Work Text:
i.
The Royal Family’s annual Christmas party used to be Wilhelm’s favorite. The mansion was decorated, it always smelled like freshly baked pastries, the outside was covered in a pretty layer of snow, and Erik and Wilhelm started a tradition with the children of other visiting royals to build snowmen whilst their parents discussed… whatever it was that royals discussed. (None of them cared at the time, and the older first-borns never cared to share what royals actually talked about).
Wilhelm loved Christmas right up until he got old enough to realize that Christmas was the most tense his parents ever got. It didn’t look like fighting when he was younger, it was just his parents making passive-aggressive comments with stern voices, as if they were merely debating and not, you know, fighting.
It wasn’t like in the movies when the couples explode into emotion, yell, and make up later. Wilhelm’s parents… they mostly just… they just talked angrily and pushed their feelings aside. Wilhelm learned how to tell when they were in one of their weird fights, and avoided them when it happened.
They always fought around Christmas, like it was a fucking annual tradition or something, and whenever the mansion wasn’t filled with guests and staff, the royal family barely glanced at one another.
It didn’t really hit Wilhelm how truly fucked up their situation was until he was twelve years old and found his parents fighting before some interview meant to humanize the Queen and Royal Consort of Sweden. Wilhelm watched his parents shift from angry to pleasant and smiling within seconds. Watched them hold hands despite looking like they’d rather rip each other’s throats out mere seconds prior.
And Wilhelm and Erik were forced to smile right beside them, to stand together like they were the perfect family when in reality they were anything but.
Wilhelm started to see all the cracks in his parents’ relationship, the cracks in his own family life, and he realized that with them, everything was fake.
He smiles as their picture is taken and whilst looking at it, he feels like he’s looking at a stranger. It’s his own face staring back at him, but the smile doesn’t meet his eyes.
He’s fake, just like everyone else.
ii.
In another world, Wilhelm lives with his parents and brother. In this world, Wilhelm says goodnight to his parents and receives hugs before he goes to bed. He wakes up every morning and his dad is making breakfast whilst his mom reads the paper. Erik comes home every day because he goes to a normal school, and all of them sit in the same table for dinner and discuss their day with pleasant smiles.
In this world, Wilhelm is a normal kid with a normal life and normal friends, who goes to a normal school. He’s just like everyone else and there’s never an article written about him because he asked a girl from his class to go on a date, or got invited to sleep over at a friend’s house.
In this world, Wilhelm can speak on his opinions freely, can share his views whether they be political or not. He can play soccer after school and come home with muddy, scraped knees and his mother would simply ask if he’d had fun with his friends rather than reprimand him.
Of course, this is all in a dream world. A fake reality that Wilhelm will never experience.
iii.
Wilhelm was fifteen when he was introduced to Emma Karlsson, daughter of some wealthy investors whose money spanned generations upon generations. Her mother was American and her father Swedish. She was pretty in the way most American girls were: dirty blonde, green eyes, pale skin, some freckles on her cheeks.
She was nice, smart, and the perfect match for Wilhelm according to his mother. Emma was wealthy, pretty, had a good reputation in America, and was a well-known sweetheart. If only his mother had known that Emma’s persona was entirely crafted and fake, she was not what people thought she was.
“You want weed?” Emma asks in English as the two sit together in the hood of her dad’s car. “It’s good stuff, it’ll make you feel floaty. You’ll love it, trust me.”
Wilhelm blinks in her direction, “What? No, I— I don’t smoke. Or do drugs.”
She rolls her eyes, switching to Swedish like him, “Right, I forget you European monarchs have completely different ways of life.” She takes the first drag and plops down on her back, one arm bent under her head, “I’m not saying America is perfect, it’s a fucking shithole if anything, but it’s better than a monarchy. Aren’t you guys, like, forbidden from speaking about politics and stuff? And can’t have social media accounts? I remember Meghan Markle had to delete hers. Sucked too, I loved her Insta feed.”
Wilhelm doesn’t quite know what to reply. “I thought you were…” He doesn’t know what to say.
Emma chuckles, “What, perfect? Nah, that’s all my parents’ doing, they really know how to bury scandals, and, you know, it’s not uncommon for rich kids to do drugs and end up on gossip magazines, rather than headlines like you guys. ‘Cause of that everyone thinks I’m some perfect heiress, but I’m far from it.” She sits up and leans close to him, so close he can smell the weed on her lips, “If you want, I can let your mom know. Or get into a little scandal, that way we won’t have to date. I mean, you’re not my type, no offense. Oh, wait, I have a better idea! We’ll fake date and I’ll be the bad influence. Your mom won’t ever set you up with anyone ever again.”
Wilhelm doesn’t really know what to say. Emma’s honest and he can’t comprehend half the things she’s saying, but he likes her. Definitely not to date, but maybe as a friend. He likes her. “The second one. I’m tired of being set up.”
“Perfect,” She says, taking one last drag of the joint before she slides off the hood, throws the joint on the ground and smashes it under the heel of her Doc Martens. “Do you have Insta?”
“Uh, yeah,” Wilhelm replies. She immediately slides next to him, opening her phone so he can type in his username. She follows it up by asking about a finsta, which is apparently an Instagram but for close friends, where you can post anything you want without fear of scrutiny because it’s private. She allows him to follow hers and offers to set one up for him, but he refuses.
The plan is a success. Their relationship is fake, Emma pisses off Wilhelm’s mother, Erik ends up loving Emma like she’s a sister, and Wilhelm is never set up on a date for the rest of the year.
A few months later, he reads an article with a headline declaring that Emma’s been admitted into the E.R. from an overdose. He texts her, asking if she’s okay, and her tearful voice message might be the realest thing anyone’s ever told Wilhelm.
“ I’m fucking not. Everyone is so fake and I hate my friends and my boyfriend sucks and I like girls and I only feel something when I’m high, Wille. Fuck. ”
iv.
The arriving guests and staff feel more like blurs rather than actual people as Wilhelm brushes past them in pursuit of the first bathroom he can find. He’s somehow forgotten the layout of his own house, has his own brain scrambling and struggling to catch up and he doesn’t know why. He just knows that someone said something to him and the room felt too small, like a weight was pressing into his chest and making it hard to breathe.
He can’t hear anything except the blood rushing in his ears as he stumbles, no doubt making a scene. His hands finally close around the handle of what he hopes is the bathroom and he wretches it open, hands shaking as he locks it. His fingers shook as he closed the toilet seat and collapsed on top of it, his forearms on his thighs and hands digging into his hair, tugging at the roots painfully so it would ground him back to Earth.
It’s getting harder to breathe, like there isn’t enough oxygen in the room or maybe in the mansion, hell maybe in the whole country.
Everything is too small and— and there’s like a tingling spreading over his right arm and it hurts, it hurts so fucking much and—
He rubs his right hand over his chest, taking one deep breath, holding it, and exhaling slowly. He takes another, then another, but the tingling spreading over his arm won’t stop and maybe— maybe he’s dying. That’d be funny, wouldn’t it? To die and not even know what caused it.
He puts his head between his knees, forcing himself to just keep breathing because if he breathes, he’s alive and someone can find him and fix this.
He doesn’t notice when the door opens, doesn’t notice when Erik pulls his head from between his knees gently and wipes the tears from Wilhelm’s cheeks and asks what’s wrong. Doesn’t hear his mother talking, or the bodyguards. Barely notices when someone grabs his arm and forces him to stand, dragging him towards the stairs and to his room.
The ringing in his ears stops and he realizes it’s his mother speaking to— is that a doctor?
“So it was a panic attack?”
“It appears so…” He doesn’t hear the rest.
Wilhelm barely feels the stylists fixing his hair, drying his tear-stained cheeks and using makeup to hide the redness.
He doesn’t realize he’s raised his right hand until he feels his nail under his teeth, chewing gently in an effort to calm himself. His mother slaps it away and in her eyes is a warning that nearly makes Wilhelm stop breathing.
Once they’ve finished hiding any sign of his previous meltdown, Erik accompanies him down the hallway and gives him some painkillers and water. “Are you okay?”
Wilhelm has to do everything in his willpower to keep himself from crying. No one else had asked him that, not even his mother.
v.
Erik’s funeral is, in many ways, the emptiest and fakest moment in Wilhelm’s life.
There’s people he’s never even met offering condolences, putting hands on his shoulder, giving hugs, talking about how great Erik was when they hadn’t even met him. And the funeral itself feels staged: the walk out of church, the cameras documenting every second, the rehearsed movements of those carrying the casket, the way everyone stood up at the right time, sat at the right time, shed tears at the right time—
It’s unnatural. It’s fake. Wilhelm hates it. Erik would’ve hated it.
And it’s no even just because of everyone else. It feels fake because Erik was perfect. The perfect brother, the perfect heir, the perfect prince, the perfect everything and no one ever thought that he would be gone. No one thought that Wilhelm, that the kid who never remembered anyone’s names, was too shy to talk openly, got into scandals and stained his family’s image, would be the new Crown Prince.
Wilhelm knows he can’t fill Erik’s shoes and that the weight of the crown is too much for him to bear and he also knows that he’ll never live up to his brother’s legacy (not that he wants to).
Erik’s funeral is staged and his death feels fake and it might actually be the worst day of Wilhelm’s life.
vi.
The grass is fake and the people are made of metal and Erik is dead and Wilhelm is high out of his fucking mind but— but Simon is real. Simon is real, and he’s beautiful and Wilhelm loves him and that’s real. It’s the realest thing in the fucking world and no one can take that from him.
I like you and that’s real. I like you and that’s real. I love you and that’s real—
vii.
Wilhelm watches the way the light hits Simon’s side profile. He’s beautiful in a way no one Wilhelm’s ever met is. His skin is beautiful, and so are his curls, his nose, his cheekbones, his shoulders, the dip on his hips, his personality, his soul — everything in him is so beautiful and tangible and real .
And it might be the drugs and alcohol talking, but Wilhelm truly thinks Simon is beautiful. And he thinks he must be sober by now, because it’s been hours and Simon made him chug two bottles of water and it caused for Wilhelm to run to the bathroom like four times and it fucking sucked and— and Wilhelm is reminded of something Erik told him once. He’d been high off weed and probably alcohol and he said he always felt empty when he got sober and he didn’t know why. Wilhelm never brought it up and Erik was so out of it he probably didn’t remember, but he never forgot and— and Wilhelm doesn’t feel any of that emptiness now. He doesn’t feel even close to empty he feels… he feels full. Full of love maybe. For Simon. Full of real love for Simon and Wilhelm doesn’t feel empty at all.
(Maybe Erik never felt loved and that’s why—)
Simon opens his beautiful brown eyes and smiles in Wilhelm’s direction and he feels so warm and real and Wilhelm thinks this is what love is.
viii.
Wilhelm’s hands wring together and he almost bites his thumb, but stops at the last second and wipes his hands down on his pants instead. The room’s too hot and his tie’s on too tight and he knows he has to deny it was him, he had to deny deny deny and then things will go back to normal for everyone except Simon. He deserves better and Wilhelm loves him and what they have is real, real, real—
Shit, the interviewer’s staring at him, an eyebrow raised but something maternal in her eyes, “Crown Prince Wilhelm? What is your official statement regarding the video that has gone viral this past week?”
He swallows with difficulty, “Ah, yes. The video, I— it wasn’t—“ He can’t do this. He can’t live a lie, can’t hurt Simon, can’t be fake and pretend anymore and, most importantly, he wants to be himself.
Erik would’ve been proud of him if he was.
“It was me,” He confesses finally, and despite the initial nervousness, he feels free when he says it. “It was me in the video.”
The interviewer, the cameraman and the royal aide all freeze, exchanging nervous glances. Wilhelm’s gone off script and this is live so there’s no taking it back, but he finds he doesn’t want to.
“Everyone has a right to live the life they wish regardless of sexuality, including me. I won’t hide who I am.” He pauses, quickly pondering his next words, “I urge anyone who has seen the video to stop spreading it. My partner and I are entitled to our privacy, not to mention we are minors so spreading the video is highly illegal.” He pauses again, sees the royal aide signaling to end the interview, and Wilhelm makes a final decision. “I will not be taking any more questions about this matter, thank you.”
The camera is shut off, the interview ends, and Wilhelm knows the fallout will be massive. Knows people will hate him without ever meeting him because he’s dating someone of the same gender, knows that his mother will be furious and the press will be in chaos.
But he feels happy, free, and no one will take that from him. He dials Simon’s contact and waits.
God, he loves his boyfriend so much.