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“Fans of Crown Prince Wilhelm and his boyfriend Simon Vasquez have been curious about the working class boy from Bjärstad (a small town neighboring the Crown Prince’s exclusive private boarding school Hilerska) ever since the two first announced their relationship a few months ago. Vasquez’s love of privacy has left fans of the royal family with burning questions surrounding his personal life, such as how he ended up with the Crown Prince in the first place, and why he uses his Venezuelan mother’s last name rather than that of his father Micke Eriksson. Well, fans got some serious insight into that this morning when an anonymous source leaked documents including police reports alleging domestic violence against Simon Vasquez and his family committed by Eriksson…”
Simon muffled another sob with his fist and clicked to the next article. He hadn’t done much else since the scandal had hit the press that morning, quotes from old police statements ticking across the screen under headshots of him, mama, and Sara that had been used in his mother’s legal case to get a restraining order against Micke. No one knew who’d leaked the documents, for all he knew they were public domain and some stupid news person had dug them up searching for some dumb fact about him. All he knew was that he hated it. All he knew was that someone had leaked evidence of his father’s abuse and addiction to the press and it had gone viral as quickly as the sex tape had.
He sniffled and returned to reading.
…police reports, victim impact statements, and a restraining order have all pointed to Simon Vasquez’s father, Micke Eriksson, perhaps shedding some light on why the Crown Prince’s boyfriend remains so aloof. ‘Physical and emotional trauma in early childhood often has long term effects leading into adolescence and adulthood,’ child psychologist Julie White said, when asked about this startling discovery, ‘It’s possible Simon Vasquez and his family have residual trauma they’re trying to work through, and a public relationship and public presence could seriously affect that. My heart goes out to this boy and his family as they navigate suddenly living a life in the public eye while trying to recover from what was obviously a very bad situation…
Residual trauma? Yeah, no shit. Of course, dredging it all up and plastering it all over media sites did nothing to help with his anxiety, or Sara’s trust issues, nevermind his mama’s PTSD. Fuck whoever dug this up. Fuck whoever decided to ruin Simon’s life a second time. It was the sex tape all over again, except almost worse in a way because instead of just being about him it was about his whole family, his mama and Sara and…and his- Micke. Having the entire country see him and Wille had been bad enough, but at least then there had only been the one video. This time there were dozens of photos, photos he hated, photos he’d never wanted to see again, along with dozens of other documents. Somehow the scandal felt far more personal when they had baby pictures of his bruised face and direct quotes from when he was twelve begging the police to help his mama.
Next article. This one showed a picture from the first night they’d spent away from Micke, at the women’s shelter in Bjärstad. In the picture mama was unhealthily pale and the entire left side of her face was bruised blue, her eyes scared. Sara was clutching mama’s arm, her eyes dark and wary, suspicious, with her hair partially concealing the stitches on her forehead. Simon was tucked into his mama’s side, curls flattened, doing his best to shrink out of sight. He remembered wanting to disappear a lot back then.
…reports of domestic abuse have left critics wondering if Simon Vasquez takes after his father and if so, if the crown prince is in danger. Some have gone so far as to accuse Vasquez of being behind the intimate tape aired a few months ago alleging that he could have intimidated the crown prince into pursuing the relationship…
At that, Simon shoved his face into his pillow and screamed . They thought…they thought he-
They thought he was like Micke . He wasn’t. He would never let himself be like his father, and he’d never hurt Wille. He loved Wille, loved him with everything he had, he would never hurt him. And he wasn’t forcing him into anything! In fact, Wille had been the one who’d wanted them to come out, he was the one who’d asked to get back together.
His scream must not have been as muffled as he thought, because his mama burst in and immediately wrapped him in a tight hug. This whole scandal was affecting her too, Simon knew. She tried to hide it but she was paler than usual, her hands trembling. She was back to being the mama she was before, from when he was little, the one who hid him and Sara in the cellar when Micke came home drunk and took every hit so he and Sara wouldn’t have to. Mama, the protector. Mama, the scared. Not the mama she was now, the one who sang in the kitchen and never had to worry about how loud she laughed because there was no one around anymore to yell at her for it. No, she wasn’t that mama today. The reminders of Micke had turned her back to her anxious younger self, the woman who’d survived and allowed herself to be broken so that her children wouldn’t have to be.
Simon didn’t care. He knew that sounded selfish, that he should always want her to be the happiest version of herself- and he did. But she was his mama either way, and both versions of her were warm and overwhelmingly safe, were always exactly what he needed. Happy or anxious she held him the same way, loved him the same way. It was enough. It always had been. So he didn’t care which version of herself she was today, he just cared that her hugs were just as comforting as always.
He cried in her arms for a few minutes before mumbling that he wanted to be alone, not wanting to worry her anymore than he already was. She offered him a sad smile and smoothed his hair before shutting the door behind her with a click. With nothing else to do, Simon returned to his laptop.
…both the Palace and Vasquez himself have been unable to be reached for a comment at this time, which has led to widespread speculation about the allegations, with most condemning Micke Eriksson as an abuser. If that’s the case, we here at Stromsholm Today are wondering who’s really to blame for the entire debacle, wondering what Vasquez could have done to deserve such treatment, or why his mother, Linda Vasquez didn’t find a way to separate from Eriksson earlier…
At that Simon nearly threw the expensive computer he’d borrowed from Hillerska across the room. How dare they insinuate that his mother was somehow to blame for what had happened when she was the only one who’d protected him through everything! They had no right to say such things, had no right to slander his wonderful mother for cheap entertainment.
As for bringing the abuse on himself…
Well, maybe he had.
He shook that thought out of his head, unwilling to deal with it at the moment. He was already miserable, might as well not add to it by thinking about his many failures as a person and as a son.
He closed the news articles and switched over to tabloid headlines which ranged from sympathetic to scornful to surprisingly serious.
Prince Wilhelm’s tragic lover!
Thug life? Simon Vasquez’s rough and tumble childhood, rocky relationship with his father, and more!
Micke Eriksson exposed! Read on to find out about the sordid secrets of the father of Sweden’s latest media darling.
Daddy issues: Could his father’s neglect be the reason why Simon Vasquez is so desperate for fame?
Trouble in paradise? Wilhelm can’t forgive Simon for lying. ‘I can’t believe he never told me about this.’
That one hurt, even though Simon knew there was no way Wilhelm would ever give a statement to a tabloid magazine. Even though he was kind of ignoring the entire world right now, he really didn’t want to upset Wille- unfortunately that seemed inevitable at this point.
Simon sniffled, a fresh wave of tears cascading over his cheeks. Right now, it felt like he would never be able to stop.
He’d turned his phone off earlier, unable to deal with the incessant calls from the palace, Rosh and Ayub, various news sites, and Wille. He knew he was being unfair, that Wille would be worried, knew he was an ass for ignoring his sure to be concerned boyfriend, but the thing was…
The thing was that Simon didn’t want Wille to know about it. Any of it. He didn’t want him to know about the drugs or the abuse, the endless police reports, or the short stay in the women’s shelter before mama found them an apartment after she’d finally left Micke. He didn’t want Wille to know the whole sob story, his deepest source of shame, the sordid tale of a father who loved his vices more than he’d ever loved his wife and kids. It wasn’t that he’d lied- Wille had asked him once and Simon had given him the short version, that Micke was an alcoholic who’d messed up one too many times and that both he and Sara wanted nothing to do with him- he just hadn’t shared the darker parts of the story, the shameful ones, the memories that made him feel like that same helpless, terrified kid again, the one who’d been powerless to protect himself let alone his family. Luckily the explanation had been enough for Wille, and he hadn’t asked again.
But now…
Now it was out there, not only for Wille but the entire country to see. Simon had never wanted this. He wanted to be with Wille, would rather be public than a secret, but he’d never wanted his past to be dissected on a national level, had never wanted anyone to know about the years he spent getting screamed at and watching his dad hit his mother.
Someone banged on his door once, loudly, and Simon flinched, jumping about a foot. He sighed, his heart hammering. Sara. She was furious at him for this, angrier than he’d seen her in years. All day long she’d been fielding calls from her Hillerska friends and ignoring ones from news outlets, trying to convince them to forget about the whole thing. Sara wanted to bury their past even more than Simon did, and he could tell how stressed and embarrassed she was now that it had all been dug up. No one was more ashamed of Micke than Sara.
Still, it was shitty she kept banging on the walls trying to freak him out, even if she was angry. She knew he got stressed out whenever Micke got brought up, knew that loud noises tended to make him panic when he got like this. It was just so much like when he was little…
“ Where the fuck did you hide my pills?”
Eight year old Simon peeked through the keyhole of the locked cellar door, his nine year old sister clutching his arm tightly. Dad was drunk for the third time that week, angry and stumbling around. He was never like this when he was sober, but drunk he was downright scary. Normally Simon hated the dark, gloomy cellar but on nights like this he was glad for the protection of its thick walls. At least he had Sara. Her familiar warmth cuddled up against him was a welcome comfort as mama and dad geared up for what would be a tense argument at best and an explosive one at worst. Simon shivered as the thought crossed his mind, pressing closer to Sara. Mama had sent them in here right away tonight, before dad had even come into the house, which meant she was expecting it to go badly. Going to the cellar was always a bad sign.
“I know you took them. Where are they?” Dad demanded again, his voice slightly slurred but still coherent, still angry.
“I don’t know where you put your pills,” mama told him, her voice soothing and calm but slightly shaky, the way she always talked to dad when he got like this. “Why don’t you go sit down and I’ll get you something to drink instead?”
That soft tone usually calmed him down, but tonight it only seemed to make him madder. That was another bad sign- nights like this were bad enough, but the days when mama didn’t manage to talk him down from his high were always worse.
“I don’t want another fucking drink!” Dad roared, and Sara gasped quietly. Fear crawled into Simon’s throat and he swallowed heavily, tightening his grip on his sister. “I want my fucking pills! Where did you put them? Huh?”
He was in mama’s face now, towering over her, red faced and eyes bulging, but Simon could see her holding her ground, still forcing a trembling calm as if hoping it would spread to her husband.
“I already told you I don’t know. Micke please, why don’t you just go to bed and I’ll help you find them tomorrow.”
“Find them NOW!” He bellowed, “You hid them I know you did, you bitch,” Mama flinched but dad continued as if he hadn’t heard her. Simon didn’t understand why mama seemed to be more hurt by dad’s name calling than when he beat her around. If he had to choose between being called names or getting smacked, he’d choose name calling every time.
“Perfect Linda,” dad growled, “always trying to get me to quit, saying I’ve got a problem. Well I don’t. Now. WHERE. ARE. MY. PILLS!”
His fury seemed to shake the whole house. There had been bad nights before, but few as bad as this. Simon let out a shaky sob, and Sara let out a quiet whimper, burying her face in his shoulder.
Mama heard them, darting a glance towards the cellar door instinctively, before returning her focus to Micke.
Mistake.
Dad’s eyes locked with mama’s for a moment, and for the first time that night she looked truly afraid.
Then the moment passed and he lunged for the cellar door.
“They’re in there, aren’t they?”
“Micke, no ,” mama threw herself in front of him, pressing her back against the door- blocking the keyhole Simon was spying from, “no, the kids are in there, I don’t have your pills, they don’t have your pills. Please, just leave them alone!”
Mama was wailing, and Sara was screaming and everything was terrible and he couldn’t see without the light from the keyhole. The whole cellar was dark.
He’d always hated the dark.
“Move!”
“No. Micke please,”
“I said MOVE!”
Something crashed against the door and mama screamed. Simon heard the now familiar sound of a fist hitting flesh.
“Mama! Mama!”
“ Cálmate mi amor, está bien. Estoy bien. ”
“Mama!” It came out as half a sob. Sara was screaming beside him, her arms wrapped around her head. He could hear mama sniffling outside the door.
Bang!
Something smashed against the door and Simon reeled backwards with a scream of his own, dragging Sara with him.
Bang!
The door shuddered on its hinges, rattling the special lock mama had put on and told Sara to make sure she latched every time she told them to ‘go in the cellar, hurry!’ Sara always made sure it was latched.
BANG!
This time it was even louder. Simon screamed again, watching the lock rattle. Beside him, Sara was hyperventilating, eyes wide and panicked.
“Open this door!” The banging resumed, Dad banging on the door, louder and louder.
“Mantened la puerta cerrada,” mama called desperately, “ asegúrate de que permanezca bloqueada. No importa qué pase, no dejes que entre.”
Simon would’ve worried about Dad’s reaction to that but he didn’t need to bother. Dad had never bothered to learn Spanish so he had no idea what mama was saying.
The hammering continued, each sound causing Sara to scream and Simon to flinch.
“Mama por favor haz que se vaya.” That was Sara, “Por favor, estoy asustada.”
“Yo- yo también estoy asustado,” Simon agreed.
“Está bien, mis amores,” Mama assured them shakily, in a tone Simon would soon learn meant she was seriously in pain, “ Todo estará bien, lo prometo. Pronto podremos salir sin riesgo. .”
BANG!
“Please Micke, please, leave them be…”
The argument continued and so did the hammering, the door getting closer and closer to splintering off its hinges. Sara wrapped her arms around him and they sank to the floor, terrified tears rolling down both their cheeks.
He jerked out of the memory as suddenly as it had overwhelmed him, heart hammering. Sometimes memories of his dad seemed eons away, but on days like today, they simmered just under the surface, a heavy cloud that hung over the entire house, making everyone stressed and irritable.
“Simon, come here,” mama called urgently from the other room. He was on his feet in a flash, drying his tears and racing to the living room.
“What’s wrong? Are you ok?”
She nodded woodenly, curled up tightly under a knitted white blanket, paler than usual and her mouth pressed in a firm line. Her hands shook as she held one up, pointing at the TV.
Well fuck.
His stomach sank.
It appeared that some idiot journalist had managed to track down Micke. The footage being shown right now was of the man himself at a bar, obviously completely wasted and rambling nonsense into the reporter's microphone. Simon’s dad’s eyes were red rimmed with blown pupils, his speech slurred. He was so so high. It was obvious.
Simon felt tears prick his eyes. Fuck, this was all so humiliating . It was just like that time in second grade when his father had shown up drunk to pick him up from school, except instead of his classmates finding out and judging him, this time it was the entirety of Sweden.
The worst part was, he wasn’t even surprised. Disappointed yes, furious certainly, but not surprised. Micke never had been able to put his family first. Obviously he hadn’t changed in the years he'd been estranged from his ex wife and kids. He was still a miserable drunk. If he’d ever gone to rehab (which Simon doubted) he’d relapsed. He still couldn’t pull himself together into any semblance of a man, let alone a father.
Simon watched his father fumble a bit more on screen, listened to him babble incomprehensibly, dropping his name or Sara’s into his rant every once in a while, listened to him beg mama to take him back through the TV screen- the same stupid shit he tried on the rare occasion he saw her in person. Suddenly it was all too much.
“Turn it off,” Simon demanded, “I don’t want to look at him anymore.”
From behind him Sara made a noise of agreement from where she was leaning against the doorframe.
Mama flipped to a different channel, which was currently going through what seemed like a montage of the worst details from the old police statements. A picture of Simon with a bruise on his cheekbone flashed across the screen. He averted his eyes, and mama sniffled. He hated that photo and he knew mama did too, a reminder of the one and only time Micke had landed a hit on him. At least, the only time before that awful night when Micke had that bad fix and mama had no choice but to bundle them up and run .
Sara wrapped a careful arm around his shoulders and he flinched before relaxing slightly and leaning against her. She was still mad at him- he could tell from the slight stiffness in the comforting gesture- but her brown eyes were warm when she offered him a tired smile. It was hard to stay mad at each other on days like today, no matter how furious they were. The shadow of Micke only ever served to draw them closer, drew Sara’s protective side to the forefront just as much as it did Linda’s and Simon’s. Maybe even more so.
The broadcast changed, Micke’s face popping up again on the screen.
Simon huffed. Other networks were already picking the interview with Micke up. Fucking wonderful. He was going to get in so much shit for this- Queen Kristina would use it as further proof he wasn’t good enough for Wille.
Why did Micke have to ruin everything? He wasn’t even around anymore and he still continued to mess up Simon’s life.
“This was supposed to be done,” Sara said from beside him, glaring at the television, “We were supposed to never have to see him again.”
“Sara-“ Mama started.
“Sara’s right,” Simon cut her off, “he’s not even around anymore and he still ruins everything. I hate him.”
“Me too.” Sara agreed.
Linda’s eyes were sad.
“No you don’t. Do you know how I know?”
They shook their heads.
“Because you both have such big hearts, bigger than he ever had. Big enough to still love him after all the shit he put you through, to love him after everything, every chance you gave him when he disappointed you.”
Sara studied her feet, and Simon felt himself getting choked up again.
“Maybe I don’t hate him,” he whispered, “but I want to. Everything would be so much easier.”
“I think I do hate him,” Sara said just as quietly, “I think he scared all the love out of me.”
“Oh my darlings,” Mama’s lip trembled, and she drew them into a tight hug, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should’ve protected you better.”
“It’s not your fault, mama,” Sara said before Simon had a chance to, and he couldn’t help but feel bad about the jolt of surprise that ran through him. Often he wondered- no believed - that Sara blamed Mama for what Dad had done to them. It was nice to know that wasn’t the case.
“Your anger is justified,” Mama murmured to them, caressing both curly heads, “just remember who you’re angry at. Don’t hurt each other because you’re mad at Micke. Don’t let him take any more from you.”
Simon squeezed his family tighter, burying his face in his mother’s shoulder.
“I don't want to forgive him,” Sara mumbled.
Mama’s grip tightened almost painfully. Only almost. She’d never hurt either of them. Not even by accident.
“You don’t need to. You owe no one your forgiveness, especially not your father.”
“Do you forgive him?” Simon blurted before he could stop himself. He knew mama was still afraid of Dad, but he could never tell what her current feelings were towards her ex husband. She was very good at hiding her emotions- Simon hated that he knew the reason was because Micke’s moods could change at the drop of a hat when he was drunk, and Mama had never known what emotion could set him off. Simon hated that his mama could still turn herself blank in a second, as soon as she felt uncomfortable. It was one of the many things that was second nature to her that shouldn’t be. He wasn’t exactly one to talk- he had his own nervous ticks left over from growing up around Micke, his own defence mechanisms. All of them did, had invisible scars that were just as real as the one on his arm from that last horrible night. Just as real. Just as permanent.
Mama didn’t even need to think about it.
“No,” She said, “I don’t forgive him, and never will. Maybe I forgive him for some of the things he did to me, but I will never forgive him for hurting you both. Never.”
“Do you hate him?” Sara asked quietly.
Mama didn’t answer as quickly this time.
“Y-yes,” she admitted at last, her voice trembling, “I don’t think- you were both so little when he got into hard drugs. You never knew him before when he…he used to be kind. Sweet. He bought me flowers. Defended me from bullies when we were in school, called me the best thing that ever happened to him, promised to keep me safe. Yes, I think…I think it’s ok for me to hate him. He broke so many promises, used everything I ever trusted him with against me for the sole purpose of hurting me. He hurt you two to hurt me. I don’t- I don’t know what the drugs broke inside of him or if they just exposed who he really is but…I hate him.”
Nobody said anything for a while after that, the three of them just soaking up the comfort of being together, locked in the safety of each other’s arms.
Eventually Sara sniffled and pulled away, going back to her room to call Felice again, and Mama went back to the couch. Simon curled up beside her with his head in her lap and she ran a hand absentmindedly through his hair, changing the channel to one of the telenovelas Simon often mocked her and Sara for watching, and would never admit he secretly loved.
“I’m sorry,” Simon broke the peaceful silence as the two main characters made out furiously on screen, “It’s my fault all this got dug up, it’s my fault it’s all over the news. I’m sorry.”
“Oh cariño, no, it’s not your fault,” his mama cooed, still caressing his hair gently, “I don’t know who found all this but it’s their fault not yours. You loving Wilhelm and being a public figure is not what caused this. You have nothing to apologize for.”
Simon was getting really sick of crying, but tears pricked his eyes anyway. He was an emotional mess today.
“Do you think...” he swallowed heavily, “I haven’t told Wilhelm about dad yet. Do you think he’ll be mad at me for not telling him, for letting him find out this way? Especially since it’s a scandal now. I haven’t even called him yet to explain.”
“Simon,” his mama gave him a look, “your boy loves you with everything he has- I’d have to be blind not to see that, and to see that you love him the same way; but regardless of that, you don’t owe him this. This is your past, your secret to tell. I’m sorry it got leaked in the press but you shouldn’t feel bad for not confiding in Wilhelm about it. I know you would have eventually, when you were ready. I also know it’s hard to talk about.”
“I just…” Simon bit his lip, debating, “I just feel so ashamed. I know it’s stupid and it wasn’t my fault but…is it so bad I didn’t want Wille to know? He’s so perfect and I just didn’t want him to know this part of me. The broken part.”
“You can be ashamed of your father,” mama said wisely, “but you shouldn’t be ashamed of yourself. You didn’t deserve what he did to you but you survived it. That is something to be proud of. You have a man who doesn’t know how to love as your father, but you love so deeply. You aren’t broken, my love. Never broken- just bruised. As for Wille…you say you love him. Love isn’t always pretty, isn’t just the good parts or the easy ones. It’s the hard parts too. I know you already know that,” she gave him a meaningful look, “but it applies to everything, not just the here and now. Like it or not, your father is a part of you. Maybe not a part you are proud of, but a part of you nevertheless. You don’t have to tell Wille all of it, but I think you might feel better if you talk to him about some of it. Or at least explain to him why you don’t want to, why you haven’t called him back.”
Simon nodded. She was right, as usual. Deep down he knew Wille wouldn’t be mad at him, wouldn’t pity him if Simon said he didn’t want him to (which he didn’t), but still, it was hard to convince himself. Wille had plenty of his own issues, and the Queen wasn’t an ideal parent by any means, but there was nothing about the prince’s life like this. And Wille hadn’t ever kept a secret this big from him, hadn’t danced around the subject when asked about it directly, then ghosted him when it came out in a huge scandal.
God, Simon was a horrible boyfriend. If Wille broke up with him for this he’d understand, as heartbroken as he’d inevitably be.
He sighed as he returned to his bedroom and turned on his phone, which immediately started vibrating with an influx of texts and missed calls. He would never get used to that.
He ignored the calls from various news teams and pointedly ignored those from the palace’s PR team, instead focusing on the messages from Wille, along with the notification for three missed calls.
Simon omg I just saw the news, are you ok?
Simon this looks really bad, please call me back.
Mama is going ballistic, please just tell me what’s going on
PR is pissed, I told them to go fuck themselves and not to bother you. Call me when you can❤️
Thinking of you❤️ Please can you just text me so I know you’re ok
Simon, they’re saying they’ve got your dad on TV now. Just thought you should know. I’m here as soon as you need me.❤️
I’m sorry if I’m being overbearing but I’m just really worried about you. Please just let me know you’re ok.
Simon?
If I don’t hear from you in the next half hour I’m coming over to check on you. I’ll leave if you tell me to but I just need to make sure you’re alright.
The last one was sent twenty minutes ago.
Shit .
Not that Simon was against seeing Wille in person, not at all, in fact he preferred to talk with him in person, always wanted to be around him, felt most at peace when he was wrapped in Wille’s strong arms. But if Wille had left the palace twenty minutes ago that meant Simon had less than ten minutes to tidy up and try and erase the damage that nearly six hours of crying on and off had done to his face. He wasn’t vain per se but he liked to look good for Wille and right now he was definitely at his ugliest, his curls tangled, eyes red rimmed and puffy, and skin starting to break out due to stress. Dried tear tracks made trails on his cheeks and he was also still in his pajamas. Overall he was a mess.
He’d only had a chance to brush half his hair when there was a tentative knock on the door.
“I’ll get it,” he assured Mama, who nodded, her eyes still fixed on the TV.
“Tell Wilhelm he’s welcome to anything in the fridge. I think there’s still a few arepas left over from last night unless Sara ate them all.”
He nodded his thanks, scrubbing a hand through his still ruined hair on his way.
Even though he was expecting him, the second Simon opened the door he froze, eyes zeroing in on his clearly very concerned boyfriend. Wille didn’t seem to notice, immediately blurting out a nervous rant.
“Simon! Oh thank god. Listen, I’m sorry for just showing up but you wouldn’t answer your phone and I was so worried -“
He was cut off when Simon threw himself into his arms, the tears flowing again for the millionth time that day. Fuck , he really didn’t mean to keep crying, but his brain couldn’t seem to get the message.
“Thank you for coming,” he whimpered into Wille’s shoulder as the prince returned the embrace, his arms wrapping around Simon tightly, warmly, comfortingly. Safely . “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Oh, mitt hjärta,” Wille soothed, sounding heartbroken, “I’m so sorry about all of this. Are you ok? What can I do?”
Simon had been stupid, so incredibly stupid to have doubted Wille, doubted their relationship, doubted himself. He never should have hidden Micke from him, never should have feared his rejection or disappointment, never should have believed he’d be disgusted, ashamed to call Simon his knowing what had happened. Wille was far too good for that- it was an insult Simon had even thought it. Wille was warm and comforting and overwhelmingly safe; he made Simon happier than anything in the world, knew how to take care of him better than anyone (other than mama). He should never have ignored Wille today, should never have turned off his phone and ghosted him- not when it was clear to him now that Wille had been what he’d needed all day, a warm security blanket he hadn’t realized was missing but was causing him more stress than he’d realized. Wille was the calm before the storm. No, scratch that, he was the eye of the storm itself, the one spot of security in all the fear and madness. Now that he was here, Simon didn’t want to ever let him go.
“You’re here,” he couldn’t help but sniffle, clutching Wilhelm tighter. “Oh I love you so much. Thank god, you’re here. You’re here .”
“Of course I am,” his boyfriend soothed, “I love you. I’ll always be here for you, Simme.”
“I’m sorry.” Simon looked up at him with teary eyes, noticing the pain and worry shining in Wilhelm’s gorgeous brown irises, “I’m so sorry. I should have at least told you, and probably should have told your PR team, and I shouldn’t have ghosted you that was so shitty. I’m so glad you’re here but if you can’t forgive me for lying to you and you want to break up I understand, but I swear I’ll never hiding something like this from you again-“
“Simon.” Wille cut him off firmly, “Min älskling. Mitt hjärta, mi amor, I’m not breaking up with you, not ever, but especially not over this. I don’t care that you didn’t want to tell PR and I understand why you turned off your phone. I just wished you had talked to me about it- or at least texted me you were ok. I was so worried, älskling. I still am. God, and when I didn’t hear from you I was terrified . Seeing those pictures of you all bruised up and Linda bloodied, listening to all the reporters pick through those reports of- of abuse.” He forced the word out like it physically pained him to say it, “god it was torture . It was like I was in hell, knowing you were hurting, seeing all the ways you’ve been hurt in the past on a loop but being powerless to do anything, forced to just sit by and watch without being able to check on you. Please, I don’t ever want to go through this again. You don’t need to tell me everything, but please…please don’t shut me out again.”
“I won’t,” Simon promised. “I swear. I’m sorry I- it was just- and then I read all those reports, and saw all those pictures, and, and it was like I was living it all over again, remembering everything , and then he- he did that stupid tv interview high as a fucking kite-“
He could hear himself rambling, knew that he wasn’t making any sense, that Wille didn’t even properly know who he was talking about, but it was like he couldn’t stop now that Wille was here, holding him, and everything was finally going to be ok.
“Shh,” Wille’s voice was so soft, so caring, as he pressed a gentle kiss to Simon’s cheek, “try to calm down. Let’s get you back inside.”
He gently led him through the doorway, keeping an arm wrapped tightly around Simon’s shoulders. He called a soft greeting to Linda but didn’t linger, instead pulling Simon into his bedroom and softly closing the door behind them.
Wille sat down on the edge of Simon’s bed and opened his arms, letting the curly haired boy fall into them gratefully, still sniffling.
“Oh my love,” Wille sounded so sad , “I’m right here, you’re ok, I’ve got you.”
He rocked Simon back and forth as if he were a small child who needed to be placated. With a jolt Simon realized that in a way that’s exactly what he was. Unbeknownst to Wille he was soothing not only the teenage version of him that existed now, but the scared little boy he used to be who wanted nothing more than to be cared for and loved.
“You’re too good to me,” Simon murmured into Wille’s chest where his head was resting over the prince’s heart.
“Impossible,” Wille mumbled back, pressing a kiss to Simon’s hair, “you deserve the world.”
In response, Simon buried his face further into Wille’s chest, inhaling the crisp, fresh scent of his royal boyfriend. Wille was in a button down today (probably because Simon’s latest scandal had forced him to spend the day in meetings) which Simon felt kind of bad about, but couldn’t feel too bad about because Wille filled out a suit very very well. Usually (on a day where he wasn’t feeling so miserable) the sight of Wille in his button down and the smell of his cologne would have already led to Simon getting him out of said button down (and the rest of his clothes) as fast as humanly possible. Unfortunately, today he just wasn’t in the mood.
Eventually Wille must have started getting stiff from the awkward way Simon was practically on top of him (Simon himself was very comfortable), because he scooped Simon up (if Simon couldn’t help but swoon at that it was nobody’s business) and set him down carefully on his pillow before lying next to him on top of the covers.
“Simon,” Wille brushed his curls off his forehead, the movement repetitive and soothing, “do you want to talk about it?”
“Yes,” Simon admitted, “but I don’t know if I want you to listen.”
“I can go,” Wille started sitting up.
“No!” Simon wailed, hurriedly pulling him back down, “No, I want you to stay. I’m just afraid of what you’ll think.”
“Simme…”
“I know it’s stupid. I do . But it’s just…so much. It’s really personal but it’s mostly embarrassing and I don’t- I don’t want you to be embarrassed of me.”
“Simon,” Wille murmured, gently stroking the hair out of his face, “I could never be ashamed of you.”
Simon exhaled shakily, and nodded.
“My dad,” he cleared his throat, “Micke, is an alcoholic and a junkie. He has been since before I was even born, but it wasn’t so bad when I was little. He was mostly just drunk then, or if he was mixing it up with drugs it was usually just pot. He didn’t do it all the time either, and when he did come home and he was out of it, he always played with us more or talked mama into dancing with him around the living room. I remember,” Simon swallowed, “I remember when I was really little, probably around three years old, that I used to look forward to the nights when he came home reeking of booze or stinking like a joint because in my stupid little three year old brain those night were always the most fun.”
He fell silent for a minute, his face shadowed in a way that Wilhelm realized meant he was reminiscing.
“Anyway,” Simon shook himself a bit and continued, his voice hollow, “when I was about five he lost his job. The construction company he was working for went bankrupt and at the time mama was just finishing her college program so we suddenly didn’t have any income. Dad got a job at the lotto booth in the mall while mama finished her degree but he hated it. He started coming home drunk more and more and quit the same day mama graduated. Then…” Simon gulped, looking like the next words physically pained him, “then things got worse. Suddenly it wasn’t just booze or weed, he got into hard drugs. LSD, ecstasy, shrooms. Anything he could get his hands on really, and suddenly…suddenly it was like my dad was gone, replaced by this- this monster . For a while Sara had me convinced that dad had an evil twin. This man yelled when my dad would’ve laughed. He told us we’d ruined his life when we asked him to play. He never helped make dinner or clean up anymore, just sat in front of the tv with a beer, scowling at anyone who went near him. He just got worse and worse and then eventually he…he started hitting mama.”
“We used to hide in the cellar,” Simon confessed quietly, “me and Sara, on the nights when he was really bad. When he was…violent and completely out of his head. Mama installed a lock on the inside and taught us to latch it whenever we went in there. I used to watch through the keyhole while dad raged at mama and she tried to calm him down. Sometimes it worked, but more often than not it didn’t and he’d end up hurting her. She wouldn’t even have time for one bruise to fade before he came home pissed again and gave her another one.” He let out a shuddering breath, feeling Wilhelm’s arms wrap around him tighter. Protectively .
“I still…I still can’t go into the cellar anymore,” Simon whispered into the crook of Wilhelm’s neck, a dark secret he’d never disclosed to anyone other than mama. He hadn’t even told his therapist . “It terrifies me, reminds me too much of…of those nights. It’s not even the same cellar but I-I still can’t.”
“Oh my darling…” Wilhelm was anguished, looking at him with so much love, so much concern that Simon wanted to cry. He rushed on explaining before the tears could fall. If he cried now he was afraid he’d start sobbing so much he wouldn’t be able to finish explaining everything to Wille, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to talk about it again if he didn’t say it now.
“He- he only really landed a hit on me once.” Simon confessed, his voice shaking, “He was plastered out of his head, beating mama worse than usual, and she- she fell, hit her head, and…and she didn’t get up right away. I was so scared I- I unlocked the cellar door and me and Sara ran right over to her. She was conscious but just barely. Dad gave me a black eye and grabbed Sara’s arm hard enough to leave bruises before we managed to get back into the cellar. Mama- mama almost left him after that. That was almost the worst night. We-we made police reports and everything but we were still at home for a while.”
“Almost?” Wilhelm was almost afraid to ask.
“Yeah. Almost.” Simon’s tone darkened even further, “the worst night was a few weeks after. He came home early one night, earlier than he usually did. Mama was upstairs doing laundry when he came in, and Sara and I were watching tv in the living room. He found us and- it- it was bad. He-“ Simon’s breath hitched, “he-“
“Simon, you don’t have to tell me,” Wilhelm assured him.
“I do! I want to,” Simon huffed, shaking his head. “I just don’t like thinking about it.”
Wilhelm pressed a kiss to his temple.
“Anyway he found us that night,” Simon continued, “and he was worse than he’d ever been. His rage was…terrifying. He- he threw Sara into the coffee table and he- he broke my arm before mama could even get downstairs.”
“He broke your arm ?”
“Compound fracture.” Simon answered blankly, “After that he beat mama half to death before she managed to grab Sara and I and ran . I honestly think he might have killed her if she hadn’t. She took us straight to the hospital. Mama…she was hurt pretty bad. Sara got fourteen stitches and a concussion test. I ended up getting surgery.”
“ Surgery? ”
“For my arm. A compound fracture is when the bone pokes through the skin. I needed surgery for them to repair it. I’ve still got the scar, see?” He held up his left arm, pointing to a thin pink line about an inch long, just above his elbow.
“ Jesus .”
“Yeah,” Simon laughed wryly. Somehow talking about the injury itself was easier than talking about the night he got it, “ Fuck, it hurt, Wille. I’ve never felt anything as painful as that before or since. Anyway after that we spent a few nights in the women’s shelter in Bjärstad before mama found us a place to stay.”
“Simon,” Wille hugged him tightly, wrapping all his limbs around him, not just his arms, and Simon sank deeper into his chest, overwhelmed with a feeling of safety. “ Älskling . I’m so sorry that happened to you. Is- is there anything I can do?”
“Just hold me for a while.” Simon shook his head, shaking out the last of the memories. “It’s over now. He’s gone, it’s ancient history. ”
Wilhelm rubbed a hand up and down his back, pressing kisses into his hair.
“I know addiction is a disease,” Simon said after a few minutes, sounding a lot more composed. “But it doesn’t excuse what he did.”
Wilhelm simply hummed, letting him gather his thoughts and put them into words without being interrupted.
“He shouldn’t have hurt mama or me or Sara. No matter how high or drunk or angry he was. We didn’t deserve it.”
“No you didn’t.” Wille was abruptly fierce, “I swear if he was here I’d- I’d-“
“Wille you don’t have to-“
“He hurt you,” Simon was startled to see tears cascading down Wille’s cheeks, “I hate him for that. How could anyone hurt you? How dare he hurt you?”
“Wille…” Simon didn’t know what to say. “It’s over now,” was what he eventually settled on. “We’re ok now, me and mama and Sara. We don’t even miss him anymore.”
“You’re so strong,” Wille murmured, “so strong, my love. But you shouldn’t have needed to be strong. You should have just been safe.”
And no one…no one had ever told him that before.
“God, you’re so perfect,” Simon breathed, “how’d I get so lucky?”
“I’m the lucky one.” Wille murmured back.
“Wille?”
“Hm?”
“What am I gonna do about the press?”
“ Fuck , ” Wille cursed, “I almost forgot about that. What do you want to do about it?”
Simon didn’t even have to think about it.
“That stuff is my past, my family drama. I shouldn’t have to answer to the entire country for it just ‘cause I’m famous now. My pain and my privacy should not be the price I pay to be with you. I don’t want to say anything about it, which means I don’t want to do any interviews or appearances like we had to do after the video. ”
“Then you won’t have to,” Wille promised, “I’ll talk to PR and legal tomorrow, get them to draft some generic statement asking for privacy and the legal teams getting the police reports- or at least the photos- off the air. How does that sound?”
“Sounds perfect.” Simon sighed, nuzzling gratefully into Wille’s chest. Warm. Safe . His prince was taking care of him, as if he was a precious treasure that Wille was determined to keep in one piece. Despite the stress of the day and the heaviness of their conversation, Simon’s heart was full. “Thank you, Wille.”
“Of course. Anything for you, mitt hjärta.”
With his boyfriend close, the scandal to be dealt with, and memories of his father pushed out of his head after speaking them into existence, Simon could finally relax, for the first time all day.
He exhaled slowly, sinking into Wille’s warmth and the smell of safe .
A few minutes later, he was asleep.