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"I'm sorry. I love you."
"...I hope you have a nice Christmas."
The stretch between Christmas and New Years was supposed to be perfect. For Simon it was always this beautiful, ethereal thing, shimmering with laughter and long night's sleeps and meager gifts that meant so much more than what they cost. It was a time for family, even when his family was messy and horrible and so terribly scarred. At the very least, it was a break from the hell he and Sara had lived through.
Of course, he couldn't have that this year.
This year, though his gifts were no less thoughtful and loving than any other season, Simon could only think of what he couldn't have. He didn't like the wanting; indifference suited him just fine. When you're not born with much, longing for more is an useless, and frankly childish, endeavor.
And yet here he was, pining over something- someone- he couldn't have.
It was worse because he knew what it could be like. He knew the way Wilhelm felt, hands on his cheeks and kisses pressed into feverish skin. He knew the way he tasted, the way he smiled, the way he sounded and the way he laughed. In the shortest of months he felt as if he'd learned the song of the prince in it's entirety, only for the sheets of music to slip totally and completely through his fingers.
And so we find Simon, a shriveled, broken thing, crying again. Curled into his bed and crushed against the wall, wishing so silently that the mass of dry wall and concrete could grow arms and hold him, grow eyes and see him, grow a soul and love him the way Wilhelm did. Or, rather, the way Wilhelm does.
"I'm sorry. I love you."
The memory tears another sob from his chest. It's foolish, really. How can you love someone from September to December? How can you love someone, but refuse to share it? How can you love someone, then proclaim to the world that you don't?
How can Simon love someone who won't even tell him what he wants?
He hates crying, oh God he hates crying. He hates feeling weak and hurt and vulnerable and afraid and the fact that the world is looking over his shoulder isn't helping in the slightest. Paranoia creeps up his throat of someone seeing him like this, holed up and alone. He misses Wilhelm so much it's killing him, and he's so sick of tasting the salt of his own tears. He's sick of caring and wanting, yearning for someone who's picked everything else over him. He wants to give the prince another chance, but he can't forget Sara's words: he's always putting someone else first. Wilhelm has had a million chances by now, and he's wasted every single one of them.
But at the same time, Simon remembers how hard it was for him to figure out who he was, without a dead brother and an unexpected crown. He had the privilege of learning how he loves behind closed doors, with no open blinds to betray him. He found his way out of the closet at his own pace. Wilhelm hasn't gotten that chance. A million other ones, maybe, but he hasn't had it easy, and Simon wants nothing more than to take it all away.
He wants to make it go away so badly. He wants to rewind to the day they first locked eyes, to sing to his prince one more time. He wants to laugh with Wilhelm in hiding and hold his hand during a movie, rays of red and blue and yellow flickering across their faces. He wants to kiss him for the first time forever, to eternally feel his lover's heart beat out of his chest because he wants this so much, so much, so much.
He's cried so long the tears have run out. Silent sobs wrack his body and he shakes with the weight of them. And in his heart of hearts he hears only one thing.
"I'm sorry.
I love you."
"I hope you have a nice Christmas."
---
Simon never got his closure. Wilhelm never came clean about the video, even though there were plenty theories and rumors that conflicted the statement he gave. He continued at Hillerska, and so did Simon, and eventually he found a new object of affection to get caught making out with, one that was much more acceptable- though still denied by the crown- to the public eye. Wilhelm turned into the crown prince he had to be, and it killed Simon to watch the life leak out of his eyes. But then Simon fell out of love, and one day he realized that he could sing for somebody else, smile for somebody else, cry for somebody else, or maybe nobody at all.
One day, Wilhelm will be king. People will forgive him easily enough. Simon will forgive him easily enough.
One day, Simon will be nobody. He won't be the school socialist, or the crown prince's gay sex-scapade. He won't find his face on tabloids or his name in Instagram comments. People will forget him easily enough.
Wilhelm will forget him easily enough.
And Simon learned to be okay with that. It took time, but he did. He learned to sleep without imagining Wilhelm's arms around him, and it wasn't uncommon for him to have his arms wrapped around someone else entirely. Simon learned to look at Wilhelm like everyone else did: with vague curiosity and the slightest bit of reverence. He graduated from Hillerska and got out into the world, and he was happy again.
Every once in a while a friend or a co-worker would ask him, "Hey, were you around when the prince's...you know…" and he'd simply look at him without reply, and sometimes they figured it out, and sometimes they didn't. But most importantly, Simon became a person in his own right. He wasn't the prince's anything anymore.
Every once in a while he'd look at the king and remember the love and the pain in equal measure. But the details got fuzzier, and the heartache got further away, and Simon healed.
Eventually, years later, the stretch between Christmas and New Years was happy again. The world forgot about the video. Simon grew up, and Simon stopped crying for a boy he used to love.