Work Text:
It was the day before Christmas Eve when the text came through.
Since breaking up for the winter holidays, Simon had barely left the house. The initial surge of interest and judgement at the release of the tape had died down, but he was still a figure of interest in Bjärstad. His mum sent him out to get a few groceries here and there, and the pointed looks were getting fewer and farther between, but he still got stared at. Tabloids still wanted to know who he had been intimate with, even if it hadn’t been the Crown Prince after all. The speculation that it had been was enough for them to run a story. The fact that some non-res scholarship kid had been getting intimate with some - any - rich, influential Hillerska student was also a point of interest.
For most of the festive season he’d cooped himself up inside the house with his mother and Sara. Rosh and Ayub regularly dropped by, the former always handy with a pointed comment about how he shouldn’t feel ashamed of the tape, considering it had meant to be a private moment, and the latter ready with something else to comment about to take his mind off the situation. Sara left for a few days to meet up with Felice. She came back glowing. Simon was pleased she had formed such strong, genuine friendships, and that she hadn’t been hounded by the press for what had happened to him.
On the afternoon of the twenty third, Simon, Sara, their mother and his two closest friends sat in the near darkness watching whatever popular Christmas film happened to be on prime time television. Simon’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, scanned the text, and his heart did a funny somersault in his chest.
Wille
I know I hurt you. I know I can’t change my actions. But this felt the only way to make things right - without my family breathing down my neck, watching my every move. Even if I can’t ask for forgiveness, I hope you can understand why I’ve done what I’ve done.
Simon felt slightly sick. Since he’d told Wille that he refused to be some sordid, dirty little secret, they had had no contact with one another. He hadn’t even liked any of Wille’s staged Instagram posts. To go from no contact to such a personal, intense text message was a bit of a one eighty.
What did Wille mean by it was ‘the only way’?
“Holy shit,” Ayub cursed. Simon darted a glance over to his friend. His face was illuminated by the glow of his phone. Ayub looked up at Simon. “You need to check out Wille’s Instagram.”
There was a flurry of activity from everyone aside from Simon and Sara’s mother, though she quickly got up from her seat to bend over the back of the sofa to keep in the loop. A similar round of cursing broke out between Sara and Rosh - the former a little breathless with surprise, the latter sounding begrudgingly impressed.
Simon couldn’t breathe.
Wille’s public Instagram page was carefully tailored. He barely had any input on what he posted, and many of the posts were specifically curated to reflect well on the Royal Family. The tone was clinical, the images stiff and orchestrated.
This, though. This.
This was a rare photo he and Simon had taken together - on the shores of the lake the day after they spent the morning together, the day after they were filmed. It wasn’t suggestive, but it would definitely put to bed the rumours of whether they had been an item or not. In the photo they were turned slightly in to one another. Simon was gazing up at Wille as though he were the answer to the universe. Wille was wearing an expression so fond it make Simon a little uncomfortable. It was an expression that had been intended for him, and now the whole world was able to see it.
He swiped. There were two more pictures, both spur-of-the-moment and slightly blurry. There was a caption below.
princewilhelm: There are things I cannot take back. Actions I cannot undo. I cannot turn back time and prevent myself from hurting you like I did. But I can move forwards as a better person - as someone Erik would recognise. As someone you would recognise.
Less than a month ago a highly intimate video was released, and I publicly removed myself from the situation. It was the cowards way out. My duty is to the crown, but it is also my duty to not leave those I love in the dust when they are most in need. I was fearful of what the people may say if they knew their new Crown Prince wasn’t straight, so I stepped back into the shoes of the Old World and let that part of myself be hushed up. I left the person I love to fend off the dogs alone. And I’m sorry.
I am the other person in that video. It was a moment shared between two young people who cared deeply for one another. A moment videoed without our knowing, and leaked to the world because of petty opinions and petty rivalries.
This is the truth. I refuse to pretend to be someone I am not any longer.
There were arms wrapped around him from every conceivable angle. His mother was whispering words of comfort in his ear, and Sara seemed close to crying. It struck him as a bit odd, as she rarely cried. Then, he realised he’s the one crying first, and oh. That makes sense. Sara always used to cry when he cried.
The Christmas movie played on in the background. Simon distantly remembered it was The Grinch - who’s heart grew three sizes bigger by the end of the film.
Simon was no Grinch, but he thinks that maybe his heart had swelled in the past three minutes.
—
Ayub and Rosh left with the demand to be kept in the loop. They had spent the past few hours re-reading Wille’s stark coming out post, and contemplating what’s would happen. Ayub seemed to think the Secret Service would spirit him away and replace him with a pod person. Rosh thought Ayub needed to get his priorities sorted.
Their joviality helped to ease his jittery nerves and anxious stomach, and they parted ways with strong hugs, a few punches on the arm, and festive wishes for the following day.
Once it hit ten o’clock, he wished his mother and sister a good night, and headed off to his room. Wille hadn’t tried to contact him again. His last text message remained a poignant precursor to the evenings events. Simon’s thumbs hovered over his touchscreen.
Simon
Are you still up?
Wille
Yes
Simon exited their text chat and hit dial on Wille’s number. It rang twice.
“Hi.”
Simon’s stomach went hot and soupy with the sound of Wille’s voice. It hadn’t been long since they last spoke, but to Simon it still felt like forever. He can still remember the pain in his chest when Wille told him he loved him - how he couldn’t in good conscience say it back, even though it had been wholly reciprocated. The look on Wille’s face as he left that day still haunted Simon.
“Hey,” Simon replied quietly. He played with a loose thread on the bottom of his trousers. “How are you?”
Wille audibly let out a slow breath. “Harassed.”
Simon let out a laugh. “Your mum didn’t like your choice to post it, I take it?”
“She didn’t know.” Wille admitted. A lump of surprise lodged itself in Simon’s throat.
“What?” He heard himself say. Wille laughed over the phone.
“You think the Crown would have let me come out? Like that? No. Mum didn’t know I was doing it. No-one did.”
“Then why?” Simon asked. Wille was silent for a moment.
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” he replied softly. “I can’t change what I did, but I can decide on what I do in the future. And I don’t want to keep you a secret.”
Simon swallowed against the lump. He wiped at his wet eyes with the edge of his sleeve. “It isn’t going to be easy, you know?” he pointed out.
“What, wooing you again?”
Simon laughs. “You think you wooed me?”
Wille was laughing on the other end of the line. “Did I not? I think I was quite good at staring at you from across the room.”
“Yeah, intense staring is the best way to get into someone’s pants,” Simon joked.
“Well it worked,” Wille reasoned. There was a lightness to his tone that belied the anxiety Simon knows he’s going through. Wille had always been anxious, from the very first moment they met. He played the part of the Prince well, but Simon knew he had an inferiority complex that could be seen from Mars. Though he acted confident and self-assured, Wille was constantly unsure of himself, worried about what others think. Simon can remember how hard it was to hold the different versions of Wille up against one another: the perfect Prince, the people pleaser; the overwhelmed, stressed young teen; the loving, gentle, playful boyfriend.
“How has your mother taken it?” Simon asked gently.
“I doubt very well,” Wille replied. “I’ve not actually been back to see her.”
Simon sat up in bed from where he’d been slouched in one corner. “You’re not at home?”
“No,” Wille’s voice said. It sounded a little vacant. Empty. “We got into a fight the other day about what she likes to call ‘the situation’, so I left. I’ve been in a hotel for the past few days. I decided to post last night. Being alone really brings things into perspective.”
“But it’s Christmas, Wille,” Simon said. “You can’t spend Christmas alone in a hotel.”
“I can,” Wille said, sounding remarkably stubborn for someone who was usually made up of eighty percent anxiety and twenty percent caution. “The only family member I really care to spend Christmas with is dead. Father doesn’t do anything other than placate mother at the moment. I don’t want to be with people who don’t truly want the best for me at a time of year we’re supposedly meant to be bringing joy to each other.”
Simon’s mouth stretched into a smile. He unintentionally huffed out an affectionate laugh through his nose.
“What?” Wille asked. Simon shook his head, even though Wille couldn’t see him.
“You just sounded very King like,” he joked. His voice softened. “I didn’t know him, but Erik would be proud of you, you know?”
Wille was quiet for a moment. Then: “I know. He didn’t know about us, but he always pushed me to be a better person. To be honest. This is about as honest as I’ve been about myself since I was three. I only hope I can be half the man Erik was.”
Simon leant his head against the wall. He closed his eyes, and tried to imagine Wille - where he was. How he looked. How he’s felt, alone in a hotel room at this time of year. A thought occurred to him.
“Stay on the line. I’ll be right back.” He demanded. He left the phone ringing with Wille’s confused ‘Ok?’ and rushed off to his mothers room. He knocked on the door and opened it when she gave him the all clear.
“Hey.” She’s in bed, reading a book. “Everything ok?”
“Can Wille come over for Christmas?” Simon blurted out. His mother looked briefly surprised, before a smile crossed her mouth.
“Of course he can,” she said instantly. An expression of worry drifted over her features. “Is he okay?”
Simon shrugged. “Not really. He’s not at home right now. He and his mother aren’t on good terms.”
“Where is he?” his mother demanded to know. There was a tone in her voice that made Simon warm. He tells her, and a fire glowed in her eyes. “Tell him to come straight here. No boy is going to be alone at Christmas if I have any say in it.”
Simon beamed and went up to kiss her on the cheek. “Thank you, mamma.”
His mother kissed his forehead and sent him on his way. Simon headed back to his phone.
“Come here for Christmas,” he said immediately, upon picking his mobile up again. There was silence on the other end of the line. Simon checked to see if the call was still connected. “Hello?”
“I’m here,” Wille said. He sounded uncertain. “I just …. I don’t think that’s a good idea, Simon.”
“Why not?” Simon asked obstinately. “Mum said it was fine.”
“Simon. Have you forgotten what I did to you?”
“Have you forgotten what you’ve just done for me?” Simon bites back. He won’t let Wille be self-sacrificial about this. “Stop being a martyr. You fucked up. But you’ve made it right, if I have any opinion about it. Which, considering I’m the one who got screwed over the most, I think I do. You deserve to be loved as much as you love other people, Wille. Please come here.”
There was more silence. Then, a choked out: “Okay. As long as your mother and Sara are okay about it.”
Heat stirred in his stomach and bled its way up to his chest. He smiled so wide it hurt.
—
The next morning Simon was vibrating with expectation. Sara kept shooting him knowing, smug looks. His mother was too busy prepping for an extra two people, and thoroughly enjoying herself as she did so, to really notice his intensity. Despite the hiccups with their father, she had always been very protective and proud of her family. Divorce had only made her even more so. With Wille currently akin to a lost, lonely little lamb, her mothering mode had hit a high Simon had forgotten could even exist. She bustled and sang and threatened him twice with a spoon. It was a glorious thing to witness.
Eventually tired of his hovering, she sent Simon out to pick up a few extra provisions. He headed into town and checked off each item as he went. Most of the list was basic groceries - things they would run out of quickly with two extra mouths to feed. People looked across at him as he shopped - more so than they had the past few days. Simon knew it was down to Wille’s sudden, impassioned post, rather than the months-old tape. Bjärstad still couldn’t quite grasp Simon’s infamy.
The feedback to the post had, admittedly, been intense, but he focused on the handful of people who’s opinions really matter. His mother had been nothing but supportive, and though she had been frustrated at Wille’s initial actions, Sara too had come around. Rosh still had reservations, as was her typical stance as the pragmatic, sometimes cynical one of their friendship group, but was nonetheless pleased that Wille has accepted he was wrong and stood up for himself and Simon. Ayub was his usual jovial self, though Simon could tell he was also pleased that Wille admitted he was wrong. Somehow, Felice had managed to get a hold of his number, and she sent him a string of heart eye emojis and her well wishes for them both.
Simon narrowed his eyes at Sara when the text came through, but she pointedly avoided his gaze and adopted an angelic look.
He knew Wille wasn’t expecting anything as a present. He also knew that Wille understood he and his family weren’t particularly well off. They couldn’t afford the things Wille probably tended to receive at this time of year. They couldn’t afford some of the ties Wille kept in his wardrobe. But, as he was walking around town, something caught his eye. It wasn’t fancy, but the sentiment was something he knew Wille will appreciate. He picked it up with a smile.
—
Wille had let them know he’d be there at about five. As the hour drew nearer, Simon became more jittery. Frustrated at being so full of energy and having no way to work it out, he headed off to his room to calm himself down. Rosh and Ayub diligently distracted him with a short game, narrating how their days have been. Simon loses terribly. He was biting retorts back to his friends jubilant crowing when movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention.
Wille was standing at the entrance to his room, looking sad and washed out and tired. He had dark smudges underneath his eyes, and he looked as though he’d lost a little weight, his sweatshirt baggier then normal about his slight frame. But, despite the dark little cloud attached to his shoulders, there was a gentle smile on his mouth; an honest smile. Simon ripped off the headset and launched himself at Wille, wrapping him up in a hug. Wille curled himself down into it, tucking his head into the crook of Simon’s neck. Neither of them knew who started to cry first, but eventually they’re both fighting against hitched breaths as they attempt to blend into one person.
They eventually find themselves curled up on Simon’s bed, pressed tightly together, breathing in one another’s scent. They said absolutely nothing for a good half an hour. As they sit with one another, merely existing in one another’s presence, Simon could hear his mum in the kitchen, the television playing another English Christmas film, Malin’s voice peppered throughout the conversation she’s having with Simon’s mother.
Little of it mattered. What mattered right then for Simon was the lanky, tired, overwhelmed person in his arms. By the rise and fall of his back, Simon could tell that, at some point, Wille had fallen asleep. He wondered if it was the first time he had gotten a good nights rest since his blow-out with his mother. Simon looked down at where Wille had curled into his lap like a cat. He ran a reverent fingertip across the faint scar at his cheekbone. The wound had healed, but Wille would forever have a lasting legacy of the fight at the nightclub. Even after their prior moments together, being this close to Wille, being able to touch him so delicately - so freely - felt exhilarating. Somehow, this beautiful, broken, bruised boy had chosen Simon. He had stood up to years of protocol, to years of heritage and rules, to speak out against his own family. Wille had chosen him.
A loud crash from the kitchen startled Wille awake. He blinked his eyes open, clearly figuring out where he was before he made his next move. Simon could tell when it registered where he was, because the tension disappeared from Wille’s shoulders like water down the plughole. Wille turned his head slightly, in order to look up at Simon through tired eyes. Simon smiled down at him and stroked his finger down Wille’s nose.
“Hey,” he said gently. Wille pressed a kiss to the soft, delicate bone on the underside of Simon’s wrist. He smiled.
“Hey.”
—
Christmas ended up a cosy, gentle affair. There was food, drink and presents. Wille had to excuse himself when he opened Simon’s small gift. Simon found him a while later in his bedroom, cradling the small snow-globe in his big, delicately boned hands. He sat down beside Wille and pressed a kiss to Wille’s temple.
“You okay?” He asked, resting his chin on Wille’s shoulder. Wille smiled through his tears and nodded.
Simon knew that there was some meaning behind the frog snow-globe Wille had kept in his dorm room, but he’d never truly known what it was. Picking up this one - a dog with a crown on its head - had been a little spur of the moment. It had been more of a joking gift than anything else, but clearly it was hitting a little harder than he anticipated. He sat with Wille in the quiet until the prince was ready to talk.
“I really loved the frog snow globe for some reason,” Wille finally said in a choked voice. “It was Erik’s. Before he left, after dropping me off at school, he gave it to me. It’s sort of the strongest connection I have left to him. He knew I loved it, and he knew I was going through shit. It was just a token joke gift, but then he died.”
Wille took a moment to calm himself down before continuing.
“And suddenly it took on a whole new meaning. I was the Crown Prince. Erik wasn’t. This gift had been from the Crown Prince to his brother, but suddenly I had that title, and I was expected to take on all these extra jobs, expected to do this, to do that, whilst trying to come to terms with who I was, and what I had just lost. The Crown Prince wasn’t there anymore. And I felt more and more like that frog. The Frog Prince. Trapped within a glittering, farce of a world with little hope of ever escaping.”
Simon let out a sigh. He pressed closer to Wille and took one of his hands in his own, lacing their fingers together tightly. Wille’s hand was as cold as it usually was.
“I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories,” he said softly. “I genuinely thought the dog looked cute.”
Wille choked out a laugh. “It is cute,” he agreed. “It just … yeah. There’s a lot of baggage.”
Simon smiled. He took his head off of Wille’s shoulder and unlinked their fingers, instead cupping Wille’s jaw in his palms. Then, with the same level of reverence they had shown to one another throughout their short relationship, he ducked his head to kiss Wille: gently, shyly, like he had that first time after the movie night. It was gentle and tender; two boys previously lost, finding their footing with one another again. Simon pulled away fractionally, just enough so he could speak.
“Good thing I like your baggage,” he said softly. He smiled and pressed another kiss to Wille’s mouth. “Warts and all.”
—
Wille left two days later. Simon felt a little bereft without him, which was something he’d never thought he’d succumb to. He’d always been pretty independent, and the idea of missing someone so deeply that it hurt was foreign. Sara teased him a little about it, but reminded him that they’d see one another soon enough. The new school term would begin in a few weeks, and both Wille and Simon would be returning.
The idea of being able to openly date Wille filled him with unexplained feelings. Wille still had to sort out the Crown’s disapproval of his unsanctioned Instagram post. They still had to navigate the fact that Wille’s mother didn’t actually approve of Simon - though whether it was because he was a boy or because he was poor was still as of yet an unknown. They still had to navigate all of the official issues that accompanied dating a member of the Royal Family, the backlash of Wille coming out as not straight, the implications it would have on Simon’s family.
For now though, he and Wille remained in what Sara teasingly called their ‘Honeymoon Phase’. They were regularly texting, regularly face-timing. Simon wracked up such a horrific phone bill that Wille demanded he pay for it.
“It’s literally the least I could do,” Wille had said. He didn’t try to impress Simon with fancy gifts like Simon had always expected of people with expendable income, didn’t try to pay for his family’s bills. A phone bill felt like middle ground. Besides, Wille reasoned, without him there wouldn’t even be such a bad phone bill.
A few hours after Wille had left, Simon received a text from Sara. Considering his sister had been sitting right next to him, he opened his mouth to ask why she couldn’t just speak to him, before he realised it was a JPEG file. He opened their text chat, and his stomach swooped again. A goofy smile crossed his lips.
“I didn’t post it anywhere, but you both looked so sweet. So I though you might want it.”
Following Wille’s mini breakdown over Simon’s present, they had returned to the living room to take over the sofa. As the night drew on, they had eventually shuffled around until Wille was sprawled out between Simon’s legs, head resting against his chest. Simon’s arms had come around Wille’s body, one carding through his hair, the other resting against the small of his back. They had dozed off in one another company. Sara had clearly taken the opportunity to take a photo: the one he now had sitting in his phone’s photo album.
He sent it on to Wille, who immediately picked flaws in himself, but also noted that they looked ‘cute as shit’. Little was said about it, until a few days before term began.
Simon hadn’t heard too much from Wille about his family situation, and he hadn’t pried into his relationship with his parents. There had been silence from the Crown regarding Wille’s Instagram post, and Wille hadn’t put anything online since. Even New Year had been relatively quiet from Wille, besides a two hours FaceTime call with them both ringing in the new year.
Then, Simon received another text.
Wille
Tell Sara to put her Instagram on private
Simon
Why???
Wille
Because I want to post the photo and tag her in it as credit,
but I don’t know if she wants the kickback
Simon blinked. Then a smile broke out on his face. He duly warned Sara, who did as Wille recommended, though she was none the wiser as to why Simon was advising her to do so, and responded to Wille. About five minutes later Sara let out a squawk from the living room.
“Why do so many people want to follow me?!”
Simon burst out laughing and found his way onto Wille’s Instagram page.
princewilhelm: hope you all had a good christmas and new year. all my love to those who have helped me through these past few months - and all my love particularly to Erik, who I know is looking down right now and wishing he could hit me with a slipper for being so stupid, but also for finally growing up and having the courage to do what’s right.
“This makes much more sense!” Sara yelled.
Simon beamed down at the photo selection. The first was Sara’s. The second was a group photo his mother had taken using her selfie stick - something Simon had yet to get her out of using, though it wasn’t for lack of trying. The third was of Simon and Wille in matching ugly Christmas jumpers, both of them back-to-back, posing like James Bond. The like count was reaching the tens of thousands, the comments were a mess of emojis, caps-lock, conspiracy theories, vitriol and adulation. But for once, Simon couldn’t care less what other people thought of them.
Simon
You’re such an idiot
Wille
But I’m *your* idiot
>:)
Simon smiled so hard his cheeks ached.
Simon
Yes. You truly are <3