Chapter Text
If someone had told Wilhelm this time last year that he would be counting down the days until he got to return for his second year at Hillerska, he would’ve said that they’d lost their fucking mind. But here he is, nearly bouncing in the backseat of the car that’s bringing him to campus for the start of the new school year.
(It might not be ‘acceptable comportment for a prince,’ but Wille doesn’t care. What’s his driver going to do? Tell the Queen that her son seemed excited to return to school? She’d probably just be happy that he wasn’t arguing with her for once.)
His thoughts are interrupted by a series of buzzes from his phone. He opens the 'Hillerska Hot Messes' group chat and is greeted by a picture of Madison, eyes closed and meditating serenely on a bare mattress. The floor around her is piled high with suitcases and boxes.
Felice:
Maddie is clearly taking unpacking very seriously
Madison:
I’m making sure that the energy in our room is purified, this is IMPORTANT 🙄🙄
Sara:
I’m almost done unpacking, I can come help if you’d like!
Wille smiles and sets his phone down on the seat next to him. That’s another thing he would’ve scoffed at a year ago, but against all odds, he found a little family at Hillerska. Real, genuine friends who challenge him and make him laugh until his sides ache and care about him with no ulterior motive. A near-constant stream of group chat messages helped, but he missed them all a lot over the summer. Well, maybe one person in particular.
_________________
One year ago
Wilhelm wasn’t sure what was worse: that his parents were carting him off to a boarding school in the middle of nowhere, or that they didn’t tell him until the day the press release was set to go out. They did that a lot—kept him in the dark when they had made some consequential decision on his behalf. Wille was well-acquainted with this particular bullshit move by now.
He tried to fight back when his parents told him that he would be attending Hillerska shortly before the beginning of the school year—the ability to go out with friends and experience some semblance of freedom in Stockholm had become a lifeline since his confirmation. He had no idea how he’d survive without that. But it was no use; their family had gone there for generations, and he would be no exception.
Dread welled up inside of Wilhelm as Erik pulled his Porsche onto Hillerska’s campus. He wasn’t good at any of this: being around the children of the rich and powerful, schmoozing to preserve the relationships his parents valued, stopping himself from making a snarky comment about his peers’ painfully obvious brown-nosing by biting the inside of his cheeks.
Together, Wille and Erik lugged his suitcases inside and up the stairs. Wille thanked his lucky stars that they didn’t run into anyone along the way. The last thing he wanted was to be bombarded by sycophantic parents who surely would’ve insisted on taking the bags for them (or, more likely, making their own children do it). Wille hated being catered to like that by random strangers.
They arrived outside of the room that would be Wille’s home for the next nine months, and faint sounds of someone puttering around inside the room drifted out into the hallway. (That was perhaps the worst part of all of this: Wille wouldn’t even have the refuge of a single room to himself. Erik had roommates his first two years, so why should he be given more special treatment than the Crown Prince? He was only the spare prince, after all.)
Erik sighed. “I should probably go.” He inclined his head towards the door. “You know how long these introductions can drag on, and Mamma will kill me if I’m late for the luncheon this afternoon.”
Wille blanched. “Wait, what? You can’t leave yet,” he whined. He knew that he was being childish, but whatever was on the other side of that door would be easier to handle if Erik was there. “What if August was planning on stopping by my room to see you?”
Erik gave him an unimpressed look. He was well aware that Wilhelm avoided their second cousin at all costs, and had only brought him up as a last resort. “I’m planning to come back for Parent’s Day, so I can see you both then,” he said, poking Wille’s side and putting on a reassuring smile. Wille couldn’t help but smile back feebly. “I’m sorry, but I really have to go,” Erik said. At least he had the decency to sound guilty about it.
Erik pulled Wille into a tight hug, and Wille was a little bit embarrassed by how relieved he felt from just that simple touch. “Ugh, fine, go back to being important or whatever,” Wille said, his voice muffled against Erik’s shoulder.
And suddenly, all too soon, Wille was alone in the hallway. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever over-eager reaction awaited him inside the room. He had barely crossed the threshold when he was nearly hit in the face by a pair of socks that soared across the room and into an open drawer.
“Oh shit, sorry!” said the sock thrower, a curly-haired boy with bronze skin. Wille was surprised to see that he was wearing old, ill-fitting clothes, but maybe this was what elite teenagers wore behind closed doors. His eyes locked on Wille, and a look of blatant annoyance spread across his face. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he muttered under his breath.
Okay, not a particularly promising start. “Uh, hi, I’m—”
“I know who you are,” the boy interrupted. He sank into a shallow, obviously-mocking bow. “Welcome to our humble abode, your highness,” he said.
Wille’s cheeks flamed. He had expected some fawning, maybe an awkward attempt at ‘appropriate etiquette’ for meeting a royal, but he was absolutely not prepared for this blatant disdain. “You don’t—” he squeaked, then cleared his throat. “You really don’t have to call me that.”
The boy gave him a calculating stare. Wille was rooted to the spot. “Listen, if some palace guards are about to come in here and frog-march me off campus so you can have the room to yourself, at least give me a heads up so I can start packing up my stuff.”
That took Wilhelm even more off guard. “Sorry, what?” he asked, confused and pathetic and wishing even more that Erik was here. Erik could charm people so easily. He absolutely could’ve made a better first impression on this boy than Wille had managed so far.
“You’re fucking with me, right?” Wilhelm’s new roommate deadpanned. “There’s no way they’d actually have you room with me.”
Wille had definitely lost the thread of the conversation; was that meant to be an insult to Wilhelm or to himself?
“My brother shared a room when he was a student here, so…” Wille trailed off lamely.
His roommate let out a long-suffering sigh. “You need to stop by the House Father’s office to get your orientation materials,” he said, nodding at a glossy folder on one of the side-by-side desks in their room.
“Oh, right. Thanks,” Wille managed. This introduction had already been a disaster, so he was relieved to have an excuse to toss his suitcases onto the empty bed and flee from the room.
By the time he got back from the office of Göran, the Forest Ridge House Father, his roommate was nowhere to be seen. Wille realized with a twinge of disappointment that he never got the boy’s name.
_________________
Wille walked to dinner alone that night, and he actually felt so lost and lonely that he walked up to August of all people.
“Hey,” he said in a small voice. “Uh, can I sit with you?”
“Sorry, Wille,” August said, as though not getting to sit next to him is the worst thing that could possibly happen to his second cousin. “First years eat at the other end of the table. And hey,” he added, his expression souring, “too bad about your roommate.”
Wille’s eyes drifted to the other end of the table, but the curly-haired boy was notably absent. “What about him?” he asked, suddenly even more nervous about this elusive, somewhat rude guy.
August gave him a sympathetic look. “Just let me know if you get any trouble from that townie scholarship kid. Not exactly our kind, if you know what I mean,” he clarified, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
“Maybe it’s an intimidation tactic to get him to drop out—putting him in a room with you so he realizes he really doesn’t belong at a school like this,” a pale boy with white-blonde hair chimed in, leaning in slyly. “Just because they’ve gotta fill their quotas doesn’t mean any of us actually want people like that here.”
Wille excused himself to go to the other end of the table, wanting to get away from that conversation as fast as possible. This—this was why he didn’t want to come to Hillerska. It was embarrassing how everyone here took their status so seriously.
Wille hoped his roommate might sit near him and give him another chance, but he never showed up to dinner. He wasn’t in the room when he got back from the dining room, either. August had said something about him being local to the area; could he have possibly left campus? Wille thought they weren’t allowed to do that. Did he leave because of me? Wille wondered uneasily. He didn’t want this guy to think that he could never be in their room just because of who Wilhelm was.
With eerily impeccable timing, his unidentified roommate returned just a few minutes after Wille turned his lights off for the night. Wille pretended to be asleep; it was less awkward than trying to salvage some semblance of a first impression with this guy. As he laid there, facing the wall and listening to this boy’s movements, Wille hoped that he’d have better luck the following day.
_________________
Wille didn’t even find out his roommate’s name until they all went around introducing themselves in their first class the following morning. Simon, he learned, was outspoken and contrary and everything Wilhelm had never been allowed to be. He genuinely didn’t seem to care if he pissed the other students off, brazenly calling them out on their hypocrisy and privilege. But outside of class, his demeanor completely changed: he was reserved and quiet and seemed to only talk to his table mate, a girl with curly hair like his.
Simon was this confusing enigma, alternating between being brash and shy, and Wille wished he understood what his deal was.
_________________
Wilhelm got his first insight into Simon when they discussed welfare fraud in their Politics and Government class on the third day of school. Wille realized that Simon was an island unto himself here: the wealthier students were clearly targeting him with their digs about welfare 'scammers,' and the teacher didn’t do anything to stop them. Even the girl next to him—Simon’s sister, another bit of ‘who to avoid’ intel from August had informed him—stared daggers into the side of his head every time he spoke his mind. But Simon just stood up to all of them; it was maybe the bravest thing Wille had ever seen.
When they were getting ready for bed that night, Wilhelm replayed Simon’s arguments from class over and over again in his mind. He so badly wished he could be that confident, that outspoken. Maybe—maybe, if he got to know Simon better, he could learn by example.
“Hey, uh, Simon?” he started, bracing himself for a potentially brusque response. So far, their conversations had been limited to their botched introduction and a handful of requests for sink access. Wilhelm suspected that his own expression mirrored the apprehension he saw on Simon’s face. He pushed on anyway. “I liked what you said in gov today. It was really cool of you to stand your ground against everyone who was giving you shit.”
“Thanks,” Simon replied, something like pleased curiosity creeping into his face. “Why didn’t you say so in class?”
Wilhelm cleared his throat. There was no way to answer truthfully without seeming extremely pathetic. “I’m not supposed to share my own opinions on political issues, since I’m considered a ‘representation of the monarchy,’” he said, adding feeble air quotes in the hopes that Simon would get that this wasn’t his decision.
Simon stared at him, eyes bright and lips pressed together like he was trying not to laugh. Well, maybe that’s something, Wille thought.
_________________
Wilhelm’s next insight into the enigma of his roommate came several days later, and was much more hard-won. He woke up the morning after his so-called ‘initiation,’ head pounding and mouth sour. When he rolled onto his side, he was surprised by the sight that greeted him: a glass of water, a piece of dry toast, and a clementine on his desk next to him, and Simon, quietly doing homework at his desk.
“You slept through breakfast,” Simon said by way of explanation. “You seemed like you needed the rest.” His voice was curt; he didn’t take his eyes off of his notebook.
“Oh, thank you,” Wilhelm managed, blinking blearily against the late morning light. He was almost hungover and exhausted enough to think that he was in the middle of a bizarre dream; he couldn’t imagine what he could’ve possibly done to deserve such a simple act of kindness from Simon.
Wille sat up slowly, and memories from last night flooded back to him in a queasy wave: feeling like a zoo animal as he was tossed around and tied up by his classmates; how his heart wouldn’t stop racing until he doused it with alcohol; how he chased after Simon as he tried to leave and asked if they could walk back to their room together; how Simon agreed, wrapped an arm around Wille’s waist to steady him, but seemed quiet and closed-off like he had been when they first met. Like he seemed now.
Wilhelm reached for his breakfast, taking small sips of water and nibbles of toast like Erik taught him to do after a night of drinking to prevent himself from getting sick. Simon still hadn’t looked at him. It’s not like they were particularly friendly or anything, but Wilhelm had thought that they were starting to be on better terms in the last few days.
“Hey, is everything okay?” Wilhelm tried. He doubted that Simon would want to open up to him, but if it was something he had done, he wanted to know.
“I’m fine,” Simon said dismissively. His eyes darted over to Wille, and whatever he saw there made his frozen exterior thaw ever so slightly. He let out a slow breath. “It’s just...being around drunk people, and taking care of drunk people...it brings up bad memories for me.” Simon didn’t elaborate, but it was enough; guilt churned with the hangover in Wille’s stomach. “If this is going to be a regular thing for you, I can’t be the person who’s dragging you home from parties every weekend.”
“Shit, I’m so sorry, Simon,” Wille said, suddenly alert for the first time today. “You won’t ever have to deal with that again, I promise.” His hand came up to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly. “I never really liked those kinds of parties anyway.”
Simon snorted, finally turning in his chair to look at him fully. “Wilhelm, come on. That’s ridiculous. You don’t have to do that for me.”
Wille just shrugged. “This is your space as much as it is mine. I want you to be comfortable here.”
Simon considered this for a moment. A slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Okay, then. Thank you.”
Wille got out of bed to brush his teeth, but stopped short when Simon stood and took a step toward him. “I’m sorry for being kinda cold to you all week. You’re...definitely not what I was expecting from a prince.”
“Yeah, fair enough,” Wille laughed. He stuck his hand out. “Maybe we can just start over?”
“I’d like that, Wilhelm,” Simon said, shaking Wille’s hand and smiling slightly.
“Actually, uh, you can call me Wille—only if you want to, that is.”
Simon’s smile widened. “Wille it is, then.”
_________________
After that, Wille’s life became full of Simon practically overnight, like he was always meant to be there. Simon was much easier to talk to than most of the other Forest Ridge boys—and, crucially, seemed totally uninterested in impressing the school’s resident prince—so Wille naturally gravitated towards him during meals and workies. They both joined the rowing team: Wille, because he basically had to, and Simon, because he wanted the bonus from participating in extracurricular activities. Having the other there also seemed to make August’s draconian coaching style a little more bearable for them both.
It’s not like Wille had never made friends before—he’d had friends back in Stockholm, of course, but something about this was different, and Wille couldn’t quite put his finger on why. Perhaps it was the fact that Simon never seemed to want anything from him. He simply let Wilhelm be. For the first time, Wille had someone who wasn’t holding him to some impossible standard, or else waiting for him to let them down.
_________________
Wille woke up suddenly one night in early October, startled by a cool breeze rippling over his bare arms. When he opened his eyes, one of their windows was open all the way and Simon was sitting on the ledge, staring out over the moonlit campus.
“Everything alright?” Wille asked in a sleep-thick voice.
Simon jumped, clearly not expecting Wille to be awake. He had to grab onto the window frame to stop himself from tumbling off the ledge and into the night.
“Shit, sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you,” Wille apologized quickly.
“I’m fine. Bad dream,” Simon replied tightly once he had regained his balance.
Wille got out of bed and opened the other half of the window, perching on the sill across from Simon. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, “It’s fine if you don’t, I just—I just wanted you to know that you can, if there’s something on your mind.”
Simon looked over at him with a guarded expression, then turned to face out toward the grounds. “I was dreaming about a time when my dad was teaching me how to play ‘Sympathy for the Devil’ on the keyboard in our old place. That used to be our favorite song,” he said wistfully, more to himself than to Wille.
Though they never went into great detail about it, Wille had gleaned from context clues that Simon and Sara’s dad wasn’t in their lives anymore. Wille wished he knew why that was the case, but he’d learned not to push Simon before he was ready. But a little gentle prodding couldn’t hurt, right? “And that’s bad because…?”
“It’s just…weird and confusing to remember good times with him,” Simon replied, sounding defeated. “When he was sober, he really tried to make Sara and I happy. It’s hard to make that guy fit in my mind alongside the addict who’d sometimes be passed out on the couch when we got home from school.”
Wille sucked in a breath. “I…wow. I had no idea.” Simon just shrugged awkwardly in response. “Thank you for trusting me with that,” Wille added. He could see a small smile spread across Simon’s face, even in the low light.
“I don’t usually talk about this stuff, but that felt good. My mom and my sister, and my friends who knew my dad—they never really want to talk about what happened. And like, I get that, don’t get me wrong, but it’s like there’s this glaringly obvious wound in front of us that they’re ignoring, and like, how can that possibly heal?” Simon turned to face Wille, his cheeks flushing slightly. Wille suspected that he didn’t mean to say all of that, but he didn’t comment on it; he didn’t want to make Simon self-conscious about his vulnerability. “Which is all to say, uh, thank you. For, you know, listening,” Simon added with a small smile.
“Of course,” Wille responded, fondness seeping into his voice. He couldn’t remember a time when someone besides Erik had been that open with him. The air between them was thick, as if their shift into being real friends was a tangible thing.
They were silent for a long moment, and Wille wondered if he should offer Simon a hug. He had been quietly carrying all this grief and melancholy; to Wille, that seemed terribly lonely. Wille watched as Simon’s gaze darted around their room, as though he was searching for a more innocuous topic of conversation. His eyes landed on Wille’s math textbook, which was still on his desk from the problem set he had been working on earlier.
Simon’s eyes brightened. “Did you see how Mr. Englund’s shirt was coming out of his zipper in class today?”
“Oh my god, it was so distracting!” Wille said, somewhat grateful for the subject change. He made a mental note to circle back to this another time, though; maybe Simon would want to talk about this more when they didn’t have to be up for rowing practice in four hours.
They launched into a discussion about how Mr. Englund probably deserved that for being an elitist dick, and just like that, the tension around them lifted, but the something deeper that they had struck didn’t fade.
_________________
Present
There’s an excited swoop in Wille’s stomach as he walks up to the dorm room he and Simon will share for their second year at Hillerska. Between Simon’s summer job and Wilhelm’s slew of official events and state visits, they haven’t been able to see each other since the end of last term. At the risk of sounding over-dramatic, not seeing Simon for several months was like walking around without one of his limbs.
He opens the door, and Simon’s already inside, precariously balanced on his desk to tack up a poster above his bed. Simon looks over at him and groans. “Did you seriously have to grow half of a foot over the summer?” he whines. “I already looked tiny standing next to you.”
“I missed you, too,” Wille deadpans. “And that’s because you are tiny,” he adds, smirking up at Simon.
Wille holds out a hand to help the other boy get down from the desk. Simon takes it, and a spark zips up Wille’s arm when their hands touch. Weird, he thinks, must be static electricity from the carpet.
“Yeah, whatever. It’s good to see you, you gangly monster,” Simon says, pulling Wille into a tight hug.
This is one of the things that Wilhelm loves most about Simon—while a lot of their male classmates seem allergic to showing affection to each other, Simon doesn’t have the same hangups. Wille’s been on the receiving end of enough of his rants about toxic masculinity and 'no-homo' culture to know that Simon would roast him within an inch of his life if he tried to pull any of that macho bullshit with him.
Simon starts playing a Troye Sivan album on Wille’s bluetooth speakers, and they get to unpacking, alternating between questions about each other’s summers and companionable silence. Wille asks about Simon’s job at the country club, but the other boy quickly changes the subject. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised based on the number of times Simon texted him some variation of ‘can you grant me diplomatic immunity if I murder this asshole club member?’ over the course of the summer.
They each finish unpacking, then work together to decide on decoration placement—Wille brought multiple posters and art prints with him this year after extensive teasing from Simon about how his side of their first year room made it seem like he ‘lacked a personality besides being messy.’ By the time they need to head over to dinner, their room is looking quite homey.
As they fall into step with each other on the way to the dining room, Simon blurts out, “Oh, before I forget, my mom asked me to invite you over for dinner sometime this week. She wants to see you now that you’re back in town.”
Wille can’t keep the fond smile off of his face. He met Linda at Parents’ Day last year, and she had insisted on having him over for dinner a dozen times since then. She was easily the adult Wille liked spending time with the most. (Erik didn’t really count as an adult in Wille’s book.)
“Name the day and I’m there,” Wille responds cheerfully. They move to stand behind two side-by-side chairs—towards the center of the table, now that they’re second-years—and Simon strikes up a friendly conversation with Alexander about his summer. Wille looks around the room, suddenly struck by how different this first dinner will be than the one this time last year. How much happier he is.
Wille notices that the spot across from him is empty; he had heard that Henry’s family was moving out of the country so they could be closer to their business operations, but he didn’t realize that meant Henry wouldn’t be coming back to Hillerska.
Wille turns to ask Simon if he heard about that; Henry had been rather condescending to him on more than one occasion, so Simon will probably be pleased to hear that he’s gone. Wille ducks his gaze to try to catch Simon’s eye, but the other boy is frozen, eyes wide like he’s seen a ghost.
Wille turns to follow Simon’s line of sight and sees a guy with brown skin and well-coiffed dark hair standing in the doorway, chatting with Göran. Wille’s sure he’s never seen this guy before, but he looks like he’ll fit right in here with his pressed slacks and expensive watch.
“Simon?” he whispers, nudging the boy lightly in his ribs. Simon doesn’t seem to hear him.
“He can’t be…” Simon trails off, his voice suddenly hoarse.
The guy in the doorway turns, zeroing in on Simon as if his low voice could somehow cut through the din of conversations around them. Wilhelm watches uneasily as a cold, cruel sneer spreads across his face, souring his handsome features. Wille looks back to Simon and his heart lurches at the way he’s completely collapsed in on himself. Wille’s never seen his friend look so shell-shocked; Simon’s usually alarmingly good at maintaining his composure in stressful situations. Wilhelm wasn’t aware that he could get so rattled, but now he knows without a doubt that he hates seeing Simon like this.
The guy swaggers over to the table and takes the last available second-year seat, which is directly across from Wille. His eyes, wolfish and calculating, never once leave Simon.
“Victor,” Simon says in a hollow voice.
“Simon,” Victor says, his eyes roving languorously over Simon’s body. Wille unconsciously shifts his stance so that he’s blocking Simon slightly. “Fancy meeting you here.”
_________________
Simon starts pacing the second they’re back inside their dorm room. Wille perches on the edge of his bed, watching Simon uneasily. He would do anything to soothe that distressed look on Simon’s face if he only knew what the fuck was going on right now.
“Simon?” he tries. No dice; Simon doesn’t let up in his anxious tread across their carpet.
“How do you even know him?” Wilhelm asks, trying to keep the hurt he’s feeling out of his voice. He and Simon don’t keep secrets from each other; why didn’t Simon tell him about this guy?
Simon stops his pacing. His eyes dart over to Wille, then shift down to his feet. “He was a member at the country club where I worked over the summer,” he starts, voice small. “We sorta...were a thing for a few months,” he admits, sounding almost ashamed.
Oh. Wille hadn’t even known that Simon was seeing someone—Simon never mentioned it to him or shared anything on his Instagram. But with the way he looks kind of ill now, Wille’s starting to get an idea of why he never brought it up.
“Victor wanted to keep it a secret. He told me that I could lose my job if they found out I was seeing a member, and I needed the money, so I went along with it,” Simon sighs. He backs up until his knees bump against his bed, sinking down onto it.
This guy sounds like a manipulative asshole, but Wille gets the sense that that’s not the whole story. “So, what happened between you two?”
A sad smile briefly grazes Simon’s lips. “At first it was kinda fun and exciting, you know, sneaking around. But sometimes, he’d insult me in front of the other club members, and then try to ‘make it up to me’ afterwards,” he huffs bitterly.
“What a dick,” Wille spits. His nails dig into his palms. Who the fuck did Victor think he was to treat Simon like that?
“Yeah,” Simon agrees miserably. “It made me feel spineless, but...no one had ever liked me like that before.”
“But like, you’re not still together, are you?” Wille checks. He doesn’t know if that was the right thing to say, but his brain is still catching up to the revelation that Simon dated someone and didn’t tell him, let alone someone who treated him this poorly.
“No, thank fucking god,” Simon says, rolling his eyes disdainfully. “I mean, I tried to break up with him a couple of times, but he’d tell me—” Simon cuts himself suddenly, looking slightly panicked. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Sara saw him drop me off after one of our make-ups, and…”
“And…?” Wille prompts. He wonders what Simon was about to say before, but he doesn’t want to push his friend when he's already so upset.
Simon groans. His hands shoot up to cover his face in embarrassment. “Apparently I was ‘covered in hickies and looked miserable,’ so she knew something was up.”
Wille’s cheeks heat without his permission at the thought of Victor marking Simon so possessively. While Simon’s face is still covered, Wille shakes his head to dislodge the thought. Simon’s his best friend; he shouldn’t be thinking about him like that. And anyway, Simon is free to receive hickies from whoever he wants.
“So, we talked about it, and she convinced me that I should just quit. I’d saved up a good amount by that point, and Victor wouldn’t be able to randomly ambush me anymore,” Simon says, picking at a fingernail anxiously. Wille grabs an eraser off of his desk and chucks it at Simon’s head—a previously agreed upon tactic to manage each other’s self-destructive habits. Simon smiles. “Thanks. I just...I haven't seen him since I quit, and I wasn’t prepared to run into him again, is all,” he finishes, deflating slightly.
“Yeah, uh…” Wille trails off dumbly. He’s never experienced anything even remotely like this. “I’m really sorry you went through that Simon. I just wish you had told me sooner.”
“I wanted to tell you, but you seemed so busy,” Simon says, biting his lip guiltily. Wille doesn’t have another eraser to throw, so he’s struck by the bizarre impulse to smooth Simon’s lip over with his thumb. “And anyway, it’s over now, so I should focus on the more pressing issue of seeing him here everyday. I wish I could show him that I’m better off without him,” Simon mutters spitefully. “I know that if I tried to tell him that, he’d just belittle me again.”
Wille’s hit by a sudden wave of guilt. Maybe if he had been more present, more available to Simon over the summer, this never would’ve happened. It’s this prick of shame in his gut combined with the strong urge to do anything to make Simon feel better that makes him say, “What if you pretended to date someone else to show Victor you’ve moved on?”
Simon considers this for a moment, then shakes his head. “Who would agree to that? I’m not exactly known for my social standing here. The only people I hang out with are you and Sara and her friends, who are all girls.”
“So I’ll do it, then,” Wille offers, like that should’ve been obvious. Simon’s his best friend, and he’s upset. This seems like a no-brainer to him.
Simon actually throws his head back laughing, the little shit. “Wille, you can’t be serious. I think someone from the palace might actually come and kill me in my sleep if word got out that I had beguiled you,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Wille smiles fondly, relieved that Simon seems to be feeling somewhat better.
“I did everything my mom wanted me to do without complaint all summer. I’ve got some goodwill to burn,” he says simply. “If word gets out, the palace will release some statement saying that we’re just very good friends and that I’m focusing on my studies or some PR bullshit like that.”
For a long moment, Simon just gapes at him. Then he pushes off of his bed and takes a step toward Wille, a bemused expression on his face. “You’re seriously comfortable with this? With people thinking that you like me? ”
Wille knows what Simon’s implying—because he’s working class, because he’s from Bjärstad, because he’s a boy. Before he can think better of it, Wille says “I think I’d be incredibly lucky if someone like you actually liked me.” Simon’s eyes widen, and Wille thinks his cheeks might turn slightly pink. He stands by it, though; Simon’s the best person Wille knows, and he hates hearing Simon be so down on himself.
Simon ducks his head. When he meets Wille’s gaze again, his eyes are alight with mirth. Uh oh. “And what if we have to stand on the dining room table to attest to our activities?” Wille knows Simon’s just messing with him, so why is it suddenly harder to swallow? “Would you still be willing to be my fake boyfriend if we had to prove it to our nosy peers who are constantly around us?”
Wille’s mesmerized by this brashness—he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Simon act so flirtatious, even if he’s only joking. “You’re the one who’s always saying ‘fuck the monarchy,’” Wille says, surprising himself a little. “This could be your opportunity to tell people that you actually did.” This earns him a bright, joyous laugh from Simon, and some of the tightness in Wille’s chest eases up.
“Okay,” Simon says finally, his lips twisting as though he doesn’t want to admit that Wille was right. But a moment later, his face breaks into the full smile that Wille loves so much. His heart flutters; Wille supposes it’s because he’s happy that Simon seems to have returned to his usual, snarky self.
Simon crosses the room, snatching a notebook and a pen off of his desk and sitting cross-legged on the foot of Wille’s bed. Wilhelm turns to face him and leans back against his pillows, raising a confused eyebrow.
“If we’re going to do this, we need to have our story straight,” Simon explains. “You know the girls will have a million questions for us. Like, have we had sex yet?” Simon asks with a directness that makes Wille blush.
Wilhelm clears his throat. “Let’s go with ‘no,’” he says quickly. “Fewer details to remember.”
“Fair point,” Simon says, making a note on the page. “When did we get together?”
“Well, I guess,” Wille starts, then pauses. Is there some unspoken boundary here that he wasn’t aware of? Is that why Simon didn’t tell him about Victor? “When did you break up with Victor?”
“A little over a month ago.”
“Okay, so maybe around then? I comforted you through your breakup and then we realized how much we’d missed each other over the summer, and then one thing led to another…” He makes a vague motion with his hand because he doesn’t think he can say more without blushing.
Simon lets out a startled laugh. “Are you seriously suggesting that we tell people that I used the Prince of Sweden as a rebound?”
Wille glares at him, but there’s no heat to it. “Well, we have to tell them something, and it has to be sometime after you and Victor broke up. Unless you want to tell people that you cheated on the Prince of Sweden.”
“Ugh, fine. This was an ill-advised rebound with my best friend that turned into a relationship.” Simon bats his eyelashes teasingly. “Who knew you were such a romantic, your highness?” Before Wille can think of a response to that, Simon continues. “We probably shouldn’t tell anyone the truth about this. If one person slips up and we’re found out, it will all have been for nothing. I’ll look even more pathetic than I already did,” Simon finishes, his shoulders drooping.
Wille’s never seen Simon look so small, so unsure of himself. He nudges Simon’s ankle with his foot. “Hey, that’s not going to happen,” he reassures gently.
Simon gives him a small, grateful smile in response, then turns back to his notebook. “Okay, then. First kiss?”
Wilhelm thinks about this for a moment. “Well, it would have to be today, right? Since our friends know we haven’t seen each other all summer.”
To Wille’s surprise, Simon’s cheeks darken slightly. “Uh, yeah, sure. A long-anticipated first kiss makes for a good story.” He clears his throat. “Was it…was it a good kiss?” he asks hesitantly.
“You tell me. Are you a good kisser?”
Simon splutters. “Are you?”
“Are you kidding me? Who would tell a prince that they didn’t like kissing him? My data is too skewed to be reliable,” Wille says dismissively.
“‘Who would tell a prince’—oh, for the love of god,” Simon huffs, rolling his eyes. “Just for that, the first kiss was awkward, and it was your fault.”
“Yeah, that tracks,” Wille replies, laughing sheepishly.
_________________
It takes them about 10 more minutes to craft the story of their blossoming ‘romance.’ They quiz each other on the details for the rest of the night. It’s important that they both have the backstory memorized, so that they don’t slip up when their friends inevitably press them for details.
“Cuddling?” Simon prompts as they’re brushing their teeth.
Wille spits into the sink. “We take turns being the big spoon.”
“Families?” Wille asks as they’re getting changed for bed. For some reason, he turns away while Simon unbuttons his shirt and strips down to his boxers and a t-shirt. Huh. That hasn’t seemed like something he needed to be shy about since they first met.
“Our families don’t know yet,” Simon recites from memory. “The stakes are weird here—in theory, it wouldn't be a big deal if you were queer, since you’re not the Crown Prince,” then adds pointedly, “And even if you were, that wouldn’t conflict with your ability to assume the throne. Because the monarchy can erase centuries of leeching on the resources of the nation with one ‘woke’ policy,” he finishes with an eye roll.
Wille snorts. “Not in the script, but I’ll allow it,” he concedes.
“Pet names?” Wille asks as they’re getting into their respective beds.
“Baby, darling, and honey are all on the table,” Simon says, ticking them off on his fingers.
Simon turns off the lamp by his bed and settles under his sheets. Wille does the same. A while later, Simon’s voice breaks the silence of their room. “Do you actually think this will work, Wille?”
“I know it will, Simon,” Wille whispers back. It has to.