Chapter Text
“And welcome back to our exclusive interview with Crown Prince Wilhelm. Now, your highness, before the break you told our audience here that you had something very personal that you wanted to share and I think I speak for all of us here when we say we can’t wait to hear what that is.”
“Well, again, thank you so much for having me on the show today Kerstin, what I wanted to come on to talk about was…”
I glance out at the studio audience, most into Stockholm on vacation, here for a free show, thrilled to see the Crown Prince making a special appearance. Their eyes are all fixed on me, hopeful, anticipatory, curious.
“I know that…”
Deep breath Wille, you got this.
“I know that there have been a lot of rumors about me in the past few months, a particularly sensitive one of which was going around about three weeks back that purported to show me in a, well let’s say sensual video. Now I know at the time I, and the Royal Family, denied this allegation.”
I know that usually we say that people are on the edge of their seats as like, a symbol, but I swear the entire audience is moving their butts forward as one in this moment.
“But, the truth is, that denial was a lie. I was the other boy in the video, and I am not ashamed of that.”
Kerstin looks as though all the blood has drained from her face as she is desperately trying to plaster on a smile. “Oh your highness, we hadn’t been warned about your sense of humor, what a ridiculous joke!”
“Umm, it is not a joke Kerstin, I am in the video, and I am in love with Simon, the boy I am with in the video and I want everyone to know it.”
It is quiet enough to hear a pin drop, it is finally broken by a sharp cry.
“No!”
“How could you do this to our country?”
“What nasty fool are you?”
“We can’t have a fucking queer running our country.”
“No, please,” I try to shout above the noise, “I still love our country, I just want you to know who I…”
I am too late in noticing the chair flying towards my head.
I jolt awake covered in a cold sweat, my breaths shallow and short. I grab my shoulders with my hands and squeeze tight.
Remember what is real. Remember what is real. Remember what is real.
I chant this refrain over and over in my head as my breath slowly steadies and my heart rate subsides.
“Fuck!” I whisper out loud but scream inside, throwing my forehead into my pillow. This is the third time tonight I’ve woken up from a damn dream about how absolutely terrible my life would be if I came out. At least this time my mother didn’t disown me if we’re looking for bright spots, though had it lasted much longer that feels like a pretty safe bet.
I roll over, still wrapping my arms tightly around myself, digging my nails into the bare flesh of my arms to feel pain that I can control. It doesn’t take a fucking psychologist to understand why I’m upset and what I’m scared of, though my mother seems to think one will help. What is the psychologist possibly going to say to make this situation better?
“Well hello there Wilhelm, how has your life been?”
“Total shit actually, thanks for asking!”
“And why is that?”
“My brother died and if the country knew I was in love with a boy I could ruin our entire geopolitical standing.”
“That sounds like a lot of stressful things in your life.”
“Yea no shit doc.”
End of conversation. There is literally nothing any doctor, or any person at all, could say or do to make this situation better. Erik is dead and given everything that has happened so far my chance at actually being able to openly love Simon feels pretty much dead too.
I tilt my head, the red numbers of my alarm clock coming into focus: 4:37am. Well, four and half hours in and so far I have done a shitty job of living up to Simon’s wish for my Christmas. Pulling my phone off of my nightstand I hunch myself up on my elbows and rest my chin on a stack of pillows, opening my phone and scrolling through Simon’s Instagram. The number of times I do this daily is borderline stalking, and frankly I’m just saying borderline for my own benefit. But there is just something about the raw, unfiltered joy he shares with the world that is enrapturing. His soft smile, his lips — almost purple like his favorite hoodie, the effortless way his soft hair frames his defined features.
“FUCKKKKK,” I nearly scream into my pillow. “Why do you have to be so damn beautiful?”
It’s like this boy is taunting me through the screen, interrogating how I could ever ask someone as magic as him to be a secret? And for what? Because I’m scared of my mom? Because I’m scared of the press? Simon is worth more than all of them to me!
But then again, what if I’m not worth that much to him? What if I alienate my parents and my country only for Simon to realize he can do better than me? Eric was the only one I always had and now he’s gone, and if I lose everyone else what could even keep me alive? Would I even want to be alive? Do I now?
The thought rocks me, my brain has never gone to that place before and I don’t really want it to go there again but it feels important to take note of it.
“Ugh,” I sigh deeply and roll again to my back, allowing my phone to slide to the floor.
Maybe I do need a psychiatrist, I think, much to my own chagrin. I close my eyes desperate for even a hint of rest before the endless festivities and mimed formality the morning will bring. All without the one person I really want to see.
Merry fucking Christmas.