Chapter Text
So here they are. After months of fighting the worst war he’d ever been in, screaming into voids, and praying to a God he doesn’t know if he believes in, here they fucking are. Here he is, with Simon tucked under his arm like he’d decided that was the only place for him to be.
Being with Simon is like—
Like finding light after being trapped in a cave. Like taking a sip of water after trudging through a desert. Like he’d lived in a world of black and white, only learning that the sky is blue after opening his eyes and finding a hand that fits perfectly in his. Like, maybe, his soul had found its mate.
Or something else less corny.
His chest soars when he feels laughter being pressed into his ear, loud and beautiful and wholly Simon.
“You know, you could’ve just called. You didn’t have to run like some 90s heartthrob chasing after his great love in an old romance comedy film.”
Wilhelm laughs at the hint of tease in his voice. So what if he likes grand gestures. Sue him. “That’s oddly specific.”
“Yeah, well, Sara likes romcoms.”
Dimly, he hears Sara splutter some kind of objection from the driver’s seat. He wraps a careful arm around Simon’s shoulders, delighting in the way Simon curls onto his side impossibly closer, like maybe he just can’t help himself. Like maybe he feels as deeply for Wilhelm as Wilhelm does him.
He teases, meeting Sara’s eyes through the rearview mirror, huffing out another breath of laughter when she rolls her eyes fondly at her brother, “Just Sara, huh? Not you?”
Simon presses his answering grin into Wilhelm’s neck. He feels it, and that’s what makes him understand that this is real. Simon is here with him. And this might just be the beginning of their forever. “I’ve watched my fair share of them too, if you must know.”
“Well, now I know what type of movies to rent when we get to the cabin.”
“Oh, speaking of which—” Felice straightens up from her seat, taking her feet off the dashboard, “—shouldn’t we go back to get some clothes for you, Wille? I doubt you’d wanna spend weeks dressed in only your uniform.”
“Well, personally, I think he looks hot.”
Cheeks bright red, Wilhelm elbows Simon, who bites back a smile and looks out the window.
“Would that be okay? I don’t wanna cause any trouble to the plan.” He meets Sara’s eye again. He doesn’t know her very well. They’d hardly even talked, if at all, but she means something to Simon, and Simon means everything to him, so he doesn’t really wanna get on her bad side.
Even if it means he has to live the next few weeks in his stifling Hillerska uniform, and all. Dimly, he realizes he could just buy new clothes, or maybe borrow Simon’s, even if they would likely not fit him very well.
But then, Sara shakes her head, “No, actually Simon and I have to go home too, so we’d be making a detour anyway. Wouldn’t be any more trouble dropping you off at the Palace.” And then, her eyes widen like she’d just realized what she said. “Oh, wait, you live in a Palace.”
His stomach turns immediately at her sudden shock, like some awful and twisted chain reaction.
He tries, “It’s not—it’s just like any other house, just. Filled with old antiques and ghosts, maybe.”
Simon rises, facing him. There’s a kind of far off look on his face, something soft and not at the same time, “Wille, the Palace is not like any other house.” There’s not any more to his statement, but the firm tone of his voice tells Wilhelm to drop it immediately, so he does.
The car slips into a loud silence.
“Anyway.” Sara says, shrugging her shoulders, “So, we’ll drop Wille off, so he can go pack some clothes, then we’ll go home, so Simon and I can do the same.” Then, she turns to Simon. “Mama said she wants us to have dinner together tonight, so we can officially leave tomorrow afternoon?”
Simon blinks. “Oh, okay, that works, but when did she say that?”
Felice laughs, turning her head so she could look at him and Wilhelm both. “She called Sara when you two were busy pretending we couldn’t see you making out.”
Simon’s neck starts to grow warm under Wilhelm’s arm, and when Wilhelm looks down at him, he finds the prettiest flush overcome his cheeks, spreading across the expanse of sun-kissed skin. It’s enough to make tension release from his own shoulders, and a laugh falls out of his mouth. Felice meets his eye, as Simon pointedly avoids all eyes, tucking his warm face into Wilhelm’s neck.
Felice smiles at the picture Wilhelm knows the pair of them must paint, her voice soft, “Told you it was all going to be okay.”
When they get to the Palace, they stop about a street away from the courtyard. Primarily because the Royal Court doesn't know Sara, which would be regarded as a security risk, and a foreign car driving into their premises would not be well-received. But partly, it’s also because Wilhelm wants to slip in and out as quickly as he can.
Simon softly offers to go with him, but Wilhelm knows—can tell just from the sound of his voice that he really doesn’t actually want to, and something painfully akin to guilt curls in his stomach when he guesses why. The last time Simon had been there hadn’t been pleasant.
He swallows the wave of bitterness that floods his throat and, with a squeeze to his hand, assures Simon that he could go on his own.
The first thing his mother does when she sees him is give him a hug. He’s not expecting it, so he jerks before he’s able to wrap his arms around her too.
He sees Farima, standing off to the side, a clipboard in hand, and he can only hope that they don’t have to do this now. He says as such, even before his Mama could open her mouth.
“Wilhelm, you must know we have to speak of what comes next. Renouncing the throne isn’t easy, and you’re not even of age, yet. You can’t be careless—” His mother starts. She keeps her voice calm, which is something he can appreciate, even if he doesn’t like her words.
“I know, mama, but give me a few weeks, at least. I just. I want to enjoy the break with my friends.”
His mother looks at him carefully. “Friends?”
“Yes, mama. Friends. I have those, you know.”
His father coughs, but he knows he’s probably just hiding an escaped laugh. Wilhelm bites back the urge to roll his eyes.
His mother sighs, “Okay, where’s Simon? I suppose we shouldn’t do this without him and his mother present, anyway.”
Something akin to hope flutters in his chest. “He’s waiting in the car with Felice and Sara.”
Her eyebrow crinkles. “Waiting?”
Jutting out his chin, he answers evenly, “Yes, we’re going on a trip. I texted you about it.” He knows she’s trying. He knows she’s trying to make a change. He believed her when she apologized, but a small part of him curls at the thought that she might, one day, change her mind. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if that happens. He doesn’t know what Simon will do if that happens, but the thought of losing him again, and again, and again is enough to leave him guarded.
His mother bristles, “Well. I didn’t know it was happening today, darling.” Something in her tone is more motherly than queenly, like she’s scolding a kid who’d gotten caught sneaking out. He doesn’t remember the last time his mother had talked to him this way, but it makes his heart leap all the same.
“Technically, it’s not today. I’m staying with him for the rest of today, and we’ll leave tomorrow.”
His father’s lip curves at the fight in his voice, and his mother tuts. “Well, then. Seems like you’ve got it all figured out, then, huh?”
“Of course I do. Aren’t you the one who taught me to plan things out before engaging? Can’t be careless, and all that.” It was Sara’s plan, but his mother doesn’t have to know that.
“You’ll have to take Malin with you.”
He groans, “Mama.”
She reaches a palm up to cradle his cheek, “Sweetheart, I understand that you want to be free to do whatever you want, but you are still a public figure. Nowhere you go is safe without a security detail, and neither are your friends. I need you to meet me halfway here, Wilhelm.”
She’s trying, he desperately reminds himself. And reluctantly, he can admit that she has good points. Miserably, his mind conjures up the image of Simon’s utterly frightened face, the shake in his voice, when he had called Wilhelm to tell him about the rock incident. He’d never forgive himself if he let anything like that happen to him again. He ignores the guilt that resides in his stomach, and he nods once.
“Okay.” Then, he turns to Malin, grimacing at the woman who would likely jump in after him if he’d fallen off a cliff, “Sorry, Malin.”
“All good?” Simon asks when Wilhelm settles back into the car after stuffing his bag in the trunk beside Felice’s own luggage. He’s in the middle seat, even though Wilhelm has long since learned that Simon prefers being able to look out a window, and something in his heart squeezes at the thought that Simon is sitting in the middle seat just so he could be closer to Wilhelm.
He curls an arm over Simon’s shoulder, who leans into him and shuts his eyes.
“All good. Seatbelt.” He reminds when he sees Simon isn’t buckled.
“Put it on for me, I’m sleepy.”
Wilhelm laughs, and he feels Simon press an answering smile into the skin of his neck.
While the girls are in Sara’s room, Felice helping her pick out clothes to bring with her, Wilhelm insists he makes their dinner. Maybe he’s not as good of a chef as Linda, but he’s sure he could at least make something edible. Simon is less convinced.
“Wille. You are a disaster in the kitchen.”
“That’s not true. I make a mean cereal.”
Simon rolls his eyes, half-laughing in the way he only seems to do around Wilhelm. He feels pride soar in his chest at the thought that only he gets to make that happen. “I’m sure you do, but at least let me be your sous—“
His words are cut off by Wilhelm abruptly grabbing his waist and lifting him up easily to sit onto the marbled counter. Simon blinks as a squeak is prompted out of him, surprised at the sudden move as his cheeks turn pink in a way that warms Wilhelm’s heart all the way down to his feet.
Wilhelm leans forward, delighted in the way he has to look up at Simon now from the change in position. He should put Simon up on the counter more often.
He plants his hands on the countertop, one on either side of Simon’s hips. “Baby, will you please let me do something nice for you for once?”
Simon contemplates for just a second, the corner of his lip twisted up in thought. Eventually, he relents, sighing as his eyes crinkle into some semblance of a smile, “Alright, fine. But you have to let me help if I see you do anything wrong.”
Laughing, Wilhelm kisses his cheek. “Got it.”
Simon shakes his head, unable to hide the grin Wilhelm can see ghosting its way up his lips. He sits back, leaning against the cabinets, looking around the room. He looks adorable the way he seems to enjoy his new height, and Wilhelm will be in love until he’s dead.
“Was the top of the fridge always this dusty? I’ve never been this tall before.”
Wilhelm snorts, beginning to roll his sleeves up his forearms so he wouldn’t dirty them. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll make sure to pour you an extra big glass of milk after we’ve eaten. Surely, it’s not too late for the calcium to help.”
“Fuck you, five foot eight is average.”
“It’s like being yelled at by a kitten.”
“I’ll kick you out of my kitchen, don’t you think I won’t.”
“What smells so good?” Linda asks as soon as she unlocks the front door. Simon stops his jumping around the kitchen to yet another ABBA song to greet her, dropping the whisk he'd been pretending was a microphone and pausing the radio. It’s much to the disappointment of both Felice and Sara, who’d been twirling each other around the small space, to which Wilhelm had whined multiple times, guys, stop it, you’re getting hair in my sauce.
“Wille made spaghetti,” Simon announces to his mother proudly, leaning his cheek on Wilhelm’s shoulder. Wilhelm feels himself flush when Linda exclaims something in Spanish, the words lost on him, but he can tell they’re fond just from her tone. Or maybe, that was just how Linda always talked, so he isn’t entirely sure.
But he knows, is certain, that it’s fond when she tells Sara and Simon to set the table and turns to him once they’re gone, smiling softly, “You’re a good kid, Wilhelm.”
Nothing has ever meant to him more than her words in that moment.
They get ready for bed side by side. They’d done this several times before, once in this very bathroom, when he’d stayed over for the first time, and several other nights in Wilhelm’s dorm.
He remembers that first sleepover night, curling in on himself in Simon’s bathroom, excited and scared and eager all at once, worried he’d say all the wrong things, worried he’d be stripped bare for someone who decides he isn’t worth his time, worried of what comes tomorrow.
The difference between then and now, is that he knows Simon wants him to stay; can feel it in the way Simon pokes at his cheek to get him to laugh while brushing his teeth. He feels it in the way their feet are clad in socks side by side, Simon’s body covered in a loose sweater that used to be Wilhelm’s. He feels it in the way they slip into the same bed without having to ask each other if it was okay, without having to set up an inflatable mattress under the ruse that he’d sleep on it, just to fool Simon’s mother who they’d all known had not believed it for a second.
He feels it in the way Simon looks at him under the red light of his lava lamp, a limp teddy bear in the corner of the bed.
Wilhelm tucks a curl beside his ear, thumbing at the collar of the sweater falling low on Simon’s collarbone, “You really gonna sleep in this? It’s warm in here.”
Simon’s answer comes easily.
“I like it. I like feeling hugged by it. Smells like you.”
Wilhelm snorts, hardly believing that that’s the reason. He deadpans, “Hey, you know what else smells like me? Me.”
He’s rewarded with an eye roll, “You know what I mean.”
He really, actually doesn’t, but Simon blinks slowly, like he’s just ten seconds away from falling into a restful sleep, so he decides to drop it.
But then, to his surprise, Simon keeps talking.
“It’s. Um. I slept with it on, when we weren’t talking. You know, for the three nights straight after your birthday, and. And it’s kind of become a habit. Can’t really sleep without it now,” he reveals, his eyes suddenly seeming to find the wall interesting.
Wilhelm’s chest splinters, feeling like a bucket of cold water had been poured over his bare back. He pulls Simon close, kissing the top of his head. “Oh. I didn’t—know that. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
A flash of Simon’s tear-stricken face streaks across his vision like a bolt of lightning, his voice cracking until I can’t do this anymore were the only words that come from it. The reminder is enough to burn him raw, as he feels a lump crawling up his throat like worms digging through dirt. He remembers yelling, remembers Everything hurts you, and that hurts me, and he feels numb against the bed. He blinks as Simon shivers, curling closer like he can’t get enough of him.
Simon laughs wetly against his chest. His lips tremble from his smile. The only thing is, Wilhelm doesn’t know if it’s a happy one. “Don’t be,” Simon says, “It was—it’s over now. I mean—I have you now, right?”
Wilhelm shuts his eyes and cradles him close, as if that’s enough to keep them both away from the monsters under the bed, from everything that’s hurt them in the past. His memories remind him that he had been one of those monsters once; he had hurt them, and the realization makes his breath hitch.
Simon notices, because of course he does. He looks up, his expression cracked open wide and vulnerable. “Wille? Are you—okay?” His eyes are wet.
“Yeah. I’m okay. We’re okay.” Alarmed, he hurries to brush a soft hand over Simon’s cheek. “Don’t cry, Simon, we’re okay.”
Simon blinks at him, covering Wilhelm’s hand with his own. “Okay. I’m not—I’m okay too.”
Wilhelm nods just once, tucking him close once more. It’s a while before he falls asleep.
When he wakes, it’s with warmth on his chest, accompanied by soft curls. He smiles softly, murmuring, “Good morning,” into the nest of hair. Simon mumbles something incomprehensible, and something about it eases Wilhelm’s chest. He knows they should talk about it, but. But it’s morning, which should be followed by all things good, and he doesn’t exactly wish to ruin any of it.
He’s so sick of ruining it—ruining them.
But another day. They’ll talk another day. They will. Just not—today, maybe. He swallows the lingering wave of hurt and, instead, tries to focus on the way his sweater rides up on Simon’s hip. Simon rolls over onto his other side, blinking awake as sunlight flickers through the gaps in the curtains.
“How’d you sleep?” Wilhelm asks, pulling a shirt over his upper body when he rolls out of Simon’s (cozy) bed.
Simon stretches along the length of the mattress, the sheets pooling at his waist prettily. “Hm, good. Would've been better if I were waking up knowing that someone got me breakfast in bed, though.”
Wilhelm snorts out a laugh, pretending he does not file that task into the back of his mind to be done the next time he sleeps over at Simon’s. He does not grin like an idiot at his own next words, “Oh yeah? Wanna be treated like royalty, then?”
“Well, you know me—always one who has wanted to become part of the royals. Obviously.”
“Wow. Who knew that you, an anti-monarchist—“ Wilhelm whispers the last word conspiratorially, “—had a bit of prince in you?” It’s a beautiful thing; the way they can joke about it all now—joke about an institution that had once been so suffocating to the both of them.
It’s unfathomable, the same way that it’s not all at once, because somehow, in the back of his mind, Wilhelm had always hoped this was how they would end up. Birthday wishes do come true sometimes, he guesses.
Instead of scoffing indignantly at the joke like Wilhelm had expected him to do though, Simon just smiles nonchalantly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world, “I definitely want a prince in me.”
Wilhelm can feel his cheeks turn pink. “Simon!”
Simon shrugs, unfazed. “What, you can joke, but I can’t?”
“Not about that. Think of the children!” He makes it a point to grab a nearby blanket and toss it over Simon’s fish tank. He knows he’s being stupid. He doesn’t care as long as he makes Simon laugh.
He climbs back onto the bed, scooping Simon into his arms the way he’s done so many times now that it feels like second nature. “I’m not a prince anymore though, so you might need to find another to grant your wish.”
Simon snickers, scooting closer and nuzzling into him easily. “Well, the Prince of Denmark is pretty hot, so maybe I could just—”
Wilhelm bites his neck, “Don’t you dare.”
“Nikolai isn’t even a prince anymore either.” He mutters, a little petulant, later when they’re stuffing their necessities into the trunk.
Simon grins, his voice burning with joy, “Denmark has multiple princes; how’d you know he was the one I was talking about?”
“Well, he’s the one who looks the most like me, so obviously he’d be the one you’d be into.”
A laugh bursts out of Simon, then, and Wilhelm feels himself grin, because Simon’s laughter is lovely, and he wants to bottle it up so he could have it with him always.
They take their seats in the car, Malin following closely behind them after Sara had, in a scrambled manner, sent her the coordinates of Felice’s cabin. Wilhelm supposes he can’t blame her; it’s not every day someone has to text a Royal security guard directions to a Summer vacation.
They settle into the seats that had unspokenly been assigned for each of them. His heart calms, slowing, when Simon’s fingers slip between his, like it’s easy.
Expectedly, his head falls into the crook of his shoulder, like Wilhelm’s body was made just to accommodate him. Wilhelm wouldn’t mind if that were the case.
So here they fucking are. Driving towards the beginning of their forever, and what comes tomorrow doesn’t feel so stifling anymore.
He falls asleep just as Simon begins snoring.