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“And this is the main ballroom.” Wilhelm uses the hand that’s not entwined with Simon’s to push against the heavy oak door and lead them through the wide doorway.
He can hear Simon’s raised eyebrow before he even turns to look at him. “The main ballroom? How many ballrooms does one palace need?” Wilhelm opens his mouth to answer but Simon cuts across him, “Actually, don’t answer that. I’ve learnt my lesson after the whole sitting room debacle.”
Wilhelm grins and turns to survey the long-forgotten room. He hasn’t been in here for years, for which he is decidedly grateful, but the sight of the chandeliers and the opulent furnishings bring memories flooding back: endless nights in uncomfortable shoes, being shepherded around and shown off to whoever his mother’s illustrious guests were that particular evening. Not to mention the years and years of dance lessons, in preparation for his Prince Charming moment with a nice young lady that never eventuated.
Wilhelm watches as Simon takes in the high ceilings, the late afternoon sun streaming in through the arched windows and lighting the polished floor in filtered patterns. “I feel like a class traitor for saying this, and I swear they’ll never find your body if you repeat it, but… it’s gorgeous.”
Wilhelm laughs softly and nods, mock-solemn, while he mimes zipping his lips.
“So, how many princesses did baby Wille sweep off their feet in here?” Simon teases with a smirk. Wilhelm shakes his head and tugs his phone out of his back pocket while Simon continues to pace slowly around the room. After fiddling with it for a moment, a chorus of too-loud violins stream out of the phone speaker, snapping Simon’s attention back to Wilhelm. Abashed, Wilhelm quickly adjusts the volume and sets the phone down on an abandoned ornate side table. The song continues to play; a simple waltz in 3/4 time echoes out through the airy room, slowly filling the space.
“Come on, I’ll show you.” He walks over to Simon, reaching out for his waist on instinct.
Simon takes a step back, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, you think you’re going to lead, huh?”
Wilhelm can’t help his fond eye-roll. “Between the two of us, which one has had ballroom lessons since they started walking?”
“Hmm,” Simon pretends to ponder, “would that be the same one of us who is an uncoordinated white boy with two left feet?” Wilhelm shoots him a scowl which he’s sure isn’t as intimidating as he wants it to be, considering it makes Simon break out in giggles.
Nevertheless, Simon relents. “Oh alright, show me what you’ve got then, hotshot.” He makes his way into Wilhelm’s arms leisurely. “Where do you want me?” He wiggles his eyebrows in a move that would be dorky on absolutely anyone else but of course endears Wilhelm even further to him—as if that were possible at this point.
Simon presses his lips together and tries to keep a straight face as Wilhelm takes his arms and places them in the proper position; one at Wilhelm’s shoulder and one out to the side, tangling their fingers together. Simon’s head turns to gaze at their hands, and Wilhelm thinks it’s unfair how elegant Simon looks like this, the light falling softly on the angles of his cheekbones, his jaw. It’s a view Wilhelm never gets tired of, can’t even imagine how he could. “Wille,” Simon says, softer now. “Aren’t you supposed to be teaching me something?” There’s a knowing look in his eye as he turns back to face Wilhelm, who can’t fight his blush; still like a kid with a crush after all this time.
“You’re a very distracting pupil,” Wilhelm murmurs, but he straightens up anyway. He fusses at Simon, pulling and prodding at him lightly to square their hips in line. “Simme,” he chides. “You have to stand up straight. Like this.” Wilhelm reaches behind Simon and places a hand on his upper back, spreading his fingers out and pressing lightly.
The new position brings them closer together. Their height difference is more pronounced like this, and Wilhelm takes a moment to marvel at how perfectly Simon fits into his arms.
“Okay, so you kind of—” Wilhelm steps his right foot forward, gesturing for Simon to mirror him as he goes. Of course, Simon stumbles and Wilhelm almost trips over his feet.
“Actual words might help, Wille.”
Wilhelm huffs and concedes that he may not be the best teacher for this job. “Yes. Right. Okay. So, when I step my right foot forward, you move your left foot back at the same time.” Wilhelm makes eye contact with Simon to make sure he’s paying attention. “Then, my left foot goes out to the side with your right foot.” Simon nods, now with an adorable little scrunch on his brow as he concentrates and stares at their feet.
“Again.” Wilhelm counts them in this time, one-two-three, one-two-three, but they get no further than their first attempt. The continue resetting but never manage to get to even the third step. Then, on their sixth (seventh? eighth?) try, Simon completely loses his balance and tips backwards, Wilhelm lunging forward to catch him in a low dip.
“That ended up way more romantic than it started,” Simon laughs.
Wilhelm takes advantage of the position and leans down further, hovering just above Simon’s lips. He can feel Simon’s sharp intake of breath as his eyes flit across Wilhelm’s face. Simon tilts his chin up slightly and Wilhelm moves to cup his jaw with his right hand, completely forgetting that he’s supporting Simon’s entire weight and subsequently letting him collapse the remaining distance to the floor.
“Oh God. Oh shit—I’m so sorry,” Wilhelm scrambles to check that Simon is unhurt, but Simon is too busy laughing hysterically from his position on the floor.
Wilhelm cracks up too, and reaches out his hand to tug Simon to his feet. They laugh and lean on each other, and when they finally get back to dancing they abandon the rhythm entirely in favour of busting out the most ridiculous moves they can think of. At one point, Simon turns to press his back against Wilhelm and grinds up on him in a manner that he’s sure this room has never seen the likes of. Wilhelm thinks Simon’s sinful hips would make his ancestors roll in their graves, delighting Wilhelm and not not turning him on, just a little. They both break out into fits of giggles when Wilhelm does his best dad dancing—deeply embarrassing moves that make Simon groan and cover his eyes.
Wilhelm moves back to him, reaching out. “Come here.” He tugs gently on Simon’s hand and pulls him back into his body, settling his other hand on his hip naturally. Simon smiles at him indulgently and looks down at Wilhelm’s lips, a subtle request in his eyes, and who is Wilhelm to deny him?
Their lips brush together, feather-light, once, twice, before Simon pushes up and connects them properly, not without a hint of impatience. Wilhelm can feel himself melting into the kiss, the way he always does. They kiss like they’ve got all the time in the world, and when Wilhelm feels Simon put his arms around his waist, he truly believes that they do. Every time he gets to hold Simon like this, Wilhelm feels everything else drop away, his entire world narrowing to become just the places where they touch. Wilhelm drags his hand across Simon’s hip and dips his fingers underneath his hoodie to graze the soft skin at the small of his back, feeling Simon’s hitched breath and parting his lips to get even closer. Simon’s hands are in Wilhelm’s hair, brushing his fringe back and combing through the short hairs at the base of his neck. Wilhelm willingly loses himself in the feeling, sinking in and revelling in this moment, this boy.
After a moment, or a second, or maybe an eternity, they break the kiss, pulling away only slightly to catch their breath.
Then, back in the real world, the song changes, playing Wilhelm’s library on shuffle to land on something slower, less showy—Wilhelm recognises it straight away. It’s an old jazz standard, far from the bass-heavy party music he’d tell August or his old school friends that he liked; far from the stuffy classical pieces he grew up hearing leak out under the ever-closed door of his father’s study. Instead, it’s something that he picked up from his brother. Erik had a prized collection of jazz records, but would concede to using his iPod on the road. He would always offer one earbud of his headphones to Wilhelm when they were riding in the backseat on the way to state events, knowing the steady rhythms helped Wilhelm to keep his breathing in check.
The soft brassy sounds come out slightly tinny from the phone’s speaker, but Wilhelm still hears them, clear as day. Simon, sensing the change in Wilhelm, brings his arms up around Wilhelm’s neck so they’re pressed close together again. Wilhelm relaxes into it, wrapping his arms around Simon’s waist. Simon presses his cheek against Wilhelm’s chest, and with his weight there, Wilhelm feels his breath come deep and steady.
Growing up, Wilhelm didn’t have a name for the feeling he would get—sometimes for no apparent reason—where his heart would start to race and he would desperately struggle to get enough air in, feeling like a phantom weight was pressing down on his chest. He spent hours at a time shut away in his desolate room, rubbing at his sternum and feeling like he was sinking further and further underwater.
Wilhelm’s not foolish; he knows anxiety disorders can’t be cured by love, but around Simon, Wilhelm feels like he’s finally coming up for air. He feels lighter, and the knot in his chest loosens, just from the simple act of being close to him. Wilhelm’s life still isn’t simple per se, and it’s not like he never feels that way anymore, but Simon quiets the noise.
Wilhelm bends his head a little to tuck his face into Simon’s neck. He gently purses his lips and presses a kiss there, breathing in, breathing out. The song still plays, and the lyrics wash over them, settling somewhere deep in Wilhelm’s bones.
The very thought of you makes my heart sing, like an April breeze on the wings of spring.
Wilhelm runs his thumb back and forth over Simon’s upper back, in a motion that might be more soothing to Wilhelm than it is to Simon.
The touch of your hand is like heaven, a heaven that I’ve never known.
“That’s how you make me feel, you know.” He says it softly, plainly; lets it hang between them.
The look on Simon’s face when he lifts his head almost stops Wilhelm in his tracks. His deep brown eyes are wide and shining, staring at him unwaveringly. It’s another thing Wilhelm has never really gotten used to—not only can he have this wonderful boy in his life, but this wonderful boy wants to be in his.
“Wille,” Simon breathes out. Wilhelm sees him swallow as he struggles to find the words. But there’s no need. Wilhelm thinks maybe if there were less to say, it would be easier to say it. He thinks they both know what they’re feeling in this moment. He thinks: there is no mistaking this.
So, Wilhelm just smiles back at him—simply, wholly. Simon leans in and presses their foreheads together as the last strains of the song play out, filling the room.
You fill my eager heart with such desire, every kiss you give sets my soul on fire.
I give myself in sweet surrender, my one and only love.