Work Text:
If I left today
Would you wait for me or would you throw it all away?
Like the magazines say
– Hope For The Underrated Youth, Yungblud
***
It took three days of Simon moping, barely leaving his bedroom except from at mealtimes, for Linda to say something.
The Christmas holidays had been miserable up to that point; although he'd been invited over by Rosh and Ayub and incessantly bugged by Sara, Simon couldn't find it within himself to do anything much apart from stare into space, images playing in his mind as though projected onto the wall in front of him. He could feel them all, the memories tugging at the edges of a ragged wound and sending shocks through him over and over, until eventually the pain seemed to bleed out and it was only a nostalgic, numb kind of sadness whose currents he was caught in.
He just couldn't get Wille out of his goddamn head.
It was frustrating, because why should he be the one pining? He'd been hurt, he'd broken things off. Simon knew, on a logical level, that short-term pain would be better than dragging himself through a secret relationship, only to surely have it splutter and die, or explode into the public consciousness in some terrible way - recent events had only confirmed how easy it was to have your world shattered and shown to everyone with an internet connection - but his logical mind wasn't exactly dominating at the moment. It was the lovesick part that was in overdrive, forcing him to relive everything: the initiation party, Wille's hand on his mouth (the way it burned into his skin was tangible, even in the memory); their first, nervous, kiss, Wille stuttering over his words as he tried to deny himself and gave up; the football field and the rest of that night, the exhilaration of the confession and their intimacy marred even in the memory by the ugly knowledge of how that beautiful moment had been twisted, intruded on by the world; the way his heart had sunk as Ayub showed him the article about the Prince's denial, the sick feeling of betrayal swirling in his stomach.
The hug before the holidays, clinging to one another desperately, even as Simon stood staunch in his decision.
The nervous certainty in Wille's voice as he'd told him he loved him.
It was that moment that was playing on repeat, the Prince's voice a bittersweet phantom in his ears, when Simon's door cracked open, and his mother padded into the room.
"Hey, Simme," Linda said quietly, pushing the door closed behind her and sinking to the floor besides him. As he rolled his head to the side to look at her, he realised the bed-frame behind him was digging uncomfortably into his back (he hadn't realised quite how zoned out he’d been, but now that his mind was back in reality, Simon realised what a weird position he was sitting in, sprawled on the floor and leaning against his bed).
”Hey,” he managed, forcing the word past the lump in his throat. He felt guilty for all but abandoning his mother and Sara for the last few days, but something about exiting the room and going about a normal day seemed... insurmountable.
”How are you holding up, nene?” Linda asked quietly, earnest brown eyes on him.
And he wanted to lie, to be okay for her, just as his mother had been strong for him countless times. But Linda’s gaze and voice were disarming, and Simon felt his walls crumble.
”Not so good,” he whispered, voice trembling.
”Oh, honey,” Linda murmured, gathering him into her arms.
And as she embraced him, he finally let it out - the exhaustion, the trauma, the heartbreak that had been bubbling in him for the last few days. Simon felt his body begin to shake, and Linda’s arms tightened around him as tears began to spill, burying his face in the softness of her jumper.
It was a good ten minutes before he’d cried himself out, sobs subsiding into shaky inhales and exhales. Linda’s hands were rubbing soothing circles into his back, and Simon slowly relaxed into it.
”You don’t have to respond right now,” his mother began quietly, “but I wanted to run something past you. It’s not doing you, or any of us for that matter, any good being cooped up here. So I was thinking, we should go away for Christmas - back to Venezuela. I’m sure it’s the last thing you feel like doing, but a couple of weeks away from all of this might do you good, hmm? And it would be nice to see Tío Jose and Tiá Marie again.”
Simon shifted backwards, tilting his head up at his mother as a surprised expression crossed his face. That was the last thing he’d been expecting her to say - but he could see the logic in it.
”I... yeah. That would be nice,” he murmured. “I know I’ve been pathetic for the last few days, but I can’t stay here for two weeks, can I?”
“Not pathetic, just... grieving,” Linda responded firmly, eyes boring into her son’s. “I don’t want you to wallow, I want to see you happy, but you’re going through something horrible and you have every right to let yourself feel it. Just try not to linger on things too much, hmm? It will only make things worse.”
Simon nodded, cold air brushing against the half-dried tears on his cheeks. “Thanks, mama. I love you.”
”Love you too.”
***
His bag was packed and sitting by his feet. His travel essentials were sitting in a smaller bag by his side. He was dressed and ready to go.
But the next day, Simon was sitting and staring at his phone screen, gnawing at his lip.
Anxious butterflies were fluttering in his stomach as he contemplated texting Wille. He’d already rung Rosh and Ayub to let them know about the trip, and they’d both been enthusiastic (though disappointed that he couldn’t spend Christmas with them), glad that he was doing something besides moping in his room for the rest of the holidays.
But Wille.
Simon didn’t want to just up and leave without saying anything, although part of his mind argued that the Prince had lost the right to know where he was the moment the denial had left his lips. But neither did he want to reach out - too nervous about what conversations might be opened up, too staunch in his decision to come crawling back onto the other boy’s radar.
As he mulled it over, a thought struck him and he lay his phone aside, rising from the bed. “Sara?” He called, poking his head around the doorway.
The sister in question looked up from where she was sitting in the living room. Simon caught the brief look of pity on her face as she looked at him, before she rearranged it into a neutral expression. “Yeah?”
”Could you give me Felice’s number?”
Sara frowned, eyeing him suspiciously as she pulled her phone out. “If you’re going to cry to her about Wille, I’m not doing it.”
Simon rolled his eyes at her typical bluntness, but couldn’t help the spark of... longing? that went though him at the mention. He sighed. “No. I just want to tell her that we’re going away. And I know,” he held a hand up as she started to respond, “that you’ve probably told her, but... I need Wille to at least hear it second-hand from me, okay?”
A grimace tightened Sara’s mouth, but she didn’t say anything besides, “Fine.” A moment later, Simon’s phone chimed as she shared the contact.
”Thanks,” he said, turning to head back to his room.
“Just don’t do anything stupid!” His sister called after him.
***
They were meandering through duty-free when Simon caught sight of it.
He froze, letting Linda and Sara wander off in front of him, as his eyes landed fully on the page staring out at him from a retailer’s bookshelf.
Or, more accurately, at the faces staring out at him.
His and Wille’s, photoshopped together on a magazine cover.
Before he’d consciously thought about it, Simon found his feet propelling him across the aisle between shops, heart thudding as a combination of panic, anger, sadness crawled up his throat. His breath shuddered with rising tears as he reached out with a trembling hand, fingers meeting glossy paper as they grasped a copy.
Thoughts and feelings swirled like a maelstrom in his mind as he took in Wille’s face, cut out from a Royal family portrait, next to his (where they’d got a picture from, he had no idea - one of those promotional choir photos, maybe?). Emblazoned over the top was the headline: Prince denies sleeping with Hillerska non-res (so who did?)
Simon shoved the magazine back onto the stand, unable to stomach reading any more. How dare they? How dare they infiltrate their private lives like that, speculate as if it wasn’t child porn they were profiting from?
And seeing Wille’s face - even just in a photograph - together with the reminder of his denial, did nothing to help the swirl of nausea in Simon’s stomach.
Because fuck, he may resent the boy for dragging him through the dirt, but in his heart of hearts he understood. The statement had only been the public face of the shitstorm the Prince must be facing right now, and Simon was in too deep to deny that he cared too much to be okay with Wille hurting - even if he was the reason for his own turmoil.
He stood there, disorientated by the tangle of thoughts, for a minute before swallowing it down, turning on his heel to catch up with Linda and Sara. Simon’s heart sank as he re-entered the throng of people in the airport terminal, realising he’d probably lost them in the crowd and hoping that they’d stopped somewhere close.
Eventually, the aisle between duty-free shops widened out into one of the larger halls of the airport, and Simon breathed a sigh of relief when he caught sight of Linda and Sara standing by a pillar and looking around for him. He waved, and saw relief of their own cross the faces of his mother and sister.
”Sorry about that,” he said upon rejoining them. Something must’ve shown on his face, because Linda frowned at him pityingly.
“Was it the magazines, mi amor?”
”Yeah,” Simon responded with a sigh, Sara reaching out to squeeze his arm. “It’s fine. Well, it’s not fine, it’s ridiculous that they can get away with—“ he broke off, shaking his head. “I’m fine, though. Sorry for ditching you.”
“It’s okay, we’re all here now,” Linda replied, looking up at one of the boards announcing flight times. “Look, there we are — ARN-1276, 5:15, terminal 2. Are you both okay to head off?”
Simon and Sara both nodded in affirmation, and they set off across the airport.
***
Going away might have been exciting, but sitting around waiting for a flight was decidedly not.
Simon sighed as they sat at one of the rows of joined metal chairs in the terminal, gazing through the window at the planes outside. They’d only been here for half an hour or so, but it felt like an eternity.
Right on cue, his ears pricked up at a commotion, and he looked towards the desk where they’d scanned their boarding passes.
Simon’s eyes widened, and he could’ve sworn his heart stopped beating for a second when his gaze landed on the source.
Wille was standing there, gaze searching the terminal as his bodyguard - Malin? - argued with the woman at the desk.
”No, he doesn’t want to get on the plane! Let His Royal Highness through, he just needs to talk with someone!” She snapped.
Simon stopped listening when the Prince’s eyes landed on him. He vaguely thought Sara or his mother had said something, but his vision and hearing had become a tunnel leading straight to Wille.
Wille, who was standing at the gate, desperation in his eyes as they locked with Simon’s.
Elation and fear erupted in him all at once, but before he could think about it, Simon was on his feet. Malin apparently convinced the woman at the desk just then, too, because Wille was moving towards him, and—
Seconds later, Simon was enveloped in a bone-crushing hug. He gasped in shock and awe and confusion as familiar arms wrapped around him, and despite the part of his mind that screamed at him to let go and run to the plane, he gripped onto Wille’s navy coat as if his life depended on it, relishing the scent of him as his face buried itself automatically in the boy’s neck.
”Wille, what— what are you doing here?” He stammered when they slowly drew apart. He couldn’t help but stare into the taller boy’s eyes, and... he knew he should be pissed at the Prince, but the remorse and affection and desperation in them made him melt.
“Felice told me that you’re going away,” Wille began, voice shaking. Simon’s hands were still on his shoulders, and he found himself rubbing them in an attempt to calm him. “I... I couldn’t let you leave without talking to you. I’m— Simon,” the word came out as a sob, and the boy in question’s heart broke a little at the way Wille’s lips framed his name. “Simon, I’m so sorry. I should never have let them pressure me into throwing us away like that. I’m so sorry, and I love you. And I know I’ve probably ruined everything, but if there’s any — any — possibility that you feel the same way...” he took a deep breath, eyes flickering to the floor before he met Simon’s again. “I want you. And not as a secret.”
Simon couldn’t believe his ears.
He’d been angry, and sad, and heartbroken in a horrible loop for the last few days, but even in the moments of resentment, he couldn’t help but wish Wille would take him back somehow, that everything could be made better.
And now here Wille was, asking for him back, and to make things better.
”Really? Is that... is that even possible?” He choked out.
Something flickered in Wille’s eyes, but to his credit he stood strong. “Yes,” he said imploringly, staring at Simon. “I know it’s not an easy situation, but the prospect of you leaving — I need you, Simme. And I’m effectively dealing with all the shit that comes with it already, so... if I haven’t got you, it’s pointless.”
Simon swallowed, the sound loud in his ears. His fingers, resting on the fabric of Wille’s coat, were trembling, as was his voice as he returned the searching gaze.
”If... if that’s a promise,” he began—
“It is.”
”Then fuck it, Wille, I love you too,” Simon breathed, and the look of elation on the Prince’s face was amazing.
It was probably a terrible idea, surrounded by people as they were, but he couldn’t help himself.
Simon leaned forwards, hands sliding from Wille’s shoulders to around his neck, and kissed him.
Somewhere behind him there was a squeal and a gasp, but all that existed in that moment was Wille, Wille, Wille. He pressed as close as he could decently get, hands splayed across Wille’s back as their lips moved against each other’s, breathtakingly, beautifully, familiarly.
They’d only known each other for a couple of months, only been together for a couple of weeks, only been broken up for a couple of days, but being in Wille’s embrace... it felt like coming home.
Eventually, they broke apart for breath, and a smile bloomed on Simon’s face as he took in the Prince’s flushed cheeks and the sparkle in his eyes. He giggled, flopping his head against Wille’s chest and feeling arms snake around him.
“How many people are staring at us right now?” He mumbled into the Prince’s chest.
”Ah... everyone,” Wille replied, the trepidation in his voice mixing with glee. “Congrats on immediately solving the telling-everyone issue,” he added, and Simon snorted with a laugh.
”Also, your mum is beaming at us, but your sister is giving me a death glare.”
Simon reluctantly pulled his head away, feeling the redness on his cheeks as he glanced backwards towards Linda and Sara. His mother was indeed beaming (though Simon was sure he’d get some kind of don’t-let-him-hurt-you-again talk later on), and Sara was levelling a look of disdain at Wille. Underneath the protective façade, though, Simon could see that she was trying not to smile.
He didn’t bother holding in his smile as he grabbed Wille’s hand, and Malin made her way over to them, a mixture of pride and exasperation on her face.
”You,” she said emphatically when she reached them, “are a lucky boy, Simon. This one,” she nodded at Wille, “might have been an idiot, but you should’ve seen him convincing me to bring him here.”
Wille flushed, shaking his head. “That is a story for... not now. But thank you, Malin.”
“And from me,” Simon added with a grin.
”You’re very welcome,” the bodyguard replied, and Simon found himself very glad that regardless of what might happen with the rest of the Royal family, Wille clearly had one person in his corner.
”Now, Wilhelm, you have an angry mother to face. And you, Simon, have a plane to catch.”
Simon’s heart sank, and he sighed. He was infinitely glad that Wille had come, and wanted to fix things, but this bubble couldn’t last forever.
”Yeah,” Wille sighed too, turning to Simon. “I know I don’t deserve you, Simme. But from now on, I’m going to do my best to earn you.”
”Yeah, I’m way too good for you, Your Highness,” he joked. “But, seriously. I’m so, so glad you’re here. It means so much that we can try again.”
He opened his arms, and Wille stepped into his embrace. Simon squeezed him briefly, then stepped back, brushing a lock of blond hair from the Prince’s face.
”Have a great time in Venezuela,” he said with a smile. “Send me pictures!”
Simon laughed, and he’d never been more glad to fall from tension into comfortable interaction than in the last few minutes. “I will,” he replied.
And with one last exchange of smiles, in the knowledge that they were going to fix things, out and proud together, Simon turned to walk towards his family.