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Simon
I still haven’t adjusted to luxury and, admittedly, New York City luxury was unlike anything at home. Some friend or cousin or diplomat or cousin of a diplomat’s friend had recently purchased an absurd penthouse apartment on Central Park South and happened to be away at the same time we had our winter break from school. Apparently Wille had gone above and beyond to keep this trip a secret from me, working behind my back with my mom and everything. To the best of my knowledge, we had just been driving to Stockholm to spend a nice, quiet week at Wille’s. I didn’t even clock that we had turned off our usual path until the airport was in view.
I’d been in the royal jet twice before, a guest on diplomatic trips to other Nordic countries so I assumed as we drove onto the tarmac that it would be something similar now. Eight hours and fifteen minutes later we’d landed at JFK and as the rest of the royal family was whisked away with the prime minister to prepare for a climate summit at the United Nations, Wille had hurried me to our own car as we were driven here to what, upon entering, I have to assume is the most luxurious place on the planet. Wille told me nothing about where we were going so I truthfully couldn’t prepare myself for what was now staring me back in the face. Even when we’d reached the building, what could be best described as a white pencil — or perhaps a middle finger — poking up into the Manhattan skyline I figured he’d just managed to get his hands on a midlevel room somehow but this…this is something else.
I haven’t even seen it all yet, it’s apparently three stories tall and we are just on the bottom floor right now. It’s a sprawling outdoor space with stunning white marble everywhere and views of both Central Park and the Empire State Building depending which way you turn and I’m currently spinning circles trying to take it all in at once.
“Ok, Wille, like…I know that the royal family is rich but there’s no way you’re this fucking rich right?” I posit, earning a quick “pfft” as soft arms wrap around my stomach from behind.
“No, we’re more 30th floor rich. In the building for sure, and we are friends with the penthouse folks but never moving up here unless those lousy commoners start forking over some more tax dollars.”
“Well this lousy commoner was wondering if there might be a way to make some…alternative form of payment?” I say, slowly entwining my fingers in his hands and leaning my hips back into his gently but with enough force to communicate my intentions.
“Mmph,” Wille exhales, and I can almost here him biting softly on his lower lip. “Well the first two floors are places where Malin is allowed to be, but I have heard there is a bathtub overlooking the park on the third floor where you may be able to bargain your way out of your royal dues.”
I turn, facing him now but still pressed together, arching my back and catching his chin and lower lip between my teeth. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”
Wille
My back leaning against the curved white wall of the tub, legs entwined with those of the boy I love across from me, I allow my thoughts to drift back on all the immense, impossible changes to my life over the past two and a half years. Meeting Simon. Loving Simon. Losing Eric. Becoming Crown Prince. Loving Simon. Becoming infamous. Loving Simon. Reconciling with my parents. Loving Simon.
Loving Simon.
“I love you, mi amor.” I say between breaths, knowing full well it drives him mad when I use what little Spanish I know.
“Y te amo, mi amor.”
“Do you think you’ll love me forever?” I hardly imagine the words before they are out of my mouth, freed into the world unable to be retracted, reconsidered. I know my answer, I think I’ve known my answer since I first heard him sing, but I’ve never spoken it out loud. I’ve never asked it of him. How could I? Who could possibly commit to a life by my side? Sure there is the pain of dealing with royalty but even more pressing, who could spend all that time with me? How could anyone make that commitment? Why would anyone want to—
“Wille, cálmate, stop overthinking.”
I pause and look towards his grinning face in front of me, had I missed something? “What do you mean? I didn’t say anything?”
“Wille, please, I can read you like an open book. You were spiraling after asking my if I’d love you forever, right?”
I blush, groaning as I press the palms of my hands into my eyes. “Ugh, yes it’s embarrassing! I shouldn’t have asked you anyth—“
Lips are suddenly interlocking with mine, cutting me off as I feel a warm body pressing down on me, meeting me in full vulnerability.
Pulling his face back, body still pressed close, Simon shifts his hands and holds himself against the rim of the tub. “It isn’t embarrassing, it is honest, and that’s all I ever want. And…” as he pauses, I can see him considering his next words carefully and I am certain I won’t like what I hear. “And I know that I will love you forever. As long as you’ll have me Wille, I’m yours.
“But I’m just…I’m so much to deal with Simme. How can you possibly be sure that you…that you won’t get tired of dealing with me?”
Now leaning back into his position in the tub, Simon strokes my feet, massaging them as he seems to consider my question.
“I don’t think that love is just about what I’m feeling in the moment. I mean, obviously that is a part of it — being ridiculously attracted to every inch of you inside and out makes loving you easier — but love is also a choice. I know that there are days when its hard to be around me, but you still choose to love. And I’m not saying that you’re difficult to be around at all, you aren’t, but the days when we don’t see eye to eye are the days when I know it’s time to put in the work. But I am choosing that, I want you to be the person I work shit through with. ¿Entiendes?”
“Yea, I understand. I guess it just feels so easy for me to show that love to you. It comes naturally, the days that its work don’t even feel like work. I just don’t know how someone would feel that with me.”
Simon
This side of Wille had been showing up more and more frequently. He’d always had deep anxieties, but now they’d morphed to full-on depression. It wasn’t all the time, but particularly in moments where we break our routine (like, lets say, flying to New York) he’s been quite obviously hurting.
“Wille, mi amor, it doesn’t feel like work to love you either. You’ve lived your whole life with absurd expectations placed on you, a whole country waiting to pounce on every misstep. I’m not waiting to pounce, I’m waiting to hold you. But I want you to be able to hold yourself too, to not feel like every moment someone is waiting for you to fail, or that every moment you are waiting for you to fail.”
“I want that too, Simon, I just…I’m sorry…I don’t want to ruin our trip…”
“Ay Dios mío, you aren’t ruining anything! You know what, we need to get out of this penthouse. We are in fucking New York City and we can take a bath anywhere in the world. Let’s get lost on a train or see a show or…anything!”
“But what if people recognize me or you and they start to stare or—“
“Bitch shut up, how famous do you think you are? Timothée Chalamet can walk down the street but you think these folks are gonna lose their shit over the crown prince of Sweden and his peasant boyfriend?”
My gentle ribbing of his fame finally breaks through Wille’s shell and he begins to relax, cracking a sly grin.
“Actually, you’re right, no one knows either of us here so…”
His grin is now actively morphing into a mischievous smirk.
“So what if we go find a more interesting place to make out than this bathtub?”