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In the quiet of the night, Simon can almost pretend to be sleeping. He can almost pretend his mind isn’t plagued by thoughts of black painted skies and roaring thunder. He can almost pretend he isn’t capsized in the ocean, as the sound body next to him weighs on him like an anchoring comfort.
He’d been so busy being with Wilhelm, smiling, holding his hand through video call conferences to soothe the public’s online opinions of that speech at the Jubilee, that he’d almost forgotten all the issues that faced his side of the equation.
Coming down from the high of being introduced as the official boyfriend of His Royal Highness Crown Prince Wilhelm, he could feel himself slowly dwindling until he’s left at the bottom of the barrel, and fuck, everything that’d happened in the past few months—everything since he’d first arrived to Hillerska—caught up to him.
And the scariest part is the growing pit of anguish that weighs heavy on his stomach, and he doesn’t think he’s okay.
He should be.
He got what he wanted—Wilhelm chose him. He can’t be selfish—not again. He has to be okay.
He has to be. So why—why does it feel like he’s drowning?
It starts with the comments.
Simon isn’t stupid. He knows he couldn't be more different than Wilhelm. A common boy and a Prince—it’s an oxymoron, at best. He knows. He gets it. Really, he does, but fuck, hearing other people’s commentary on the matter simply sucks.
He’s always been confident in who he is. Though mean kids throughout his school years had tried to make him feel less than, his friends and family never allowed him to get hit by the harsh sticks and stones they threw at him. After all, what’s five insults to dozens of affirmations sung to him by the people he loves?
Except, now—
Now, it’s not five kids on a playground. Now, it’s thousands on screens. Now, it’s growing by the minute, and whoever said to just ignore the haters, had clearly never been the target of the entire country’s negativity.
Simon tries to stop reading them. He really does, but as hurtful as they are, the comments keep pouring in and something draws Simon to agonize over them like Sirens luring sailors to their deaths. He tries to stop, but he can’t, and every day it gets harder to not believe the words thrown at him by strangers under anonymous profiles.
Saturday evening, he’d been skimming through fresh comments on a post the Royal Family’s PR team had posted of him and Wilhelm, when his eyes spotted a particularly harsh one. His eyes sting as the words register in his brain.
if i was dating someone as demanding as simon eriksson id never wanna leave the closet either so needy he basically forced the prince to come out
He bites his lip so hard he can almost taste blood. He doesn’t realize how tightly he’d been holding his phone until his grip slackens, and he can feel his muscles twitch.
Demanding.
Needy.
Forced.
Like the past few nights, he doesn’t sleep.
It’s easier to pretend at school.
Wilhelm reaches for his hand above the table at lunch. Simon allows the touch to linger, though he doesn’t meet his gaze. Through his peripheral vision, he pretends the concern in his boyfriend’s eyes goes unseen.
Later, after class, Wilhelm pulls him aside.
He notices, no matter how hard Simon has tried to hide it, because he’s Wilhelm, and of course, he notices. He always does.
“Hey, you alright?”
Simon smiles tightly, temporarily removing the image of letters made up of pixels, sprouted with poison, from behind his eyelids. He gives a terse nod. He’s not sure if Wilhelm believes him, but he (thankfully) doesn’t say anything else, so he can only hope it's enough.
3:17 PM
i got home okay
Wille❤️ 3:17 PM
Good :D
Call now?
3:20 PM
cant
mama needs me to run some errands
Wille❤️ 3:22 PM
That’s okay
Let me know if you’re free later then
3:22 PM
okay
Wille❤️ 3:23 PM
<3
3:23 PM
❤️
Sometimes, Simon wonders what exactly it was about him that captured the attention of the Prince. He’s not one to believe in fairytales, and he knows that aside from titles and riches, the Royal Family is not much different than the common folk in the grand scheme of things. They’re all human after all.
But he’s Wilhelm. He’s lovely, and he’s special.
And why does Wilhelm like Simon?
He’d told him once. He’d told him a while ago as they laid in bed—when everything was still anew, when Wilhelm’s hair was long, when everything was okay—that he’d liked him since he’d seen him standing before the student body, voice louder than any other choir member. Simon had blushed, flicking Wilhelm’s forehead, as the latter laughed and stole the blankets from him.
Wilhelm didn’t give him a reason.
Simon didn’t ask.
But he can’t help but wonder,
Why me?
He’s not sure what makes him stand out. Simon has problems; problems he hasn’t even told Wilhelm about—problems he’s sure Wilhelm doesn’t know even exist, because he’s never said.
What if Wilhelm likes him because he thinks Simon comes devoid of issues? What if when Simon tells him all of it, because he hopes one day he’s strong enough to open Pandora’s Box, he realizes Simon’s a bomb waiting for the timer to reach its limit and leaves? What’s Simon supposed to do then?
He’s learning to trust. After all, a relationship can’t happen without it, and he loves Wilhelm—loves him enough to believe him when Wilhelm tells him he’ll always choose him, but he can’t shake the idea that nothing lasts forever.
He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, and he begins to loathe the feeling of dread piercing deep into his chest.
And the thing is, he knows—logically—that his situation—his life—is going steady. He’s not—he’s not threatened anymore. He’s… okay. On a surface level, objectively speaking, he should not be feeling any of these things—these doubts—but once they crept into his mind, they'd made a home there, and now they won’t leave.
What else can Simon offer Wilhelm besides his heart?
He wracks his brain and comes up empty, and—fuck, and what if his heart isn’t enough?
He’s coming back from the communal washroom, rubbing his damp hands along the edges of his pajama bottoms, when he finds Wilhelm sitting on his—their because really, when has Simon ever slept on the spare mattress—bed with his back against the wall.
“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t wake you, did I?”
Wilhelm shrugs, corner of his lip turned up in the most Wilhelm way, the briefest of smiles Simon knows is stored into his heart for him only, and pats the spot on the bed next to him.
Simon returns to his rightful position beside his boyfriend. The night is silent, fellow Forest Ridge residents sure to be tucked in bed asleep.
The only sound heard is the beating of two hearts, and it reminds Simon that he’s there, and this isn’t a dream.
Wilhelm nudges at him with his shoulder where his head had fallen. “You were tossing and turning all night. Did you go out for fresh air?”
He shakes his head. “Needed to pee.”
Wilhelm hums. Simon can hear the question in the sound. He’s hesitant, and Simon wishes he would just spit it out.
And when he does, Simon wishes he’d take it back.
“Is—is there something bothering you?”
His first instinct is to get defensive, before he stops, because no, he’s—they’re—on the same team now; he and Wilhelm are tied as one. Sometimes, he doesn’t feel as though it’s real, that he’s allowed to have this.
He keeps silent in fear of letting out too much, and maybe his boyfriend takes that as a sign to keep talking when he adds, “It’s just—it’s almost as if I can feel it. That you’re holding something back. I’m here if you ever need to talk about it, you know.”
He hums in agreement, though not expecting himself to ever take up on the offer.
(“But no more secrets between us, okay?”)
He ignores the nagging thought.
He finds himself wishing he was brave like Wilhelm. The genie in the bottle ignores his pleas, and he lays down across the small bed. Wilhelm is slow to follow, but eventually he does the same, draping an arm over Simon’s torso.
Simon doesn’t sleep, but he focuses on feeling the rise and fall of Wilhelm’s chest against his back, and it’s like a weighted blanket has settled over him. For the time being, his ocean is free of waves, and he’s floating above the water.
Wilhelm’s saying something to him, maybe a joke about the movie they’d seen last night, when Simon watches his sister walk past him as if they’re nothing more than strangers.
They had not spoken since—well, since he’d found out she’d betrayed him the worst way she ever could.
He wishes there was more to Sara’s story—wishes she had just been stringing August along to fish for information—wishes he was wrong; he wishes his sister would choose him before luxurious residency.
If his own sister could put him in the back burner, treat him as a second thought, then why would anyone else want him—
“Simon?”
—his own blood; his sister picked someone else. He’s never been important enough to be a first choice—
(shutupstopitwilhelmchoseyou)
Fuck, his head hurts.
His vision blurs, and his legs wobble. Wilhelm catches him with a concerned gaze. Simon’s eyes roam, and his sister isn't there anymore.
He waits until he’s alone and screams into a pillow.
Wille❤️ 3:36 PM
Did you get home okay?
3:38 PM
yeah
sorry i forgot to text today
Wille❤️ 3:38 PM
That’s okay
Wille❤️ 3:41 PM
Call me if you can tonight?
Miss you
3:42 PM
you saw me today an hour ago
Wille❤️ 3:42 PM
I think you know what I mean
3:47 PM
im a bit tired can we talk later
Wille❤️ 3:50 PM
Sure
Wille❤️ 3:51 PM
<3
3:52 PM
❤️
Simon’s having a bad day. He’d battled the demons inside him the whole night and hadn’t slept a wink. He’s irritable, and it’s first period, and he’d already snapped at a classmate who’d only asked him for a pencil.
He's frustrated, and he’s throwing punches at people he knows he shouldn’t.
Wilhelm asks him if he could visit him in Bjärstad, and Simon doesn’t mean to, because he would truly love nothing more, but his body doesn’t sync with his brain, because an involuntary sigh leaves his lips. It’s likely due to his mental exhaustion, and the only sound he could physically muster, but Wilhelm takes it to mean No, I don’t want you to come, and Simon hates himself for causing downturned lips that appear on his perfect face right then.
“Are you mad at me?” Wilhelm stops their impromptu piano lesson, his fingers falling over the keys and making a sound that leaves Simon wincing.
He shakes his head, but it’s not enough.
Wilhelm pushes.
“If you are, it’s okay. I just want to know what I did if I upset you—“
“I said no, Wilhelm.”
His tone of voice surprises himself, and even worse, it wounds Wilhelm.
He immediately backtracks, “I’m sorry. Wille, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I just—“
“I thought we were past this.”
Wilhelm stares at him, eyes hard, the muscles of his eyebrows pulling towards the center in a frown Simon wishes he could reach and smooth out.
“I thought we were past not talking to each other, Simon.”
(“But no more secrets between us, okay?”)
“I’m not—“
Simon stands and looks out the window. He pretends he doesn’t notice his own breathing grow more erratic.
“Cut the bullshit, Simon. Do you really think I don’t know you well enough to see it? Something’s been going on,” his voice breaks into a wane whisper, though his words remain difficult to hear, “We promised no secrets, didn’t we? We’re supposed to talk to each other! It’s like you’re not even trying—“
At that, Simon’s arms flail in despondency. The blood rushes into his cheeks in pure agony, and a growing headache pounds against his skull, begging to be welcomed.
“I’m trying so hard,” he sobs, whipping around to face him. He distantly realizes this is the first time he’s properly allowing Wilhelm to see him cry. He shrinks, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I made you think I’m not.”
Wilhelm’s body stays as still as a statue. He looks as if a single touch could topple him over.
He shakes his head. Simon thinks he can make out the shine of tears in his eyes as well when he sees the frazzled state Simon is in.
“No, I’m—I didn’t mean—I’m sorry, Simon. I don’t mean that. Please, don’t—I’m sorry.”
His hands reach, palms closing and opening as if unsure whether he should—could—hug Simon or not. A crackly sound of alarm escapes Simon’s mouth, and Wilhelm immediately steps forward, folding him into a tangle of limbs and bleeding scars.
“I love you. I’m sorry.” The words are sewn into his skin over and over.
Simon can’t do anything but shake his head into his chest, an ache so profound against his breastbone strong enough to fracture his heart completely.
They’re laying in Wilhelm’s bed after the… fight? Can they call what happened in the music room a fight? A disagreement, maybe, but surely, not—he doesn’t ever wanna fight with Wilhelm. Not after everything they'd gone through to finally be okay, now.
They’ve been surrounded by silence for the longest time, and Simon takes the first step to break it.
“I feel so ungrateful.” He lets out a wet laugh.
The gaze Wilhelm lays on him is quizzical, and Simon hates the concern in his eyes.
“Simon—“
“I should be happy, y’know? Like we’re together, actually together. The world knows, and it’s what I wanted and I should be happy. But there’s still so much shit happening, and it’s fucking—“
He cuts himself off, when he feels his throat squeezing. He swallows the lump, and he tilts his chin up in an attempt not to cry.
“And I am; I am happy, here with you—being with you. But also—things are hard, and I’m so sick of being sad, but I don’t know how to stop.”
Saying the words out loud makes it all feel all too real, and he wishes he could scrape a hole in his own heart to hide into. Wilhelm’s gaze on him feels heavy and he tries to focus on his breathing.
“My own sister, Wille. How could someone who’s supposed to love me do this to me?” He shakes his head, “I don’t get it. How did you—when you found out it was August—how did you handle it? It fucking hurts, I can’t—“
The grip Wilhelm has on him is tight—too tight, almost as if he wants to keep Simon from falling like puzzle pieces getting lost in the depth of the box, and fuck, he can’t breathe. He pushes away, knees drawn up to his chest, towards the other end of the bed.
Wilhelm reaches for him—always, always reaching, but Simon scoots back further, wet streaks carving twin paths down his scarlet cheeks. “No, no—“
Through the gray haze in his eyes, he can see that Wilhelm frowns at the space Simon puts between them, but obediently lets his arms drop to his sides, anyway.
Simon breaks their eye contact, pressing his head into his hands, trying to find a steady rhythm to calm his rapid heart, breathing in and out like his mother had taught him to do as a child when Micke got violent. He digs his fingernails into his palms in anxious fists, a bad habit he’d once sworn he’d break, but keeping promises had never been his forté, had it?
“I don’t know how you do this all the time. You’re stronger than I am,” he laughs, but the humor of it all is nowhere to be found. He doesn’t meet Wilhelm’s eyes, afraid of what he’d find on his face.
“It’s not—it’s not easy, Simon.”
He raises his head, and pretends he doesn’t hear Wilhelm’s breath catch. He’s aware that he probably looks a mess, eyes bloodshot and hair ruffled, but it doesn’t mean his boyfriend’s reaction doesn’t sting even a little.
“Trying to deal with—with all of this—it isn’t an easy, linear process. It’s hard for me too, and it’s okay for us, for you, to feel these things. You know that, don’t you?”
He’s not sure he does, but Wilhelm doesn’t seem to be done speaking so he keeps quiet.
“I love you, and I don’t want you to push me away.”
(“But no more secrets between us, okay?”)
The words are carefully selected, Simon can tell. They’re whispered, as if he’s afraid Simon would get angry at him, and the thought that Wilhelm could be scared to talk to him hurts.
A shaky sigh leaves his body, and he wishes he could crawl back to whatever miserable cave he’d come from.
“Can I have a hug now, please?” His voice is smaller than he’d ever like to admit.
Wilhelm doesn’t wait a second, scrambling to Simon’s side and tugging him into his arms. He wraps himself around him, and he cards fingers through his curls, a calming tactic Simon is surprised he remembered.
“I’m just so tired of everything being complicated. I’m sick of being on edge all the time.” His arms are twisted around Wilhelm’s waist, face hidden into his chest.
“I know.” A kiss is pressed to a curl looping around the crown of his head. He feels it, and it reminds him that he’s solid, he’s real, and he’s here.
Even so, his voice crackles like a staticky phone line, words coming out more hoarsely than he’d intended, “How am I supposed to forgive her?”
Fuck, he’s going to cry again—though, he’s not entirely sure he’d ever even stopped in the first place. That seems to be the pattern these days.
“There’s nothing that you’re supposed to do, Simon.”
He looks up at him, confused, and the storm in his stomach settles a bit when he sees Wilhelm’s lip tick up at the corner like a ghost of a smile.
Wilhelm mutters softly, “You’ve got the sweetest heart I’ve ever known, but you don’t have to do anything.”
But—
“Yes, I do. Mama expects it; Sara expects—“
Wilhelm shakes his head, warm palms on Simon’s shoulders pushing him back so he can properly meet his eyes.
“No, hey, listen—“ He strokes Simon’s cheek with all the gentleness of a feather, and Simon feels like porcelain in his hands, “—Sara did something that hurt you. And it’s reasonable for you to react in whichever way that you naturally do, okay? If you find it in you to forgive her, that’s okay. And if you don’t, that’s also okay. You don’t have to shoulder everything all the time.”
Logically, Simon knows Wilhelm is right. He knows, but also—
“I just don’t want to ruin my family.”
Wilhelm’s face pinches, and Simon doesn’t want to see the pain his eyes hold. He tucks his face into his chest once more.
“God, I fucking hate August.”
A wet laugh erupts from Simon’s lips.
“Me too.”
Things continue as normal.
Or as normal as they could be, anyway.
He doesn’t tell Wilhelm about the comments. He wouldn’t be able to do anything about it anyway. If the Palace’s best PR advisors couldn’t tame the vile words aimed to pierce through his heart, how could Wilhelm?
There’s no point in worrying him.
(“But no more secrets between us, okay?”)
Somehow still, he feels lighter after having told his boyfriend the slightest part of what had been going on in his troubled mind. Maybe it feels good because Wilhelm could relate. After all, they were on common ground in that they’d both been betrayed by a family member—two people with whom they’d trusted.
He just wishes that they didn’t have to lose them to understand each other in that aspect.
Summer Break comes in a week, and Hillerska is filled with students scrambling to prepare for the remainder of exams. Through the stress, Simon is glad he has something else to focus on, so as to distract him from lying awake at night, wondering just how he is supposed to ever feel adequate again after facing so much public scrutiny.
Fuck, how does Wilhelm do this?
Suddenly, he understands his boyfriend on an entirely new level—understands why, how, he’s always able to abide by his mother’s, the Queen’s, rules. He understands how Wilhelm’s able to bite his tongue when strangers approach him with inappropriate questions.
He’s recently had his own fair share of unpleasant encounters with reporters. Every day it gets all the more difficult to swallow the defensive words behind his throat that try to crawl up like worms digging through dirt.
Once again, he finds himself wishing he was as brave as Wilhelm.
He attempts to ignore the rumbling sound of thunder in his ears—pretends the black painted skies behind his eyelids are blue once more—and focuses on the way his handwriting looks on his notes. He focuses on the way Wilhelm is tapping his fingers to the beat of the song blasting through their shared wire headphones.
For now, the way Wilhelm is offering him a soft smile, asking if he needs help on his math problem—for now, that’s enough to hold him together so he doesn’t drown in the pressure of the ocean.
He thinks it’s inevitable for Wilhelm to ask.
He had been there to watch it unfold after all. He had been there when he shoved flowers into Simon’s mother’s hesitant hands. He had been there when his sister, clad in her Lucia gown, told Simon she wanted him gone. He had been there when Simon stood helpless like a chipped statue, watching him stalk away in defeat. Wilhelm had been there to see it all, to see him, Simon’s father, destroy any remnants left of their broken family, so Simon had always expected the question.
But that doesn’t mean he wanted to talk about it.
He never did like the topic.
“Was that your father I saw with you, Sara, and Linda that night at Lucia?”
Simon breathes.
A single nod.
Wilhelm adds, “You never talk much about him?”
His tone is not accusatory, but Simon shrinks nonetheless. He wishes he could always skip this part of childhood storytelling.
Another nod.
It’s all he can muster, and he knows Wilhelm won’t press, but he can’t help but think—
(“But no more secrets between us, okay?”)
He knows he shouldn’t, but he feels obligated.
“I don’t—he’s bad for us, so he’s not in our lives anymore. I don’t…”
Wilhelm wraps a (big) hand around his shoulder, like a lifejacket tightening to keep him afloat under the weight of tides, “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to, darling.”
And—
This is the thing, isn’t it?
It’s Wilhelm, and he’s so good, and just how can he possibly love Simon when he comes with so much baggage?
Simon drowns under the pitter-patter of rainwater, and Wilhelm has learned to be a good swimmer. Wilhelm has made it out of the underwater cave—he’s good, and Simon—
Simon will drag him down, is the thing.
And that single thought hurts more than the burn of a million Suns.
He swallows the bile climbing up his throat and soldiers on.
His voice is akin to a low murmur, “There’s not much to the story anyway. He chose alcohol over the people who loved him.” He frowns down at his lap. “It’s his fault. It’s all his fault.”
He glares at nothing in particular and he just feel suddenly angry.
“But… he makes you feel guilty for keeping him out of your life—even though it’s his fault!” His voice gets louder, and he’s embarrassed at the way it cracks. To his own surprise, his eyes get wet.
“It’s not fair, Wille, it’s not, because why does he get to make me feel bad when he’s the one who ruined everything?”
He doesn't look at Wilhelm, afraid to face the reactions that might greet him.
His voice drops to a whisper.
“And it should be okay, y’know? It should be fine without him; I should be fine, because it’s been years, and—and I’ve got Mama, so I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t, but I just—“
And it’s childish, and he knows it, but—
“I just don’t understand why he doesn’t love me anymore.”
He hides his face into the pillow. His words fall out of his mouth and into the sheets around him, darkening up the atmosphere with unforgettable memories like rain on concrete.
“And I know—okay, I know that addiction is hard and—but why can’t he—why was I not—why am I not enough for him to try?”
Wilhelm doesn’t say anything, continuing to card fingers through Simon’s hair, likely not quite knowing what to say.
He simply presses a kiss onto his temple where a stray curl had fallen like a leaf onto icy ground, and amidst his despair, Simon finds enough strength in him to gasp out, “I’m really glad you're here.”
Wilhelm nods against his skin, a smile tucked between his teeth leaving a forever imprint into the garden of curls under his nose, limbs tightening against the owner of it like a protective bubble, and Simon knows the sentiment is returned.
One night, a thought occurs to him.
“I’m not the same person I was then in November.”
Wilhelm stops laughing at whatever he was watching on his phone screen, his head resting on Simon’s thigh.
“What?”
Simon stares at the wall in front of him, his back against the opposing one. His fingers don’t stop the robotic carding through Wilhelm’s hair.
“I’m not. I’m not the person you knew back then.”
Wilhelm scrambles to sit up beside him so he could properly look at him. Simon doesn’t meet his eyes, but he knows it—he knows Wilhelm is frowning the way he always does when Simon says something he doesn’t like.
“Simon—“
His name sounds like honey in Wilhelm’s mouth, and Simon almost gives in to the way his eyes are begging Simon to just face him.
“I don’t want to feel like I’m pretending. I don’t want to feel like I’m hiding.”
And finally, finally, finally, Simon’s gaze flickers towards his boyfriend’s.
Wilhelm stares at him, brows furrowed. “You’re not.”
He shakes his head.
Wilhelm doesn’t get it. He doesn’t, and just how is Simon supposed to tell him when he’s trying to keep him?
“I am.” He whispers the words like a confession.
“Tell me.”
Simon takes a deep breath. He’s not sure he can verbalize aloud his thoughts with them making much sense.
“I—the whole thing; it changed me, y’know? You—like,” God, why is this so hard? He takes another harsh inhale, “You see me as this person who sings and is happy and smiles like life is easy and likes hanging out with friends, but like—most nights, I just fuckin’ want to scream and the comments, Wille—I can’t stop reading the comments, and I’m not—I’m not the same person you knew when you met me, the person you expect me to be, and I do want to be him again, but I don’t know how.”
Wilhelm doesn’t speak, and Simon’s panic crawls up his throat.
He feels as though he’s on his knees before an altar, confessing sins to a God he doesn’t even know if he believes in anymore, and what if Wilhelm doesn’t want him anymore after this? God, what if he is losing him again after he just got him back?
He doesn’t want to drive Wilhelm away.
He doesn’t think he can handle being alone for a second time.
And the longer Wilhelm takes to speak, the further Simon can feel himself reentering that forsaken stage of his life.
“Simon, what we went through—“ The words are slow, as if he wants Simon to listen to every syllable with the utmost care, “—it was traumatic. And any person would have changed after experiencing that. Hell, I changed too!”
He doesn’t get it.
“But you changed for the better—you’re strong and brave and you stood up against your mother for me. I—Wille, I’m bad.”
Wilhelm seems to bite back a groan, taking a hand from Simon in each of his own, “You’re not. You’re… dealing with things, and it’s gonna take some time, and that’s fine. I don’t expect you to be anything, Simon. There’s nothing you can be or say or do that’ll make me feel any less for you.”
He breathes.
He doesn’t realize how long he’d been waiting to hear those words until they’re presented in front of him.
He sighs, retracting his hands so he can wind his arms around Wilhelm’s waist, squeezing him tight. “It scares me a little sometimes—the fact that you’d forgive me for anything.” He tries to ignore the dull ache knocking against his skull; the pressure behind his eyelids.
“I love you.”
Wilhelm kisses the crown of his head, and Simon whines. “Stop doing that.”
Amidst the solemn atmosphere in the room, Wilhelm laughs, and the sound is so lovely, “What?”
“Kissing me on the head! It’s so, ugh, princely!”
“I thought you liked it!” The grin in his voice can be heard.
Simon pushes at his shoulder, snorting, “Okay, maybe I do, but you do it so often.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll do it less then.”
They wiggle around until they find a comfortable position on the bed. Wilhelm whips his phone out and scrolls mindlessly on social media, pausing when he stumbles across a picture he likens to Simon with a simple, “This looks like you.”
It’s a photo tweeted of a wet rat, and Simon’s mouth falls open, smacking Wilhelm’s chest, “Asshole.”
The chimes of Wilhelm’s laughter twinkling in his ears like his favorite lullaby make him feel that maybe he’ll be okay.
The more he talks, the more Wilhelm encourages him. So he keeps his voice heard.
“Sometimes, I think I’m a pushover.”
Wilhelm hums in acknowledgment. He listens.
“You know, I tried to end things with him. After I told you he and I weren’t serious.”
He doesn’t say his name. He doesn’t think he ever needs to for Wilhelm to understand, because the boy stiffens next to him as soon as the words surround the room. Simon lays a hand on his knee, tracing indecipherable patterns along the thin layer of skin.
“What happened?”
He hangs his head.
“Just—he said some bullshit that made me think I was the problem. And I know it was bullshit—maybe not at the time, but I know now—but it’s still hard listening to someone else say out loud the things that my brain has been telling me for my whole life, you know?”
The words sound all too real when he says them out loud, but he doesn’t take them back.
“Simon—“ Wilhelm turns and guides his face up. “You are not the opinion of someone who doesn’t know you.”
He knows Wilhelm means well, but—
“Isn’t that a Taylor Swift quote?”
Wilhelm stares at him. Then, he lightly slaps Simon’s shoulder.
“Fuck off, I’m being serious!”
He almost laughs because fuck, his boyfriend is so lovely, but the words thrown at him with such venom by someone he’d told time and time again that he didn’t want, still replays in his head like a broken record.
His voice is gentle, even if his thoughts aren't. But his anger has never been about Wilhelm. “You don’t even know what he said.” His fingers draw shapes along Wilhelm’s knuckles. Simon has always thought he had nice hands—soft and big and holding constellations in them until all Simon feels when Wilhelm touches him is stars scattered across his skin.
His boyfriend nudges at his side, wordlessly asking for his attention.
“Whatever he told you clearly made you feel bad, so I know it’s definitely not valid.”
That gets a giggle out of Simon, which he now guesses had been Wilhelm’s goal, if the grin on his face is anything to go by.
“What are you now? My therapist?”
Wilhelm snorts, pulling him closer to his chest. “Well, I did learn a few things from my sessions with Boris.”
He’s tugged to sit astride Wilhelm’s lap, a knee on either side of Wilhelm's hips, and he feels the first genuine smile he’s had in weeks slowly creep upon his cheeks. “Did I ever tell you how proud I am of you for attending those?”
“Hm. Maybe once or twice or a couple hundred times in a span of one month.”
Simon grins down at him, ignoring the tacky feeling of his cheeks from where the tears had dried upon them. His fingers caress the back of Wilhelm’s neck.
“I am though! I know now how difficult it must’ve been.”
Wilhelm shrugs, warm (big) palms covering Simon’s hips, “It gets easier with each session. I kind of—I don’t know, I guess I look forward to talking to him now.”
A gentle silence welcomes itself into the room, and Simon makes himself comfortable on the distinctly 173 centimeter sized hole he’d carved into Wilhelm’s body. He feels tall from this position; for once, he has to tilt Wilhelm’s face up to meet his.
“D’you think I should see someone too?”
Wilhelm’s hand skitters across his back in a series of tender caresses, pulling him further in.
“If that’s what you feel comfortable doing. It helped me get better. I was a mess after everything that happened too, y’know.”
He hums into Wilhelm’s neck.
“I’ve been thinking about it. Mama mentioned it a few times.”
A kiss is pressed to his temple. “That’s good.”
He thinks he’s ready to let the flood carry away his pain.
“Wille, why do you like me?”
The query falls out between his lips of its own accord, all of these thoughts he’d battled in his head tumbling out into the open space between him and Wilhelm like a series of dominoes.
“What do you mean?”
“Just—you told me that you liked me the second you saw me, yeah? Why? How? You didn’t know me then. How can you like someone you only saw for two minutes?”
Wilhelm thinks for a while.
In the end, he shrugs.
“I don’t know, Simon.” He tucks a curl behind Simon’s ear, giggling when the strand of hair is disobedient, springing back to its rightful place beside his eyebrow. “I just did.”
“Wow,” Simon mutters, ensuring his tone stays playful, so as to not worry Wilhelm, “You don’t even know how you started liking me.”
Wilhelm groans a lighthearted, “Fuck off,” into the top of his head, and Simon can feel the smile that he presses into his scalp.
“Well, how did you start liking me?”
“You tripped over your own foot,” Simon answers on autopilot, having constantly revisited that exact moment he’d grinned down at his lunch after watching Wilhelm fluster and catch his plate from falling.
He finishes his thought with, “I guess I just thought you were dorky.”
Simon thinks Wilhelm holds moonlight in the smile he offers him so selflessly, and he hopes he’s allowed to relish in that glow forever—hopes Wilhelm wants him to forever.
His Prince—his, because he says so; his, because the world knows so—lays a warm palm on Simon’s cheek and cradles his jaw as if he’s made of diamonds, “Well, then, I guess I just thought you were beautiful.”
Somehow, still—even after all this time—the compliment succeeds in reducing Simon to a pile of mush, and Wilhelm laughs at the lovestruck expression he’s sure is posed on his face, poking his nose. Simon pretends to bite his finger in retaliation and accidentally actually nips it, and Wilhelm squeaks in surprise.
“You bit me!”
“You booped me!”
Wilhelm tilts his head at his word choice, and Simon thinks he’s the most adorable thing he’d ever had the pleasure of laying eyes upon.
“It’s not my fault you have a cute nose that I can boop.”
Simon rolls his eyes, though his smile stays tattooed on his lips, “Yeah, blame my mom for creating it then.”
“I’ll thank Linda for creating you.”
He snorts, “You’re so stupid.”
“You love me.”
A truer sentence has never been said.
Water still roars thunder in his head on bad days, but Wilhelm’s been teaching him how to stay afloat on his own.
“I think you’re like the Northern Star.”
The words are said like semibreves to a song, whispered like wind gusting through trees. Fingers are traced between his shoulder blades, and the silence in the darkness is nothing short of incandescent.
He continues, “Every step I take leads me in your direction. You are to me what Polaris is to the dark of night, and I don’t think I could ever be without your starlight, Wilhelm.”
His eyes close in a blissful visit to dreamland.
He’s almost asleep when he hears his lover whisper into his skin.
“If I am Polaris, then you are Ursa Minor, because while I am only one lone star, you are made up of a thousand.”
He feels Wilhelm press a sleepy kiss onto his temple, and the last thought that enters his mind before slumber overtakes him is,
Well, if Wilhelm—the Wilhelm who is good, and so so so beautiful; the Wilhelm who is made up of stardust and wonderment—if this Wilhelm loves him, then he must be pretty good too.