Work Text:
Simon was trying, he really was.
Trying not to mope around the office, now that it was starting to empty out as coworkers left for holiday travel and time with loved ones.
Trying not to feel sorry for himself that he was stuck in a city that had only seen 30 minutes of sun in total over the past 23 days. While his mamá was surely sitting in his tía’s lush garden, eating delicious food, relaxing - which she more than deserved - and soaking up this trip that she’d been planning for over a year. Simon didn’t begrudge her the vacation or the rare time with family. Of course not. He was the one who had convinced her to make it happen, and had found her the affordable flight that had finally helped her take the plunge.
It’s just that the reality of not having home to go to for the Christmas holiday had been one thing in the abstract, and an entirely different experience in reality.
And even then, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Sara wasn’t supposed to have to cover at the equestrian clinic when so many of her coworkers got taken out by the nasty flu variant going around. She certainly hadn’t expected to be staying there over the Christmas holiday, and Simon definitely wasn’t going to make the trek on public transit to Bjärstad just to have to drag his childhood sleeping bag to the clinic to stay onsite with her. And besides, Per had already volunteered for that job. So the idea of crashing there with her and her boyfriend, much as Simon liked him just fine, was even less appealing than spending Christmas alone in his mamá’s new apartment, since last year she’d moved out of the little house they’d lived in during his teenage years, since she didn’t need the space anymore, and to be closer to her job at the hospital.
Not to mention that if it had come to that, it was supposed to be that Simon could have just gone home with Linus to his parents’ place in Svartbäcken. But he couldn’t do that, since he wasn’t with Linus anymore.
And now, not for the first time since moving to Stockholm at the start of November, he’s trying not to wonder whether maybe he should have pushed to try to make long-distance work. Because the past six weeks have been a sobering reminder how hard it can be to make friends when you move somewhere entirely new, particularly as an adult, in a place where it feels like everyone already has their circles from growing up, or university, or their early 20s, and particularly when it’s winter, the holidays, and there’s like 4 hours of daylight, and 4 minutes of sun, every day.
Really, Uppsala wasn’t that far. Not even an hour by train. He could have gone back on weekends, and even if Linus was always working until the early hours of the morning at the restaurant, they could have spent the afternoons together. They enjoyed one another’s company, cared about one another. Simon found it soothing to be with someone who was openly affectionate, direct, and easygoing.
And yet. When Simon had gotten this job offer, after the surge of excitement about this new role at the production company, and the opportunity to move to Stockholm, his next realization was how much the thought of being separated from Linus didn’t feel as devastating as he felt it should.
In the end, if one of the things Simon appreciated about Linus was his go-with-the-flow attitude, this same quality certainly contributed to Linus' pragmatic take on their situation: “Simon, I’ve lived here my whole life. I can’t leave when the restaurant is just getting on its feet. And… I don’t want to. Everything is here, for me. It’s one thing if this was just short-term, like a temporary thing… But it seems like you’ve been ready to get out Uppsala for a while now, I think the exact words you used before were ‘escape the university orbit.’”
Linus being so reasonable about the whole thing made it both easier and more painful to accept what Simon already knew, deep down. “I know the job is exactly the kind of thing you were looking for,” he had continued. “You know I care about you, Simon… but I want you to be happy. And I just don’t see how stringing this out, trying to do long-distance makes sense, or would be good, for either of us. But if you want it, you should go.”
Simon did want it. So he had gone.
Most days, beneath the nerves, and beyond the mild loneliness, and expected friction of settling into a new routine, he was content, and felt lucky to have landed this role in music production, in a city he was excited to make his own.
But today was not one of those days. Today was December 23, and Simon was feeling sorry for himself that he was one of the last people in the office, and that he’d be going home tonight to spend the next two days alone in his apartment, however cozy. Having started so recently at the company, he hadn’t even had enough leave to justify the trip to Bjärstad to see Rosh and Ayub, when he knew they’d mostly be consumed with family commitments, what with Rosh being home from Lund for just a few days, and Ayub and Lina still settling into life with a newborn.
He’d been desperate enough he’d even baked hallongrotta last night so he could share them around the office. Sara had been so incredulous - “Simon, are you sure you’re ok?” - that she’d insisted on a video call so she could see evidence of this statistically highly anomalous event.
But the office was so quiet, what with so many coworkers already out on vacation, that Simon had ended up eating three of the cookies himself, one for every time he passed through the office kitchenette to top up his coffee. And there he was, refilling his water bottle, weighing whether he should go for a fourth, when Felice swept into the room.
“Oh my god. Simon. Anders said you made these? They’re delicious.”
Simon took out his earbud. “My first attempt.”
“They remind me of the ones my mormor and I would make together when I was small.” Felice popped one in her mouth, closing her eyes with a pleased sigh. “Please tell me you’ll make them again sometime?”
“I’m not sure I could reliably recreate them. I’m not much of a baker.”
Felice flashed him an unabashed smile as she selected another. “Well, I’m just glad we’re about the only ones here today. More for me.”
Simon didn’t know Felice well - not that he knew anyone here very well – but since she managed social media and publicity, they had virtually no overlap on projects. She had been welcoming from the start, though, and they had ended up getting lunch together a number of times, although always in the context of a group.
Her eyes fell on his phone sitting on the counter, and she groaned. “Please tell me you aren’t one of those maudlin holiday people?”
A surprised snort escaped Simon. “How do you mean?”
She gestured toward his playlist, currently scrolling across his screen. “ ‘You said it was just like Christmas, but you were wrong, it wasn’t like Christmas at all’? Sad Christmas song if I ever heard one.”
“I wouldn’t say maudlin. More like… realism.”
Felice huffed. “You and Wille are just the same.”
Simon didn’t have a chance to clarify to whom she was referring, since he didn’t recall having been introduced to a Wille in the office, when Felice pivoted to ask, “What are your plans?”
“For Christmas? Nothing, really.”
“You won’t spend it with family?” Felice’s tone was neutral, but her brow furrowed.
“Normally I would. But this year my máma’s in Spain visiting family, my sister has to work, my friends are with their families, the boyfriend stayed in Uppsala and is now the ex-boyfriend… you get the picture.” Simon managed a tight smile. He realized Felice was studying him, which only made him blunder on. “It’s not a big deal. I’m not a huge Christmas person. It’s just… different, you know?”
Felice narrowed her eyes slightly, tapping her long nails on the countertop beside her. “What are you doing this afternoon?”
“Besides working?”
“Not for much longer, you’re not. We are getting out of here in….” Felice squinted at the clock mounted on the wall, “just under two hours.”
“Early?”
“Early,” she insisted. “Criminal for the new guy to be the last one in the office on today of all days. Besides, you can’t be. Because you’re coming with me.”
“Can’t say I’m going to fight you on that, but...where are we going?”
Felice raked her gaze over Simon, making him feel slightly self-conscious. He had worn his blue plaid trousers and an ivory knit sweater, which along with feeling vaguely festive, were also cozy enough to help take the edge off the irritation he’d felt percolating when he woke up.
Felice met his eyes: “I think we can make this work,” she announced. “Random question: do you have a t-shirt on underneath your sweater?”
Simon nodded, a cautious smile frozen on his face.
“Ok, hear me out.” Felice was gaining speed. “My best friend teaches a yoga class on Tuesdays. Come with me! God knows I need to release some tension before I have to spend the day with my mother tomorrow. I have a guest pass you can use, they have mats and everything there.”
She must have read the hesitation – nay, a wince? – in Simon’s posture, because she barreled on with, “and truly, you don’t need any experience. I’m not very flexible myself. But the studio is lovely, very chill vibes.”
“I don’t know….” Simon hedged.
“Simon,” Felice pleaded, stretching out the vowels in his name. “We haven’t really had a chance to hang out yet, things have been so crazy here with all the end-of-year wrap-ups in Comms.”
She wasn’t wrong. And Simon did want to get to know people. More than he wanted to go shut himself inside his apartment, alone, for the next two days. Plus while he knew Felice to be gracious, he had also watched her kindly evade repeated offers to meet up with another new coworker, who was around their age, who had been recruited at the same time as Simon. So he was fairly confident she wouldn’t be inviting him now if she didn’t truly mean it.
“Ok,” he finally shrugged.
“Perfect!” She squeezed his shoulder. “I need to finish up some things before I get out of here, but I’ll meet you downstairs at 3:00?” With a wink, Felice grabbed one more cookie and was gone.
Which was how two hours and twenty-seven minutes later Simon found himself following Felice into a small street-level space on Södermalm. He wasn’t quite sure what he had expected. Maybe ostentatious dark walnut bodhisattva statues, cucumber water in a glass carafe, and large screen-print canvases bearing aspirational phrases in tasteful cursive. Or a pervasive cloud of burnt sage, questionably hygienic woven blankets, and a frankly offensive ratio of dreadlocks to white people.
So Simon was relieved to discover that Mala was at once simpler and cozier. Glancing in through the large glass door that connected the small entry space to the studio, he glimpsed light birch floors, pale sunny yellow walls, and nothing else in the room but a smattering of battery-powered candles and modular wood shelving at the rear of the room with mats, blankets, and blocks. A hint of something sharp but muted - perhaps eucalyptus? – wafted at the edge of his awareness.
He followed Felice’s lead in stashing his winter layers and bag in one of the entry cubbies, and had just finished unlacing his boot, wobbling as he stood on one foot, when he heard her warm greeting behind him. “Hej! How're you?”
Simon managed to tug off the boot and regained his balance. He glanced over his shoulder to see Felice embracing a slender man with light brown hair that fell in his eyes. He was beautiful, with delicate features, and more than that, there was a softness mixed with poise to how he held himself that Simon found instantly appealing.
They rocked back and forth as they squeezed one another, and he said something that made her laugh loudly. She must have sensed Simon behind her, because she pulled back and gestured for him to close the few steps and join them.
“Wille, this is Simon. He’s the one who started working with me last month, remember?”
“I remember,” Wille nodded, his auburn eyes intent on Simon in a way that made Simon feel inexplicably flushed. “So, Felice dragged you along?”
“More or less against my will,” Simon joked.
“Hm...” Wille smiled. “A challenge.”
“Class is going to start in a minute so I'll go get us set up,” Felice interjected. “I’ll grab you a mat, Simon.”
“Do I need to check in or anything?” he asked.
She waved her hand dismissively. “I took care of it.”
“Oh, ok, thanks,” he said automatically.
As she went in, Simon turned back to Wille. “Do you come to this class a lot too?”
A strange look flickered across Wille’s face. “I suppose so.”
“Well, see you in there."
The lights were dimmed and the room was slightly warmed. Just as Simon was getting settled next to Felice, warning her not to look at him because he was terrible at yoga, Wille entered the room and went to the mat set up at the front. Immediately, Simon realized what a fool he’d been.
“Hi everyone, thanks for being here today,” Wille began. “We’re going to go ahead and get started. Please come to a comfortable seated position….”
As Wille scanned the room, he made eye contact with Simon, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. It was only fair: Simon had to internally scold himself for jumping to conclusions, because why had he simply assumed that Felice’s “best friend who teaches yoga” would be a willowy blonde woman?
His initial feelings of awkardness gave way to the flow of the class. Felice was right, Wille was a good teacher. Clear with his instruction, offering modifications, warm and kind in his tone.
He also had a pretty solid playlist, which Simon was not ashamed to admit only made Wille more attractive. When Simon had attended a few yoga classes with a guy he was dating at university, the instructors had played sitar and Sanskrit chanting music, or europop that seemed better suited to getting down in a club than breathing in downward dog, whereas Wille played a more eclectic mix of dreamy electronic, folk, and indie music.
And even better (or worse, depending on how awkward Simon felt about his attraction towards Wille, which was, it seemed, increasing by the minute), Wille clearly espoused a more hands-on approach to teaching.
Simon had vaguely registered Wille saying something at the start of class when everyone was seated, eyes closed, about putting one’s hand over one’s heart if one didn’t want to be touched or given adjustments during class. But Simon had still been distracted about the reality of Wille, and him teaching this class, and that profile, and those lean, muscular legs, and Wille, and he hadn’t really internalized the remark.
Which Simon both celebrated and regretted when, at one point, he was in downward dog, and Wille came up behind him, planted his feet outside of Simon’s, and reached to firmly hold Simon’s hip creases. Simon inhaled sharply in surprise, but Wille softly directed him, “now a long exhale through your nose…” and then he leaned back, tractioning Simon’s spine longer and deepening the stretch in a way that felt insanely, mortifyingly good. There was no way this was allowed, right? Were the yoga police about to bust down the door and reprimand Wille and Simon for inappropriately gay levels of vinyasa flow?
By the time the class was ending, the candles were flickering, a cello piece was playing, and Wille was going around the room during savasana to one by one grasp everyone’s ankles in his hand, stretch their legs out away from their bodies with a gentle swinging motion, and then carefully lower their feet back to the ground, and Simon felt as though his body was both honey and a bee buzzing around it.
He was reassembling himself in the entry when Felice hooked her arm through his, sighing, “God, I’m so relaxed now. You’re going to have to roll me out of here.”
Simon hummed in agreement.
“Wille and I are going to grab a bite to eat. Come with us?” she cajoled. “It’s just a couple blocks away."
Simon briefly thought about demurring, not wanting to intrude, but then Wille flashed him an encouraging smile and an eager nod when their eyes met, and that settled it.
It was absolutely the right decision because it meant he got to spend the next couple of hours huddled around a tiny table with the two of them as they shared their favorite spots in Stockholm, the best coffeeshops (a matter on which they could not achieve consensus), and tales from their time together in gymnasium. Felice animatedly shared about her food blog, and they regaled him with a hysterical story about when she talked her way into writing a review of a new Michelin-starred restaurant. Simon felt like he was falling a little bit in love with Felice’s warmth and humor after they geeked out about having performed choral music through university.
And Wille. It wasn’t just that Simon found him undeniably attractive. It was also the way he tensed his cheeks when he was trying not to laugh. How he nonchalantly passed his plate around, insisting that Simon and Felice had to try everything, especially the faro, brussels sprout, and pomegranate salad. And the intensity with which he spoke about his current research project at the university, examining the intersections of queer representation in media and young adult mental health. As well as how attentively he listened to Felice tell stories, even though it was clear he had heard them many times before.
Coming back from the bathroom, Simon watched Felice and Wille huddled close together over the table, deep in conversation. Felice was animatedly gesturing with her hands, Wille toying with the water glass in front of him.
As Simon rejoined them, Felice beamed up at him and drew him into their conversation. Wille watched Simon, a soft smile playing across his lips as Simon teased him about his admitted predilection for documentaries.
A low thrum spread through Simon as he realized two things. First, that this was the most at home he’d felt since moving to Stockholm. And second, that this burgeoning feeling of belonging had a lot to do with Wille.
As they said goodnight, Felice folded Simon into a quick hug. “I’m so glad you joined us.”
“This was so nice, thanks for inviting me,” Simon said, looking between the two of them. “Let's get lunch when you're back in the office, Felice? And... I hope to see you around soon, Wille."
Wille glanced at Felice so quickly Simon thought he might have imagined it, but then Wille said, “I’m teaching again tomorrow at 10. If you’re looking for something to do. You could come as my guest.”
“You’re not a natural businessman, are you?” Simon teased.
“Definitely not,” Wille chuckled.
“If I come, do you promise to play something moody and experimental at the end?”
“During savasana?”
“Exactly. None of this ‘uplifting orchestral strings.’”
Felice burst out laughing. “He’s not wrong…”
“So I’ll see you?” Wille asked tentatively. “No pressure, obviously.”
“I’ll be there.”
* * * * *
Simon could scarcely believe this was happening. Wille pressed hot kisses up his thighs, brushing his fingertips and thumb across Simon’s abdomen, passing so close to where he was desperate to be touched.
Suddenly Simon was seized with an intense need to feel him. He tugged at Wille’s shoulders, urging him up so they could kiss. He ran his hands down Wille’s back, pressing them together, squeezing his ass, licking into Wille’s mouth and swallowing his soft noises.
He was just sliding a hand between them when he was startled by the tromp of footsteps and then the upstairs neighbor’s door slammed shut.
The moment dissolved.
Simon opened his eyes. The room was dim, his blinds still closed. Desire was still thrumming through his body, now almost uncomfortably so. But he was alone.
Groaning, Simon rolled over, burying his face into his pillow, before dragging himself out of bed and to the shower to finish what his dreaming mind had started.
Maybe this was a sign he shouldn’t risk putting himself in close proximity to Wille right now. But he’d said he’d try to make it to the class this morning and there was nowhere else he needed to be today. And if he admitted it to himself, there was nowhere else he really wanted to be either. Maybe that was going to be a problem, but that would be a problem for future Simon to sort out.
Simon was running five minutes late (as usual) and when he stumbled up to the studio, the door was open but it was clear Wille had already started class. Scrambling to strip off his layers, Simon paused to collect himself and quiet his racing breath before he slipped into the studio space.
Wille glanced up and gave Simon a little wave. There were only a few other people today, and Simon briefly wondered if it was even worthwhile for Wille to bother coming in to teach so few students.
Simon wasn’t ashamed to admit he took advantage of the mirrors along the wall to watch Wille as he moved around the room, giving instruction, adjusting people’s posture, and periodically joining them in the movements. And he felt more than a little smug when, on several occasions, he glanced at the mirror and caught Wille already watching him.
As the class drew to a close, Wille directed everyone to lie down on their mats, starfishing their arms and legs, letting their bodies relax fully into the floor. “Just let your thoughts wash over you, like waves, coming in, and then receding."
Simon took a deep breath in through his nose as Wille had prompted, and then let it out through his mouth, imagining the air whooshing out all the way down to his fingers and toes, which felt cheerily toasty, since today he had wised up and opted to put his socks back on before savasana.
The playlist shifted into a somber, dreamy, repetitive piece. Simon squinted one eye open. He started to crane his head up to glance around, but then he sensed a warm presence over him and felt a sudden pressure on the front of his shoulders.
“You went for 'The Disintegration Loops'?” he whispered, both eyes now slitted open. “Ok, you win.” He knew his breath must be hot, and probably slightly sour, in Wille’s face as the other crouched over him.
He felt rather than heard Wille bite back a laugh, but all Wille said was a soft “shhh.”
Simon forced himself to close his eyes again and focus on the sensation of Wille’s hands as he pressed down on Simon's shoulders, rocking him gently until Simon really did feel like his body was seeping into the mat. And then just as quickly, with a waft of cool air as he stood, Wille was gone.
Simon was so relaxed, his body felt so damn heavy, but he managed to tilt his head to the side (surreptitiously, so he didn’t get in trouble), squinting one eye open to confirm that, yes, Wille was giving the same magic-body-disintegration-massage to the elderly woman supine on the next mat over. He hadn’t really thought it was just for him, not really, but he still felt a twinge of disappointment. (He could hear Sara’s voice in his head right now: “The world’s tiniest violin.…”)
He let his mind wander until Wille’s voice drifted over him, summoning the room back to awareness. “Thank you for being here this morning... and God Jul!” he ended.
With that, the spell was broken. Simon heard people moving about, and Wille must have pulled open the floor-to-ceiling curtains again to let in more light. Simon scrambled up to sit, rolling up his mat, trying not to be too obvious about watching Wille as he chatted with some of the other students whom he clearly knew, walking out with them to the reception area.
Simon wasn't necessarily trying to be the last one there, but as he finally emerged from the studio room into the entry, the last two people were just tugging on boots and scarves by the door.
Wille was perched on the stool behind the counter, one leg bent up beside him, his arm resting lazily on his knee. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually come back today." His eyes flicked up to Simon’s face.
There was a moment of quiet between them as the last student let the door swing shut behind her.
“I told you I would.” Simon meant that to come out more playfully than it did. He willed his brain not to think about the dream from this morning. “Sorry I was running late.”
Wille brushed off his apology. “I left the door unlocked, just in case… I’m glad you came.”
“It’s nice of you to teach on Christmas Eve.”
Wille shrugged like it was nothing. “I offer to do it. It’s always a small class, but I know it means a lot to the people who come. And it makes the day nice for me too.”
Simon nodded. "Well, I guess I should let you get going. You probably have somewhere to be?” He meant it to come out as a statement, but somehow it had sounded like a question.
“Not really,” Wille admitted steadily. “Not until tomorrow.”
“Oh?”
“Felice is coming over for a late lunch.”
“Her escape hatch?”
“Ah, so her mother’s reputation precedes her,” Wille smirked.
“You’re not seeing family?” Simon ventured.
Wille’s face was expressionless as he offered a careful, “No.”
“Yeah, me either. They’re elsewhere this year.” No need to give Wille his whole sob story now, and something about the measured but firm tone of Wille’s “no” suggested that the reasons he found himself spending the holiday alone were not so readily explained as Simon’s.
“That must be… hard when you’ve just moved here too,” Wille acknowledged, although Simon heard the care he was taking with his words, as if he didn’t want to assume one way or another.
It was an abrupt reminder that Wille and Simon didn’t really know each other, given that Simon hadn’t even had occasion to mention Linda or Sara. But the realization that hit Simon with even more force was the degree to which he felt he did know Wille, or if not know him, felt connected to him, a thread pulling taut in his chest the longer they were in one another’s orbit.
Wille was looking at him expectantly, and Simon realized he had never replied to his last remark. “Yeah, it feels a strange not to spend with my mamá and sister, but I'll be fine. Plus I guess I had it coming, since I ditched them on Julafton last year to spend it with my boyfriend’s family - well, now my ex.”
Why the hell had he mentioned Linus? Especially in such a way where he’d probably made it sound like he was pining after him. “There were like 37 people there, and they all live within like 15 minutes of one another, so it was a little much,” he hurried to explain. “Or, a lot much. Maybe that was the beginning of the end?” he joked. “It was a relief to escape to my mamá’s after, even though it didn’t really feel like our usual Christmas there either, since she had just moved into her new apartment, so it was my first time going home where it wasn’t home home, like the house I grew up in.”
Simon flushed, but the attentive expression on Wille’s face quieted his fear that he might have bored him with oversharing.
All Wille said was: “Do you have plans now?”
“Not really, just heading home,” Simon admitted. “Make some food. Listen to music. Probably put on a movie.”
“Would you want to do something? Together, I mean?” Wille’s tone was light, but Simon clocked the way he was rubbing his pointer finger against his thumbnail, the only hint of underlying nerves.
Simon was already nodding as he said, “What do you have in mind?”
The please grin that lit up Wille’s face did something complicated to Simon’s chest.
Twenty minutes later, they had bundled themselves into Wille’s little Renault and were winding their way south through the city.
As Wille fiddled with the heat at a red light, he gestured to the aux cable. “Go ahead. I know you want to pick.”
Simon didn’t need to be asked twice, and after pulling up a playlist, he settled back so he could watch Wille without being completely obvious about staring at him.
“So, where are we going again?”
Wille grinned, but didn’t take his eyes off the street ahead. “I thought you said you trusted me.”
“Hmm,” Simon pretended to be reconsidering. “I mean, it would be a pretty explosive headline. ‘Soft-spoken, hot Gen Z Söder yoga instructor lures young man to unknown destination for a Julafton ‘surprise.’”
“So. Hot, huh?”
“That’s the part you want to unpack?”
“I think you’re selling yourself short though. It’d be something more like ‘A Christmas miracle: bookish postdoc with yoga side hustle coaxes beautiful music producer to accompany him on solitary holiday outing.’”
“Not so solitary now.”
Wille swallowed, and Simon watched as his face softened.
Not long after, they turned into a wooded area, following signs for Nackareservatet.
“I’m guessing you haven’t been here yet?” Wille asked.
Simon shook his head. “What’s here?”
“Trails, nordic skiing, skating… but that’s not what we came for.”
“No?”
“I’m not sure the rentals are open today. Besides, I’m not sure we really have time before the sun starts to set, especially since it’s so overcast.” Wille glanced over at Simon as he pulled into a parking lot marked Hellasgården.
“So we’re… taking a walk?” Simon leaned forward to peer out the windshield. He tried to keep his tone amicable, but he hadn’t really brought enough warm layers, especially along an open expanse of water like this.
Wille bit his lip. “In my experience, it’s more of a ‘holy shit it’s cold’ power walk.”
Simon looked at him questioningly.
Wille put the car in park as he said, “I’ve come here to sauna and cold plunge the last two years on Julafton. It’s the perfect day for it. No one else is here.”
Simon started to shake his head. Cold plunge? Probably through a hole in the ice or something? (Icehole? his brain snickered.) Not his thing.
But then he registered the look of hopeful anticipation that Wille was likely not aware was so obviously written across his face. “You’re crazy,” Simon finally managed, shaking his head.
“So I’ve been told,” Wille shot back, grinning fiendishly. “Shall we?”
“No promises,” Simon warned.
But even Simon had to admit that there was something a little magical about having the place almost entirely to themselves, particularly once he took a deep breath in the changing room after he’d dragged his feet, letting Wille go ahead into the sauna while he prepared himself for this scenario, reminding himself that they were both adults, and that he could let himself enjoy rather than be on edge about this desirable if entirely unexpected chance to be in close proximity to a very hot, and literally hot, Wille.
As it turned out, even Simon’s vivid imagination couldn’t have prepared him for how devastatingly pretty Wille was, his winter-pale skin already flushed and shining from just a few minutes in the sauna. He was lying on his back on a towel on an upper bench, knees bent - thankfully with his head towards the door, because Simon wasn’t 100% sure he wouldn’t have gone slightly feral otherwise.
Wille pushed up on one elbow, grinning at Simon as he sat on a lower bench what felt like a platonic distance away, his towel still tied around his waist.
“I hope you like it hot,” Wille offered in greeting.
“Is ‘not hot’ really an option?” Simon quipped back, suppressing the insane urge to make a terribly embarrassing joke about how yes he did like Wille being hot, very much so.
“Ha ha, very funny.” Wille rolled his eyes in a way that suddenly reminded Simon very much of Felice. He’d have to make her another batch of those cookies, as a tacit thank you for getting him to this particular moment.
“I added more water, so it's more steamy.” Wille went on. “I like to feel like my skin is blistering off from the inside and my lungs are collapsing.”
“How very zen of you," Simon grinned.
He unwrapped his towel and stretched it out on the bench, marveling at the fact that they had the men’s sauna to themselves, although they’d observed a few women companionably making their way back into the women’s side after a swim. He refused to act awkwardly, as much as the dueling sides of him wanted to keep the towel wrapped around his waist, particularly if his body’s reaction to sharing space with Wille like this became more evident, at the same time as he longed to taste the sheen of sweat collecting in the hollow of Wille’s throat.
He suddenly registered that Wille had asked him about his role at work, and then about the kinds of music he favored, and before he quite realized it, they had settled back into an easy rapport.
But as he listened to Wille relaying an absurd story about the time he and Felice tried to hitchhike in Croatia, Simon had to swallow the unbearable urge to reach up and circle his fingers around Wille’s ankle.
Thankfully, as he finished his retelling, Wille suggested they were overdue for a water break. Although as soon as they exited the sauna, Simon realized that meant not only a drink, but the frigid water of Källtorpssjön.
Simon was buffing the sweat off his skin with his towel in order to pull his briefs back on when he became very aware of the prickling of what he was almost certain were Wille’s eyes on him.
Wille belted a robe around his waist. “Let’s be quick, before we cool down too much.”
“I’m just going to stay here,” Simon tried weakly.
“You said you were all in!" Wille insisted, reaching for Simon’s wrist to tug him towards the exterior doors.
“Nej, nej….” Simon protested. But he knew it was hopeless.
Or rather, that he was hopeless, and there was no way he wasn’t following Wille out into the wan afternoon light.
“Holy fuck,” Simon bit out as the cold air hit him, but he immediately started laughing, and Wille joined in.
They exchanged little more than a momentarily glance and then bolted the short distance to the swimming jetty.
The lake was not frozen over, although there were sheets of ice extending from part of the shore, and chunks of ice bobbed in the water.
Wille balled up his robe and dropped it onto the jetty. Goosebumps were visible all over his body, but his eyes were bright and cheeks pink. “Simon,” he called teasingly, but his gaze was steady. “The only way to do this is just go for it.”
Simon’s stomach flipped at those words, although reasonably he knew Wille was just talking about the plunge.
“Together?” Wille prompted, jiggling his arms and legs to stay warm.
Simon nodded curtly before he could regret it. Sloughing off his robe, he stepped towards the edge of the dock beside Wille.
“Don’t overthink it."
Simon shook his head. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”
“And yet here we are,” Wille grinned. “Ok.” He extended his hand to Simon. “1, 2, 3-“ and suddenly all Simon knew was a wall of brittle cold encompassing him with such rabid intensity it felt like all the air had been knocked out of his lungs and his skin was flaming.
Wille bobbed up a few feet away, sputtering and letting out a triumphant whoop, before ducking back under a few more times. Simon felt like his brain had not yet come back online and his body was still in shock as he treaded water.
“Fuck it’s cold!” Wille gasped as he resurfaced, although his face was lit up with a magnificent grin.
He climbed up the ladder first and hovered nearby as Simon clambered out on leaden feet. Wille tossed his robe around himself, running a hand through his hair to slick it back, and then he was wrapping Simon’s robe around him. He began to vigorously rub Simon’s arms over the thick fabric.
“I kind of can’t believe you actually did that,” Wille beamed, teeth chattering violently.
There was water running dripping his face but it was Simon’s hair he reached up stroke, pressing his dripping curls back from his forehead. “Let's go back. We can warm up in the sauna and then take a hot showe-“
Before Simon quite realized what he was doing, he was surging towards Wille, angling up to capture Wille’s lips. For one startled moment, Wille didn’t respond, but then he was drawing Simon in closer and returning the kiss in earnest.
It wasn’t the best kiss. It wasn’t even a particularly good kiss. They were both shivering so much that they knocked teeth, and to Simon it felt more like shuddering his lips against Wille’s than properly kissing.
But he didn’t care in that moment. Because Wille’s arms around him, the heat coming off his body, the sharp scent of lake and cedar that filled Simon’s nostrils, was more than enough.
It was in a daze that they drew apart and hobbled back up to the lodge, shucked off their soaked undergarments, and stumbled back into the sauna.
Now, they sat side by side, one of Simon’s legs hooked over Wille’s knee as they kissed one another with a deep, languid pleasure. After a few minutes, however, they both seemed to have come to the same conclusion, giggling against one another like teenagers, as they agreed this probably shouldn’t continue any longer in a public sauna.
There was no way Simon was going to admit it to Wille, but as he stood under the scalding water in the changing room shower, he did feel kind of amazing. Light, tingly, new. Although to what extent he could attribute those feelings to the sauna and swim, and to what extent they were due to Wille, was less clear.
They began their drive back into the city just as the afternoon was sliding into the thin blue of a December sunset, and the mood had turned contemplative, although not uncomfortable.
“Would you maybe want to come back?” Wille eventually asked, his eyes still on the road ahead.
“To Hellasgården?”
“No, to my place.”
“Yeah, that’s a no.”
“Oh.”
“To another cold plunge, I mean.”
“Ok.”
“But your place? Now? Sure.”
“I mean, I know it’s a little weird, since it’s Julafton, so really, please don’t feel you have to-“
“Wille, I already said yes.”
Wille glanced over at Simon. “Right. Well.” He cleared his throat, and Simon watched with satisfaction as a flush crept up his neck. “I was going to make gnocchi.”
“Gnocchi sounds great.” Simon studied the nervous tensing of Wille’s jaw, the soft curve of his lips. “I just want to hang out with you,” he admitted softly.
Wille didn’t take his eyes off the road this time but slowly extended his hand until it hovered over the center console.
Simon reached over and gently took Wille’s hand, moving it to press onto his thigh. He released his grip in case Wille needed to retrieve his hand to drive, but gently ran his fingers along the tendons on the back of Wille’s hand, circling the delicate bones of his wrist, over and over.
Wille responded by squeezing his leg. “I really hoped you’d come today.”
“I’m glad I did. I’m glad you asked me.”
They stopped at an intersection. “Simon, I really, uh.” He glanced over momentarily. “I really want you.” Wille turned his palm up, squeezing Simon’s fingers against his palm, firm and sure.
Simon turned in his seat so he could face him. “Wille?”
Wille’s neck was craned, face tilted up to watch the light as they waited. “Hm?”
“I want you too.”
Wille looked over again, and just before the light turned he leaned over to press a quick kiss to Simon’s lips, almost missing in his haste, eliciting a soft laugh from both of them.
Simon had to admit he was surprised that they didn’t fall on each other as soon as they crossed the threshold of Wille’s small but comfortable apartment, but limited themselves to one long, searching kiss after they had shed their winter layers.
Or that they actually did prepare the gnocchi, standing close and dancing around each other in a new choreography that felt no less familiar and sweet for being awkward as they navigated working side by side in Wille’s little kitchen.
Or that they sat around Wille’s small table with cloth napkins, and a single tapered candle lit (for Christmas!), swapping stories and teasing one another.
Or that Pip, Wille’s tiny tabby cat, had apparently decided that Simon was her designated lap for the evening.
Or that Wille didn’t kiss him again until they were done washing the dishes, stepping into Simon’s space after he’d dried his hands.
By then the propulsive way their bodies came together felt inevitable.
When Wille backed Simon onto the bed and helped him tug his clothes off before pulling his own off, when he turned back to Simon, he paused. Simon was resting back on his elbows, legs splayed, and he knew Wille’s effect on him more than evident. Wille gazed down at him, unabashed as his eyes traveled, steady and slow, across Simon.
As if Wille might consume him with just the intensity of his gaze. As if he didn’t want to rush this. As if they might only have this night, and he wanted to remember everything. All the small marks, dips, curves, moles, and scars. As if they had all the time in the world, and there was no need to hurry, because he knew he could have Simon now, and later, and again, and yes.
Simon realized he had breathed that last word aloud, watching as Wille palmed himself over his underwear as he watched Simon. And then it was as though that extended moment had burst, and Wille was on him, nudging his knees in between Simon’s thighs, dipping to capture his lips in a deep kiss. Holding himself up with one hand, with the other Wille roamed across Simon’s chest, brushing lightly over his nipple, stroke the soft hair below his belly button, and finally pressing firmly against where Simon was eager for pressure, arching his hips up into Wille’s touch. But Wille kept moving lower, tracing down along the inner curve of Simon’s thigh, ghosting soft pressure even lower.
Wille sat back on his heels then, rubbing his thumbs back and forth over the crease of Simon’s hips. Then Simon surged up, moving onto Wille’s lap, and sighed into his mouth as they pressed against one another, a collision of heat and desire and the tender way Wille was running his fingertips up and down the nobs of Simon's spine, making him tremble.
“What do you want?” Simon asked against his ear.
“I want what you want,” Wille replied without hesitation.
Head tilted back in pleasure, every time Simon opened his eyes, Wille's gaze was searching. While it made him flush, he didn’t feel observed. Often during sex Simon would close his eyes to focus on the sensations, or combat overstimulation, or to elude self-consciousness. But the way Wille watched him made Simon want to watch him back. He found himself looking, really looking, at Wille.
And so he knew exactly when Wille was poised on the edge, because that was the first time Simon saw him close his eyes, right before he was pulled under. Wille kept his eyes closed for a few shaky inhalation, their breath mingled as their lips hovered so close but not quite touching until finally Wille pressed a trembling kiss to Simon’s lips, and then opened his eyes. Simon suddenly felt like crying, but what welled up instead was a soft laugh, which he pressed to Wille’s mouth.
Later, he was just starting to drift off with his face in the crook of Wille’s neck, when Wille abruptly shifted out of reach.
Simon let out a disgruntled whine, and Wille light-heartedly admonished, “You’re as bad as Pip” (who had finally giving up meowing outside the door, with Wille sheepishly admitting that she was accustomed to sleeping with him under the covers).
But a moment later, he settled back into Simon’s space, tucking the duvet up around them. “God Jul, Simon,” he said playfully as he handed him the book he’d retrieved from his bedside table.
Simon took a closer look at the cover and raised his eyebrow in a question. “It’s the novel I just finished reading last night,” Wille explained. With a playful tone he continued, “We just met. I don’t know yet what you’d like.”
Wille took the book back and flipped it open to a page with the corner tabbed over. His eyes scanned the page for a moment, and then he read aloud: “ ‘That’s all there is to the self, or the so-called ‘self’: traces of the people we rub up against.’ ”
Simon was silent for a moment. “You fold down the pages of library books?”
“Oh fuck off,” Wille laughed, letting the book fall onto the bed beside them. He playfully rolled on top of Simon, pinning him to the mattress.
Simon’s arms were trapped but he lifted his head to nose against Wille’s jaw. “And you think I’d like this one?” he asked softly.
“Hm?” Wille’s eyes had fluttered closed.
“The book.”
“Oh.” Wille nuzzled back against him. “I hope you’d like it. I did. Very much.”
Simon knew they weren’t just talking about the book any more. He kissed the corner of Wille’s mouth. “Me too.”
* * * * *
And if Felice was at all surprised when she showed up for Christmas lunch to find Simon perched on a stool in Wille’s kitchen, wearing a suspiciously familiar sweater and slightly-too-large trousers, elbows resting on the counter as he peeled a clementine, Pip audaciously batting at the bits of peel and trying to press her head against Simon’s chin, she would never have admitted it.
Especially not three years later when she arrived for their annual Christmas brunch and immediately clocked the thin gold bands.
“Wille!” she gasped. “You said you were going to do it on New Year’s Eve!”
“Yes, exactly.” Wille was beaming.
She blinked at him, then slowly turned to Simon, realization dawning. “You!”
Simon couldn’t hold back a cheshire smile. “I did.”
Felice squealed and as she moved to set down the quiche on the counter, and slough off her coat and scarf in order to properly embrace them both, Simon felt Wille wrap his arms around his waist, hooking his chin over Simon’s shoulder.
“I will,” Wille said softly, nuzzling against Simon’s cheek. “I do.”