The touch made Wilhelm shiver.
“Do you want me to?”
Wille looked up and found Erik’s gaze in the mirror. He tried to take in the picture of them, his big brother standing in his back, Wilhelm half-naked with a painted face – it almost felt like an eighteenth-century oil painting. And he caught himself thinking – what if he could? What if he could just talk to his parents, his brother having his back like he was right now. To not be alone in this. Just imagine! But then Wilhelm found that he wasn’t ready. He could not face his mom. Not now. Not after he had just regained a thread of his brother. Baby steps, Wilhelm. One by one.
“Please don’t”, he whispered and cast his eyes down, relieved to get the answer out and ashamed at the same time that he didn’t have the courage for a different one.
Erik didn’t say anything but just nodded. It was enough for Wilhelm. He knew Erik would keep his secret. Like he had kept the secret that Wilhelm had broken his dad’s favorite model car, the one he was not allowed to play with but still had. They had blamed it on the cat – and although their dad had scrutinized his sons with a look that said ‘cat, my ass’ and they had both been grounded for a week, Erik had not yielded. Given, he’d been the one to tell Wilhelm to get the car in the first place. And if he hadn’t nudged Wilhelm so hard that he’d fallen over and crushed the car under his body it would still be on the shelf, still intact. But anyways – for Wille, his nod was enough.
At the same moment the door opened and Felice walked back in.
“Are we good boys?”, she chimed and looked at them in turn. “Or do I have to smack someone’s head?”
Wilhelm winked, and Erik held up his hands in defense, both knowing she would put her words into action without a blink. Felice smiled a satisfied smile and bent down to press a kiss onto Wille’s cheek.
“You’re fabulous”, she whispered into his ear, loud enough for Erik to hear, who was busy studying the paint on the wall.
On their way out, Felice turned again to address Wilhelm.
“By the way – I just met this co-worker of yours at the bar. I think I know him from somewhere”, she mused, but Wilhelm only stared at her with a questioning look.
“Which one?”
Felice rolled her eyes up, thinking. “The dark haired one. Black curls, about a meter tall, Bambi eyes?”
“Simon?”, Wille frowned. “He’s the sound engineer. A pain in the ass that one. You’ve met him before?”
“I think so”, Felice replied with a frown, “but I can’t recall where. And he seemed pretty cute to me.”
Wilhelm scoffed. “Yeah. For a gremlin.”
⁓ SIMON ⁓
It was Saturday, and for some completely incomprehensible reason Simon found himself changing the light bulbs in two of the backstage hallway ceiling lamps that had died some days ago. Not like he was the fucking janitor or an electrician – but apparently the artists had complained, and Bengtsson had decided it would be the smallest loss if the sound boy got struck down by an electric shock in case something was wrong with the wiring. Simon did stay alive though against all odds, and when he climbed down the ladder and his gaze fell on the dressing room door, his brow furrowed. Simon didn’t normally enter the artists’ changing room. His own locker was located in the staffroom, and the last time he had stepped foot inside this particular chamber, he’d been given hell by a tipsy Tizzy and smooched down like a sugar cane.
Not like Simon remembered much. Except for the pressure of Wilhelm’s body against his, the heat radiating from his skin and the pain in his eyes. Apart from that, his memory was almost blank, hardly recollecting the shape of his mouth, the sensation of amber strands tickling his cheek or the pattern of the knit sweater that was red like his lipstick and made Simon want to dig his fingers into the wool, to pull him close, to let him in. And just as little did he remember the smell of Wilhelm’s perfume, that had been tickling his nerve cells like cocaine and was slightly lingering in the hallway now, leading him on against his will, guiding his hand to the door handle all by itself.
When he opened the door, Wille was sitting in his chair, back to him in front of the big mirror, busying himself with putting on his make up with slow and deliberate moves. It didn’t appear like he was slow from lack of experience – more like he was thoroughly enjoying his work and putting a lot of care into each layer. It was still quiet in the big room, but it wouldn’t take long until the other artists would flock in and disturb the peace. Awkwardly, Simon hovered on the doorstep. He didn’t really know what he had expected – and even less what to do now. He hadn’t thought about anything when he had pushed the door open, and now he was standing there, lost and feeling stupid. Maybe he had secretly hoped that Wille wasn’t really in. That he could just go and take a glance at his clothes, his costume, run his fingers over his belongings that would give him a better understanding of the person he was. Sneak around a little. Which of course he wouldn’t. Because that’s not what normal people did. Simon would never! Only if there happened to be stuff lying around everywhere – that could hardly be his fault. Unfortunately, the room was not empty, and a voice pulled him out of his stupor. Wilhelm’s voice.
“Can I help you with anything, or are you happy staring?” Through the mirror, Simon caught Wille’s raised eyebrow. “This is the artists’ dressing room.”
Simon opened and closed his mouth like a fish, but there was no sound, and he could feel his skin blazing. What the fuck? He knew the room very well, hello? This club was HIS territory. The newbie could shut up with his arrogant demeanor and milky skin and perfect mouth and – duh, Simon hadn’t just thought this, had he? But then the corners of Wilhelm’s ‘perfect’ mouth twitched, and he bit his lip to force down the grin that wanted to take over his complexion. And suddenly, Simon’s skin felt even warmer, and his grip on the door handle relaxed.
“I don’t see any artists 'round here”, he smirked. “Just a bloke who can’t dance with too much color on his face.”
Wilhelm huffed but didn’t really seem affected by his halfhearted tease.
“Just wait and see”, he mumbled loud enough for Simon to hear, and Simon was already sorry for having bullied him.
“But as you’re here – how about you help me with something?”, Wille asked.
So Simon finally let go of the door handle and stepped into the room. He walked over to Wilhelm, who had gotten up and was just wrapping a red and black top around his bare chest, that looked a bit like an armor.
“Can you hook this up for me? I can do it alone, but it’s easier if someone else does it.”
And now Simon understood that the thick fabric was in fact a corset made from a beautiful shiny fabric with strong side parts to keep everything in shape. Not that Wilhelm needed to shape anything. His chest was lean with a fine layer of muscles, belly tight and a beautiful long waist. And Simon actually needed a moment to swallow some saliva before he grabbed the piece of clothing Wilhelm was holding against his chest and looked for the right way to fulfill his task. He wasn’t completely inexperienced with women’s clothes, being a son and a brother, who was used to stepping into the breach whenever there were zippers to pull, buttons to close or bows to be tied. Simon could do exceptionally pretty bows if he might say so.
This top hit different. The weight alone was peculiar. It didn’t look cheap like most stage clothes, but costly, with an actual embroidery along the middle. What Wilhelm asked him to do was basically to close the five thousand small hooks in the back that would lock him in, constrict his chest and give him the silhouette of a dame. So Simon pulled the back parts together and put a hook into a loop one by one to fasten the girdle around Wille’s body. The awe the beautiful piece ignited in his mind made Simon work carefully. That much he understood, that Wilhelm wasn’t doing sloppy work with his metamorphosis. So Simon took care not to skip a single hook or use the wrong one and with it ruin the artwork that was about to be created. And the further he advanced down Wille’s back, the tighter the fabric wrapped around his torso, the slower Simon’s fingers worked. Because for some reason his hands were starting to sweat, and he had to fight the urge to run his palms along the sides of the top, feel it up, and dig his fingertips into the intriguing hips underneath.
When he pulled the lower parts tighter to make the top fit and fix the last hooks, his eyes found Wilhelm’s, gazing at him through the mirror. His chest was heaving a little – which wasn’t surprising with the girdle caging him in, and Simon found his own breath quicken in affinity. When he swallowed, he realized that his mouth had gone bone dry – and maybe he was standing a little too close for casualty. He could almost put his chin onto Wilhelm’s shoulder, rub his cheek against his neck and call him beautiful.
But right in this moment the door flew open, and Henry, Walter and two other dancers rattled into the room, packed with big bags and followed by a trail of cold cigarette smoke.
“Uhhh, are we having our own handmaid now?”, Walter chirped when he took in the scene, and Henry snorted out a laugh.
“Simon’s the girl-for-all-work for sure”, he added with a judging glance. And leaning into Henry’s side he whisper-shouted loud enough for everyone to hear. “Maybe I can also use a hand or two later.”
The boys cracked up and Simon jumped to put some distance between him and Wille and held his hands up to sign that he was done. Wille found his eyes again through the mirror and gave him a smile.
“Thanks”, he murmured and got back into his chair.
⁓ WILHELM ⁓
"I’m just calling to let you know there’s an invitation to Sweden’s First Bank annual banquet for you. Mom said I should make sure you show up. Both of us, apparently.”
Wilhelm let out a deep sigh. He’d had a feeling right from the start that he shouldn’t have picked up the phone when Erik called him while he was cleaning the kitchen tiles after a little tomato sauce eruption.
“Tell her I’m not coming.”
On the other end of the line, Erik gulped. “What? No, come on! You can’t leave me alone with those stuck-up assholes!”
Wilhelm chuckled. “You’re working with those assholes, Erik. I don’t. I don’t even know anyone there. I won’t go.”
There was a moment of silence in his phone before Erik replied. “Mom will be mad if you don’t go. She said she didn’t want drama again.”
Wille could not ignore the mischievous tint to Erik’s voice. Of course his brother knew how to annoy him. It was a thing between siblings. And even after their paths had parted and they no longer lived under the same roof, Erik still knew how to threaten him. It wasn’t even funny. Because the last time Wille had attended a banker’s party, he’d had a Vodka Martini too many. How else could he navigate through a torturous evening like that? And he absolutely wasn’t the only one who had gotten plastered that night. But unfortunately he had been the only one to lose his balance at one point and stumble into a waiter, who had dropped his tray of glasses right in the middle of the ballroom. Wille had been devastated, had knelt in his tailored suit and tried to pick up the shattered glass with his bare hands, ears glowing red with shame, until a shard had cut into his thumb and the blood came running. An uproar had ensued as the staff had tried to clean up the floor as well as a dripping, inebriated Wille, who was sobbing excuses and had to be escorted to a side room where his hand had been fixed before his parents had sent him home in a taxi. Wille would rather stick a fork into his eye than to repeat any of this. So he decided to be bold.
“You know, I don’t really care what she thinks anymore. Even if I show up, she’ll find something else to be mad about. That my hair is too long, my shoes not shiny enough or my bowtie askew. It doesn’t make any difference. Please, Erik, don’t make me attend. Tell her I’m sick or something. Sprained my ankle maybe.”
“You know she don’t care if you’re sick. And if you’ve sprained your ankle, she’d have you carried in on a stretcher.”
“Make it explosive diarrhea then, for heaven’s sake, Erik! If I have to wear another tie at any event that’s not your wedding, I’m gonna hang myself with it!”
At this, Erik let out a laugh. Wilhelm wasn’t feeling like laughing at all. He wasn’t even sure if he’d been joking. Given, he had never actually thought about killing himself. Although the idea of disappearing, to just stop existing was permanently looming in the back of his mind. But he had never planned to actively do something about it. Mainly because it would probably lead to his family muttering about him being an attention seeker, even at his own funeral. He didn’t want to cause them any more trouble. Didn’t dare to. So he kept dreaming about slipping away from their grip quietly, without anyone noticing. Which was hard when invitations like these kept blaring his name, reminding his mom there had been this other kid in her house once that was expected to fill the family picture with its presence. Even if it was only for show – the perfect Lundberg family, a united force.
“Come on Wille, I need you to be there”, Erik whined, which was a very unlikely thing for him to do, and Wilhelm felt suspicion creeping up his neck.
Something was off. His brother normally didn’t rely on him to have his back. Erik was the strong one. The reliable. Because someone had to be.
“What’s wrong, Erik?”, Wilhelm asked.
The hesitation on the other end of the line was palpable. Then Erik sucked in a breath of air with a hiss.
“Remember dad’s birthday, when mom cornered me about her wanting to see me with a woman?”
“Sure. You said you had a girlfriend. How’s she doing, by the way?”
“She’s … gone”, Erik admitted, and Wilhelm could almost see the pout on his lips.
He could hardly keep in the sigh that wanted to spring from his chest. But then he would have sounded just like his mother – and THAT wouldn’t happen in a thousand years. But shit, another one of his brother’s relationships that hadn’t lasted longer than a few weeks.
“I promised to introduce them. Mom will have my ass if I show up without a girl”, Erik continued.
“Well, you should have tried to keep her then, instead of hitting on your brother in a bar”, Wille retorted with a big eye roll.
Erik was an amicable person to be around. But he was also a flirt – which Wilhelm had gotten to experience first hand, lucky him. His big brother was a womanizer who never stayed long enough to really get to know anyone. He got bored so quickly that Wilhelm had come to think it was trauma more than restlessness that made Erik flee his relationships the moment they started to turn into something serious. Maybe their parent’s marriage hadn’t been the best role model for the both of them.
It was quiet on the end of the line, and Wilhelm was just about to mutter an apology for his rude words, when Erik let out a low hum.
“Hmm, wait. Maybe that’s the trick!”
Wilhelm frowned. What was his brother talking about?
“YOU’RE a girl!”, Erik blurted out, and instantly, Wilhelm’s cheeks flushed hot red.
“I’m not a girl”, he was quick to throw in, but Erik didn’t even listen. He just kept on rambling.
“How about you attend as my girlfriend? You can dress up really nicely, like you did in the club, yeah? Look like a fucking stunner. Mom will be so pleased – and you can do your show and make all them assholes look stupid. Man, this will be the best prank we pulled in years!”
Wilhelm wasn’t so sure about this. He could do shows, yes. But eye-to-eye conversations? Handshakes and small talk? Fucking DINNER? It was too much.
“Erik”, he stuttered meekly, “Please don’t make me …”
“You can do it! I’ve seen you on that stage. Damn, I even flirted with you! You’re such a lady. We’ll make them choke on their canapés, Willyboy. Don’t let me down on this! I came to your show, now you come to mine! Promise!”
Wilhelm could feel the hand that was holding his phone starting to shake. He wanted to say something, wanted to scream STOP and NO, that he could not do it. That this idea was so sick, so foolish, so fucking DANGEROUS if it backfired. But Erik was all strung up on his folly, there was no getting through. And as always, Erik had the last word.
“I’ll pick you up at seven. Do the whole thing with the glam hair and some heels. Not too high though, I don’t want you to be taller than me. See you on Sunday!”
And just like that, the line went dead. Erik had ended the call.
Wille let out a desperate whimper. What on earth had just happened? Had he said he’d kill himself having to wear a tie at an official event ever again? Well, make it a dress! But how to kill himself with a dress? Maybe he could just tie the corset tight enough so he would run out of air and pass out a few minutes in. But then he would cause drama again, wouldn’t he? And mom didn’t want drama. No. Mom would be mad. And nobody wants to upset mom – not even Erik, obviously. So much so that he’d pressed a promise from his little brother to stage a show for him – with him – for everybody and their financial advisers. Only that Erik hadn’t clocked that dressing up in drag had never been a joke to Wilhelm, never been a means to fuck with people. It was far too precious, too important to him than to hold it up to ridicule.
Don’t let me down!
Erik’s words echoed in his ears. Wilhelm couldn’t breathe. He closed his eyes and let himself sink against the wall. He had no means of holding himself upright any longer. His chest burned like fire at the casualness with which Erik had proposed this foolish game, and he rubbed it with the hand that had lost the grip on his phone and dropped it to the floor. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Wilhelm blinked but couldn’t see anything, his vision gone white from the headlights of the panic train that was stomping through his head under clouds of steam with toots and screeching wheels. Only thing he felt was something hot and burning that came creeping into the corners of his eyes to spill over the cliff of his lids and tumble down his cheeks. But Wilhelm’s skin felt so cold, his tears might as well freeze midway.