Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

…and that was ’Landslide’ by Fleetwood Mac. Thank you so much to Anna for sending in the request. You’re listening to Late night Vibes with Simon on The Vibe FM, 104.6. I’m your host Simon Eriksson and I will be here with you all night. So for all you night owls, insomniacs, night shift workers, let me keep you company. I promise to only play good music and that we’ll have a good time. Here’s some new music from First Aid Kit to kick us off.

Wille doesn’t know when it started. When falling asleep had turned into an increasingly large project, a task that’s supposed to be as easy as breathing suddenly impossible. His mind failing him, his body betraying itself.

’You need to sleep or you’ll die’ he tells himself. His tired body agrees, wants nothing more than the relief of a good night’s slumber to soothe the headache, the stiffness in his joints, the feeling of lead-like heaviness in his limbs. Still he can’t.

He’d always slept well as a child, Erik having teased him for dozing off to movies, for sleeping so heavy that the castle could have burned down through the night without Wille even noticing.

After moving away from home it had started getting more difficult, especially after his brother’s tragic passing, but still, during the three years at Hillerska he slept mostly fine. Sure, he stayed up late studying a lot and had a habit of snoozing through his alarms, but then again what sixteen year old doesn’t? There was the occasional night when nightmares and aching memories of his brother took over, leaving him sweaty and trembling, staining his pillows with salty tears, but what sixteen year old spare prince suddenly finding himself heir to the throne and having to adjust to life without the most important person in their life doesn’t? Not that there would be that many others in the same situation but still, Wille doesn’t think it’s that abnormal.

Now, at twenty-two and elbow-deep into finding his way through the maze that is navigating the rest of his life as Crown Prince, as public servant, as a public figure who’s life is entirely open for his country’s scrutiny, it’s like whatever he does he just can’t seem to do it. Sleep that is. Chamomile tea, no screens before bedtime, weight blankets, rainforest sounds. He’s tried it all.

He counts sheep. One, two, three- turning into four hundred twenty two, four hundred twenty three-... At this point Wille is pretty sick of sheep, kind of wants to strangle their fluffy little heads. They turn increasingly horrifying the longer he tries to picture them. Soft and white and fluffy slowly being replaced by grey-ish disfigured animals with large teeth and a ’baah' so shrill it makes the hairs on his neck stand up.

It feels like a failure every time the sun rises, when his assistant knocks on his door with coffee and today’s schedule and he’s still holding on to the last sliver of hope that he’ll manage to catch a few minutes of sleep. It feels like a failure when he dozes off in meetings throughout the day and is met with his mother’s stern gaze, the disappointment apparent in her face. 

Failure. Failure. Failure.

The words seem to echo, multiply, come at him from all angles. Taunting him. It does not help with the sleeping. The sheep are now screaming them at him. It’s funny how they seem to have taken on his mother’s face, her signature dismayed expression.

Wille is a prince, a Crown Prince and he can’t sleep at night.

Sometimes he thinks about that old fairytale about the Princess and the Pea and how the fact that she couldn’t sleep even on the thickest pile of mattresses meant she was a real princess. But there is no pea under his mattress (he’s checked) and he’s not too sure about him even being a real prince. Erik was. But Wilhelm isn't him. Wilhelm can’t seem to do anything right, can’t remember any of the important names or the proper way to behave or how to speak in front of a crowd without feeling like he’s going to throw up so is he even a real prince then? Is he meant for this life? He's not too sure. 

Or maybe his pea simply isn’t a real legume, but rather a metaphorical one, consisting of the overwhelming emptiness and discomfort he’s been carrying around with him for years. Aching and chafing, painting him lilac with bruises. Maybe he really is the Prince on the Pea. Meant for this life, meant to carry the bruises as a sign of his suitability, his sacrifice.

Wille would rather be the Sleeping Beauty kind of Royalty. At least she got to wake up well-rested. A hundred year-long nap sounds pretty damn good right now.

He stumbles over the radio show one night by accident. Since he’s not allowed to be on his phone, the sheep can’t seem to stop screaming at him whenever he closes his eyes and his swimming mind is too tired to understand any of the words in the book he’d picked up, he’s turned on the old radio on the coffee table. It’s meant to be purely decorative Wille supposes, but it does turn to life when he plugs it in and presses the on-button.

The static fills the quiet room in an almost pleasant way, the crackling tuning out the thoughts in his head, makes it suddenly quiet, calm. Wille twists the knob experimentally, turns it slowly until the soft tones of an old classic rock song can be made out, staticky at first but gradually clearer as he fiddles with the knob, trying to get the best signal.

’You’re listening to Late Night Vibes with Simon on The Vibe FM, the station where we play good music only. For anyone out there who can’t sleep for whatever reason, I’m your guy, let me keep you company through the night. We have some interesting topics we’re going to chat about tonight, we’re also going to check in with some of our listeners and as always feel free to send in song requests. If it’s good I might even play it. Here is a request from Emil who’s working the night shift at the hospital and wants to hear ’Somewhere only we know’ by Keane. Good choice, here’s to you Emil!”

Music fills the room again, familiar lyrics tugging at Wille’s heart, reminding him of how Erik had always loved the song, had played it on the piano in their favorite room on the fourth floor sometimes at weekends, smiling widely at Wille over the top of the baby-grand. The memory feels warm, comforting and all of a sudden Wille feels better, like he’s not alone anymore, like the night is more than the overwhelming pressure of failing to sleep. He lies awake, curled up next to the radio, listening to the radio show host discuss the best albums of the past year, take calls from listeners and only ever play good songs. Eventually he falls asleep to a soft voice in his ear musing about whether or not pineapple on pizza should be considered a crime. It’s the best sleep he’s had in months.

He listens to the radio show almost every night after that. Finds comfort in the easy way Simon-the-host chats with his listeners, offering well-thought out advice to people seeking that, jokes around with others. And the music is really good. ’Good music only’ they promise and Simon never fails to deliver.

While Simon doesn’t talk a lot about himself Wille picks up the few crumbs he offers. He’s 22 just like himself, Late Night Vibes is his first job in radio but he’d had a pretty popular podcast before. He has a sister that he adores judging by the way he lovingly mentions her in passing every now and then. And, most importantly, Simon has no problems saying what he thinks. Always tactfully of course, but whenever asked about his opinion on topics he’s not afraid to speak his mind, to criticize societal problems, to encourage discussion and debate. Wille admires him.

One thing he’s never late to comment on is the monarchy.

'Hello caller, what topic would you like to discuss today?’

’Hi Simon, this is Maria from Borås. I was just wondering if you’d heard about the rumors of Queen Kristina paying off the alleged victim of the recent scandal involving the Prince’s second cousin August of Årnäs? Oh and I would like to hear Wonderwall.’

’Hi Maria, I’ll play that for you in just a sec. And no, I hadn’t heard about that actually as I’m not particularly interested in the monarchy but I can’t say that I’m surprised. Honestly I think it’s astonishing how we as a modern society still insist on dragging that dead horse around. Monarchy that is. Imagine how much good we could do with all that money we spend on them, how it could go towards education and health care and other important and underfunded publicly funded services. I mean, I know they function as a representation of Sweden and all and that they sometimes do some charity work for appearances sake but how much good has Queen Kristina really done for our country? In comparison to how much we pay for her that is. That’s something to think about. Anyway, rant over, feel free to call in if you want to add to the conversation. Here’s ’Wonderwall’ for you Maria.’

Wille snorts out a laugh, shakes his head bemusedly. If only his mother could have heard how this little night-time radio host just questioned her entire life’s work. She’d be livid for sure. His mother who constantly goes on and on about the importance of tradition, how the monarchy represents stability and elegance, its mere existence proof of a country proud of its history, embracing old traditions even in a society that moves forward.

Wille, while never having thought that much about his own role (apart from not wanting it), his family’s relevance and function, surprisingly finds himself agreeing with Simon. Thinks that while it might be good to know your past, celebrate your traditions, that sometimes clinging to it might make it difficult to move forward. 

And before his mind has caught up to his actions his phone is in his hand, trembling fingers dialing a number he’s already committed to memory. Wonderwall is still playing from the radio while he presses the phone to his ear. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears along with the ringing tones of the outgoing call. Wille wishes no one will pick up. Or maybe that someone will. He's not really sure.

”This is Late Night Vibes, who am I speaking to?” It’s a man’s voice. Not Simon’s. Wille rubs at his chest, tries to ease the tension having slowly built there. Wonderwall is still playing from the radio.

”Hi,” he says at last. ”Hi. I’m Wille. I- I just wanted to- um- comment on that last thing that was discussed on the show. And request a song.”

The voice in his ear chuckles warmly. ”Hi Wille, I’m Ayub, thanks for calling. I’ll put you through to Simon in a minute. Remember to turn your radio down in the meantime to prevent echoes, okay?”

Wille nods before remembering that Ayub can’t see him. ”Okay.”

His hands are shaking as he turns the knob on his old radio, the Oasis chorus gradually making room for an almost deafening silence. This was a bad idea. He should probably hang up now. He will hang up now, yes, right away. 

Except then there’s a rustling on the other side of the line and a familiar voice filling the loud silence.

’I believe we have a caller on the line! Hello, who am I speaking to?’

Wille can hear the swooshing sound of his own heartbeat loudly pounding in his ears. The hand pressing the phone to his ear is shaking. This was a bad idea. A very very bad idea. Letting his hand holding the phone fall back down to his lap his other one hovers above the ’end call’-button. Just a prank call, nothing else. Probably happens all the time. Simon will get over it.

’Hello? Can you hear me?’

And just like that, Wille’s resilience is blown away and his phone is at his ear again, aching to get closer to the familiar sound of Simon’s voice in his ear. ”Oh- um- hi” he manages to croak out.

’Hi. I’m Simon on ’Late night Vibes’, who am i speaking to?’

”I’m- I’m- uh- Wille”. He curses internally, wonders how in the world twenty years of etiquette lessons haven’t made him smoother than this. But Simon laughs, warm and kind in his ear.

’Hi Wille’ he says. ’What are you doing up at four am on a Tuesday?’

”Oh, nothing much really. Can’t sleep and I’ve run out of patience for reading.”

’Well I’m glad to be able to provide some company although I am sorry to hear that. Listen, Wille, I was told you had something to add to our previous topic of discussion?’

”Oh, yes- I- I just wanted to say that I really liked what you said there Simon. I agree that it’s ridiculous to spend so much money on one family solely for representative reasons. Why should they have eleven castles when many people don’t even have a roof over their heads? Oh and the second cousin, August, should be held accountable for what he did.”

Wille’s heart is pounding a thousand beats per minute, the words having left his mouth before his mind had even had a chance to register them. Oh god. What if his mother finds out. What if the press finds out. What’s even worse than having an incompetent Crown Prince would definitely be having one openly expressing dislike for the monarchy itself.

But Simon’s voice is soft and smooth in his ear, like honey for soothing a sore throat, softly easing its way through his panicking thoughts. ’That’s a good point’ he says. ’Imagine turning even one of those castles into a shelter or something for people in need, that would be quite something. Thank you for contributing to the discussion Wille, now would you like to request a song?’

”I’d like to hear ’Heaven’ by Jung if that’s okay?”

’And would you like to dedicate it to anyone special?’

”Oh- um- you.” He draws in a quick breath, realizes his mistake. ”I mean- I- just mean to your show and you for providing such nice entertainment for sleepless nights. I really appreciate it.”

’That’s very kind of you to say Wille, I’m happy to be able to give you that. Thanks for calling in and have a good night. Here’s ’Heaven’ for you.’

There’s a soft click in his ear as the call disconnects and he stares at it dumbfoundedly for a bit, the absence of Simon’s voice in his ear prompting an uncomfortable ache in his chest, one making him once again rub at it, sharp knuckles against the cotton of his t-shirt. He lets his hand move in circles, draws a couple of deep breaths until he realizes how quiet it is, that the radio is still off and that he’s now missing his own song. Shaky fingers on the old volume knob and soon enough Simon’s voice will fill his ears again.

Chapter Text

’Hello caller, you’re live on the air. I’m Simon and this is Late Night Vibes. Who am I speaking to?’

"Hi. Um- I’m- it’s- uh- Wille. Again."
His mother would be appalled by his disgraceful slaughtering of the Swedish language. His etiquette teacher would rip her hair out. Or perhaps his. The PR team, used to his lack of poise at this point, would probably merely resort to rolling their eyes and immediately get to work on damage control. But right now he’s not Prince Wilhelm, not held back by need for delicate phrasings and good word choices. Now he’s just Wille, just a boy who sometimes stumbles over his words on live radio. It’s nice.

Simon’s laugh is like sunshine in his ears, warming him up to his very core.’Well, hello to you Wille’ he says. ’It’s nice to hear from you again, another sleepless night?’

Wille thinks back to the way his eyes had fallen shut at lunch today, at the stifled laughs and the poorly hidden glances thrown his way when his mother’s sharp elbow in his ribs had brought him back to the world of the living. And still he can’t seem to accomplish that very same thing right now.

”You could say that” he says, trying but failing to keep his tone light, even.

’I’m sorry to hear that. Well, Wille, we’ve been talking about Winter Olympics, or rather my lack of knowledge of all things related to winter sports. Do you have anything to add, or perhaps want to lecture me about supposedly being common knowledge?’

Wille doesn’t, not really. He does have a general understanding of the majority of the sports since he’s been to a number of Olympics in his official role as Prince but he can’t say that though, can’t be Wilhelm-the-prince here, only Wille. He’s not sure why he’d even called, he’d just had this overwhelming urge to hear Simon’s voice after the day he’d had, to hear Simon speaking to him directly, feel like more than just one in a faceless crowd of listeners out there on the grid. 

”Well I must say I was surprised to hear you’d never heard about biathlon. Or curling.” He tries to keep his tone light, gently teasing.

Simon laughs again. ’Well what can I say, I’m raised in a latin american household, I don’t get why people feel the need to exercise in the cold.’

”I won’t argue with you there. The best part about winter sports is when you get to go inside for hot chocolate.” 

’A man of my own heart. You are so right, Wille. Would you like to request a song?’

”Could you play ’Nangilima’ by Smith & Thell?”

’Absolutely. Coming right up. We’ll be back with that song along with more music and calls from our listeners after this short commercial break.’

Wille remains on the phone, waits for the telltale beep to show that his time with Simon has come to an end. It doesn’t. Instead there’s a rustling on the other side of the line, the faraway sound of someone’s breathing.

”Simon- I- I think you forgot to hang up the phone” he tries hesitantly.

”Oh, Wille, sorry. Actually I kind of wanted to ask something.” Simon pauses for a second, silence hanging between them. ”Please tell me if I’m overstepping but you sounded a bit down when I first picked up earlier. Are you okay?”

Wille’s heart seems to have sprouted wings with the way it flutters anxiously behind his ribcage.
Is he okay? He’s not sure if anyone has ever cared enough to ask that before. Not since Erik that is.

He clears his throat, tries to swallow down the heavy lump there. ”Oh, um- it’s just a bad week, that’s all. And I’ve been- I’ve just been feeling a bit lonely going through it by myself. I don't really have anyone to talk to about it. Thanks for asking though. And thanks for your show, it’s like the one thing keeping me from going insane these sleepless nights.” It feels scary to admit this out loud, like he’s putting his insides out there for Simon to inspect, to judge, scrutinize. Much like every other part of his life already is.

But Simon is Simon and so he doesn’t judge, doesn’t comment on it. Doesn’t pick the feathers off his fluttering heart.

”Oh Wille,” he says gently. ”If my ridiculous babbling can be of any help then I’m more than happy to be of service. And- I- I honestly don’t know why I’m even telling you this, but I do sometimes feel a bit lonely too. The nights can be long and at times it feels like I’m going crazy just talking to myself for hours on end. It’s nice to know that there’s someone out there actually enjoying my company.”

”I do. I really do.” Wille says because he can’t think of any other words to say and his heart is feeling so full and so empty at the same time.

Simon’s breathing is soft in his ear, silence hanging between them for a moment before he clears his throat. ”Well, I have to go back now actually. Take care Wille, okay?” 

”Thank you Simon. You too.”

There’s a soft click as Simon hangs up and Wille, once again, is left stunned, his phone clutched tightly to his chest, almost like part of Simon is still in there.

He catches his breath quicker this time around, almost knocks the radio to the floor in his haste to turn up the volume.

’And we’re back! I’m Simon, this is Late Night Vibes on The Vibe FM and now we’ll hear from Smith and Thell with their ’Nangilima’. Here’s to you Wille.’

Wille’s heart does another weird thing, his chest filling with a sensation different from the usual tightness of his anxiety, tension of stress and sleep-deprivation. This feels like cotton candy and clouds and sunrises all wrapped up into one.

He tries to soothe his hammering heart beat, takes deep breaths and tucks himself in under his heavy blanket, directing his focus to the song (his song) and nothing else. It doesn’t work, he’s still wide awake, squirming anxiously under the covers until his sheets are all rumpled and tangled up in knots around his bare legs.

Simon keeps discussing winter sports (he’s apparently really into figure skating, says that it’s the only one that makes sense to watch because it’s like dancing and he loves dancing), advises a broken-hearted crying girl to leave her cheating boyfriend because she deserves better and plays exactly thirteen songs (seven requests and six of his own choosing). Not that Wille is counting (he is and Simon’s songs are the better choices). Wille himself tries in vain to fall sleep, chases that comforting feeling he usually gets from the radio show, one where he can convince his mind of allowing for at least three hours of sleep when Simon’s slot starts drawing to an end. Tonight there’s no point, he squirms and counts three hundred and eighty two monster sheep and tries to make Simon’s voice in his ear blend into a smooth background hum like usual but to no avail.

As his assistant makes her way into his room at eight in the morning his eyes are still open and the sheets tangled around him like vile snakes, choking his body but leaving his mind to its fate of restless wandering for all of eternity.

”Good morning Crown Prince Wilhelm” Alva chirps, setting down a golden breakfast tray with coffee, orange juice and a stack of pancakes on it next to the radio. It’s still on, softly playing the morning show now, a news anchor discussing current world events. Wille wonders where Simon disappears off to after his show, if he goes straight home to sleep or if he sticks around for breakfast. Maybe him and the Ayub-guy from the phone are friends and they go have breakfast together. The hypothetical idea makes him smile, wish for it to be true.

”Alva, do you ever listen to The Vibe?” he asks, rubs at his tired eyes and takes a sip from his coffee.

She’s busy pulling up the curtains, letting golden sunlight flood the room, but stops mid task  at his question, turns around to look at him quizzically. Wille doesn’t blame her. For the year and a half she’s been his assistant they’ve never talked about anything not revolving schedules and appearances and other official royal business. Never anything personal. It’s not anything about her personally, Wille likes her just fine, it’s more about the fact that while she is technically his assistant she still answers to his mother, is expected to report back to her. Wille didn’t even want an assistant in the first place, even less so one that doubles as a babysitter.

”I don’t listen to the radio that much” she says after a moment’s silence, meeting his gaze shyly. ”I’m more of a podcast kind of girl, but if I do listen to radio shows it’s mostly Rix FM in the mornings on my way here.”

Wille nods, doesn’t offer further explanations even though he can see in her eyes that she’s curious about the random question. He tries to smile at her but feels like he’s probably not doing it right since his mind is oh so tired and his body feels slow and sluggish. She does offer a small one in return though so the point must have come across somewhat.

”At 11.15 the Crown Prince is supposed to meet the Queen in the Blue Hall. You’ll be going to the event together, but in separate cars of course. I’ll be back with your outfit in just a minute, sir.” She does a small curtsy on her way out and Wille can barely suppress a snort. Imagine if Simon could have seen this.

Breakfast on golden trays and glorified babysitters having to curtsy at some sleep-deprived dude without manners just because of his pedigree. It would probably be enough for Simon to fill an entire hour of his show. The thought is enough to entertain Wille all throughout breakfast and the excruciating long hour being poked at by the royal stylists.

”You look tired Wilhelm” is his mother’s first words as he approaches her in the hall. Her dress is a deep royal blue, material dark and shimmering where she stands, her back straight like a rod, radiating effortless elegance, blending in perfectly with the portraits on the walls surrounding her. She is one of them, part of the legacy. She is the legacy, the legacy is her.

Wille isn’t, feels small and out of place, even in his (probably extremely) expensive tailored suit. No one would paint any portraits of him, that’s for sure, apparent in the way his mother looks him up and down, purses her lips in disapproval.

”I haven’t been sleeping that well” he mumbles, lowers his gaze.

”You should start going to bed earlier then.” Her voice leaves no room for debate and Wille nods obligingly. If only it were that simple.

She leads the way to the car and he follows obediently, like a puppy on a leash. There’s a small pleasure to take in the fact that he gets to ride by himself and won’t have to withstand her scrutiny for the thirty-two minutes it takes to get to the venue. He closes his eyes, lets his face rest against the coldness of the tinted window and dozes off for a bit. There’s a radio show playing in the background, an older man and a woman with a shrill voice trying for clever banter. Wille wishes it could be Simon’s show instead.

His mother meets him as he climbs out of the car, tucks her hand under his elbow and lets him lead them forward. Or at least give off the illusion that he is, the puppy thinking it’s walking by itself when really the leash is tightly gripped by its owner, every step carefully monitored. All eyes are on them as they step into the room, their royalty demanding attention, their believed superiority urging people to pay attention, to envy, to want.

Wille has been to these functions before, more times than he can count, and this one is exactly what one would expect it to be. Hosted by a semi-famous couple of noble descent, advertised as a charity event/fundraiser for it to seem benevolent in the eyes of the public. The Swedish elite gathering in a house big enough to fit a small army, yet still considered to be a summer home, drinking gallons of champagne and eating Sweden’s yearly supply of caviar. And it’s all noble because it’s for charity. They’re doing it to support the ones in need. Yeah, right.

There is something slightly different about the current party though. Mainly that there are so many young women here, most of them girls he knows, has grown up with, maybe even attended Hillerska with. He waves awkwardly to Fredrika from across the room, finds himself surprisingly pleased by the fact that Stella is by her side, the two girls seemingly still inseparable even after years having passed since they’d graduated. He can’t help but yearn for something like that, having someone by his side as he stumbles his way through life, someone to talk to and laugh with and who knows him for him.

There are so many people in the room and for some reason they all seem to want to talk to him, dance with him, fight each other for even a sliver of his attention. Wille hasn’t slept more than a couple of hours each night, at most, for weeks, and so he’s too exhausted to keep up appearances further than politely nodding along to conversations and trying to keep himself from falling asleep from the sheer exhaustion of standing upright.

As his mother turns her back to him momentarily, Wille takes his opportunity to escape, mumbles out a ’I have to go to the bathroom’ to the girl beside him and tries to remain as elegant and balanced as possible when all he really wants is to break into a sprint right there, run out of the room and never come back.

There’s a staircase right by the bathrooms and, after a hurried glance over his shoulder to make sure that no one noticed his escape, Wille allows himself to sink down on the last step, tired body slumping against the wall with a thud.

So many people and yet he feels completely alone. It’s a strange sensation. Everyone wanting to talk to him, yet no one wants to talk to him. All wanting a piece of Prince Wilhelm yet no one has even bothered to try to get to know Wille. Except Simon that is. Simon who took the time to actually stay on the line and ask him how he was. Simon who in the light of day seems more like a golden voice inhabiting his bedroom, a fairy godmother inside his radio. Wille doesn’t even know what he looks like.

His curiosity is piqued at the thought, the mere idea that Simon is actually someone real, a person existing in the real world and not just a figment of Wille’s imagination in his sleep-deprived night-time state. At least he hopes that’s the way it is. Otherwise maybe it’d be time to start seeing that doctor his dad has been pushing for but his mother firmly opposes herself to whenever brought up.

He opens up instagram on his phone, types in ’the vibe’ in the search bar and, after just a few swipes of his thumb on their feed, he’s there. Simon. Filling Wille’s phone screen, easing the previous worry overtaking this mind, that maybe it hadn’t been real. But Simon is real. Very much so with his bronze skin, messy curls and big smile. It’s making Wille’s heart do that weird thing again. 

Before he can stop himself he’s pressed the follow button, tapped on the picture to make the little heart go full. Much like Wille’s own is feeling right now, strangely. He’s logged into his private account of course, the one that no one knows about except for a few carefully selected people. It’s got exactly twenty six followers and only the occasional posted picture in black and white, never any of himself. It's nice for lurking purposes, to be able scroll through social media without having to fear the consequences of accidentally double tapping on something from the Crown Prince account. 

He might have spent the better part of an hour slumped against the wall on the staircase next to the bathroom, scrolling through the radio station’s feed, liking all the pictures of Simon. It’s not that weird if you think about it. He’s just expressing his support for his favorite radio show (and its curly haired host). Completely normal. And if the fact that Simon's own instagram is turned to private makes him momentarily disappointed then that's not really that weird either. It isn't. Right?

Eventually Malin’s familiar figure makes its way into his visual field, drags his eyes reluctantly from his phone screen as she clears her throat to get his attention. She’d been standing out of view up until now, giving him at least the pretense of privacy, bless her heart.

”The Queen is looking for you, sir” she says, looks at him apologetically.

Wille nods, pulls himself to his feet and brushes his palms against the suit pants to try and smooth out the newly formed wrinkles in them.

”You can’t just disappear off like that!” He’s greeted with, hissed under her breath in his ear, as he rejoins the party. ”You’re Crown Prince, you’re expected to be present.”

”Sorry mum, I just- I needed some air.”

Her expression softens by a fraction and for a second there’s even a hand rubbing between his shoulder blades. A very short second before the Queen-face returns and the hand is withdrawn. ”You’re fine.” She says decidedly. ”Now go mingle. Look, I even spot Felice over there. Go say hi.”

This is, for once, a request Wille is happy to oblige to. Even though the visits have become increasingly few and far between as he’s been busy with his insomnia and royal duties and she with her last year at uni studying fashion design, him and Felice have remained friends ever since their Hillerska days. She smiles when she sees him approach, big and genuine and it’s like a weight drops off his shoulders. Letting her hug him, bury his face in her hair (curly now, loose and flowing down her back) like coming home.

"It's so good to see you!" She greets him warmly and for the first time since arriving Wille has no trouble keeping up his end of the conversation, it flows easily between them, like no time has passed at all.

Felice’s mother, having spotted the two of them chatting, sweeps by in what must be intended to appear casual, to insert a ”Do you still ride Wilhelm? Felice simply must have you visit at our stables some day for a ride.”

The displeased expression taking shape on Felice’s face tells everything Wille needs to know about where she (still) stands with horseback riding, but he agrees anyway, nods politely and agrees that he certainly ’must do so’ if he can find the time. The fakeness of it all is like sharp needles down his back, pinching uncomfortably and he has to fight his urge to squirm on the spot in the stiff suit.

”I can just make up an excuse not to come, don’t worry,” he whispers to Felice as her mother eventually excuses herself and she smiles at him gratefully, no further words needed. 

”It would be nice to hang out though, like old times. Maybe we can just have a fika at the stables without any riding? I've missed you,” she admits, squeezing his arm gently.

”I’d like that. And i’ve missed you too.” Wille smiles back at her, a real one this time. 

She bumps his shoulder with her own, signals wordlessly towards the two women standing together on the other side of the room, trying (and failing) to look like they’re not intently watching their children interact. Wille can’t help the groan escaping his lips. Felice gives them a small wave.

”Do you ever think they’ll stop hoping for us to get together?” she muses.

”Probably not. Mum has been hinting a lot lately that it might be time for me to start dating a ’respectable girl from a noble family’ and you are certainly the top choice in that category.”

Felice makes a face. ”This is why I’ve been trying to get away from this circus, to grow into my own person you know.”

Wille nods, resigned wistfulness tinting his words. ”I wish I could do the same.”

”You know this is all for you, right? This whole ’charity luncheon’ is just an excuse to gather a bunch of noble girls in the same room for you. You’re like Prince Charming in Cinderella and they’re all dying to cut their feet bloody for your hand in marriage.”

Wille hides his face against her shoulder, a tired sigh escaping his lips. ”I think I’d rather be Cinderella.” he says. ”At least she could escape, go back to being a nobody by the end of the night.”

Felice rubs a soft hand over his tired back, chuckles softly. ”I really don’t think that’s the moral of that story, but sure, Cinderwille.” She tucks her arm in the crook of his elbow, nudges him forward. ”Now let’s go look for some better alcohol, I’ve only had one glass of champagne and I have a feeling getting through the rest of the afternoon will require my blood to contain higher levels of alcohol than that. Maybe we’ll even find some glass slippers for you.”

Wille laughs, almost surprised at the easy way her company has made him feel, body relaxing in a way much like at home by the radio, with Simon’s voice soft in his ear in the early morning hours. It’s nice he decides, good to have a friend.

When he finally returns back home later that night, alcohol having made his body soft and his mind fuzzy, he stumbles into bed to once again let Simon’s easy chatter, currently occupied with a one-sided discussion of various do’s and don’t’s of pasta dishes, empty his mind, sweep away any remaining thoughts and worries.

He wants to call, wants to hear the musical sound of Simon's laughter close in his ear again but thinks he's probably too tired and drunk to be able to keep up a conversation with any kind of dignity in remain. Instead the letters are swimming in his visual field as he tries to type out a message, jumping around on the keyboard making him try to type and erase three times before eventually giving up, hoping Simon will understand it anyway as he sends the dm and lets his tired head collapse against the pillow.

@callmewille: hey simon, its wille agian. m too tred to call but coyld you please play ’Lt the river in’ by dotan fr me? hope u had a good day!

It takes a little bit of time. Simon talks to one caller who’s asking how to know if you’re stuck in a dead-end relationship, plays ’The Lucky One’ by Taylor Swift for another one, as well as a couple of songs of his own choosing before he eventually seems to have decided to check the DMs.

’We’re back! Oh and I see we have a text from one of our favorite listeners, Wille. He’s asking if we can play ’Let the River In’ for him and of course we’ll do that. I hope you had a good day too Wille and that you’ll manage to catch some sleep wherever you are. Remember to drink a lot of water when you wake up and maybe take some ibuprofen too. You'll thank me later. This is The Vibe FM and here is ’Let the river in’ by Dotan for you Wille.’

For him. Wille smiles widely at the radio. The song has barely even started before his eyes fall shut and he sleeps for fourteen hours.

Chapter Text

’It is midnight. We are live from Stockholm. I’m Simon and this is Late Night Vibes on The Vibe FM 104.6. You should probably be sleeping but it seems like you’re not and so now it’s decided, you’re hanging with me instead. Tonight will be all about the classics and we will play some really good songs of my choosing as well as, hopefully, some really good of yours so keep those requests coming in, won’t you?

I’m just going to start by addressing the fact that not one, not two but eleven of you have reached out to ask me if I could comment on the fact that Crown Prince Wilhelm is rumored to be dating a Felice Ehrencrona. Did I know who that was? No. But apparently she’s both a heiress and an aspiring designer. And may or may not be currently dating our nation’s little baby prince. Good for her. My first question is, why do you think this is something we, or rather I, have to talk about? Does it matter? I think I’ve made my stance on the monarchy pretty clear, I find it pointless and unnecessary and honestly can’t be bothered to have any opinions on royal gossip. My second question is, well not a question really, but rather a request to all of you who seem to have more opinions about it than I do. Please think twice before bitching in the comment sections. It is not there for you to take out your aggressions on other people, whether it be me or this Felice girl or even our little prince. You like them dating? Great. You don’t like them dating? Who cares, leave them alone. You don’t like me not liking talking about them dating? It doesn’t matter, keep it to yourself and be nice to each other.

With that said, let’s kick this off with some good tunes and then we’ll have a nice night together, discussing far more interesting topics than the monarchy. This is the Vibe FM, the station where we play good music only, now playing ’Piano man’ by Billy Joel because that one is always a vibe.’

It hadn’t taken much for the rumors to start, a few photos snapped of Wille and Felice, both slightly too drunk, laughing with their arms wrapped around each other’s waists at the fundraiser, stumbling into the same car afterwards. The tight embraces solely with the purpose of keeping each other upright. Felice in heels high enough to make walking a challenge after them sneaking a bottle of gin from the kitchen, Wille with a severe balance deficiency, one greater than his regular ongoing conflict with gravity that is, further impaired by the alcohol and the zero to no sleep he’d been surviving on.

This, as a very legitimate reason for the friendly touching, did not seem to have occurred to the good people on twitter. Or the gossip blogs. Or freaking Aftonbladet. And now the whole nation seems to have collectively decided that Wille and Felice are in fact a couple. Which is tiring to say the least.

Wille’s insomnia is at an all time high, his usual aversion to spend any time in his mother’s presence much the same, the pleased looks and suggested outings and PR meetings making his skin crawl. Felice has been texting him constantly but he’s been too tired to type out a response, has been curled up listening to old episodes of Simon’s podcast to shield himself from the world. 

It works for a couple of days but eventually Felice’s insistent calls gets the better of him, makes him snap out of his somewhat content bubble of isolation, pick up the phone at last. He’s not entirely sure how but somehow he manages to let himself be coerced into making good of his promise to Felice’s mother of visiting their stables. Felice had let him make polite small talk with her for all of four minutes before whisking him away by the arm to the tack room so they could talk in private. Both of them pretending not to notice Smysan’s very pleased expression. Tiring. 

”Wille, I’m really sorry,” Felice says as soon as the door closes behind them, releasing her grip on his arm, apologetic look on her face.

”Why? It’s not your fault,” he shrugs. It’s not like she can control what people think.

”No, but it was my idea. And we weren’t supposed to get that drunk even, just a little tipsy to survive the circus.”

”I know and it’s fine. I’m sorry for not texting back though. I was- tired.” Still is, so tired.

She doesn’t look entirely convinced, raises a questioning eyebrow at him. ”Okay so- now what?”

He shrugs, runs a tired hand through his hair. ’Why is this something that needs to be discussed? Does it matter?’ Simon’s voice supplies in his head. Wille is inclined to agree.

”We’ll just say it’s not true if anyone asks, I guess. I’d prefer no to go out and do a public statement if you don’t mind,” He shoots her a look, knows she remembers about how anxious he gets doing public speeches, hopes she won’t ask him to. ”Honestly, I think my mum would probably want us to keep this up, I think she thinks it makes for good press,” he adds, lips pressing together into a thin line.

”Mine too,” Felice rolls her eyes. ”We won’t though. Right?” Her sudden nervous wringing of hands, the way she averts her gaze, makes Wille curious, wanting to know why it seems to be so important people don’t think she’s dating him, if there is perhaps a certain someone in her life she doesn’t want to alarm. He doesn't ask.

”No. Of course not.”

A small smile graces her face, easing the previous tension in the air between them a little bit and he allows himself to relax his posture, slump down tiredly in the corner of the leather couch. They lose themselves in the moment for a bit, Wille pouring himself some of the tea that had been prepared on the coffee table in front of them, Felice absentmindedly scrolling through her phone.

”Wille?” She says suddenly, looks up to meet his gaze, glint in her eye.

”Mm?”

”Why are you all of a sudden commenting on every single post about that radio show ’Late Night Vibes’? You never comment on anything.”

Oh. Shit.

He’d forgotten about Felice following his secret instagram. And about her infamous investigation skills.

”I- uh- I just like the show is all.” It’s really not a big deal, nothing more than that and so he doesn’t know why he feels like he just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, why his heart is thumping erratically in his chest.

”Mhm. Sure.” She shoots him an unimpressed look, eyebrow raised and Wille squirms in his seat, is suddenly very busy with putting another spoonful of sugar in his tea. ”I mean he is kind of cute, I can see the appeal,” She continues with a knowing grin.

Wille feels the sudden need to rush out of the elegantly designed tack room, make his escape from the Ehrencrona family’s stables and possibly change his name and address and social security number. Can princes even do that? He’ll google it later.

”I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbles.

”If you say so. It’s okay if you think so though. That he’s cute, that is.”

”I know it is, but I don’t- I just- It’s not- like that.”

She gives him another pointed look but thankfully drops the subject at that and they move on to talk about her upcoming project for school, how she’d bumped into Henry the other day on campus, what Maddie has been up to in New York. Wille is happy to let her take the lead, content to mostly listen and nod along while sipping his tea.

***

’That was ’Stay soft’ with Mitsky, thanks for sending in the request! Now let’s check in with another listener! Hello caller, you are live on the air with me, Simon, on Late Night Vibes at 104,6 FM. Who am I speaking to?’

”Hi Simon. It’s Wille.” He realizes a second too late that it’s pretty presumptuous of him to just assume Simon would even remember him. Three phone calls and a couple of dms to the official account is really not that many if you think about it.

’Wille, hi! How are you?’ Simon sounds genuinely pleased, making Wille’s previous worries fade.

”I’m good, thank you.” Infinitely better than two minutes ago, that’s for sure.

”I’m glad to hear that. So, Wille, our question for the night is: If you had to choose, would you rather keep your own brain but in the body of a chimpanzee or would you keep your body but with a chimp brain?”

Wille can’t help the surprised laugh that escapes his lips. ”What? What kind of question is that?”

”I know I know, it’s ridiculous, but I don’t make the rules, I just ask the questions. So what’s it gonna be?”

”Hm, tough choice but I think I’ll have to go with the chimp body.”

”Really?”

”Chimps are cute, I could make it work. What about you?” Not to mention, if the Crown Prince suddenly turned into a chimp he’d probably be disowned as heir to the throne effective immediately. Imagine having a monkey as Crown Prince. His mum would lose it. 

”Well chimps have roughly the same brain size as us, right? And they’re funny. Look, I work in night time radio, the expectations of intellectuality aren’t that high, I think I’d manage okay without giving up my body.” He sounds so sure of his choice that Wille can’t help but to giggle.

”I guess not all of us are blessed with such good looks we’d give up our brains to keep them,” he teases.

Simon’s laugh is pure warmth in his ear. ”You think I’m good-looking, eh? Stop it, Wille, you’re making me blush. Now, little chimp, what song would you like to hear?”

”Can I have ’Hold the Line’ by Toto?”

”Sure thing monkey, coming right up. Thanks for calling. This is The Vibe, the station where we play good music only, now playing ’Hold the Line’ by Toto for Wille.”

Wille would be lying if he said he wasn’t holding his breath as Simon introduced his song, secretly hoping for just a second more of his attention.

”You still there, monkey?” Simon teases in his ear, the nickname making Wille’s skin tingle, a shiver run down his spine.

”Simon” he breathes out. ”Um- yes. I am.”

”So I take it you’re not one for hanging up first?”

”Well- um- maybe I was hoping you weren’t either.” He holds his breath, heart anxiously fluttering against his ribs, little voice in his mind telling him that this was definitely too much, that he can’t do anything right, that this is the end of it all. But Simon laughs.

”You know, I think you might be my all time favorite caller.” He muses. ”Stroking my ego and requesting some pretty good songs.”

”Well you are my favorite radio host so. I have to keep you motivated to keep going in some way, don’t I?”

”You’re too sweet.” 

There’s some rustling in the background, an exclaimed ’Oh shit’ and then the muffled sound of voices before Simon’s voice is back in his ear, breathing out a ’Sorry about that.’

”Are you okay?” Wille asks, amused smile tugging at his lips.

”Oh, yeah, I just forgot I have to actually do my job. But I put Ayub in charge for a sec, I can stay a minute longer.”

”Oh. Right. Yeah.” What the hell. Has anyone ever taught him about basic sentence structuring? Wille feels like his knowledge of the spoken language is deteriorating by the second. 

Luckily Simon doesn’t seem to notice. ”So, monkey, wanna tell me a little bit about yourself? You hear my rambling all the time but I’ve yet to learn more than that you have insomnia, like hot chocolate and share my dislike for the monarchy.”

Wille feels his head spin, dizzied by the fact that Simon has actually remembered him, their conversations. Simon who takes calls for a living, talks to dozens of people every night. And yet he remembers, is interested in knowing more. About Wille. 

”Wille? You still there?”

”Oh- uh- yeah. Sorry. I don’t know what to tell you, I’m really not that interesting. Uh- I like photography I guess, I ride horses sometimes. I wanted to be an astronaut when I was little.”

”That’s cute. My sister rides horses too. I’ve never seen the appeal, they’re just so big.”

”Hm yeah, it takes some getting used to I guess. Now, your turn. Tell me something I don’t know?”

There’s a rustling again, someone talking to Simon in the background. 
”I- um- actually can we take a raincheck? Apparently I’m, and I quote, ’needed’, and they, quote, ’don’t pay me to chat off air’.”

”Yeah. Um- sure.”

”Later, monkey.”

There’s a click, a sudden aching lack of Simon and, just like before, Wille immediately reaches out to turn the volume up again, to fill the empty void in his chest that apparently is now reserved for curly haired radio show hosts and only those.

’I’m back my friends! That last song was ’Indianer’ by Kent as requested by Daniel. This is the Vibe FM and you’re listening to Late Night Vibes with Simon. The coming hour we’ll be checking in with some more of our listeners so don’t be shy, feel free to call in if there’s something on your mind that you’d like to discuss! The number is…’

Wille’s phone buzzes on the nightstand next to the radio, the unexpected sound making him jump.

@feliceehrencrona sent you a message

omg wille i just listened to the show and you did not just call in to flirt with that guy

felice why are you even up it’s like super late and you have class tomorrow??

stop dodging the question!
and i may or may not have been on a date and happened to stumble across the station in the car on the way back

ooookayyy. who’s the lucky subject of your love and affection?
was i not enough for you ;)

stop changing the subject! 

I WAS NOT FLIRTING

sure you weren’t sweetie. he was though.

HE WASN’T
wait was he?
he wasn’t

oh you sweet summer child

Wille rolls his eyes at his phone. Simon was not flirting. She’s being ridiculous. And even if it was true (which it isn’t!) it could hypothetically never happen anyway. Simon hates the monarchy. Wille is the monarchy. Match made in heaven, that’s for sure. Hypothetically.

***

Wille calls ’Late Night Vibes’ every night, a habit forming, the dance of his fingers across the digits on the screen becoming a familiar pattern. Or, well, not every night, he’s not entirely obsessed (he is). But most nights. He just wants to make sure Simon gets some company at work, that’s all. Not taking into consideration the fact that talking to people is in fact part of the job description and Wille’s company probably isn’t any better than the average caller’s.

He’s not always picked to go on air and that’s fine. Some nights there are only the calling tones. Some nights he chats to Ayub for a bit, gets told that there are way too many calls waiting and that the station likes variety. But most nights he is. Most nights there’s Simon in his ear and there’s laughter and sunshine and warmth.

Sometimes he worries that Simon might be finding him clingy, that he’s secretly wishing this annoying insomniac would stop calling, that he’s only talking to Wille because he’s a good guy and it’s the nice thing to do. Those thoughts are usually enough to keep his trembling fingers from dialing the radio show’s number for a few nights, for him to try to sleep in the quiet, counting a thousand murderous monster sheep until the sun rises outside his window. Alva shoots him concerned looks those mornings, reaching out a hand towards him as if to touch, to comfort, until she realizes what she’s doing and quickly pulls her hand back.

And then, because he can’t stand the sleeplessness, the buzzing anxiety, the feeling of endlessly falling backwards into a dark pit with no one to catch him at the end, he’ll call back again, hear Simon’s relieved, ’Oh hi monkey, I was wondering where you’ve been!’ in his ear and suddenly all is good in life and he’ll sleep a few hours and even manage to smile at his mother during breakfast.

She’s still adamant that they keep up encouraging the rumors of his and Felice’s dating, won’t listen to his pleas to just please go out and refute them. ’What’s so bad about dating Felice?’ she’ll say. ’She’s a great girl, you two are friends, get along well. Love will grow eventually, that’s how it works for people like us’ and Wille has half a mind to at last speak up, tell her that it won’t, that there will probably never be any love growing between him and any respectable girl, but the admittance gets stuck in his throat, can’t seem to get out and instead resignedly slides back down to the growing nest of anxiety in his stomach.

And if his thoughts have a tendency to stray to ebony curls and monkey jokes and a laugh warm enough to singlehandedly defrost the polar ice caps whenever she brings up love, and him falling in said love, then that’s completely unrelated, has no significance whatsoever. None.

Sometimes Simon will take his call on air, other times he’ll let Wille wait until a commercial break is coming up so they can chat alone. Wille doesn’t mind the wait, prefers it even, feels his stomach flutter with anticipation every time Ayub tells him to wait for Simon to go on break. He tries to keep his voice straight and make casual small-talk in the meantime but it’s hard to stay focused, hard when his heart is doing fluttering loops in his chest. He does learn that Simon and Ayub are friends just like he’d hoped, that they do in fact sometimes go out to breakfast together after the show and the revelation makes his insides fill with warmth.

And Simon, he’s like no one Wille has ever met before. The longer they talk the more he wants to know, the more Simon tells him, the more questions are awoken. Simon talks and talks and Wille hangs on to his every word, tries to commit every single detail to memory. 

The problem with conversations though is that they typically tend to be two-sided, that any question asked can and probably will be turned against you in the court of normal person phone correspondence. For all the questions Wille wants to ask Simon, the boy in question has an equal amount to ask in return. It’s tricky to navigate, hard to stay true and authentic and honest when any wrong step would be like stepping on a landmine, his whole world as of lately going up in flames. It’s fine as long as they stay on opinion based topics such as books or music or even political issues, but the supposedly easy ones, the basic get-to-know-me kind of questions with the potential of bridging the gap between insomniac-caller-Wille and the heir-to-the-throne one have his pulse racing, his palms sweaty as he thinks and rethinks and overthinks his answers.

’Where in Sweden do you live?’

”Stockholm area.” Vague but enough for two still-strangers. ”Me too,” Simon says. Wille can’t help the swoop in his stomach from knowing that Simon is so close. And yet never close enough.

’Any siblings?’

”No.” The ’not anymore’ a dull ache in his chest, is on the tip of his tongue but he can’t say it, can’t because Simon is slowly becoming the most important person in his life these days and if Wille started talking about Erik to him he knows he would never be able to stop, that it would bring his whole armor crumbling down.

”Oh, being an only child must have been so lonely,” Simon says, ”I don’t know what I’d do without my sister.”

Lonely? Oh Simon, you have no idea. ”It’s okay,” Wille says.

’What are your parents like?’
”Strict. Traditional. But they know what’s best for me I guess, they just want me to succeed,” he tries not to sound too disheartened about this as he passes the question on.

Simon’s mother seems to be the one responsible for the sunshine he’s inherited and Wille can’t help the twinge of envy he feels as Simon tells him about warm hugs and home-cooked meals and family video calls every Sunday. He doesn’t mention a dad and Wille doesn’t ask.

'Dating anyone?’

Rumored to be dating Felice Ehrencrona but you already know that.
”Not at the moment no, my mum keeps pushing me to though. She wants me to meet a ’nice respectable girl’.”

”Do you?” Simon’s voice is low in his ear, curiosity awakening tingles in the pit of his stomach.

”I- don’t- uh- I- I’m- not sure.” 

”What about a nice respectable guy then?” It takes him by surprise, makes his breath hitch in his throat. 

”I- I don’t think she’d like that very much.” He stumbles out, tries to keep himself from getting swept away by the casual way Simon had asked, the trembling hint of possibilities hiding behind the simple question. He tries to convince himself that he’s not at all anxious to hear the answer as he asks Simon the question in return, that his heart isn’t racing as he awaits the answer. It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care. It’s none of his business.

”I, um- I actually thought moving to Stockholm would give me the chance to at last try my wings a little bit. The dating pool in the small town I’m from was limited at best and there was always this vision of the big city, of the people and the opportunities, but now that I’m here it’s still tricky. Especially given the whole fact that I work when everyone else sleep and sleep when they’re awake so… No boyfriend at the moment. But I’m happy to be single, I don’t mind really.”

Wille pretends that Simon’s simple but honest answer isn’t awakening every single aching, yearning feeling he’s ever had, that he isn’t actively restraining himself from blurting out ’me, date me, date me’ in the middle of the conversation. Because he’s a crown prince and Simon is the famously anti-monarchist radio host on the phone. It won’t happen, can’t happen. That’s all. End of discussion. Even if there is the trembling sensation of something hanging in the air between them.

***

”So, you know I make my money goofing around on the radio, but what about you? What does the mysterious Wille do for a living?” Simon asks him one night, a few minutes past five am, the radio show having just ended. 

Wille blanks, once again can’t remember a single word he’s ever learned. The fact that he can’t think whenever Simon is around is becoming a real damn problem.

And the question is easy, really, so easy. While he can’t disclose his royalness (he can’t, right?), admit to a privileged existence funded by the taxpayers and make Simon hang up the phone right this second, there are so many jobs. Surely he could just name one. Just one kind of job. It’s not that hard. Why is it so hard?

There is the fact that the thought of lying to Simon makes something churn uncomfortably inside him, a tingle of discomfort to run down his spine. Dodging questions is one thing but actively lying? It doesn’t sit right, even if his mind would magically start to work and he’d come up with something in the next twenty seconds.

”Hello? You still there, monkey?”

”Well I’m with the circus, obviously,” he says in the end. ”What better place for a chimp like me to showcase his talents.” Technically it’s not even a lie, his whole life is like a circus. His every move watched, expected to put on a little song and dance for the public’s enjoyment. His whole existence solely for other’s people’s sake, for them to watch and taunt and have opinions on.

Simon’s sigh sounds a little disappointed but he doesn’t press further. ”I’ll have to come see a show then sometime, won’t I? Support my little monkey friend. Could you get me a ticket so I can come see you perform?”

It’s an innocent thing to say, probably just part of the banter. Except for the underlying hint of sincerity, that little something in his voice that tells Wille that Simon does in fact want to meet him, wants to be more than just nightly friends on the phone, which is in fact very much not good, makes Wille’s entire body feel tense, wound up, because he wants to but he can’t but what if he could and oh god what the fuck does he do now?

He can feel his breath getting more strained, the familiar tension of anxiety building in his chest and he has to go, has to leave, has to get away. He hears his own voice as if from a distance, the way it mumbles out some kind of vague agreement, an excuse that he has to go and for the first time ever Wille’s the one that hangs up first.

Thur, 5.21 am

felice?
if he was flirting
hypothetically
and wanted to meet me
hypothetically
what do i do?

oh sweetie
does he know?

no

i think you need to tell him then
and then do some flirting of your own
hypothetically

what if i can’t
tell him i mean

it’s your call
but wille you deserve to be happy and young and do some silly flirting with cute boys
it doesn’t have to mean marriage or public courting
just think about it okay?

yeah

Chapter Text

“There are those who say fate is something beyond our command. That destiny is not our own, but I know better. Our fate lives within us, you only have to be brave enough to see it.” - Merida, Brave

@simoneriksson sent you a follow request

@simoneriksson sent you a message

Fri, 12.02 am

hey wille
look i don’t know what happened last night but if i touched like a sensitive subject or something i’m sorry
i just enjoy talking to you
and if you don’t want to tell me certain things or never want to meet me that’s fine, i can just picture you as this little monkey on the phone

hi
i’m sorry too
it’s just some things i can’t really talk about and i can’t tell you why
which isn’t fair i know
just know i really really appreciate you and our talks are the best part of my nights

okay i get it
look here’s a picture i found of you  

😂😂😂
why are they both so grumpy though??

they’re not grumpy they’re SLEEPING
have you ever heard of that?
it’s like this thing normal people do at night

i guess you and me aren’t normal people then

i guess we’re not

***

The texting opens up possibilities Wille hadn’t even considered. Before, his blossoming friendship (yes, they’re friends, that’s all, stop it) with Simon had been something existing only in those delicate early morning hours, those where the world seems to have grinded to a halt, where anything and everything matters just a fraction less, where you can briefly exist beyond limits and expectations. Before, he could get through his days thinking that he’d at least get to talk to Simon at the end of them, an anticipatory thrum accompanying him through meetings, through scoldings from his mother, through public appearances.

And now Simon is all of a sudden there all the time. Never more than a few taps on his keyboard away. If his mum had thought it was hard to get through to him before, that’s nothing in comparison. At several times she has to sternly remind him that it’s indecent to check your phone in the middle of performing your royal duties, that it’s certainly very unbecoming of him as crown prince to seem so preoccupied with technology. Wille would care, he really would, except he’s swept away by his ever present sleeplessness and the new giddy sensation every vibration in his pocket awakens. ’Wilhelm, this is not appropriate behavior!’ he’s told with a stern expression, an expectance of doing better and being better and playing his monkey part. He turns his phone to silent.

”The Crown Prince seems happy today,” Alva tells him, small smile gracing her face as they walk together to yet another meeting he’s sitting in on. Her back is straight, her heels clicking rhythmically against the marble tiles as she walks next to him with just the correct body of space between them, never so much as a step out of line. She’s more suited for this life than he is, Wille thinks, is good at keeping up the polished facade, at remaining professional and dignified at all times, even when having to spend countless hours tending to such a disaster of a royal as himself. But her smile is kind, her eyes warm and he can’t bring himself to feel even the slightest hint of resentment towards her today. Besides he is happy. He’d woken up (which means he’d actually gone to sleep which in itself is a win) to four monkey videos and three memes Simon had sent him on his way home from work. It’s a good day.

”Oh- um- yeah,” Wille blushes, stumbles over his feet momentarily.

”I’m glad. It’s nice to see,” She offers before opening the door for him, letting him enter the meeting room first. And Wille’s good mood is suddenly being stolen from him, replaced by reminders of all the countless things he should be doing and how he’s not performing his duties well enough and how Erik certainly would have lived up to the expectations better. It makes the good day slightly less so.

***

Mon, 1.15 pm

how’s your day going monkey?
no wait let’s make this more fun
tell me a song and i’ll guess what you’re up to

 hold on let me think
mirrorball

circus treating you bad today then?

yeah…
it’s like whatever i do it’s not good enough
and you?

surely there must be other career options for little chimps
bc you ARE enough wille
i’m ’here comes the sun’ today ☀️

that’s nice
you are… having lunch in the park with ayub?

almost!
my mum had the day off from work so she took the train here to see me
she was shocked by the lack of food in my fridge and is now cooking to last me the whole week
you doing circus stuff all day?

your mum sounds like the coolest
no i’m actually going to go meet a friend now so that’s nice

she is
that’s nice, have fun!

***

Felice and him meet up for coffee and a walk, stroll slowly alongside the waterfront with their styrofoam cups, letting the first rays of spring sun soak their faces. It’s an ironic choice of location for an outing and he’s not sure who’s decision it was, other than it certainly not being his own. The park is nice though, situated right by Haga Castle, which will be Wilhelm’s one day if he ever does get married. Preferably to the girl next to him, according to, well pretty much everyone. Felice doesn’t mention it either even though she must be entertaining the same thoughts. Instead they keep the conversation light, both of them pretending not to notice the phones that get turned their way as they walk past groups of people in the park. Malin and Joakim are a step behind them, try to shield them from the attention but to little avail.

Felice sighs.

”Wille, I know I said I didn’t need you to make a public statement but- I’m not that sure it won’t be necessary anymore. I thought it would die out if I kept denying it but- it hasn’t. People are filming me literally everywhere I go, they’re showing up at my school, outside my apartment. Some are even sending me threats.” She looks at him, eyes tired and apologetic and Wille curses himself for fucking things up for yet another person in his life.

He pulls her into his side for a brief hug, wishes he could convey his remorsefulness through the touch. ”I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to tell mum but she doesn’t want to do it. And if I did, if I went against her, would it even matter? People will still believe what they want to believe, right?”

”I guess.” She looks at the water for a bit, admires the way the sunlight is dancing along its surface, glitter and warmth coating the scenery with a layer of spring feeling, a hint of new beginnings and promises and potential hanging in the air.

”Have you thought any more about that thing you said the other night? You know, about telling Simon?”

”I- I don’t know” he says. ”It’s like- when we’re talking I can just be me, I don’t have to pretend and he even seems to kind of like me for me and not all that other stuff. I don’t want to lose that.”

”Who says you will?” She asks, gently and Wille can’t bear to meet her eyes, averts his gaze to the ground as they keep slowly walking.

”I mean what could I even offer him?” He mumbles somewhat bitterly. ”A hushed romance in the shadows? Or this? Imagine the kind of scandal that would cause.” He gestures to yet another phone camera discreetly angled towards them. ”He wouldn’t want that. Deserves better than that, than me. Hypothetically that is. I mean, I don’t even know if he has been flirting.”

”I think you’re selling yourself short, you’re so much more than that.” Felice rubs a gentle hand down his arm, eyes so warm and kind that Wille has to look away, can’t convince himself to feel worthy of her compassion. ”And- I’m not saying you should, or need to even. But imagine the kind of difference that could make, what an example you could set for people. I know you weren’t ready last time, that coming out wasn’t an option back then, but maybe now things can be different?”

”I know it would be- but I- I don’t want any of this. I just want to feel normal.” He mumbles, still looking at his shoes.

”I know, sweetie, I know.”

The sudden buzz of his phone in his pocket makes Felice laugh at the way he doesn’t waste a second in digging it out, at the way a soft smile spreads on his face once he registers the sender.

’Look I can’t even close my freezer now’ Simon’s message says, an attached picture showing a small freezer overflowing with tupperware boxes. 

’At least you won’t have to rely on ramen or take-away for a while’ he sends back.

’Oh shut up, I cook. sometimes.’

’Putting ketchup on pasta does not count as cooking ;)’

’it totally does’

”Is that him?” Felice bumps his side with her elbow, grinning widely at him.

Wille can feel his cheeks heating up. ”No- I mean- yes.” 

”You should see your face, Wille you are so crushing on him!” She looks delighted at the fact and Wille has to once again avert his gaze to his feet, shuffling them awkwardly in the grass. There are green stains on the white sneakers now and he’s not sure why but that slight imperfection feels like a victory.

”No- I- I’m not!”

”You totally are!” Her eyes gleam with mirth and Wille momentarily regrets ever having befriended her. ”Now, let’s get back to the car. I promised mum I’d take you riding after, but I’m definitely not doing that. I am willing to hang out in the tack room though if you want to take one of the horses out for a bit? I can have our stable manager go with you.”

Wille contemplates this and ultimately decides that any kind of activity would be preferable to the looming ordeal of returning back home, of facing the empty hallways and the resigned looks, the Erik-sized shoes he keeps trying to walk in but ends up falling flat on his face every other step because they’re too big. And it has been a while since he last rode.

”Sure. Sounds fun.” he agrees, lets her tuck her hand in the crook of his elbow, guide him back towards the park entrance even though this casual touch makes for even more picnic-blanket-people pointing phones at them.

***

The stable manager, who introduces herself as Sara, looks vaguely familiar but he can’t quite place why or where he knows her from. She, much to Wille’s relief seems to care very little about who he is, instead simply asks him how experienced of a rider he is and perks up as he tells her a little bit about how he’d competed quite a lot as a kid, how he still has a horse at Hovstallet he rides every now and then.

”My favorites are the jumpers,” she says, pointing him to a small grey mare in the corner stall, already tacked up and ready to go. ”I think you’ll like her.”

It’s a nice day, yellow sun rays softly filtering through the tree tops, the soft crunch of gravel under hooves and a few spring birds chirping nearby. Sara isn’t one for filling the silence with awkward small talk and Wille finds himself appreciating her company, the comfortableness of just existing alongside each other.

”So how do you know Felice?” She asks after them riding in silence for a while, looks at him over her shoulder.

”We- went to Hillerska together.”

She nods, hums out an affirmation.

”I- um- I’m not actually dating her.” he blurts out, makes his horse speed up a little so they can walk next to Sara. He’s not sure why he feels the need to tell her this but the words have left his mouth before his mind could register them.

”Okay. Sure.” 

”You’re not surprised?”

”Frankly I don’t think you’re her type. And I don’t think she’s yours either.”

Wille just looks at her, stunned, isn’t sure what to say in response to her blatant observation.

”No- I’m- she’s-.” He starts but then lets out a deep sigh. ”Not really. My mum wants me to though.” He’s not sure why he’s offering this up to Sara, what it is about him feeling the need to compulsively overshare as of lately.

”What do you want?” She asks, pulls softly at the reins to make her horse slow down for Wille to catch up. She strokes a hand along the horse’s neck, doesn’t meet his eyes but her voice is warm, kind. It reminds Wille of that second time he’d called Simon, when he’d asked Wille whether he was okay and he’d been completely stunned by the question, no one ever having bothered to ask that before. This is much the same. What does he want?

Sara doesn’t push, lets him lose himself in thought, the only sound between them the comforting clapping of hooves against gravel. 

He knows what he doesn’t want at least. Doesn’t want to keep up a charade, eventually marry someone like Felice for appearances and hope for love to grow just because that’s what’s expected. Doesn’t want to hide, to hold back feelings, to only ever feel alive in the darkness of the night.

He wants to live. He wants feelings and butterflies and first kisses that take his breath away. Wants hand holding and forehead kisses and ’i miss you already’s’ when parting ways. All of it. And if the other person in these yearning scenarios might be bearing some similarities to a certain radio personality turned late night friend turned unrequited crush then yeah, maybe he wants that too. Maybe.

”I want more.” He says in the end, admittance slipping through his lips. ”I want to be with someone for them and not for their pedigree or suitability.”

Sara smiles. ”That’s fair. What’s stopping you?”

He chokes back a resigned answer of how it’s just about everything. His mum, the public, the expectations on him as future king. How for some people it’s not about what you want but rather what the world around you expects, what kind of silly tricks they want the circus monkey to perform next, what kind of things that  are only allowed to exist hidden away behind velvet curtains.

”Should we do a canter?” He suggests instead, smiles at Sara’s eager nod and the excited little buck his grey mare does as he nudges her forward. For a minute there’s nothing but the drumming of hooves and the wind in his eyes and as he closes them he almost feels free.

What is stopping him, really?

***

Mon, 6.15 pm.

simon?
what if i did want to meet a nice respectable guy?

i think you’d have to look other places than the circus to find one
but he’d be lucky to have you

Wille’s heart is doing confused loops in his chest, seems to have lost any and all connection to his brain. Houston calling, can you respond? It can’t, there’s radio silence. Wille’s heart is going rogue, is breaking off all means of contact. He wants, goddamnit. Wants so much it hurts. 

His phone chimes again

wille?
i need to ask

okay?

Simon types and retypes for a good minute, one that feels like an eternity. Wille’s rogue heart does a couple of more loops.

actually no nevermind

***

’Hey, you’re live with Simon on Late Night Vibes. What’s on your mind tonight caller?’

’Hi Simon, this is Oliver. I just wanted to vent I guess? So I came out to my parents tonight and it did not really go as expected. And I guess I’m just kind of lost right now, I don’t know how to go from here.’

’First of all Oliver, thank you so much for calling, I’m really happy you did and I’m proud of you for being true to yourself and sharing that with the people you love. This might sound a bit cheesy and cliché, but I’ll tell you anyway. You’ve done nothing wrong. They are responsible for their own actions and reactions and while you can’t control those you also shouldn’t let that stop you from being you. I obviously know nothing about what your situation is like and the circumstances you’re in but just know that you deserve to be loved for you.’

’I- thank you. My mum was actually pretty cool about it but my dad just looked at me like he didn’t even know who I was anymore.’

’I’m sorry to hear that, Oliver. I actually went through something similar when I first came out at fourteen. My dad was really shocked at first but it took a couple of weeks and then he started asking me about whether there were any cute boys in school I liked. Maybe that will be the case with yours too.’

’I hope so.’

’Me too, I really do. Either way you deserve to be loved for who you are and it's his loss if he can't see that. Do you want to request a song?’

’Can I request ’I’m not in love’ by 10cc?’

’Of course you can, nice to meet a fellow ’Skam’ fan! Thank you for sharing with us Oliver, I really do hope it all works out for you and just know you can alway call back here if you need to vent some more. This is ’I’m not in love’, for Oliver and you’re listening to Late Night Vibes with Simon on The Vibe FM, 104.6 ’

Wille listens. Feels a prickle of jealousy for Oliver-on-the-phone, of this someone who had taken a leap, is living the truth and who Simon is proud of. Wille wants, oh god how he wants. But he can’t, right? He can’t because he’s the prince and the heir and still supposedly dating Felice and is living a lie and what could he possibly offer Simon who is so vibrant and real and true.

It’s almost like that very first time, when his fingers had dialed the number to the show without his mind even asking them to, his body once again taking control. 

’I’m not in love. So don’t forget it. It’s just a silly phase I’m going through…’ is softly sung from the radio.

It reminds Wille of his mum, of how she’d told him once before, years ago when there had been these rumors circling, when he’d before felt this need, this wanting, before it had been shut down, pushed under the rug to be forgotten about. She’d told him that it was all a phase, that this kind of thing wasn’t for people like them, that it couldn’t be. That the most important thing will always be the duty and living up to the expectations that come with their privileged position. It makes something clench in his stomach, once again this itch of rebellion scratching at him, telling him that enough is enough. He might not be in love (or maybe he is, he’s not sure about anything anymore) but shouldn’t he have the right to be? Shouldn’t he get to wish and want and eventually have just like everyone else? Just like Oliver on the phone deserves, just like Simon does.

Wille wants, oh how he wants. So much that it scares him, so much that tears are pressing behind his eyelids and his breaths are shaky as his lungs try to force the air to pass through his airways.

”This is Late Night Vibes, who am I speaking to?”

”Ayub, hi, it’s Wille.” He’s not sure what has gotten into him, what he’s doing, just that he needs to hear Simon’s voice right now, needs someone to tell him he’s not crazy and that he’s valid and good and worthy.

”Oh hi Wille, what’s up?” Ayub sounds happy at his call, his smile almost audible through the phone.

”Not much, how are you?”

”All good man. Do you want me to put you through?”

”Actually- would you mind asking him if he can talk real quick during the next commercial break or something?”

Wille can’t make out the muffled sounds of Ayub’s reply but after a minute or so there’s a rustling and then Simon is right there.

”Hey monkey, are you okay?” he asks, voice so soft and gentle that Wille momentarily wants to cry.

”Hi” he says, chokes back a sniffle. ”Um- sorry- I just-”

”Hey hey hey, Wille, it’s okay. We’re friends at this point, aren’t we? I’m here for you if you want to talk. Always.”

”Simon I- I think I want to come out.” It’s like taking a giant leap into the unknown, suddenly, finally putting words to the messy feelings and longing and hurting that’s been painting his insides for years. It’s finally admitting to himself that he wants a life consisting of more than polished facades and fake smiles and letting his life be led by what’s expected, what looks good. The words hang between them, an overbearing weight and a featherlight fluttering of hope all at once.

Simon draws in a quick breath on the other side of the line. ”Oh.” he says, is silent for a brief second before recovering. ”Oh. I. Did not expect this particular topic of conversation but yes, of course you should. If you feel like you want to, that is. If you feel like you can.”

”I heard what you talked about with that caller just now and I- I just don’t want to live a lie anymore, I don’t want hide parts of myself just because they think that it’s better that way.”

”Wille-” Simon says softly, his voice curling so delicately around the two syllables that Wille himself feels like he might combust at any second from the overwhelmingness of his current conflicted emotional state. ”You shouldn’t, monkey. I’m sorry you’ve felt like you had to in the first place.” And he’s so genuine, so soft, so concerned that Wille has to ward off another sniffle.

He wants to leap even further, wants to suggest meeting and dating and potentially loving each other forever, because Simon is so, so good and as of lately Wille wants nothing more than to be closer to him. He doesn’t say it though, the revelation still too heavy a weight on his tongue, keeping it tightly tethered in its place.

”Isn’t it kind of strange how you call me monkey when you’re supposedly the one with the monkey brain?” He says instead, tries to steer the conversation to safer grounds, isn’t sure how much more emotional overload his tired heart can take.

Simon snorts. ”What was that? I can’t take you seriously when you’re all hairy with your naked butt in the air.”

”It’s a nice butt.” Wille states, suppresses a giggle.

”I’ll take your word for it.”

***

’That was ’Big Love’ by Lindsey Buckingham as requested by Karin. I’m Simon at ’Late Night Vibes’ on The Vibe FM 104.6. I’m sorry for the delay and that you had to listen to those, although admittedly very good, songs instead of my sweet voice for the past fifteen minutes. We were having- uh- technical difficulties. Anyway, now I’m back, we’ve been talking about guilty pleasure music and we are going to take some more calls from listeners. If you have a song or band that you absolutely love but wouldn’t necessarily bring up in a conversation unless asked, we’d love it if you called in to tell us about it. What is it that makes you like it? Why is it embarrassing to admit? The number is…’

***

The more Wille thinks about it the more clear it becomes what he has to do.

He remembers a while back how Simon had talked about the importance of representation in an episode of his podcast, of how much it could mean to know you’re not alone, to see someone like yourself out there, to feel part of a community.

As Wille googles LGBTQ+ royals he finds the list to be disappointingly short, most examples from centuries ago, of royal characters that had been odd and rule-breaking and daring but never fully accepted by their surroundings. Disowned and stripped of titles or forced to keep up a front to the public, to keep the succession line going, rumors and scandalous lovers being quieted and paid off.

Wille doesn’t think his own mother would neither disown him nor force him to abdicate, even if there’s a small part of him actually wishing for it, thinking about how much easier his life would be if he could just step down, resign from the circus. No, he’s pretty sure he’d get to keep his role, but there’s the matter of the spotlight, of being forced even further into it, the previous circus tent suddenly being upgraded to Avicii arena, where the little monkey prince is longer the opening act but instead the main event, every single person there to see him.

’If you think the attention you’ve been getting so far is unacceptable that’s nothing compared to what you’ll endure for the rest of your life’ she’d told him once, when he’d been sixteen and in love and terrified at being pushed into the spotlight for something that was supposed to be his, private and sacred and ripped away from his arms too soon. He’d been scared then, terrified down to his very core and she’d known it, had taken advantage of it. But he’s not sixteen anymore, he’s older and he’s tired, so very tired.

And maybe he could make a difference, bring some change. Maybe him drowning in even more publicity could benefit someone out there. Someone needing some reassurance that it is in fact okay, will be okay. Someone like Oliver from Simon’s show or his own sixteen-year-old self. And maybe then Simon’s view of the monarchy, the unnecessity of it all, the sole performativity of their charity work wouldn’t be so true anymore. Maybe there could be a place for the monarchy in the 21st century. Maybe he could create it.

He’s still not sure. Contemplates just throwing the idea out or postponing it for later, even as he sits down opposite his mother at breakfast with the words already formed on the tip of his tongue, his heart racing in his chest.

”Mum- I’m. You know, that thing that happened at Hillerska, with the- you know- um-”

”Wilhelm, would you please speak up? I can’t make sense of a word your saying.” She looks at him expectantly over the stack of papers stacked in front of her, reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose. 

Wille squirms in his seat under her gaze, runs his hand through his hair in a nervous manner.

”What I wanted to- what I want to- um- say is that I- I don’t like girls. I don’t think. Or I’m still not entirely sure, but I know I do like boys- um- guys. Men.” One boy in particular his mind supplies him with but is brushed off. ”And I need to address this, I don’t want people to think I’m dating Felice anymore.” There. He did it. Said it. Done. Wilhelm over and out. Back to you in the studio Simon.

His mother’s expression remains neutral, carefully hiding away any sliver of surprise she might be feeling at this sudden declaration of his.

”Wilhelm, you are Crown Prince.” She says, looks at him like he just suggested a relocation of the castle to the moon or to abolish the entire monarchy. ”That’s the legacy you have to carry and it has a price. To the public you are expected to present yourself a certain way, in private however, you may do what you please. I thought we’d already dealt with this.”

In private. Hiding away in the shadows, only truly living in the early morning hours when all else is quiet, just like now. The ’everyone should be able to live as gay or straight or whatever they want’ except it doesn’t apply to him, to them. It’s not enough. Not anymore.

”That’s not good enough.” he says, allowing a tiny tingle of self-pride to run down his spine. ”I shouldn’t have to hide who I am, I want to be able to be myself, date who I want.”

She softens a bit, touches his arm briefly. ”Wilhelm, you know we love you for you, me and dad, no matter what. It’s got nothing to do with this, it’s not personal. We’ve had this discussion before, why do you suddenly need to make it public right now?”

”Maybe it’s not enough for me anymore. Maybe if I’m going to be living this life I didn’t choose for myself I’m gonna have to do it my way. I was so young before, I was scared, but now- I need to do it mum.”

”And,” he pleads, ”Isn’t it better to acknowledge it like this, to not make it into a big deal, rather than having to deal with another scandal down the road? Don’t you think we could make a difference, actually help people?”

She doesn’t look entirely convinced but there is a sudden softness in the Queenly gaze, what Wille hopes is a shred of motherly affection somewhere deep in there and she says that if he’s sure, really sure this is what he deems to be the best course of action, then she trusts him, she can call Rosenqvist, set up an interview.

Wille nods, briefly wonders what the hell has happened to him to make him willingly submit himself to making public statements. He blames Simon, blames Felice, blames Sara. Why would they encourage him like that.

”Just- um- could we please do a press release only? I- I don’t want this to be made into a bigger deal than it has to, because it- shouldn’t be. And I- don’t want to do it with cameras.” Don’t want to risk Simon seeing the interview, hear his voice and all of a sudden come to the conclusion that he’s been digging around in the head of a ridiculously privileged, unnecessary burden of a royal all this time.

”You don’t know that you’d lose him’ Felice had said and she’s right, he doesn’t, but right now he’s feeling like he’s falling, like he’s willingly jumping headfirst into a tank full of sharks. He will tell Simon. Probably. At some point. Just not now. Not like this.

”Wilhelm are you entirely sure about this?” She asks again, shoots him a look that’s part concerned and part tired of his antics. ”There’s no going back from this, you know. It will put a bigger spotlight on you, one I know you’re still not very comfortable with to begin with.”

”I am sure. I- I have to do it. And I will, with or without your permission.”

***

Tue, 7.57 pm

hi good evening
tell me your song?

hey you
rihanna - sex with me 

uhh okay sure
i have no idea what to make of that
you’ve got company?

ha yeah no it’s nothing like that
not the lyrics, just a nice vibe
i’m having dinner before heading to work
wbu monkey?

only the brave
the louis one

❤️ ❤️ ❤️

Chapter Text

BUT WHAT ABOUT HEIRS? A deep dive into the recent coming out of Swedish Crown Prince Wilhelm.

WILHELM’S SECRET LOVER - READ ALL ABOUT THE BOY WHO STOLE THE PRINCE’S HEART

Crown Prince Wilhelm comes out - Felice in tears. ’She had no idea’ a source close to the two tells ’Hänt Extra’

’I just don’t think it’s appropriate, some things are meant to remain private’

’This is such a step forward for the LGBTQ+ community in Sweden’

Swedish Royal Family’s representative visit to Qatar cancelled

***

’That was ’Crown of Love’ by Arcade Fire, you’re listening to ’Late Night Vibes’ with me, Simon on The Vibe FM. We’re soon going to take some calls from our listeners so if you have something you’d like to discuss or a song you want to request, feel free to call in! Before doing that though I see now that we have a text sent in from Wilma, asking to please comment on the fact that Crown Prince Wilhelm has recently in a statement from the Royal Palace come out as queer. Well, Wilma, I think we all already know my stance on the monarchy. Frankly I think it’s strange that we continue to pay for such an outdated concept with our tax money. I firmly believe that we’d be better off as a republic and I will continue to do so. However, my personal views of the monarchy aside, I do think that’s amazing and that it shows a lot of courage from his side to dare go against such a traditional institution. It can’t have been easy. So Prince Wilhelm, if for some reason you would be listening to my silly little show, I’m proud of you. Welcome to the LGBTQ+ family. In celebration of this, let’s play a classic. Here’s to you Wilhelm.’

Wille hears the familiar soft intro to Harry Styles ’Lights Up’ fill the room and has to suppress a shiver running down his spine. There are tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, a slow rising of an ocean in his visual field, threatening to spill over, to let the waves sweep him away. Simon is proud of him. Of him. Wilhelm. Not monkey-Wille on the phone but the other part of him. The one he doesn’t know he already knows, the one who’s crumbling under the weight of what Simon himself believes to be an unnecessary evil. He's proud. And Wille still hasn’t had the courage to reach out, to at last let the words slip, offer something in return for all the comfort and honesty Simon keeps giving him.

It’s been one hell of a week, his face plastered on every news source, even making it onto the international headlines. People claiming this will be the downfall of the Swedish monarchy, others praising him for having the courage to speak up. They’ve been uninvited to a number of foreign events, he’s been voted ’Queer Figure of the Year’ by QX. How he can be any kind of ’person of the year’ without even having done anything of real importance is beyond Wille’s understanding.

He’s been spending his time mostly hiding out in his room, having turned off his phone to avoid the endless stream of notifications. Emotionally exhausted, his insides turned into a soggy mess of anxiety, of pride, of regret, of relief. But Simon’s words, the genuine way he’d expressed his pride, his acceptance, that gives him a steady point to hold onto when the feelings threaten to carry him away. If only he could give something in return.

It’s impulsive the way his shaky fingers manage to open his laptop and log into his Instagram account, the official one, the one he’s not allowed to use without PR’s involvement. Especially now. There is one new post on the radio show’s account, a shot of Simon in the studio from a few hours ago, asking to send in song requests for tonight’s show and, before he can change his mind, a comment is already typed and posted, his heart beating erratically in his ribcage, palms sweaty and trembling. 

It’s already been removed the next day when he checks. He hopes Simon got to see it.

***

Thur, 11.12 am

wille are you up?
i’m ’lazy song’ this morning, what’s your song?

Thur, 12.11 pm

wille!!!
did you see that crown prince wilhelm commented on our ig account
like he must have heard the show
do you think he’s heard me trash talk the monarchy bc that’s slightly awkward
i’m not wrong though. no regrets

Thur, 1.07 pm

also, completely different question, do you think he’s cute?
i know i’m not a fan of the monarchy and all but he kind of is, don’t you think?

Thur, 9.27 pm

wille?

Fri, 12.01 pm

hello?

Sat, 10.23 am

i’m getting worried please let me know you’re okay when you can <3

Sun, 09.12 am

wille what’s going on, please text me back

***

Wille is not checking his phone. 

He knows there will be messages from Simon, knows that he’ll be worried, that he’s being a bad friend. He just- can’t.

Can’t have Simon figure it out, can’t have him make the connection between Wilhelm-the-prince and Wille-the-monkey, both listening to his show, both apparently just coming out as queer. It’s so obvious even Simon’s chimp brain should be able to connect the dots at this point and, oh shit, why’d he have to do that, what the fuck is up with his self-destructive tendency to ruin just about everything lately?

Obviously he can’t tell Simon who he is. Or can he? No, he definitely can’t. Or can he?

The back and forth of thoughts, like a game of ping pong gone overboard, is making his head hurt. No matter how hard he tries he can’t seem to get them in order. He pulls the blanket over his head, tries to will his mind to turn off for a second. Maybe if he could just sleep everything would make more sense, maybe then he’d know what to do, how to solve this. But behind his eyelids are the murder sheep, along with every negative opinion, every critic. Their taunting and screaming send shivers down his back, has his eyes flying open every time he dares trying to let them close. 

The jumbled mess of thoughts would probably make more sense if he wasn’t so achingly tired, but he’s at 36 hours of reluctant awakenness now (aiming for a new record perhaps) and his grasp of reality is slipping.

Alva finds him curled up on the couch in the corner of his room when she stops by around lunch time, another golden tray carefully balanced in her arms. He’s staring blankly out the window, too tired to actually take in the view, too antsy to manage to doze off at last. There’s some food placed in front of him, a gentle encouragement to ’please eat something’ and he gives her what’s supposed to be a grateful smile, but isn’t entirely sure if his point is getting across. She looks hesitant, hovers next to him, even after placing the tray on the table, shuffling some papers and he knows there are tasks, things that need his attention, his mother expecting him to actually take his role seriously, to not cause any further messes. Especially now that she’s trusted him with this. He owes her. The taste of it is bitter in his mouth.

”You can sit if you want,” he offers tiredly, gestures towards the chair opposite him. Alva does, almost instinctively. Wille vaguely wonders if it’s in her contract to do whatever he says, feels slightly nauseous just thinking about it.

They sit in silence for a bit, both looking out the window. Down in the gardens there are two men trimming the hedges in the spring sun, chatting with each other as they work. It looks nice, like a good job. Wille wonders if any of them would ever consider switching with him. The idea of spending his time outside, dirt under his nails and sun in his face is a pleasant one.

”Why did you pick this job?” he asks Alva because she does have a real job, could probably have been like the smiling people down there and yet she’s not, she’s here with him.

She looks a bit taken aback by the question but smiles, smooths her skirt out. ”My sister used to work with Erik,” she says and there’s a sharp twist of the resident thorn in Wille’s heart. ”She got me the interview, told me I’d love it here too. And if not that it would at least look good on my resumé.”

”Do you regret taking it? I mean, babysitting someone like me can’t be what you had in mind when you applied, right?”

”I don’t,” she says softly. ”I think the Crown Prince is being very brave, I admire that, actually.”

”I don’t know if I am,” He sighs, turns his gaze towards the window again. The men are raking up all the leaves now, still laughing. ”It seems like all I do is mess up.”

”I know it’s not my place to say or comment on any of this, but-” She starts but stops herself, looks at him with wide eyes as if she’d just made a big mistake. Don’t offer your opinion unless asked. It’s probably in the staff handbook, a golden rule on page 1.

Wille smiles wryly. ”I don’t mind. It’s not like I’m the normal kind of royal anyway.”

”I think maybe the Crown Prince is being slightly too hard on himself.”

”Alva, please, we’ve known each other for what, a year? Longer? Wille is fine.”

She looks hesitant but nods. ”Okay, Wille then. If I’m not overstepping, can I ask what happened? I know a lot has happened this last week, but that’s not all is it? There used to be someone you texted, right? You were sleeping better, always smiling at your phone. It was nice to see.”

”I- yes. There was.” He admits, curses himself internally for this never-ending oversharing he seems to have made a habit of doing. But her eyes are kind and he longs for some company, some sense of normalcy in this museum of a house, where everything is to be admired from afar, never touched, never spoken to. Just gathering dust in-between visits.

She nods, gestures for him to continue.

”I’ve kind of been off the grid for a bit, haven’t texted him back. He- um- he doesn’t know who I am. And I don’t think he’d react very well if he found out.”

”Don’t you think it’s kind of dumb to estrange yourself from the possibility just because you think he might not take it well?” She asks softly, looks like she wants to reach out and touch him. Wille wishes she would. She doesn’t. ”Don’t you think he should be the one to make that choice for himself?”

”I don’t know, maybe. I don’t know if I’m ready yet,” he admits.

”That’s fine, you don’t have to be. I know there’s a lot that’s been happening lately. But if you don’t want him finding out, don’t you think it’s slightly suspicious to just go completely off the radar after Prince-you made that statement and then left that comment on the radio station’s social media? I mean people are already speculating about that.”

Oh so she did know who it was after all. She’s good, that much he’ll have to admit.

”I guess- I- don’t know what to do,” he admits, lets his face rest in his hands, fingers burying themselves in his hair.

”Do you want me to clear your schedule for tonight? Maybe you could use a break, go outside for a bit to clear your head. Maybe call Felice?” She suggests and Wille feels a sudden surge of affection in his chest. Maybe he’d been misjudging her this whole time, maybe she is more on his side than his mother’s.

”Yeah. I’d like that.”

***

Felice is going out, she says when he calls to ask if she wants to hang out. He’s more than welcome to join though. If he thinks that’s a good idea right now, that is. 

Wille says it is, that he’ll come. A decision he’s already regretting.

The bass line is pumping, the music seemingly coursing through his veins, making itself part of him, drowning out his thoughts in the beat, the generic lyrics being shouted from all around. Felice, who’d been happily greeting him just a moment ago, is now somewhere in the myriad of people on the dance floor, only a minute of him looking away for her to disappear off. This was most definitely a bad idea. 

His mother had looked at him like he was out of his mind when he’d said he was going out with Felice. Which he now realizes was for once a very accurate reaction. If he’d thought before he was being treated like a rare artifact in a glass cage in a museum, it’s now gotten a thousand times worse. ’There’s no going back from this, it will put a bigger spotlight on you.’ his mum had told him last week and he’d known, of course he’d known about how it would make him even more visible, put a wider target on his back. Knowing in theory and actually facing reality are different things though. Hiding out in your room, only being served certain parts of people’s reactions on the daily morning briefings gives you a sheltered view of the way things are playing out, the kind of reaction you’re awakening. 

’The majority of responses have been positive’ their head of PR had told him, with a polite smile and an approving nod, probably giving themselves a pat on the back for their own handling of the situation. The majority. There’s a lot to be hidden in that word.

And the majority may be thinking it’s okay or it’s good or not care at all. That doesn’t stop them from looking, doesn’t stop the way every conversation seems to come to a halt whenever he comes near, doesn’t stop the hushed whispers and pointed fingers and jerking head nods in his direction. ’That’s the gay prince’ is whispered, echoing around the room, like that’s all he is now, like his whole identity is supposed to be reduced to that one part of him, one which isn’t even technically accurate. ’No, I think he’s actually queer’ someone else whispers back. 

Wille shrinks under their gazes, feels like the fairytale-emperor in his new outfit, bare and vulnerable and exposed. People looking at him, thinking thinks and whispering things, yet none of them actually bold enough to tell him to his face. He’s not vain though, not like the emperor in the story, or at least he doesn’t think so. He has never thought himself to be above anyone, has always wanted nothing more than to be like them, to be just like anyone. 

Maybe his is a reverse version of the fairytale, maybe in this story he’s the one looking in the mirror and knowing there's nothing but naked skin, nothing but a body bared and vulnerable, while everyone around him is seeing a new outfit, a new shiny layer covering him for them to have opinions on.

'I'm not wearing any clothes' he wants to yell, like the child in the story. I’m here, I’m one of you. Tell me to my face. 

There are drinks pressed into his hands, most of which Malin manages to confiscate before they reach his lips, in the name of national security and all that. Some he downs when her back is turned, letting burning liquids soothe his nerves, let them blend the staring and the whispers and the judgmental looks into a soft fog, blurry around the edges, not enough to get through his armor anymore.

As the night progresses and the general level of intoxication in the room gradually increase so does the level of confidence apparently. All of a sudden people do dare to come up to him, talk to him. Some tell him he’s brave, they tell him he’s historical. Others tell him in passing how he’s not fit to be king, how he should just abdicate now while he can. Like that’s a completely appropriate thing to come up and tell someone you don’t know. Like he’s not a person, still just property of the Swedish people, for them to comment on and have as many public opinions as they can, pull on the strings to make the puppet dance. Some give him more drinks. Wille drinks them when Malin isn’t watching.

At various occasions his phone is pulled out of his pocket, his thumb hovering over the power button, wishing and longing and yearning for someone who isn’t there.

There are people getting closer to him, a couple of guys even daring to check him out openly, another drunk and opinionated enough to try and start a fight, only backing off as Malin puts her entire body between them. It’s too much and too crowded and his panic is rising, the waterline drop by drop approaching a point of spilling over the entire wrecked city that is his current mental state. He has Malin look for a secluded spot, gratefully follows her away from the music and the looks and the very very bad idea that is this entire night. 

He lets himself slide down against the door as it closes behind him and at last succumbs, his mind swimming, his heart yearning. His finger hovers over the power button of his phone and then it’s turning to life, a constant stream of buzzing notifications coming in. He turns it to ’do not disturb’, can’t muster up the energy to look at a single one right now, just goes straight to Instagram, to his chat with Simon.

There’s a whole lot of them, all sent the previous week, between Wille’s latest text on Tuesday and Simon’s last pleading one on Sunday. After that there are no more, like he’d just given up, which makes something twist painfully inside him.

There’s a thick lump in Wille’s throat as he scrolls through the messages once, twice, seven times. The sudden closeness to Simon too much yet not enough and his heart is aching in his chest with the overwhelming desire to be held by someone he’s never met.

Simon Simon Simon. If only he could be there. If only he could hold Wille’s hand through the scrutiny, shield him from the world, hold Wille’s battered heart in gentle hands to protect it. And Wille would do the same, he would do anything and everything to keep Simon safe and happy. Which is why he can’t, right? Can’t subject Simon to the stares and the glares and the life of a museum possession.

No. He can’t.

Felice finds him at last, drags her drunken tired mess of a friend back to the dance floor. ’He’s free now, he did it, she’s so proud’ is whispered in his ear and Wille wishes he could see it that way, that he could feel the freedom she talks about. Instead everyone’s eyes are on him and he’s feeling more trapped than ever. 

There’s a hand on his shoulder and the sudden appearance of his second cousin, the one he’s been carefully dodging for years since Hillerska but is now here and he’s telling Wille how it’s all okay, how he’ll be fine and he just needs to let loose a little. That this is an exclusive club, this is for people like them. Wille squirms under the firm grip, tries to put some more space between them but in vain. 

August’s eyes turn serious, his grip tightening as he says that ’Erik would’ve been proud, he would’ve wanted you to be yourself and follow your heart’ and there’s an aching sadness in the pit of Wille’s stomach, his mind spinning, tears pressing behind his eyelids.

Another drink in his hand, a ’To Erik’ shouted towards the ceiling and how could Wille not drink to that? He downs the liquid, embraces the further fuzzy feeling wrapping itself like cotton around his mind, his aching heart, the void inside him.

After this he can’t quite remember how he goes from dancing with Felice in the middle of the crowded room to being splayed out in the backseat of the black car, to be lying alone in the grass in the palace gardens. The hedge behind him is freshly trimmed, courtesy of the men with the happy smiles and dirty hands. He smiles at the thought of them. 

A familiar radio station is playing from the speakers of his phone and it’s nice, comforting, the soft voice winding it’s way into Wille’s heart like it’s already familiar with the road, like it’s made itself a home there. It fills him with warmth, like sun rays dancing on his skin, a light a thousand times brighter than the stars in the sky above him.

He’s not sure what’s happening but does it matter, really?

***

’I’m Simon and this is Late Night Vibes with me, Simon, on The Vibe FM. That was ’Turn to Hate’ by Orville Peck, and now I believe we have a caller on the line. Hello, who am I speaking with?’

’Simon-’

’Who is this?’

’Simon jag tycker om dig’

’Wille is this you?’

’Did you know how many stars there are in the sky, Simon? So so so many. And you shine brighter than all of them, brighter than the sun even. Everything is just crazy and no one listens to what i want and nothing feels real but you’re real. I turn on my radio and you’re there and you make everything better and how do you always make everything better when you’re just a voice from a radio?’

’Wille, I really don’t think we should talk about this on the air. Please just get some sleep, okay?’

’Okay. But Simon you’re so beautiful. I’ve never even met you but you’re so beautiful, every little thing about you’

’Wille- I-. Just sleep, okay?’

’Sleep? I can’t because of the sheep.’

’The- sheep? What? Try anyway.’

’I’ll try for you’

***

’Okay my friends, so I bet someone had a little too much to drink tonight. I wish my co-worker would have spotted that before letting him come on air but he didn’t, our bad. To anyone else wanting to call in drunk and tell me you love me, I appreciate the compliment but please don’t. And for you Wille, here’s a little treat from me to you. This is First Aid Kit with their take on the Ted Gärdestad classic ’Come Give Me Love’ on The Vibe FM. Sleep tight little monkey.’

***

When Wille wakes up he’s in his own bed. Grass stains on his white shirt, leaves in his hair. A glass of water and an Ibuprofen left on his bedside table.

Malin should get a raise he thinks as he greedily gulps down the water.

And Simon. Simon should get one too. Simon who was nothing but patient even as Wille made a fool of himself on the phone. Simon and a song with soft lyrics about hope and longing, about daring to ask for it all. 

’Come give me all that you can’

Simon who is everything Wille wants and everything he needs and possibly the only one who could ever truly understand him. And who deserves an apology.

Sat, 11.21 am

hey

what the hell wille where have you been?
i’ve been worried
and then that phone call

i’m sorry

what happened?

i took your advice
came out to my parents
it’s been kind of crazy ever since
but i’m sorry for disappearing
i’ve missed you

oh
proud of you monkey
i’ve missed you too
are you okay?

getting there at least

that's good
hey wille?
do you remember what you said to me last night?

… yes
let’s not talk about that

wille it’s okay
i really like you too

Wille wants, needs, aches. He is so fucked.

***

Sat 7.34 pm

hey you know what’s a weird coincidence?

that stephen hawking died on einstein’s birthday

okay i did not know that but you’re right that is a weird one

what’s yours then?

you and the crown prince coming out the same week
is this when you tell me you’re secretly royalty?

And suddenly there is his chance, the golden opportunity presented to him on a silver platter, a chance to casually mention it in passing, hope for Simon to get it, for them to finally have nothing but truth between them. It’s a gift from the universe, a sign that maybe this is his time to leap again, to trust, to dare.

He wants to, he needs to. Except he can’t.

a monkey in a castle, could you imagine
that would be something

little monkey prince
sounds like a disney movie

The disappointment is a heavy weight in his chest, a bitter taste on his tongue. He’d thought he was being brave, that he was taking chances and living for once, but maybe as of lately he’s run out of bravery.

Chapter Text

Tue, 3.12 am

Wille are you listening to the show?

what else would I do at three am. sleep? i don’t know her. 

so did you hear that I played a country song for that person

yeah it was nice actually
and i liked the yeehaw partner you did. you’re very down with the country music fans.

oh shut up
but do you know what else they suggested
a song called ’dicked down in dallas’
they wanted me to play that on live radio
wtf

brb have got to listen to that

oh no

!!!!!!
Simon oh my god it is such a vibe
the lyrics are kind of problematic but the vibeee
ngl I kind of want to get dicked down in Dallas now

ur the worst. Encouraging you to embrace your sexuality was a bad bad idea

play it!!!
on air i mean
now
after the commercial break
i swear you’ll want it too
Yeehaw

Tue, 3.34 am

okay stop answering me then i see how it is

Tue, 4.01 am

some of us have actual work to do at night you know
but wille for once in you life you’re right
why would the lyrics have to be so horrible
i hate that i like it but it is kind of a vibe
dick me down in dallas anytime i guess

is that a proposition
👀 👀 👀

you tell me 
🤠🍆

***

Simon likes him.

This sudden revelation on Simon’s part is slowly but surely ruining Wille’s life. Before, there was always a certain level of uncertainty, a small voice in the back of his head informing him that it wasn’t like that, that Simon didn’t mean it like that, because why would he? The likeliness of Wille having a similar effect on Simon as Simon on him just not entirely believable, the growing seed of suspicion more likely a product of his sleep-deprived mess of a mind than actual real-life circumstance. It doesn’t make sense for Simon to like him like that.

And yet he does.

It’s all so very fun and new and nice and every message from Simon has his heart stop a little bit, has him feeling like those first magical days of spring, where warm sunlight is suddenly painting over the previously thawed landscape , melting the ice and bringing the promise of new beginnings, of blossoming growth in its trails. Every little comment now with so much more potential meaning, every little joke suddenly so very flirty and Wille is not equipped to handle this, doesn’t know what to do with this inner turmoil of emotions threatening to take over his entire life. 

”You seem happy today,” Sara says to his back as they let their horses turn in on the familiar path through the little forest. He’s managed to escape the castle for a bit, the excuse of maintaining his riding skills, as well as a good relationship with the Ehrencrona’s, always a sure way to bypass his mother.

Felice had greeted him at the stables for a quick coffee after hugging him tight and apologizing for the other night. ’I’m not taking you out ever again so don’t even ask,’ She’d told him sternly and Wille had offered a meek smile in return at the reminder of being watched, of August’s face as he’d talked about Erik, of ending up alone in the wet grass with no clue on how he’d gotten there. ’That’s probably for the best,’ he’d agreed, shuddering a little. But then again, it did give him the courage to reach out to Simon again. Every rose has its thorns, right?

And Sara is right, Wille is happy. He doesn’t say it’s because of Simon adding a heart as he’d texted him a late good morning, saying that his song of the moment is ’walking on sunshine’ and ’could Wille guess what he might be up to?’. Wille could, Simon has an old friend he usually meets up with on Thursday afternoons, biking down to see her at a favourite café of theirs. Wille can almost picture Simon contentedly basking in the spring sun behind his favourite sun glasses as he pedals lazily down the street, hear his voice happily proclaiming how ’it’s finally warm enough to live in this country again, next winter I’m moving for sure’. And the ’i used to think maybe you loved me, now I know that it’s true’ might not be what Simon is hinting at, probably isn’t to be honest, but the mere thought still makes Wille’s heart skip a beat.

”The weather is nice,” He shrugs in answer to Sara’s question, turns his face towards the warmth of the sun. She shoots him an unimpressed look as she lets her horse walk up next to him, clearly not convinced. Wille is sure she and Alva would be fast friends and makes a mental note to make sure their paths never cross.

He hums the song under his breath as he strokes a gentle hand down the grey mare’s neck. Sara looks at him again.

”My brother loves that song,” she says.

”He's got good taste,” Wille smiles, can’t resist the urge to again pull out his phone to look at Simon’s message, quickly send one back.

Thur, 14.12 pm

my song today is pony

kinky

Wille snorts, snaps a picture of the horse to send back. 

you wish

maybe i do

His heart does another swooping thing. Maybe it’s time to see a cardiologist.

***

The fact that Erik’s birthday is coming up does put a damper on things, has him spinning down familiar circles, falling from his Simon-induced high to once again taste the dirt underneath his fingertips. The previously thawed landscape in his chest once again succumbing to icy polar winds, winter replacing a blossoming spring.

Erik who would have turned 26. Erik who was everything Wille isn’t and who was supposed to grow up and be king, supposed to get married and have beautiful little baby heirs that the whole nation would adore. Supposed to grow old.

The fact that Erik was supposed to be 26 but he never was, that Wille is older than his brother ever got to be, is a sting in his heart, a twist of the thorn making sharp waves of the familiar grief pulsate through his chest with every shaky beat it makes. While it has been 6 years and he’s had time to grieve, to sort through the emotions, the reminder is still like a gaping hole, the absence of his brother a void big enough for even the tidal waves of grief to be unable to fill.

They’re standing around the grave, all of them wearing black to go with their empty expressions. His parents hands tightly linked, his dad’s other resting gently on Wille’s shoulder. It’s a comfort and a burden simultaneously, every year anew awakening his jarring suspicion that they deep down wish for the roles to have been reversed, for Erik’s tall shoulder to be the one offered the gentle hand of support, of the picture perfect royal family instead gathered around the grave of the younger brother, the one that never quite fit, wasn’t made for this life. 'It’s such a shame’ they’d say, ’he deserved so much better’, but at the end of the day the monarchy would keep spinning its wheels and Erik would be playing the role of Crown Prince like he was made for it. Which he was. Wille wonders how long it would have taken them to get through the mourning if it had been him, if the family would still ache from the bleeding wound of someone loved and lost even after all these years if so.

His dad’s hand squeezes his shoulder comfortingly. Wille’s own is in the pocket of his suit pants, clenching and unclenching itself.

There is a buzz to distract from the graveness of it all and he ignores the dismayed looks from his mother as he tries to inconspicuously sneak the phone out. There’s a new text from Simon, which almost manages to upturn the corners of his mouth for a split second. The other boy has apparently just woken up and is asking Wille what song he is today, accompanied by a string of happy emojis. It makes something inside him clench wistfully, makes him wish for Simon to be there, to hold his hand through the stuffy afternoon where they’re gathered around the grave to publicly grieve, to look sad (but not too sad) and solemn for the cameras. Simon wouldn’t care about what was appropriate, he would care for Wille, be a steady pillar for him to hold on to as the familiar waves of grief once again wash over the empty shores in his heart. But he’s not there and Wille is feeling himself once again lose footing, being swept away by the currents.

His mother’s eyes are on his. Her poorly veiled annoyance doesn’t help, is far from the lifeboat he wishes for. Wille looks down on his shoes. These are black and shiny, not a single stain on them. He wishes there was.

When she once again turns her gaze away he allows himself to look at Simon’s messages, to stroke a thumb over the screen as if the affection could pass through the glass and the waves of internet static separating them for Simon to feel it.

remember
seinabo sey

that’s a really good one
do you wanna talk about it?

He does, he really does. But there are cameras in his face, expectant faces all around, another photo to pose for. ’Look sad but not too sad’, someone instructs him. Wille vaguely wonders who the fuck they are to tell him how he should and shouldn’t look at the grave of his dead brother but he’s too tired to argue.

not right now

okay

Simon proceeds to send 10 pictures of baby chimps as well as a video of different monkeys being shown magic tricks, which is frankly hilarious. Wille thinks he could see himself loving him. The thought is scary and comforting all at once.

***

’This is Simon on The Vibe FM, 104.6 and you are listening to my night time show ’Late Night Vibes’. I will admit that I haven’t listened to any of the other ones, mainly due to the fact that I’m usually working when they’re on, but I am willing to go out and claim that this is, if not the best, late night radio show, at least the one with the best vibes. As always, feel free to send in requests through text or instagram dms and you’re always welcome to call in to chat with me, I love the company.

I see here that Elsa has texted us, asking if we can comment on the birthday of our late Crown Prince Erik and whether I think Crown Prince Wilhelm will be as good of a king as he would have been. Normally I would not comment on this sort of thing, I think it’s ridiculous to compare people like that and frankly rather disrespectful given the circumstances surrounding the change in the succession line, not to mention the recent media turmoil around our new Crown Prince.

I will say this. I think Crown Prince Wilhelm has shown a lot of courage lately and does not deserve for people to speculate on whether or not he is as good as his late brother, especially if this comes from a place of homophobia. I don’t believe this country needs any king but if it did I think Wilhelm would be just as good as his brother. Feel free to call in to chat but let’s keep it to other topics, shall we? Let’s make the topic of the night ’things I wish people would have explained to me a long time ago because I’ve been understanding it wrong for ages and now it’s embarrassing’, give me a call if you have any of those stories lying around! I’ll go first! I learned way too late about there being two different kinds of truffles, the mushrooms and the chocolates. I would always find it very strange when people talked about using pigs to dig for truffles, like why would someone bury chocolates for pigs to find, you know? It never made sense to me but I just assumed it was some weird tradition to make it more fancy, kind of like beef from cows raised on beer. File that one under ’weird unnecessary things rich people do just because they can’, maybe we can make that a topic for another time. Regarding the truffles I must say I prefer the chocolate ones, probably even more so knowing they had nothing to do with pigs.

Call in with your own late realizations if you have any! Now let’s play some music. This is Lil Nas X with ’Montero’ on The Vibe FM.'

***

Wille thinks that he maybe possibly does love Simon already. Feels that itch of impulsiveness rumbling under the surface, once again wanting to overpower him, make him do things and say things he might regret later. Or maybe the sadness and the longing and Simon telling people off on Prince-Wilhelm's behalf on the radio is at last making him see things clearer. Maybe.

His phone buzzes with a text and he smiles even before checking who it's from.

Fri, 1.15 am

hey monkey, how’s your night going? you wanna call the next commercial break?

always
hey simon you know what my song is

if you say dicked down in dallas i won’t pick up

i wish you were here

oh
mine too

His heart is doing that anxious fluttering again, a galloping rhythm that's surely not compatible with human life at this point and he might have to do something about that.

***

Fri, 1.27 am

felice?
i think i’m gonna do it
my heart can’t take this anymore

go get him tiger
or should i say monkey?
ugh listening to his show almost feels like listening in on someone’s private phone convos at this point, please just get together already

***

”Hey monkey” Simon's voice is warm and happy in his ear. Wille feels a nervous shiver run down his spine.

”Hi Simon. I- oh god this is going to sound silly but I- I miss you. And I- I don’t even know you. Not really.”

”Don’t be silly, of course you know me. And I-” he lets out a shaky breath and Wille can’t help his mind wandering, wondering what that would feel like against his own skin. ”I miss you too. Even though we’re texting all the time, even though we haven’t even met.”

”Simon?” Wille feels the tremble of nervousness, of anticipation, of ’just fucking do it already’ swirling deep inside him. But he wants and he’s been wanting for such a long time and Simon is so clearly wanting it too and maybe it will all be okay. Maybe he’ll be able to look past it all and just see Wille, maybe they can be okay in the end. Because how can he know if never even tries, right? 

”Simon- maybe we can- maybe we could?”

There’s a light gasp in surprise on Simon’s end, like he hadn’t suspected this, like he’d been willing to just stay Wille’s phone friend for forever, never wanting to ask for more, for too much. It tugs at Wille’s heart, a mildly euphoric sensation flowing through his veins because Simon wants it too, he’d even told him and he deserves it, no one deserves it like he does. And Wille is brave, he can be brave.

”Yes,” is whispered in his ear and Wille feels like he’s floating and falling simultaneously. If this will be the end of him it will be a glorious one.

***

Mon, 09.12 am

i can’t believe we’re finally doing this

me neither

are you still sure about it?

Simon, wonderful, wonderful Simon. Yet again offering him a way out. Is he still sure about it? He’s not and he is all at once. The mere thought is enough to have his heart start fluttering anxiously, for his palms to turn sweaty, and yet he has to, needs to, can’t take all this wanting from a distance anymore.

yes
you?

there’s nothing i’d rather want
honestly i just wanna hug you at this point

Simon Simon Simon. Who is too good to be true, who is more likely to be a figment of Wille’s sleep-deprived imagination than a real-life person at this point, except he’s not. He’s true and he’s real and for some reason wants nothing more than to see him. To hug him.

me too

i’m guessing you won’t be wearing your circus monkey outfit so how will I find you?

I’ll be the one with the bodyguards. Trust me, it won’t be that hard. Wille sighs at the reminder, pinches the bridge of his nose.

I’ll find you

***

Simon picks the place. A tiny coffee shop on a quiet street downtown. 2 pm on a Monday. It’s a strategic choice. A time where it’s busy, but not too crowded. Full of students and older people out for an afternoon fika but not yet crammed with people stopping by after work. 

Wille gets it, he does, gets the need for a public setting because what if Wille turns out to be a serial killer or a 60 year-old man. He’s seen all of Simon already but Simon has yet to see any of him. There is a need for caution, Wille gets it.

They park the car a couple of blocks over, try to remain as inconspicuous as possible as they make their way down the sidewalk, every meter of concrete bringing him closer to Simon, closer to this, closer to them. Wille feels like he’s going to throw up.

Mon, 1.59 pm

hey i’m here
i’m grabbing a table
you on your way?

The messages make the tumbling of nerves inside even worse and he has to slow down his pace to ease the nausea. Malin and Joakim almost bump into him as he suddenly stops, the reminder of their presence only managing to further aggravate the swirling of nerves.

He allows himself to stop for a second, to lean against the building next to him and take a couple of heaving breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. He can do this.

Malin and Joakim don’t meet his eyes, keep their own gazes professionally trained in another direction. But as he looks around, there are other people watching him. A couple of girls across the street, giggling and pointing in his direction, an older woman down the road looking at him for a second too long before averting her gaze. He might be crazy but he can even swear the cars on the street are slowing down as they pass him, people gawking out the windows to sneak a look at Sweden’s failure of a future king.

His shirt is feeling too tight, the dark blue one he’d spent hours picking out, wondering what color Simon would prefer, scrutinizing every detail of himself in the mirror, debating whether jeans would be good or too casual, whether a collared shirt would be too over-the-top, whether Simon would even care about his outfit or just simply walk out when faced with him. The collar feels like the wrong choice right now, pressing against his throat, making every breath more of a challenge.

In through the nose, out through the mouth. Simple as that. He can do this. He can. Right?

Mon, 2.11pm

wille are you okay?
should i order you a coffee while i wait?
or do you wanna meet someplace else?

And no Wille wants goddamnit, he wants and he will and even though his hands are shaking and his vision is slightly blurry he will go through with this. 

He just needs to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Easy.

They keep walking, Wille first and the bodyguards a step behind him. A practiced dance, one he should be used to by now but the feeling of someone at his heels has never quite managed to become a comfortable one, always has him feeling slightly unsettled. As they round the corner he can spot the sign for the café, the one Simon had texted him and with a few steps further suddenly he’s right there.

Sitting at a corner table, slender fingers curled around a coffee cup, tapping anxiously at it. His gaze is flitting between the door and his phone screen. It’s 2.23 now and Wille knows he’s so late, knows he should just hurry in there already and apologize, ease his conscience. Hope to be forgiven and accepted and that they can start this thing, whatever it is that’s been forming between them.

Except he doesn’t, he can’t. He’s frozen in place staring at a lone curl that’s hanging down Simon’s forehead, fingers aching to get to brush it away. He should go, open the door, close this ever-too-big distance between them except he can’t because there’s a group of girls down the street approaching him, all giggles and raised phones and he can’t breathe again.

In through the nose, out through the mouth. He's not sure he can do this.

Simon’s expression is shifting to one of mild annoyance, his recurrent glances at the door growing larger in number. And Wille can’t go in there to wipe it away because everyone is looking at him and the girls are still approaching and as soon as he gets in there it will be known to everyone. It will be spread across twitter, across headlines and Simon will be dragged into the circus along with him.

He’s so beautiful, so perfect. And Wille is frozen in time, in place, torn between ’fuck it, i’m doing this, we’re doing this’ and the more rational part of himself telling him to think about Simon, to think about how much he’s been through and how he’s struggled to get where he is, to a place where he’s happy and content and himself. Who is Wille to take that away from him, to force him into a spotlight he never asked for?

Another breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. He can't.

He stands there for what seems like forever, feeling the arctic winds once again sweep through his chest, erasing all the spring bloom in their path. It feels like his heart breaks down the middle as he at lasts breaks the ice in his limbs, defrosts them enough to turn swiftly on his heel, to leave with one last glance thrown over his shoulder. Simon’s face looks crestfallen, his gaze no longer trained on the door but on the table in front of him, on twitching fingers around a porcelain cup, and it twists the icy knife he’s stabbed through his own heart around, blood pouring out around the edges, filling the whole cavity with guilt and longing. But it’s better this way, Wille tells himself, it’s just the way it has to be. Simon will understand. He will, right?

The girls push and grab at him as he tries to make his way past them, reach out hands and phones towards his face, beg for ’just one selfie, please’ and he’s thankful for the way Malin steps in front of him, asks them to please give the Crown Prince some space and privacy.

’I’m sorry.’ he texts Simon later, from the safety of his bedroom, curled up in bed, arms wrapped tightly around himself to make up for a hug promised but unclaimed, of larger-than-life feelings acknowledged but left unexplored. There is no reply.

Chapter Text

It was a mistake. All of it, such a fucking mistake. Thinking he could handle it, thinking he could actually get to have something for himself for once, thinking there could possible be a future in store for them.

Wille curses his own impulsivity, the rising panic that had clawed itself up through his chest stealing his breath along with his foolish attempt at bravery, leaving behind nothing but the naked truth. It had been a mistake, he should have just been happy the way things were. Why is it that nothing ever seems to be enough, that he always seems to want to have more, to have what’s supposed to be unattainable for people like him?

Wille spends the afternoon on needles waiting for Simon to text back, pacing restlessly back and forth in his room, a swirling storm of emotions raging through him, regret mixing with relief, all tangled up in an anxious knot filling his chest.

At last there is a vibration.

Mon, 5.42 pm

are you okay?? did something happen?

i’m okay
something came up
i’m sorry

okay… what was it?

Oh shit, bad excuse. The crestfallen look on Simon’s face in the café flashes before his eyes, the way he’d kept looking at the door, a tiny sliver of hope remaining. And Wille had crushed it all under the soles of his boots, betrayed the genuine trust Simon kept on blessing him with.

just some important monkey business

He watches the three little dots signal Simon’s typing and retyping for a bit until they at last disappear. Much like the small remnant of hope Wille had been clinging to for this to pass, for Simon understanding and forgiving. Except of course that wasn’t enough. Why would he even try to be funny, of course Simon is angry.

simon i am really sorry

The three little dots remain invisible.

***

Tue, 9.34 am

again simon i’m sorry
i really am

Tue, 11.12 am

it was a shitty thing to do

Tue, 1.02 pm

i really didn’t mean to stand you up like that

The silence is deafening.

Wille tries to occupy his thoughts, wishing and waiting for the familiar buzzing of his phone. He pages absentmindedly through a book, watches those same happy gardeners tend to the flowerbeds outside his window, just two small figures in a sea of yellow daffodils. One of them has a smear of dirt along his cheekbone. The other notices after a while and brushes it off. They smile softly at each other.

Wille observes them from his seat next to the window, turns the page of his book every now and then even though none of the words are registering. Every other minute he checks the phone lying face open on the coffee table in front of him, just to see if maybe there is a new text from Simon.

There isn’t.

He’s not sure what he would even say, how he would explain what he did. How to make Simon understand. Because he has to make him understand, there can’t be a life for Wille (the prince OR the monkey) if there is no Simon in his ear late at night, no buzzing of his phone throughout the day. There just can’t.

Even if he can’t have Simon, all of Simon, the way he wants to. Even if he can’t make the dreams he’s had those nights as he’s fallen asleep to Simon’s voice in his ear become reality, can’t wish for a future of kisses and sunshine and getting to brush too long curls out of dark eyes anymore. Even if there can’t be a them. Because there can’t be, right? The sea of curious eyes outside the café, the phone cameras watching, always watching, had been enough proof of that.

Simon hadn’t hosted the show last night, instead some daytime host named My had been filling in, apologizing for Simon’s ’sudden unavailability’, but promising to bring good vibes in his absence. The worried knot in Wille’s stomach had been tangling itself increasingly tighter, the hope of hearing Simon’s voice from the mass of the people at least, even if he’d gotten too scared to get a front row seat, crumbling like a wilting flower. He’d been awake all night.

The silence is deafening.

He tries again.

Tue, 2.23 pm

simon i just want to explain

There’s still no response. 

Wille texts Sara next, asks if she’s working today, if maybe they can take the horses out for a bit. That he could really use the distraction. Any distraction at this point.

’Sorry, I’m busy’ he gets back. ’Family stuff, I’m with my brother today’

He doesn’t know if she’s ever told him about her brother before, apart from mentioning some song he liked once. He wonders absentmindedly if they’re close, if she ever used to curl up in her brother’s bed after a nightmare as kids, like he did with Erik, if the brother also likes horses.

’Another time then. Hope everything’s okay.’ He texts back in the end, opts for inviting Felice over for coffee instead.

She comes by after school, stunning in a long, dark blue coat with golden details. ”I designed it myself,” she says proudly at his compliment and he manages a small smile.

They were supposed have a quick coffee at the castle, lock themselves away from the world in the safety of his bedroom, but his luck (again) fails him. His mother bumps into them in the hall on their way to his room and, after greeting Felice with an exaggerated warmth, insists they go for a stroll in the gardens, prompts on how it’s ’such a beautiful day’ and how ’he could really use some sunlight, he’s looking so pale these days’. Wille has slept a total of zero hours and so he’s too tired to disagree, obligingly lets himself get paraded out for a ’nice stroll in the spring weather’.

Maybe she just wants to show the world that he’s still alive and thriving, not having been seen much since his coming out those few weeks ago. Maybe she’s once again trying to push for him and Felice together, even after everything. There’s always an ulterior motive with her. Or maybe she does care about his vitamin D intake. He can never be sure.

Felice herself seems only mildly displeased with the situation, covering her dismay with a polite smile. Never a fan of the circus just like him, but always having been better at maneuvering her way through it, to make it out on the other side with her own interests kept. And so they walk slowly alongside a small gravel path, trying their best to stay away from the curious eyes of visiting tourists, Wille dodging her worried glances and changing the subject every time she tries to ask him what’s going on. It won’t work forever but it will for now. He just needs some company, something to occupy his thoughts with as he waits for Simon to at last text him back.

There are cameras again, like always. Always has been, always will be. Every detail of his life belonging to others than himself. Wille vaguely wonders if they’d been tipped off by his mother. Wouldn’t even be surprised if they were.

”Are you two dating again?” Someone yells.  

Felice barely spares them a glance, dodges the flashes with a practiced ease. A graceful hand raised to shield them both. She’s just like him. They’re two canaries raised in golden cages to a life of endless and unwanted admiration, a life neither of them wants.

Wille thinks of Simon, tries to picture him walking next to him, their hands softly intertwined as the invasive flashes light up his beautiful face, invasive questions being thrown his way. They’d most likely be along the lines of ’how someone like him managed to weasel his way into the royal family’, ’how he went about making the Crown Prince gay’, ’what they will do about heirs’. They’d rip him to pieces. He can feel the way imagine-Simon’s hands slips out of his, suddenly out of reach. Wille’s stomach churns painfully even thinking about it.

It would be over before it had even begun, Simon’s good reputation forever tainted by the royal association, even after he’d realized himself the truth of who Wille was, even if he would decide to give him a chance despite of it. A chance that would be immediately squashed by flashing lights and invasive questions and never again being allowed the luxury of privacy. A soft squeeze of fingers he’d soon never get to hold again, a hand forcefully ripped out of his own. Maybe it’s for the best he never got to hold it in the first place.

It could never happen. Why on earth did he ever think it could happen. And why isn’t Simon texting him back.

”When’s the wedding?” Is yelled from behind a large camera. ”Doesn’t it bother you that he’s gay, Felice?” Someone else shouts, making Felice, for the first time this afternoon, turn her head. 

Her eyes are hard, angry. ”Have you never learned some basic manners on how to talk to people?” She snaps at him, earning herself nothing but an amused chuckle.

Wille feels sick to his stomach. Felice seems ready to jump at the man’s throat.

”Don’t give them what they want, let’s just go,” he mumbles, grabs weakly at her elbow. He can feel Malin come up next to him, shielding them from the flashes, pushing at the men to take a step back.

He feels dizzy, clings to Felice’s arm to remain upright as he lets her guide him out of the public gardens.

She hugs him tightly outside the gates when they’ve at last made their way back to safe grounds, tight enough for things to almost feel okay for a second, to hold all the pieces of him together. ”I’m sorry that happened, next time we won’t listen to her, I promise, next time it will be just us.” She tells him softly, runs a gentle hand soothingly down his back. ”Oh and Wille? You can always call me later, you know. If you want to talk about what happened. I know something did so don’t even bother denying it.”

He nods into her hair, holds on for a second more before letting go and waving her off into her awaiting car. He wraps his arms around himself instead, replacing the sensation of hers. It’s not tight enough.

The walk back to his room is a long one, every step increasingly heavy, nothing awaiting him there except loneliness and memories and the old radio playing songs that weren’t handpicked by Simon. As he’s climbing the last set of stairs there is at last the long awaited buzzing in his pocket. 

Simon Simon Simon. Wille’s heart feels heavy, every beat of it slow and reluctant. Wishing and wanting so bad for something it can never have. Because it can never be, right? Everything happening these past days is pointing towards that. It’s better they stay friends, better they never explore what could be. At least then no one will get hurt.

Tue, 6.01 pm

sorry i’ve been out 
okay explain then?
and don’t give me that ’monkey business’ crap again, you could have called at least

it’s complicated
but you did nothing wrong, it’s all me. i just panicked and i’m sorry
but simon i’ve come to realize it could never work between us like that
i still want to be keep being friends though, don’t want to lose what he have

It takes a long time for Simon to respond, for the little dots to appear and disappear and reappear. 

Tue, 6.22 pm

it’s not you it’s me? really?
honestly wille i don’t think i can

Wille’s afternoon coffee makes a reappearance as he curls over his trash can. There’s bile in his mouth and an ache in his heart.

***

Wed, 1.32 pm

simon please
i miss you
my song today is oceans by seafret

wille i don’t think i can be your friend right now
sorry 

but simon you said before it’s okay if we never meet, that we can stay friends like this. monkey in your phone remember?

yeah i did
but things change and i thought maybe things between us changed too
until you let me sit there worrying about you for over an hour and you didn’t even text me back or gave me a reason why
i deserve better than that

Wille knows he’s right. He does deserve better than that, better than him.

***

Thur, 5.45 pm

i just want you to know it’s not because i don’t want to
because i do, i did, more than anything
some things are just out of my control
and you’re right, you do deserve better than that

honestly wille that sounds like a bunch of bullshit
either you want to or you don’t and you’ve made it pretty clear that you don’t
could you just please give me some space?

yeah
i’m sorry

***

Wille tries, he really does. Reminds himself over and over of the reasons why this is the best possible course of action. Why this is what needs to be done. Simon will understand eventually. He’ll come around. He will, right? He just needs some space.

Said space is currently suffocating him, wrapping it’s long limbs around his throat and choking him slowly, laughing at him as he desperately claws at it to reclaim his breathing.

He’s not sure why he keeps listening to Simon’s show. Just hearing his voice is enough to bring back the longing, the wanting, the resentment he feels towards his whole sad excuse of a life.

Simon doesn’t seem to be in a much better mood. There’s a lot of angsty songs apart from the requests, a lot of lyrics for Wille to anxiously pick apart, wondering if they were directed at him.

He gathers they probably are. It hurts.

’We have a text from Stina asking about where ’monkey’ is these days. Apparently he’s made himself a recurring feature of this show and people now realize his absence, huh, who would’ve thought. Honestly Stina, I have no idea, he’s probably out there doing his important monkey business like swinging on trampolines or throwing peanuts at people. I don’t know what monkeys do in their spare time and I’ve never been particularly interested in zoology. Anyway, here is ’Sweetheart, What Have You Done To Us’ with Keaton Henson, you’re listening to the Vibe FM.’

His voice is kept light, the bite in his tone barely audible, but Wille feels the sting of it, wishes he could go back in time so he could just call in like normal and they could banter on air (or off air, he’s open to anything at this point), like they used to. But Simon has requested space and so he shouldn’t, can’t, won’t. He doesn’t even need to wonder about these lyrics. He knows they’re for him.

The mentions of himself never seem to end though, never seem to stop wanting to remind him of the place he could have had in Simon’s life, the spot that had been reserved for him, only to be left unclaimed.

’Hi caller, you’re on with Simon on the Vibe, what’s on you mind today?’

’Hi Simon, this is Sofia. I know you’re not the biggest fan of the monarchy, but you’ve been talking quite a bit about it recently anyway, and so I just wanted to call in and say I think it’s cruel how people have been harassing Crown Prince Wilhelm lately.’

’I’m not known for keeping up with the royal gossip so would you care to explain further what you’re talking about?’

’The way he couldn’t even walk down the street to get a coffee the other day without some people ambushing him and then again getting chased by paparazzi just like a day later. I mean, it’s like you say, they’re only people right? No different from the rest of us. He just looked so sad, it makes me angry with people. It’s all over social media and people are saying the nastiest things in the comments.’

’I- uh- I agree with you there, of course, Sofia. That’s a major invasion of privacy regardless of who we are and frankly why should we even care? Royals drinking coffee just like the rest of us? Shocking revelation, right? I mean, honestly, what have any of them ever accomplished that’s interesting enough for people to be this invested? Except for having certain DNA that is.’

’Well, personally, I’m not opposed to the idea of the Royal Family and the work they do, I just wish people would be kinder on Wilhelm. But the necessity of the royals is a whole other discussion and I won’t take up more of your time. Thanks for letting me come on the show, can I request a song?’

’Of course’

’The music has been kind of angsty lately, I’d like to request something a bit more upbeat. Can I have ’Feels’ by Calvin Harris?’

’Oh, has it? I didn’t realize. Sure thing, we’ll play it right away. Have a good evening and thanks for calling in! This is The Vibe FM, now playing ’Feels’ for Sofia.’

It’s even kind of ironic the way they’re talking about Wille’s panic-attack-induced decision to stand Simon up and Simon still doesn’t know, has no idea about how close he’d been to an actual royal, to one of those who’s accomplished nothing beyond their DNA.

Wille’s not sure if this is even what’s for the best anymore or if the rising anxiety currently taking over his entire life is playing tricks on his judgement, if maybe he's made the wrong decision after all. Again. It had seemed like the only solution, like the only way to go, except now he’s not sure and he’s oh so tired and all he wants is the safety of Simon’s company again. Except Wille fucked up (again) and Simon wants space.

***

Tue, 7.23 pm

simon please
i really do care about you
can’t we talk about this?

Wille tries to stay away, he really does. His self-restraint is unfortunately not his best quality.

*** 

***

’That was ’Don’t Worry’ by Ulrik Munther. You’re listening to Late Night Vibes with Simon on The Vibe FM. If you’ve been following this show for a while you know that sometimes I do a little bit of singing myself. I’m no pro or anything but the station lets me do it every now and then for fun. Tonight’s kind of a slow night and I’ve been having a lot on my mind lately so I’m going to do things a little differently. This is a song I wrote, I call it ’Dum’.

The song is heartbreaking, a slow piano melody accompanying Simon’s melodic voice where his own pain and longing is so very clearly on display. It's cutting into Wille’s already battered heart like a knife, tugs and slashes at the parts he hasn’t already damaged himself.

Why do I want what I can’t have?

You don’t say anything because you don’t feel the same

How the hell can I be falling for someone that doesn’t want me back?

Du gör mig dum

He feels dumb, feels like a fool, like the worst person to have ever walked the face of the earth and maybe he is, who is he to claim that there are worse people out there. At least none of them have caused the human equivalent of sunshine to sing heart-aching songs on the radio, pouring his heart out because people like himself have ripped it from his chest and stepped on it. The wanting is so apparent, so much like what Wille himself is feeling and obviously he’d known Simon liked him back, had been amazed by it, swept away by a feeling much like walking on clouds, like seeing colors after a life in darkness, but that he seemingly wanted like this, emotions running deep and high just like the ones Wille’s been harboring himself, that had seemed too far-fetched, too out of reach.

He’d thought it was for the best, had been so caught up in not wanting Simon to see him and hate him and reject him, for Simon not to fall victim to the endless scrutiny of the media, of the people, of the golden cages. Too caught up in trying to prevent future pain that he’d managed to inflict a lot of present one in the process. Great plan Wilhelm, A+ for execution.

He wishes he could apologize, explain, possibly take it all back. Make the laughter return to Simon’s voice, bring back the teasing and flirting and the ’tell me your song’ and the endless monkey jokes. Except Simon still hasn’t texted him back for days so then how can he get him to understand?

Thur, 1.12 am

simon please i’m sorry
i take it all back, i just want everything to be okay again

Simon’s end of the text thread remains eerily quiet.

Maybe there is one other way though.

He dials the number, the dance of fingers over the digits one so familiar he could do it with his eyes closed.

”Bro, he doesn’t want to talk to you” Ayub says, in lieu of a greeting. Wille isn’t surprised, not really.

”Please, just please tell him that I’m sorry. To please text me back so I can explain, for real this time,” He pleads, is not above begging on hands and knees if that’s what it would take.

”I will. But Wille, if you don’t have any plans to fix this I don’t think you should call here again.”

There’s a click in his ear and Ayub is gone.

Wille is left in the emptiness of his bedroom, aching heart and trembling hands, the ominous rising of water levels in his eyes, waves just waiting to crash over him.

He can’t sleep, can’t find comfort in the radio where Simon’s own mood is still apparent even as he tries to cover it up by doing silly games with his listeners and taking extra song requests. He turns it off instead, wallows in his misery with the shadows dancing on his walls, the red-eyed sheep lurking behind his eyelids. ’You screwed it all up’ they scream at him tonight, ’You did this.’

At 3.01 am he’s awoken from a restless slumber, the sudden sound of his phone vibrating on his nightstand making him shoot straight up from the bed, pulse racing.

”Hello?”

”Wille, you can’t just call me like that- it’s just- no”

”Simon,” he breathes, isn’t sure if it’s real or another nightmare.

”Ayub said you needed to explain. Even though I specifically asked you to give me some space. Even though I thought you already did explain before. But it’s all gonna be on your terms like usual, I guess. So. Go ahead.” There’s a sharp edge to his tone, a tired sigh escaping his lips at the end of the sentence.

”I- I’m so sorry Simon. I swear I never wanted to hurt you.”

”Well you did. Maybe you should have thought about that before giving me fucking whiplash with all your back and forth.”

”I- it’s complicated.”

Simon lets out a humorless laugh. ”If this is your explanation then I’m done. I have a show to get back to.”

”No- wait wait wait. You know there are things about myself that I haven’t told you about, that I couldn’t tell you about?”

”Yeah?” The word is uttered with apparent frustration. Wille gets it.

He thinks maybe this time he will actually leap, maybe this time he’ll finally make Simon understand just why he did what he had to do. Maybe he’ll do it and then pay the price. It can’t be much worse than the one he’s already paying.

”So I- I was going to meet you, I was. I was right there and I saw you sitting there at the corner table and you were sipping your coffee and you looked so good and I just- couldn’t. I knew it was just going to fuck things up and that’s the last thing I want for you so I just- I couldn’t do it.”

”What, so you’re telling me that you were there that day?”

”I panicked okay? I- it’s just, I realized that if you knew me, you wouldn’t want me. And- I just couldn’t lose you.” And there it is, the broken admittance, the little boy inside him afraid of rejection, so afraid of Simon rejecting the real him that he’d rather fuck it up himself first. Being a failure isn’t really anything new to him. He draws in a shaky breath. ”And even if you did, it- it could never work for us. It would be doomed before it even begun.” 

Simon is seething on the other side of the line, anger seeping off his very word. ”Honestly Wille, I don’t care! I don’t care about what you think is so fucked up with you that I’d just take off and leave. And I know you’ve been through a bunch of stuff lately but it hurts that you won’t even give me some damn credit! I know, okay? I’ve known for a while and can you believe me when I say I care for you regardless? If I say I was willing to give it a shot?”

The angry words are making Wille’s head spin, making it hard to focus on what he’s trying to say, to admit at last. He ponders on the last part, Simon’s question on whether he can believe him on caring regardless. And that’s the problem isn’t it. Can he believe that? Is he willing to risk everything, to put it all out there on the line at last? 

He thinks maybe he does. That maybe it’s the only way for them to ever get on the same page again. Maybe this way Simon can see for himself just how bad of an idea it was. That the only reasonable course of action is to go back to how things were.

”I- I don’t know. I just- can’t, it won’t work. Because of who you are and- who I am and- it just wouldn’t be possible,” he whispers, feels a traitorous tear running down his cheek. ”Simon- I have to tell you I- I’m the-” 

He’s about to offer it all up, tell Simon just why the whole idea of them is one that could never be, why it could only ever be destined for failure and heartbreak. The words are on the tip of his tongue, the heavy weight finally breaking its ties, shimmying its way out.

Yet again they're kept in his mouth though, are interrupted just as the word ’prince’ has started forming on his tongue.

”Because of who I am?” Simon scoffs. ”I see how it is. Maybe you shouldn’t call here again.” His voice is hard, unforgiving.

The line goes dead.

***

Thur, 3.21 am

Felice i fucked up
what do i do

omg Wille do you always have to have every crisis in the middle of the night, i was sleeping

sorry

it’s fine
i’m up now, i’ll help
what DID you do

i was supposed to meet him before but then i didn’t because he would’ve known who i was and he hates the monarchy so he probably hates me
and i was going to risk it but then i saw him and he was so perfect
and there were all these girls bugging me for a photo and i had both the bodyguards with me and i panicked
i just couldn’t do that to him

well did you tell him?

i tried to apologize but he wouldn’t text me back
and then he called me just now and told me to explain and i tried and i was gonna tell him but instead i just made everything worse and now he’s hurt and angry and will never speak to me again

wille,  i swear to god
just go see him in person
what are you even so afraid of?
you’re officially out (yay for that again btw, so proud of you!), you’ve been talking to each other for months and he’s so obviously into you
i even saw someone shipping you guys in the comments the other day
simon + monkey, it was sweet

but i can’t force him into my life like that, with the cameras and the media and everything
they’ll ruin him
it wouldn’t be fair to ask that of him

wille, sweetie, that’s not your call to make
he’s a grown man
he can make his own decisions

but what if he doesn’t want me

then you’ll come here and we’ll eat ice cream out of the tub and paint our nails
i don’t have class tomorrow anyway
heartbreak is sufferable
regret is forever

okay
i’ll go
pick up some ice cream for me, okay?

you won’t need it

***

There’s no time to think this through, no time to let his anxiety get the best of him again and render him useless and sad, curled up in bed for the remainder of his long and lonely life. Instead Wille very decidedly does not think, lets himself again get guided by impulse, prays this time it won’t betray him.

He gets dressed in a haze, sneaks out the room through the secret door in the back of his wardrobe. As children he and Erik had used to pretend it was the wardrobe door to Narnia, that they were sneaking off to become princes of a faraway fairytale land instead, one where princes get to go on adventures and befriend fairytale creatures instead of having to sit through endless hours of etiquette lessons and be told to not get their clothes dirty. Erik would let him sit on his shoulders as they ran through the secret hallways, on a quest to free Aslan and defeat the White Witch. He hasn’t used it in years and the hinges creak slightly as he pushes it open.

He wonders if Malin, who’s working the night shift, knows about the secret door too or if it’s a forgotten part of the floor plan, one known only to those who’ve been living in the castle for their entire life, those who know every nook and cranny from endless games of hide and seek, from sneaking out of his room at night to crawl into Erik’s bed after a bad dream. She might, but then again, it doesn’t matter if she does. At least it will buy him a few minutes.

He tiptoes down the hall, sticks to the hidden halls and entrances meant for staff, takes the smaller staircase in the back down to the garage. Every step feels like a victory, every minute without someone grabbing his arm and expectantly asking ’where the crown prince thinks he’s going at this early hour’ a triumph. There’s no one in his way and soon enough the engine of the car roars to life, the red one, Erik’s one. The one that was supposed to be Wille’s one day, for him to feel the rush himself as soon as he’d gotten his license. Wille’s never driven it before but there’s a first time for everything and suddenly the feeling of rushing it down the streets in a haste of streetlights and wind in his face seems very appealing. Maybe this impulsiveness is getting to his head.

The guard working the night shift at the gate looks at him curiously but doesn’t question his need to exit. He’ll call it in though, Wille is sure of it, knows he’s only got a few minute head start before someone’s after him. But a few minutes is good, he can work with that. The car purrs as he presses his foot down on the gas pedal. And then he flies.

Flies down the empty streets, flies through the city and out on the other end, flies all the way to a small alley in the backstreets of the radio station’s building, where the car red as blood at last halts to a stop. It’s a no parking zone but Wille leaves it there regardless. They’ll find him. There won’t be a fine to pay. And then he flies up the stairs.

He doesn’t get all the way there, is stopped outside a locked door on the fourth floor and is forced to take a moment to catch his breath as he rings the bell. Once, twice, three times. Until a friendly-looking guy shows up, wearing a man-bun and a puzzled look, eyes widening at the sight of him.

”Excuse me but what the fuck.” he says, gapes at Wille who squirms uncomfortably under his gaze.

”Ayub, right? I need to see Simon.” The voice matches, Wille recognizes Simon’s best friend with the four sisters, a cat and plans to backpack through Europe in the summer. Knows him even.

Ayub’s mouth drops open just a few centimeters more. Wille wonders if his jaw is going to stay attached if this keeps progressing.

”You’re- no- no freaking way man.”

”Listen, you said if I didn’t have a plan to fix this I shouldn’t call again. I know I fucked up but I’m here now, I want to fix this. I want to call again.”

”Oh. It all makes so much sense now,” Ayub breathes out. ”I told Simon it was weird that the prince would just leave that little comment there, just out of nowhere. But it wasn’t the prince, it was you. Or, well, I guess it was both.”

Wille feels a tiny smile tug at his lips, a rising feeling of happiness from the fact that Ayub doesn’t seem to have changed his opinion about him, can overlook the title and still see him as Wille.

”Yeah- um- could I come in?”

”Of course, bro.” Ayub opens the door a bit wider, gestures for Wille to enter. ”Listen, if you could just wait in there I’ll go get him. He’s still doing the show but I can take over, play some requests.”

Wille follows obediently, sits down on the couch in the little break room Ayub had pointed him towards and tries to keep his knees from their shaky attempt at tap dancing, puts his elbows on them to keep them still. The adrenaline from the spur of the moment decision, the escaping the house, the flying down the streets in the red car, is waning off and Wille is once again mainly tired and anxious, worn down by too many emotions over the past week, on the brink of emotional collapse really.

So why not have just one more major emotional event for the night or the morning or whatever time seems to be these days.

”Wille?”

He can hear Simon’s voice from the doorway before he sees him. His face is still buried in his hands, pressing down to keep shaky legs at bay and he stays like that for a split second, taking a deep breath before jumping in headfirst.

He can hear the sound of hesitant footsteps coming closer, looks up at last.

He’s seen Simon’s face up close before, has liked any and every picture of it on social media but nothing could have prepared him for the absolute marvel that is Simon Eriksson in the flesh. It’s like his breath gets hitched in his throat, like he’s suddenly forgotten both all words he’d previously known and the somewhat famous mechanism of breathing. Maybe he should have brought a dictionary.

”Hi Simon,” he says and he can see the way Simon’s dark eyes widen at the sight of him, flashes of emotions ghosting across his face in the faint light from the fluorescent lights.

”So this is you. For real.” He says hesitantly, stops a couple of meters away from Wille’s twitching figure on the couch.

”The one and only.” He tries for a smile. He can hear his heart beat swooshing loudly in his ears.

Simon doesn’t return it, expression remaining blank, a flicker of hurt in his eyes.

”What the fuck Wille, what are you even doing here? How could you do that to me? I sat there waiting for like an hour and a half and you didn’t even have the nerve to call me to cancel. And when I ask you about it you lie. And then you tell me you can’t be with me, that it can’t be ’like that’, that you can’t be with me because of ’who I am’. And now you come interrupt my show for what? To ease your conscience? To tell me again how you ’can’t do this anymore’ but you want to remain friends?” His eyes are hard.

Wille doesn’t get it, is left staring dumbly at Simon. His leg starts bouncing nervously again.

”No- I just wanted to explain, I- there were just all these people looking, and they had cameras and I couldn’t, we couldn’t-” He tries, the words not really making sense as they tumble out his mouth in a hasted attempt of explaining.

”You couldn’t be seen with me, that’s it, right?” Simon says, one eyebrow raised almost challengingly. He sighs, runs a hand through messy curls. ”Because I’m not someone like Felice Ehrencrona, right? I get it. So what’s it gonna be, you offer me money to keep quiet on all of this? That’s how your people tend to operate, isn’t it? If so I don’t want it, you can take it and go.”

”No- Simon- I” He stammers, looks at Simon pleadingly.

”No, I get it- mommy dearest wouldn’t be all that thrilled with you seeing someone so unfit, so unroyal. I’m glad you came to your senses at last, we couldn’t have our future king seen with such a commoner, right? Someone ’like me’ like you said. Too bad you didn’t have the guts to tell me that before. Before all the flirting, before giving me hope and then fucking standing me up.”

Wille doesn’t know what to say, what words to use to soothe the angry ones coming out of Simon’s mouth. His whole apology is stuck in his throat and no matter how hard he tries he can’t seem to force it out.

Simon’s hand is rubbing frustratedly at the back of his neck, his gaze flickering from Wille’s face to the floor to the door. Maybe he wants Wille to leave.

Maybe this was all a really bad idea.

Maybe he should leave.

”I’m sorry.” Wille says, voice small. ”I- didn’t know how.”

Simon sighs tiredly, averts his gaze to the floor. ”Was it all a game to you? Something to pass the time with at night when you couldn’t sleep? Tricking the ’anti-monarchist’ radio host into believing he stood a chance, into thinking you were somehow different? Well shame on me because I did and you weren't.” He shuffles his feet a little, raises his gaze to meet Wille’s own again. ”You must have thought I was such a fool. Was any of it even fucking real?” 

There are tears in Wille’s eyes now, the rising sea levels no longer under control. The glaciers are melting and the levels are rising and it’s going to overflow the entire land, the entire country, the entire world and it was a bad idea, he knew it was a fucking bad idea but he did it anyway and now Simon is even angrier and he doesn’t want him and of course he doesn’t and- and. Wille can’t breathe, rubs anxiously at his chest.

”I tried to tell you” he says, wipes the back of his hand across his cheek, angry at the way it comes back wet with treacherous tears. He huffs out a humorless laugh. ”I told you if you knew me you wouldn’t want me. Guess I was right. So- yeah- I’m sorry, I’ll get out of your hair.” He runs a hand through his hair, draws in another shaky breath. ”I- for whatever it’s worth I think I love you. And you can leak that to the press if you want, I don’t care about them. Or my mother. It’s all been real for me, I’d never be ashamed of you.”

 Simon’s eyes are still fixed on him, wide and confused as Wille rises off the couch on shaky legs, hastily makes his way towards the door.

”Wille- wait!” Is called out after him but it gets drowned in the sound of the heavy door slamming shut behind him, just like the door of opportunity he’d thought he had.

What a fucking mistake. He can see himself out now, please and thank you. He can only imagine when this makes the headlines.

’Prince Wilhelm foolishly crushes anonymously on late night radio show host and lies about his identity on multiple occasions, imagine the surprise when said radio show host finds out who he truly is. Is Prince Wilhelm a disgrace of a future monarch? Very much so. Is he also a disgrace of a person? Yes sir. Read more on page 6’

He probably deserves it. As a disgrace of a person and all. Where are all the paparazzi when you need them? They might as well get a head start on that cover photo.

But the street is empty as he exits the building, no flashing lights in sight. It’s almost disappointing. The only person there is Malin, waiting for him by the red car. She’s angry, he can tell, but she says nothing.

”We have the other car over here,” is all she says, gesturing to the black one parked across the street. As she opens the door for him Wille can feel himself slumping over, falling across the entirety of the backseat. He can’t even be bothered to get up, remains bonelessly splayed out on the leather, a sad formless mass previously know as Wille or Crown Prince Wilhelm or even ’monkey’ for a precious little while.

Thur, 4.32 am

felice

heyy
you’re supposed to be with your lover boy
what happened?

can you get that ice cream out of the freezer?

oh honey of course

Chapter Text

"Never regret thy fall, O Icarus of the fearless flight, For the greatest tragedy of them all, Is never to feel the burning light.”

- Oscar Wilde

Thur, 04.42 am

’Hey, you’ve reached Wille. If you have this number you probably know what to do.’ 

Beep.

’Wille! I don’t know how you managed to get away this quickly, I tried to catch up to you but you were already gone. I can’t really come find you, can I, so please call me back when you get this? It’s really important.’

***

Thur, 06.21 am

i’m guessing you’ve gone to sleep by now but please text me tomorrow. or call. anything. we need to talk.

***

It’s not that Wille expects to wake up to a world where last night had gone completely different, one where he’d managed to say the right things, convince Simon of the genuineness of his feelings. A world where the body occupying the bed next to him wouldn’t have long flowing hair fanning out across the pillow, but rather short and curly, messy stray curls to be carefully tucked away behind ears by his own fingers. A world where it had all been a misunderstanding and where Simon of course still wanted to be with him, even after everything. 

Wille doesn’t expect that. Except there’s a tiny part of him that definitely does and is immensely disappointed when he finds himself tiredly squinting at sun rays filtering through the window, wishing to be somewhere completely different. Maybe someone completely different.

He presses the side button on his phone to check the time but finds it dark and out of battery. It’s probably better that way. He doesn’t have the energy to try and find a charger, just lets it slide out of his hand back onto the mattress. 

There’s an empty tub of ice cream and wine bottle still resting on the crumpled sheets between them, an uncomfortable reminder of the horror show that had been last night. Where hope and forced bravery had been traded for disappointment and wet stains decorating Felice’s pillows once she’d fallen asleep and he’d been left alone with his thoughts once again. It makes for a sad picture, one that should be reserved for rom-coms with guaranteed happy-endings and not for real life princes fucking up their lives and reputations.

Wille would gladly fuck up both life and reputation if Simon had just wanted him back. A scary thought but a true one nonetheless. Oh if only his life had been a rom-com with the happy ending lurking just around the corner.

Felice is still out like a light, not quite as accustomed to late night/early morning awakedness as he is. She’s snoring softly and clutching a pillow tightly in her arms as he carefully wiggles out from under the shared blanket. The floorboards are cold against his bare feet as he pads across the room in search of the coat he finds carelessly thrown over a chair in the corner. He presses a chaste kiss to Felice’s hair, whispers a ’thank you’ before he tiptoes out the room, meets a bleary-eyed looking Malin blinking at him over a styrofoam cup of coffee in the hallway. She nods at him.

”You know, you didn’t have to stay,” he says, even though he knows that it’s like speaking to deaf ears.

”My job is to be where the Crown Prince is,” she replies, like always, like he’s dumb for even insinuating anything else and Wille sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose.

”Sometimes I’d like to not be where the Crown Prince is,” he says tiredly. If he was he probably could have had Simon right now, would probably have an actual job, one he’d know stuff about. Like the smiling men in the garden outside his window. Maybe he’d have a pet.

Something flickers behind Malin’s stony expression but she doesn’t say anything, simply lets him lead the way out to the car parked on the street outside Felice’s apartment and opens the door for him.

He contemplates charging his phone in the car but decides against it, can’t bring himself to muster up the courage to look at it, isn’t sure if he’d prefer there to be angry messages from Simon after last night or just the overwhelming void of nothingness, much like whatever used to exist between them has turned into. He wonders if Simon one day will be able to look back with fondness on what they used to have or if he’ll be reduced to a bad memory forever. The thought hurts no matter the outcome.

As he stumbles up the stairs towards his room, wanting nothing but to pull the covers over his head and escape from existence for all of the foreseeable future, he’s met with Alva. Because of course life won’t give him a fucking break. He’s a prince, that’s not in the cards for him. She’s impeccably dressed as always, not a hair out of place, sitting cross-legged on a chair in the corner. She looks up as he enters, expression shifting from one of mild annoyance to concerned in a heartbeat as she looks him over.

”I would ask you where you’ve been and perhaps even sternly reprimand you for missing our morning briefing, but from the look on you face I’m guessing you’ve got enough going on already,” she says and smiles sympathetically. Wille can feel himself melting under the warmness of her gaze, sympathy once again awakening all the feelings he’d carefully stowed away after last night, the water levels strictly maintained by the highest of barricades. But Alva’s blue eyes are gentle on him and he’s worn thin from overrun emotions and the ever-present sleeplessness. The barricades are leaking at the seams. He blinks against it.

She pretends not to notice, averts her gaze to the tablet on her lap. ”I’ve got your schedule for today,” she says. ”We can still make it on time if we hurry.” He’s grateful for the distraction, wipes the corners of his eyes with his coat sleeve as unnoticeable as possible, hums noncommittally.

There are two garment bags draped neatly over a chair and a stack of boxes next to the coffee table. Probably related to the plans they’re still gonna make it on time to. Wille doesn’t have the energy to ask what pointless circus event he’s supposed to be warded off to today, doesn’t really care. Instead he slumps down on the couch, bonelessly melting into the fine fabric. There’s something sharp poking at his back. Couches for royals are apparently not made for lying across, but rather designed to reprimand anyone daring to try other seatings than the graceful sit with the impeccably straight back. His mind dares to suggest in a whisper how Simon probably has a really nice couch, a soft and worn one perfect for napping and cuddling and-… There’s a leak in the barricade again. His sleeve is already wet when he presses it to his eyes.

”Wille?” As he looks up Alva’s now kneeling next to the couch, hand once again awkwardly hovering in the air between them. Close but out of reach, like there’s a magnetic force field between him and the world, preventing anyone from ever making their way through, from getting any closer to him than merely admiring the surface. There are cracks in it right now, water leaking from the poorly constructed barriers and yet the force field is preventing anyone from pulling him away from the impending flood.

”Wille, do you need me to get you out of today?” She asks concernedly and he can’t meet her gaze, can’t uphold the last of his barriers in the presence of her kindness. He blinks away a couple more tears, shakes his head no. Skipping his duties would mean having to explain himself to his mother and he’s most likely already in enough trouble as it is for his little solo adventure last night. It wouldn’t help in the long run.

”Just let me know if you change your mind, okay?”

He nods dutifully even though he knows he won’t.

She clears her throat a little. ”And- just- if you want to talk about it, just know you can. I’m here for you. And I care.” She sounds so genuine, so concerned that he can’t help himself but look up from the armrest of the couch and meet her eyes. He can feel a lone tear escaping, trickling down his cheek, drip down onto the fine fabric.

The hovering hand seems to have made a decision at last, a daring attempt to breach through the force field and it comes to rest gently on his forearm. Wille blinks against the tears pressing behind his eyelids. Apparently the breaching of the force field catalyzes an ever bigger impact on the dams and now he can’t hold it back anymore, can feel a muffled sob escape his lips. It should be embarrassing, should be inappropriate since he’s supposed to be her boss and her future monarch or at the very least someone with less openly portrayed emotions.

Except he’s not and now he’s crying again and somehow her arms make their way around him and he’s hugged tightly tightly in a way that would almost be nice if it wasn’t for the circumstances.

”Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay,” is whispered into his hair and he shakes his head fervently because he’s so very clearly not. He’s just someone destined for disappointment, for always, always falling short on everything he wants, of never quite meeting anyone’s expectations, not even his own.

”I just keep fucking everything up,” he mumbles. ”It’s like everything I touch just seems to break. And it’s like no matter what I do I can’t seem to do anything right.”

She tightens her hold around him, runs a soft hand down his back. ”Oh Wille,” she whispers. ”I know it may seem like it right now, but I don’t agree. I think you’ve done plenty right.”

”Tell that to my mother,” he mutters bitterly into the soft fabric of her blouse.

”Yeah maybe I should,” she says thoughtfully, shoots him a conspiratorial look as they at last pull apart and it’s enough to almost coax a smile out of him.

There are no more words needed and no further hugs warranted between a boy/prince/mess and his assistant/possibly-almost-friend, but there is however a photoshoot that they’re apparently increasingly late to. Despite the heaviness in his heart Wille feels lighter, can even muster up a smile as he lets Alva shoo him off to the shower to ’wash the sad smell off’ and then immediately starts fussing over his outfit and his hair once he emerges from it.

It’s okay. He’s okay.

Then there’s a photographer who tells him to think about happy things, how they want to convey a future king proud of his country, hopeful about the future and all Wille can think about is Simon’s dumb monkey jokes and how he always used to send Wille pictures of cute animals whenever he’d have a bad day. ’I said happy things, not sad ones’ the guy complains when Wille fails to deliver the right kind of vibe. Like it’s not a possibility for things to be both. ’Just smile, please,’ he begs. Wille tries to turn the corners of his mouth upwards.

The shoot seems to take forever. Wille only listens half-heartedly as he’s directed to look in different directions, change poses, outfits. Instead he’s preoccupied with thoughts on what song he’d pick if Simon for some reason would have reached out today, if he’d given Wille another chance to explain himself, maybe even asked him his song like before.

’I’m ’Golden’ by Harry Styles today’ he’d text back, he thinks. Try to again explain how it was never a game for him, never a matter of not trusting Simon but rather a fear of once again being alone when it eventually would dawn on Simon how hopelessly fucked up he was, a fear of shadowing Simon’s sunny warmth with his own darkness.

I know you were way too bright for me

I'm hopeless, broken

I don’t wanna be alone

You’re so golden

***

”Wilhelm, what is up with you today?” There’s a hint of concern on his mother’s face as she inspects him before their afternoon meeting. He’s tired from the day, from the never-ending photo shoot, from the plastered on smile just barely covering up the cracks in his facade. Apparently he’s not doing it well enough. She brushes some lint of his shoulder, smooths out the fabric of his jacket. It’s the closest they usually get to physical affection and Wille can feel himself subconsciously leaning into her touch. 

He thinks about how Simon had angrily stated how Wille would never be allowed to date someone like him, wonders why he would think that and if there’s any truth to it. He doesn’t ask his mother though, is afraid of what her answer might entail. He supposes it would probably be something along the lines of his partner having to be of noble descent regardless of gender and in that case what does it even matter that he’d gone through the whole media circus of being the world’s first out and proud Crown Prince, if he still can’t be with the person he loves?

Not that it matters anymore since Simon so very clearly did not want anything more to do with him. But still. The word love doesn’t even feel that strange anymore as he thinks it, doesn’t fill his chest with panic or the pit of his stomach with dread. Love. It’s a whisper ghosting across his skin, an almost nostalgic longing for something had and lost. Even if he’d never had it, even if the nostalgia is more about a missed opportunity than anything else. A love promised but unclaimed, unloved.

”Wilhelm?” She asks again, looks at him expectantly, still at arms length’s distance.

”I- uh-” he stutters, shrinks under her gaze. ”Just an unfortunate romance, mum,” he mumbles, tries to not seem too affected, remain on the right side of the line for appropriately expressed feelings for royals. (There really should be a handbook for that.) He remembers how she’d told him about being part of one of those herself once, years ago. ’Before I met dad’, she’d said with a wistful look in her eyes. So maybe she’ll get it, maybe she’ll understand and at the very least go a little easier on him for the rest of the day. The suit is stiff and uncomfortable and the tiredness makes his head feel like he’s stuck under water, just barely keeping up with the real world.

He doesn’t expect the way her arm suddenly curls around his shoulders, the unexpected soft look in her eyes as she leans in for a stiff embrace, their bodies not quite accustomed to this kind of proximity. But trying nonetheless. He can feel himself melt into it, once again revert to that little boy who just wanted a hug from his mother, only he couldn’t because his mother was the Queen and that kind of softness a luxury only reserved for others. 

”I’m sorry to hear that, Wilhelm,” She offers. Nothing more than that, no comment on its appropriateness or how he’s expected to behave to honor his role. For once she’s almost like the mother he’d always wished for, the one he never had.

Then there’s someone clearing their throat and she’s swiftly beyond arm’s reach again, nodding curtly at him before leading the way down the hall, heels clicking rhythmically against polished marble. Wille trails behind, wondering perplexedly what had just happened, if he’d possibly reached the point of sleep-deprivation where his mind starts making things up. Alva nudges his elbow, offers him a small smile and a questioning raise of eyebrows as she falls into step with him. He shrugs at her, doesn’t understand it either. But he’s not in a place to scrutinize things for once working out in his favor, especially not ones concerning his mother.

They exit the meeting three long hours later and he grudgingly trails back to his room. Alva’s dismissed for the day and he’s once again left alone with an overwhelming myriad of thoughts and feelings and bone-aching tiredness. In a moment of weakness he turns his phone back on with the only intent to send a quick text to Felice to thank her again for last night and propose another sleepover in the weekend. Instead he’s met with Simon’s name on the screen, the little heart he’d added next to it when they’d finally moved from Instagram dm:s to actually exchanging numbers only a few weeks ago. The heart tugs at his own and he can’t help the way he impatiently unlocks the phone to see the messages, trembling finger swiping across the screen. Like he can’t wait to once again get burned, allow himself a sliver of hope only to have it violently torn out of his chest.

What if what if what if-

***

Simon ❤️: missed call

Simon ❤️: 5 new messages

Thur, 2.45 pm 

look wille, i don’t know if you’re not getting these or if your phone is off or if you just never want to see me again. just know i’m sorry for letting you leave like that last night. it took me a second to wrap my head around what you said and by then it was too late to catch up to you.

you were gone so soon i didn’t get the chance to say everything i wanted. i think maybe we misunderstood each other. like big time. please call me back?

Thur 4.25 pm

and i shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that, i’m sorry

text me back when you see this, please

Thur, 6.13 pm

please listen tonight?

***

Wille doesn’t know what to make of this, is familiar with his own bad habit of immediately jumping to (usually the wrong) conclusions, of always being his own biggest critic, of always thinking and overthinking every little thing. Is there a chance that maybe, just maybe, he’d been getting it all wrong? That Simon does still want him, that whatever happened between them can be resolved and that those feelings, that something they’d been building can still be achieved?

The possibility seems slim, especially given last night, but he did find himself lost in an emotional whirlwind of overwhelming dejectedness, one where hastily making his escape had seemed like the only option. He did leave before finishing their conversation since he’d assumed there was nothing more to say, since his heart couldn’t have taken Simon taking his ’i love you’ and tossing it aside, deeming his words insufficient to make up for his previous actions.

But now Simon is pleading for him to get in touch, apologizing even. Wille doesn’t know what to think, what to do.

Maybe he’d made a mistake. Maybe he’d once again let his thoughts run wild, alienating him from reality. Maybe there’s still hope.

And hope is again a flower sprouting in the winter of his heart.

***

Thur, 8.01 pm

felice
i think maybe possibly i’m a dumbass

Well what else is new.
Yes

you don’t even know what i’m referring to? 

Well actually… He kind of reached out to me today since someone wasn’t picking up his phone…

wait what?? are you talking about simon?

Yeah
He’s a really good guy Wille. And he seems to really like you. Can you try to be less of a drama prince this time and actually give this a chance to work?

well i obviously know that already, he’s the best one there ever was. and i thought he did but then everything happened you know and i screwed it all up

You just freaked out a little, it’s fine. Still fixable. Just talk to him again, I’m sure he’ll understand.

but what did you tell him?? and what did he say??

Nothing he didn’t already know. 
You should listen to the show tonight, let him tell you himself.

okay yeah, i will

I expect updates! 

***

Midnight can’t come quick enough.

’Hi everyone, this is Simon on The Vibe FM and you’re listening to ’Late Night Vibes with Simon’, a show where we talk about anything and everything and only ever play good music. Today’s show will be a little bit different though. We’re going to talk about love, about finding that person out there that just gets you and the great kind of lengths we’ll go in order to be with them. Even if there are misunderstandings, even if both parties say or do things that are hurtful. Maybe one of them gets scared and bails. Maybe the other gets hurt and jumps to the wrong conclusions. Sometimes you just have to take that leap, trust your own worth, trust that the other person will accept you for who you are and hope for them to do the same. Hopefully it will be worth it. Speaking hypothetically of course.

I’m not usually the guy who goes on and on about love on air. I’ve never been him and I probably won’t stay him, but just for tonight our theme will be love through obstacles. Call in to tell me your stories of how you and your special other person beat the odds. Maybe the stories of your bravery will be enough to tip the odds in my favor too. So call in or send us a text. As always song requests are more than welcome, maybe you’d even like to dedicate it to your special someone. We’re gonna start with a song of my choice though. Here’s ’Come Give Me Love’ by First Aid Kit. I hope the person I’m dedicating it to hears this, you know who you are.’

The song fills the room, his eardrums, his fluttering heart and Wille can’t believe what’s happening.  It’s the song, the same one Simon had dedicated to him all those weeks ago when Wille had drunkenly called him on air to profess his feelings. The song that was Simon’s response to Wille’s first anxiety-induced attempt at putting distance between them. The song that sparked Wille’s first apology, the one that was kindly met with a ’Wille, i really like you too’ the next morning, just another example of Simon’s never-ending patience with little princes and their overwhelming emotionally driven poor decision-making.

The sunshine from Simon’s words, from his song choice, from the tentative hope in his voice as he’d confessed to wanting a love to defeat the odds, is defrosting the rest of the winter Wille has spread through his own heart, warming him to his very core. The lone flower of hope in his heart suddenly multiplying, thin stems sprouting colorful petals.

He doesn’t know what to do with the overwhelming sensation of love, adoration, tentative hopefulness that’s washing over him, a force large enough to move mountains, to knock him dead of his feet.

Except he can’t be knocked over, doesn’t have time for lying down, rest for even a second in the incredulous realization that there’s still hope, that he gets another opportunity to make things right. Because somewhere out there in this city is Simon, beautiful wonderful Simon who Wille has to apologize to probably a thousand times more. Simon who he was never supposed to hurt and yet he did and now he’s on the radio still offering up his entire heart to Wille on a silver platter, almost daring him to stab a knife through it again, trusting him not to.

Wille won’t. Will spend the rest of his life protecting Simon’s heart, cradling it gently in his hands and shielding it from the world, keeping it safe from harm. If he gets to that is. If Simon will have him.

Simon who is everything Wille wants and everything he needs and maybe this time he should stop listening to the part of his brain that has deemed itself the ’logical one’, maybe this time he’ll let his heart lead and leave the anxiety-ridden, insomniac remnants of a brain behind in the gutter. His heart is filled to the brim with flowers, telling him to go, to claim, to love. Now it says with every beat. Hurry.

His steps are hasted as he paces around the room, trying to find his coat, his keys, his last remaining shred of sanity. Simon takes another call on the show. Niklas from Uppsala apparently met the love of his life on the other side of the Atlantic. They made it work in the end. Simon thanks him, plays ’The way to your heart’ by Soulsister.

Wille needs to go. Needs to close this impossibly big distance between them, for once let actions speak louder than words. He thinks maybe words are overplayed at this point, has done them more wrong than right. 

The coat is found at last, tossed in a sad pile in the corner next to the window. His hands are shaking as he tries to slip it on. Simon’s next song is ’I Just Called To Say I Love You’ by Stevie Wonder. Wille really needs to go.

He tries the secret closet door again, hoping for a repeat of yesterday’s smooth getaway, but is immediately stopped by Malin standing on the other side looking unimpressed. No escape to Narnia today it seems.

”Look- um- Malin I just wanted to- needed to,” he stutters, looks at her pleadingly.

Her steady gaze doesn’t falter but the ghost of a smile tugs at her lips. ”The Crown Prince has urgent media matters to tend to, is that not so? I’m here to take you.”

Wille could kiss her. Not that he would, he’s pretty sure that neither of them would enjoy that, but he could just out of sheer gratitude.

”Thank you Malin,” he says sincerely, feels warm inside when she offers him the tiniest of smiles in return.

”Follow me.”

He does and soon enough they’re in the car, speeding out the gate for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. For once Wille is grateful for the royal immunity, grateful for the fact that they won’t get stopped, won’t get written up for speeding, because every fleeting second seems like an eternity, every meter of asphalt under the black car’s tires feeling like an entire mile. He’s squirming in his seat, leg bouncing anxiously. Why aren’t they moving faster?

”Would the Crown Prince like the radio to be on while we drive?”

Malin’s voice cuts through the chaotic mess that is his thoughts and oh, of course. Simon is still on the air, he’d almost forgotten in his haste to once again escape the castle. He meets her eyes in the rearview mirror and nods. As she reaches out to turn on the radio, perfectly manicured fingernails on the glow of the touch screen, Wille can’t help the surprised burst of laughter that escapes him as he registers the last notes of the song playing.

”Simon you idiot,” he mumbles, affection surging in his chest.

’Hi to everyone just tuning in. If you’re joining us just now and are wondering what kind of radio station this is, I’m happy to inform you that this is Late Night Vibes with Simon on The Vibe FM, 104.6, the station where we play good music only. Based on this latest song you might be thinking that last part is a lie, but it’s all for a good reason, I swear. That was Trey Lewis with ’Dicked Down in Dallas’ and it was dedicated from me to you, monkey. I really hope there are no children listening tonight or I might be in a lot of trouble. Get your kids to bed parents, please.’

’Now I believe we have a caller on the line! Hi, you’re on with Simon on The Vibe, what do you want to talk about tonight?…’

The car is not moving fast enough. Wille drums his fingers anxiously against his knees, tries to get swept away by the listener’s request of ’Just the way you are’ by Bruno Mars, hum along to the familiar lyrics but it doesn’t work.

And then they’re finally finally there, the car pulling to a stop in the now-familiar back alley and Wille is out of it before Malin even has the chance to park, rushing across the street on shaky legs. 

The glass door on the fourth floor is open this time and Wille almost falls flat on his face as he trips over the threshold in his haste to get closer, rushing into the hallway, trembling legs steering him towards the door with the ’On air’ sign on it. He slowly pushes it open.

Ayub is on the phone, headphones on over a ball cap in the corner of the studio, but he grins as he spots Wille in the doorway, gives him an encouraging thumbs up. 

Wille’s eyes dart around the studio, scanning, searching, wanting and all of a sudden Simon is right there, perched on a high stool facing the windows, still talking, still so painfully unaware of Wille’s presence. There’s no time for waiting around, no time to wait until the commercial break or the next song or the next fucking century. Wille has waited long enough and so he’s across the room in five long steps. He’s not scared anymore, brain left behind in a ditch somewhere, courtesy of Malin’s hasty speeding along empty roads. He’s not scared, he’s brave. Most of all he’s late.

As he approaches, gently taps Simon’s shoulder, time seems to be moving in slow-motion. Every second an eternity, every trembling beat of his heart in his chest a lifetime. Like the whole world has slowed down to take a deep breath before it all changes. Like the calm before the storm. Except this time there will be no storm, Wille’s almost completely sure of it. There’s no time for dark clouds or icy winds anymore, now’s the age for spring and warmth and sunshine and Simon. 

Simon, who jumps a little at the sudden touch, head turning swiftly to look over his shoulder. As he takes in Wille’s presence there’s evident surprise on his face, dark eyes growing wide and his ongoing sentence trembling out into nothing. But he doesn’t have time to react, to think, to talk because now Wille is taking his headphones off and he’s kissing him kissing him kissing him. 

Finally

It’s like time is standing still or spinning around or possibly rushing steadily faster into a haze of oblivion and Wille doesn’t know what day it is anymore, what week, what year. All he knows is he’s holding the sun in his arms, letting its light paint him golden with color, lapping up every sliver of its warmth with the soft brush of lips, the stroking of tongues. 

He’s Icarus and he flew too close to the sun, except this sun isn’t consuming him, isn’t scorching his wings, making him fall. This one immediately wraps long arms around his torso, pulls him closer until everything is light and warmth and there’s no room for darkness anymore. No room for fear or doubt or anxious thoughts when there’s gentle fingers carding through the hair at the nape of his neck, leaving a trace of tingling pleasure behind every touch. No room because the flowers are spreading everywhere, sprouting new leaves with the sunshine filling his entire body. If he’ll eventually fall, plummet to his doom into the dark waves looming underneath once his wings give out, it will all be worth it. It will be worth it because he got a taste of the sun and he’s never letting go.

Simon’s arms are strong around him, his body so close that Wille can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest matching his own, two sets of trembling breaths into eager kisses, ones making up for every previous word coming between them, kisses whispering all the things that should have been said a long time ago. It’s like everything that could possibly go wrong for once hasn’t, like he’s suddenly exactly where he should be, inhabiting the exact spot in the universe that’s supposed to be his. 

It’s everything. 

Except he still hasn’t said the words out loud, still hasn’t made things right the way he’s supposed to, the way he needs to. And so he pulls away a little, tries to force a little bit of space between himself and his sunshine, except Simon won’t let him, follows along.

”I’m so sorry,” Wille tries to breathe out against eager lips but Simon is too close, swallows the apology down with another kiss.

”I was scared,” he tries again and Simon responds with anew crashing their lips together, fingers  tangling themselves deeper into his hair.

”Simon- I- Simon,” He pleads, because if he doesn’t say this now he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to break apart from the kiss long enough to coherently form words.

Simon reluctantly breaks the kiss, leans back to look at him softly, so different from the anger and hurt that had painted his features yesterday. Now his expression is warm, patient. ”I know, Wille, I get it.” He says. ”I know you, remember? I just forgot for a second, I was hurt and then I got caught up in thinking I wouldn’t be good enough for you. It made me frustrated and angry and I lashed out when you tried to apologize. I’m sorry too.” He bites his lip, averts his gaze a little.

”Simon, no- don’t think that, that’s not- you’re not-” Wille stumbles over the words in his haste to explain, to make Simon understand how completely untrue that is, how it’s the complete opposite.

Simon smiles crookedly. ”I’m not?” He asks, curiosity tinting the words. Wille can feel his cheeks turn hot. The way words keep failing him in Simon’s presence is really not helping his whole apology mission.

”You’re more than enough, you’re everything,” He manages to whisper at last, gently leans forward to rest his forehead against Simon's and lets himself again get swept away by the sensation of his sunshine wrapping itself around him, melts into the touch that’s more than he could’ve ever wished for, one where there’s no room for darkness or winter anymore.

Ayub plays five songs in a row and does a commercial break before finally tapping Simon on his shoulder and saying that ’while he’s happy about this, it will not do wonders for their listening numbers’ and that he ’please please needs to stop making out and go back on air.’

Simon reluctantly loosens his tight grip on Wille, the sudden lack of contact making him shiver, once again crave Simon’s warmth. There’s a lingering kiss pressed to his cheek, a ’later, monkey’ whispered in his ear, the familiarity and deja vú of it making yet another shiver run down Wille’s spine, a pleasant one this time. He doesn’t mind the wait.

***

Fri, 3.32 am

you look really good in those headphones

There’s a buzz from the phone on the table. After shooting a quick glance at it Simon looks up to meet Wille’s gaze across the table. He shakes his head amusedly but there’s a fond smile tugging at his lips. Wille wants to taste it again, has to clench his fingers around his own phone to stop from reaching out to touch. Simon taps something on his phone while trying to remain interested in the conversation he’s having with a listener.

you’re losing me listeners dummy

The way his smile reaches his eyes says he doesn’t really mind. Wille hurriedly taps out another text, grins at the way Simon can’t keep himself from glancing at his phone.

i can’t wait to kiss you again

Simon trails off in the middle of a sentence and Ayub shoots him a pointed look from his spot across the room. ’Behave’ he mouths towards Wille who ducks his head apologetically. The blush spreading across Simon’s cheeks is worth it though. Even as Ayub makes a show of coming to collect Simon’s phone for safe-keeping, whispers pleadingly in his ear to ’keep it together for just two more hours goddamnit’.

Just two more hours. Wille smiles.

He finds a stack of yellow post-its and a pen, pretends not to notice Simon sneaking him curious glances, even as he tries to remain professional, keep up his end of a conversation with a woman talking about meeting her wife in high school but only years later, after one failed marriage and two children each, realizing their friendship was something more, that there had been deeper emotions on both ends that both had been too afraid to admit to themselves. It’s a beautiful story, one Wille wishes he had the mental capacity to listen to more than half-heartedly, but he’s distracted with the hasty scribbling of a message on a yellow post-it, a gentle nudge of the stack across the table towards Simon.

I want to hold your hand - Beatles

play my song?

He can feel his heart racing as he watches Simon read it, his responding soft smile and nod awakening a myriad of butterflies in his stomach.

’Thank you so much for that story Clara, it was very heartwarming and I’m so happy the two of you managed to find your way back to each other in the end. I will play Laleh’s ’Goliat’ for you in a minute, but first I have a very special song request from a very special listener. This is Late Night Vibes on The Vibe FM, 104.6. Here’s the classic ’I want to hold your hand’ by The Beatles.’

As the first notes fill the studio Simon reaches his hand across the table, gently turning Wille’s own palm upwards before clumsily interlacing their fingers. It’s a bit of a stretch to reach, not really a position to sit in comfortably, yet neither of them pull away, are content to exist in the moment where suddenly touch is a thing they can do, after months of wishing and wanting. A little bit of uncomfortable is okay, doesn’t matter. Simon rubs his thumb softly along the back of his hand, sending tingles of electricity running wild across bare skin. Wille can’t help the happy grin taking over his face and seeing it mirrored on Simon’s is enough to send his heart into another spiral of love-struck arrhythmic fluttering in his chest. Maybe that cardiologist appointment is a topic to revisit. After tonight that is. Or today. It’s very late and very early and nothing seems to be even slightly real anymore. If he’s dreaming he doesn’t ever want to wake up.

For once the feeling of insomnia-induced surrealism is nice.

***

It’s four thirty am and Wille is sitting in an uncomfortable chair in a small studio on the fourth floor of an office building in Solna. 

It’s four thirty am and the promise of a sunset has started painting the city skyline a vibrant pink and yellow, swirling colors backlighting the high buildings, reflecting in the steel and glass of their tall figures. 

It’s four thirty am and the boy with the headphones sitting across from him is once again in his element, animatedly discussing the importance of respecting your co-workers preferred pronouns with someone who’d called in asking for advice. He gestures with his hands in the air as he speaks, even though neither the person on the phone nor his listeners can see him. The little habit is another spring blossom inside Wille’s chest, one among many he wishes to notice and plant and treasure forever. 

The sun will soon be climbing up the skyline outside the window but the promised warmth of it is nothing compared to the boy in front of him, it’s glow nothing in comparison to the radiating warmth from Simon.

As Simon starts wrapping up the show, wishing his listeners a good weekend when his replacement shows up to start the early morning show, Wille takes to hiding in the break room next door for a moment, curling up in the corner of the same couch he’d been nervously sitting on just short of 24 hours earlier, his eyes at last growing heavy with sleep. It’s been a long night, a long month or year even. He’s allowed just a little nap as he waits. Just a very quick one on the uncomfortable couch. He’s halfway there when Simon at last appears in the doorway, smiling softly and gesturing for him to follow.

There’s the soft presence of a hand next to his, the gentle brush of a pinky along the edge of his own. A silent ask for permission and Wille doesn’t waste a second in intertwining their fingers again, basking in the sense of touch and closeness he’s been missing for so long. Simon gently squeezes back, spares a tingle of his sunshine and warmth that makes it’s way down Wille’s spine, roots itself in his heart.

”Bye guys!” Ayub calls out to them, looks down at their intertwined hands but says nothing. He shares a look with Simon that Wille can’t understand, but he’s too tired and deliriously happy to give it much thought. Instead he just gives Ayub a nod and a grateful smile.

”I’ll see you around Wille,” Ayub says kindly, offers out a hand for a fist bump. Simon giggles at Wille’s stumbled attempt to reciprocate it.

After saying their goodbyes they take the stairs down, Simon supporting some of Wille’s weight as he tiredly stumbles down the steps. 
”Easy there, monkey. We don’t want you falling and breaking that pretty face of yours now, do we?” 

Wille tries to think of a witty retort but comes up short and instead simply allows the hand around his waist to hold him a little closer. Simon’s whole body next to his a warm, soft presence and he wants nothing more than to melt into it, to be wrapped up and held and safe.

Malin, bless her heart, already has the car pulled up in front of the door as they exit. If she’s in any way surprised by the way they’re tightly clinging to each other as they stumble out the door, she hides it well, just offers a swift nod as she holds the door open for them. Simon, on the other hand, makes wide eyes at both Malin and the black car before silently sliding in next to Wille.

”Where to now?” He asks, looks at Wille, face open and earnest and full of trust and adoration. Like he’d follow Wille just about anywhere, just like Wille would for him. Like he’s not ready for there to again be space between them just yet either.

”How about your place?” Wille suggests shyly, looks down at their intertwined fingers. ”I mean- if you want. If not we can call it a night and just drop you off on the way, that’s more than okay-” He’s cut off by a chaste kiss pressed to the corner of his mouth.

"I’d love for you to come home with me,” Simon says.

He gives Malin the address when asked and wraps his arms tightly around Wille once again, holds him closer as his head lands on Simon’s shoulder and his eyes at last fall shut. Closer closer closer. Like the mere idea of having any amount of space between them is an outrageous one, an outdated concept never to be heard of again. Wille wouldn’t have it any other way.

He can feel the ghosting of lips against his hair, the soft press of a kiss against his temple and he sighs contentedly.

”Sleep, monkey, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Wille sleeps.

Chapter Text

There’s a whisper of lips ghosting over his skin as Wille wakes up. It leaves behind a trail of sparkling electricity, goosebumps making their way down his spine in eager anticipation. The touch as soft as the fluttering of butterfly wings, almost nothing but the suggestion of a caress. It could easily be made up, something conjured up by his tired mind as it at last spirals off the rails into insanity. It could be. Wille knows it’s not. He can still feel the kisses from last night, the touches, the songs, the way everything had finally fallen into place and he knows something like that is way out of his own imagination’s capacity. A kiss? Perhaps. An acceptance of his apology? Sure. But the way Simon and the morning sun had glowed together, in perfect harmony chased all the darkness away? No. He’s not creative enough to make something like that up.

Yet he can’t really bring himself to open his eyes just yet, relishes in the vast difference between yesterday morning and now. How he’d been wishing Felice’s sleeping form next to him had been someone else’s and now it is. How he’d been praying to wake up in a universe where Simon wanted him, where there was a them. And now he has and there is. All of it waiting on the other side of his still shut eyelids, like a sort of reverse-dream, one you get woken up into and never want to disrupt with sleep ever again. Wille knows that as soon as he opens his eyes he’ll never want to close them again, wants Simon’s face to remain a permanent fixture on his retinas.

There’s the ghost of a kiss on the tip of his nose, on his eyelid, his cheek. Soft fingertips stroking a strand of hair away from his eyes. Wille shivers as he feels Simon’s warm breath fanning his face. He’s so close. So so so close and Wille can feel his wings fluttering to keep up as he’s once again soaring high, floating a thousand feet up into the air, as close to his sun as humanly possible.

And Wille might have known what to expect, might have been able to picture Simon’s messy curls and dark eyes and soft smile in the safe darkness behind his closed eyelids, but he’s still taken aback when he at last lets them open, finds himself blinded by the sun and by Simon and the absolute marvel that is being allowed to wake up in bed next to him. It makes Wille’s heart skip a beat, two, even three, before racing into a frantic galloping, the myriad of feelings he’s harboring for this ray of sun in front of him no longer shadowed by a looming tiredness, not tinted by hesitance or uncertainty. He’s here. They’re here. At last.

”Morning monkey,” Simon scuffles closer, lets his head rest on Wille’s pillow, close enough so there’s only a few centimeters between their faces, close enough so that Wille’s entire visual field is filled with Simon. His warmth is spreading, painting the gardens inside Wille’s chest golden, flowers blossoming along its path.

”Morning sunshine,” Wille manages to breathe out, struggling to make sense of how someone like him is suddenly allowed to have something like this, the unfamiliar sensation of happiness filling him to his very core.

”I can’t believe you’re here.” The smile tugging at Simon’s lips is one of incredulous wonder, adoration painted all over his features. Hearing his own thoughts echoed back to him is enough to once again make Wille lose his footing and he’s thankful he’s lying down or else he’d be dangerously close to falling. Falling from his high pedestal, from the life he’d never asked for and never wanted, tumbling headfirst down the rabbit hole, never to be the same again. Maybe he should fall. Maybe he already has. 

Right now he wants nothing more than to be allowed to stay in this moment forever. Nothing but them, nothing but Simon’s warm breath against his cheek, his hands tracing soft patterns along the curve of his spine.

He edges even closer, gently rubs their noses together. Simon smiles.

”Well I can’t believe you actually played the Trey Lewis song on air. It’s- well- a very particular choice I must say,” Wille teases.

Simon snorts amusedly. ”I was desperate. I needed to get dicked down in Dallas you see. Or- I mean, it didn’t even have to be in Dallas, really. I’m not all that picky on the location.”

”Oh.” Wille can feel his cheeks heat up. ”And- did it work?”

”I’m still working on it, but you tell me.” He winks and there’s an anticipatory shiver running down Wille’s spine.

”I think we might need to try again.” Wille grins before starting to sing. ”Baby please come back, bring me that sweet ass…”

Simon scrunches his nose in distaste, wiggles his arms out from where they’ve been wrapped around Wille in favor of pressing his hands to his ears. ”Wille, you are never allowed to sing ever again,” he complains.

”Noted.” Wille nods gravely, reaches out to gently pry the hands away from Simon’s ears, pull them around his own body again. Simon squeezes him tighter. Wille can’t help himself, hums the chorus into Simon’s skin. It makes the other boy shiver.

”I don’t get it.” Simon mutters. ”How can a song with such a nice vibe have such obscene lyrics? I hate it.”

”You love it. It’s your favorite song, you even played it on the radio.” Wille yelps in surprise as an elbow manages to nudge him in the ribs.

”I’m not even going to bother to comment on that.” Simon rolls his eyes in a way that makes Wille feel like he’s definitely not being kissed enough and so he at last decides to do something about that, the anticipatory buzzing of nerves in his stomach soothed by the eagerness with which the kiss is immediately returned.

Simon hums contentedly against his lips, allows Wille’s awkward attempt to flip them over and wraps his legs tightly around Wille’s hips, pressing himself closer in that way that just feels completely right, like everything is suddenly making sense, like there’s nothing in the world but synchronized heavy breathing and the need for more.

It’s everything Wille could ever want and more and he has to fight the urge to pinch himself, prove that this is real life and not an insomnia-induced hallucination for once working in his favor rather than the opposite. If Simon’s hands slowly making their way down his body is a dream, the way nimble fingers impatiently tug at the hem of his borrowed pajama pants is an illusion, well then Wille doesn’t ever want to wake up.

In a different life this would make him feel self-conscious, laying himself bare like this, soft and vulnerable for another person to see, to touch. But this is Simon and this is them and the flowers blossoming in his heart are spreading their bloom, tinting his entire mindset until he can’t think of anything other than the need to get even closer. 

And so he does, wordlessly granting Simon permission, swift fingers and shimmying hips, until they’re finally skin to skin. Some say the body is a temple and Wille has always found it a bit ridiculous, not really understanding the divinity found in skin stretched over muscles and bones. But Simon’s is. Sacred, holy, divine. And Wille’s not particularly religious but he intends to worship every last millimeter, let his hands explore and caress and love every last bit.

The way Simon responds to the touch, the soft whines coerced out of his throat are music to Wille’s ears, the only song he’ll ever claim to be his for the rest of eternity.

…

”Wille? Should we talk about this? Now that we’re slightly less tired and the element of surprise is out of the way?”

Wille hums in affirmation but doesn’t loosen his grip on Simon, instead burrows his nose even further into the crook of his neck. Now that he’s gotten a taste of being close he never wants any space between them again, wants to melt further and further into soft skin until their hearts can beat in unison and their souls intertwine.

”Because- like we’ve always talked about things. That’s kind of our whole thing. We’ve talked about things, most things that counted and yet, we’ve never talked about the big ones. And- I get it you know, I get that you were scared to tell me, but it also hurt when you didn’t trust me, it felt like this whole thing we’ve built didn’t seem to mean enough for you. That you could just leave me hanging like that without even saying something. And I know I said yesterday that it’s fine and it is, I just-” He trails off hesitantly, the words hanging in the air between them.

Wille sighs, presses his face even closer to Simon’s skin. He can feel the steady beat of his pulse against his cheek, the pulsating rhythm calming the swirling of nerves, the little voice in his head again awakening to remind him that this might not work, that this might all be a mistake, that Simon could still get up and walk away at any second. Except Simon’s heart is calm, steady. Wille tries to will his own to follow its lead.

”It’s not that,” he begins, ”or- I guess it is in a way. It’s more that I know how you feel about the monarchy, how you think it’s a waste of money and that they- we, I mean- are just meaningless figure heads, a ’dead horse society insists on dragging around’ like you’ve said. And I knew- I knew you liked me, you know, monkey-Wille from the phone. But the other me? The one I kind of despise myself, that one I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to look past.”

”Wille-” Simon starts, voice so gentle it almost makes Wille want to cry. But just almost. He blinks a little. Simon tries to pull back to look at him but Wille shakes his head, tries to keep it in its warm spot tucked under Simon’s chin.

”I know and, again, I’m really sorry for not trusting you. I know I fucked up and I get it now. I was just scared of scaring you off, of not being worthy of you. I- I come with kind of a lot of baggage,” he admits.

”I don’t mind.” Simon says softly, strokes a hand through Wille’s hair. ”Don’t we all?”

”I guess. But the part about me living life like a monkey at the circus isn’t that far off. Wherever I go people will look, they’ll take pictures and have opinions. And I guess- I- just didn’t want to subject you to that. You’ve been through enough. There were so many people there that day at the café. They were staring at me and taking pictures and I just- panicked, I guess. It wasn’t supposed to end like that, I really did intend to show up, but I got scared and I just felt like I’d ruin your life just because of who I am.”

”Wille- I- like I said, I’d like that to be my choice to make. Okay?” The hand in his hair scratches gently at his scalp and Wille knows he’d agree to just about anything. 

”So what will you choose then?” He whispers, pulls back a little at last to meet Simon’s gaze.

”I’ll choose you, you dumb monkey.” There’s not a trace of hesitation in his voice, a soft look in his eyes.

”Yeah?”

”Always.”

”I’ll choose you too.” A soft whisper, barely audible.

But Simon hears him. Simon closes the gap between them, presses a soft kiss to Wille’s lips. Nothing more than a brief touch, a kiss for all the words that have yet to be said. A kiss that’s enough for now. They might have to revisit the topic at a later point, but for now it feels like a giant weight off his shoulders, like the air is all of a sudden easier to breathe. He reaches out to card a hand through Simon’s curls, mimicking the comforting gesture Simon had just done for him. He marvels at the way the other boy melts into the touch, the way he hums contentedly, eyes falling shut.

”If you keep doing that I might fall asleep,” Simon informs him lazily, lets his head come up to rest on Wille’s shoulder for better access.

”I don’t have anywhere else to be.” Wille shrugs. It’s not really the truth but Simon doesn’t need to know that. He’s not going anywhere anyway, doesn’t think he’s asking for too much by wanting to remain in his wonderland and not be the Crown Prince for just one precious day.

Wille himself doesn’t sleep, is content watching the way Simon’s breathing slows down, the little crease between his eyebrows smoothen out. He traces the soft skin with his thumb, considers once again pinching himself to wake up from this wonderland of a dream. He doesn’t.

”Hey Wille?” Simon says after a while, eyelids fluttering open to peer at Wille through dark lashes, a teasing glint in his eye. He pushes himself up on one elbow and wiggles around under the tangled sheets until he’s lying halfway on top of him, their bare chests pressed together.

”Mm?” Wille hums, a little too distracted by the way Simon’s naked torso feels against his own. The fingers tangled in Simon’s hair slide down to rest against his back instead.

”You know what my song is?”

Wille shakes his head no.

”Ruin My Life. You know, the one by Zara Larsson?”

”That doesn’t sound very nice.” Wille pouts, would even have been slightly worried by this fact if it hadn’t been for the gleam in Simon’s eyes, the teasing smile tugging at his lips.

”No, look-” Simon leans down to drop a soft kiss to his lips. ”It’s because of what you said before, it made me think of the chorus. Listen.”

And Wille has heard Simon sing before. Over the phone, on the radio the other night when he’d poured his heart out in the song with the lyrics breaking Wille’s own, his covers on youtube he’d found back in the days where he’d been kind-of-but-not-really internet-stalking Simon before working up the nerve to actually talk to him. He’s heard Simon sing. He knows how good he is. But there’s something about the intimacy of a soft melody meant for his ears only, the way his voice is slightly raspy from sleep but filled to the brim with emotion. Wille suddenly understands the thousands and thousands of people expressing their love for others through singing, wishes he had even a sliver of talent so he could return the favor.

”I want you to ruin my life” Simon sings. 

”I want you to fuck up my nights”

”I want you to bring it all on, If you make it all wrong then I’ll make it all right”

”So you’re saying I’m ruining your life then?” Wille teases as Simon trails off after finishing the chorus, enjoys the way Simon’s eyes widen, the way he immediately shakes his head.

”I’m not saying you are, I’m saying you can. If that’s what it takes. I’m not letting you go again.” His voice is soft, so full of sincerity that Wille can feel is heart grow ten sizes, fill to the very brim. ”And I’d love for you to fuck up my nights, if you know what I mean?” He has the nerve to actually wink and Wille has to suppress a snort even as he feels a shiver run down his spine, an eager heat again buzzing under his skin.

”Fuck up Simon, I don’t think that’s what you mean.” Wille pushes himself up to a sitting position. Sheets pooling at both their waists, faces so close yet still not close enough. Never close enough.

”Wille,” Simon groans. ”You absolutely know what I mean.” His pupils are blown wide, lips slightly parted.

”It’s not night anymore, is it still allowed?” Wille teases, just because he can, before closing the distance, a soft brush of lips followed by a trailing of kisses slowly down Simon’s neck. 

Simon’s breath hitches in his throat.

”Yes.” He gasps out as Wille’s kisses trail even lower. ”So allowed.”

***

As it turns out Simon does have a couch perfect for napping and cuddling and- other things. It’s old and worn, squeaking occasionally under the weight of their two bodies. It’s the best piece of furniture to ever exist as far as Wille’s concerned. Maybe in a tie for first place with Simon’s bed.

Once they’d at last managed to pull themselves out of bed, Simon had insisted Wille take the first shower, mumbling something about it being impolite to not provide breakfast for his guest. At the suggestion of a joint shower his eyes had turned dark momentarily before swatting at Wille’s ass and telling him ’in that case it would take all day and some people are actually hungry’. Wille’s stomach growls at the reminder and so he reluctantly lets himself get shooed into the shower all by his lonesome.

There’s toast and coffee waiting for him in the living room as he emerges, smelling of Simon’s eucalyptus body wash. He curls up in the corner of the couch, wrapping his fingers around the ’The Vibe FM’ coffee mug and proceeds to send a couple of texts as he waits for Simon to join him. 

He’s got thirty-two missed calls. He chooses to not dwell too much on that, doesn’t want anything disrupting his little bubble of bliss. He’s allowed this, the monarchy will survive a day or possibly an entire weekend without it’s prince.

Fri 1.43 pm

Alva, this is Wille. I got Malin to send me your number. Sorry for missing the morning briefing again, can you please please get me out of anything on the schedule today? And possibly the rest of the weekend? 🙏🏻

Please, I’ll owe you a thousand favors!!

Not before long he gets a thumbs up emoji back and a text saying ’enjoy your weekend ;)’

She probably deserves a raise. He wonders who he should talk to about that.

”Hi”. Simon slumps down next to him, ignoring the wide open space of the rest of the couch in favor of curling up next to Wille in his corner. His curls are still damp, droplets of water wetting Wille’s t-shirt as Simon lets his head come to rest against his shoulder.

”Simon?” Wille says, suddenly reminded of something, curiosity getting the best of him.

”Hm?”

”You didn’t look that surprised when you first saw me? Like, about me being me and all.” The angry look on Simon’s face spring to mind, one so different from its current blissful expression, the way he’s all soft and warm wrapped up in a worn purple hoodie and a blanket. That Simon had barely reacted to the sight of him, instead immediately launched into a tirade of angry words. There’s a sting to Wille’s heart as he remembers Simon’s words, his hurt expression, the way he had been the cause of it. He swallows it down, wraps his arms around Simon. He’s here now, that’s gotta count for something. It has to.

Simon smiles up at him, melts into the embrace. ”I already kind of knew, I told you about that on the phone? When you called Ayub?”

”Oh” Wille breathes out, the statement taking him by surprise. ”I- uh- sorry, I didn’t realize.” He admits. ”I kind of wish I’d known you knew and this would all have been a lot easier.”

”I thought that’s why you thought it wouldn’t work. Because of me not being- suitable or something, because of the royal circus having other plans for you.” There’s a little trace of hesitance in his voice and Wille squeezes him even tighter into his side.

”They probably would, hell they probably do, but Simon, I don’t care about that, it doesn’t matter to me, you have to believe that. I was just scared of hurting you, of you getting overwhelmed by the shitstorm that is my life, eventually growing to resent it and me.” The admittance feels raw in his throat, his voice shaking a little. ”Simon- I- I’m honestly still scared of that. Just know you can back out at any time, I’ll understand.”

He will. He would. It might possibly kill him in the process but he chooses not to dwell too deep on that, instead tears his gaze away from his lap to meet Simon’s eyes, tries to convey his sincerity with his own.

Simon twirls his hoodie string around his finger, nibbles a little at his bottom lip. ”I’m not gonna lie, it does scare me a little.” He admits. ”More than I want it to because, like I said, I choose you. And I do want this.”

”Maybe for now we can just take it one day at a time?” He suggests and Wille tries to choke down the bitter taste in his mouth, the little voice saying Simon wants it now but what about tomorrow? Next week? Next month? 

”And I’d never resent you for something that’s out of your control, just know that, okay?” Simon adds quietly, fingertips gently tracing along Wille’s jaw.

”Okay,” Wille agrees, feeling his head melting further into the touch, subconsciously craving it. Because what else can he say?

He’s still not entirely convinced, still afraid of the rug getting swept away from under his feet, bringing Simon and sunshine and kisses tasting of spring with it. But Simon’s gaze on him is soft, holding the answers to all his doubts and when there’s still a trace of anxiety and doubt painting his insides there are more kisses, each warmer than the last. Until he can’t think anymore, until all he can feel is the warmth of spring sun rays chasing the dark clouds away.

”I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere,” is again whispered against his lips and the rainbow dancing behind Wille’s eyelids is enough to brush the intruding thoughts aside for now.

***

They’re in the middle of a movie. The fourth one they’ve seen in the past 24 hours. The first one they’ve actually paid attention to, given the previous need for talking and, well, not-talking. Wille’s head is resting in Simon’s lap. One of Simon’s hands occupied with gently scratching at his scalp, the other clutching a cup of coffee. There are take-out boxes on the floor, yesterday’s coffee cups still left on the coffee table, the cleaning neglected in favor of other activities. We’ll do it later, Simon had shrugged, deeming it unimportant. Later still hasn’t come around.

Wille hasn’t been subjected to mess in years, not since his Hillerska days and barely even then since there had been house-keeping tidying up the common spaces and even his own room on a weekly basis. The lack of cleanliness is making him almost giddy.

Simon suddenly pauses the movie, making Wille turn his gaze from the screen to his face.

”Oh- um so, listen- I kind of have this thing on Saturdays. Me and Ayub go to my sister’s for brunch.” He looks a little nervous.

”Okay.” Wille can feel his face fall a little, tries to hide his disappointment. ”What time do you have to leave? Maybe we can give you a ride there on the way back to the castle?” The word castle leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, even less of a home after these last 24 hours spent in Simon’s space.

Simon nibbles at his bottom lip, looks at him nervously. ”In an hour or so. But I- I was thinking, maybe you could come?”

”I could come?” Wille echoes dumbly. ”You mean- to meet your sister?”

”Yeah. Like- no pressure or anything, only if you want to. She wouldn’t tell anyone, I promise.” The words are slightly rushed, a faint blush painting his cheeks. He twirls a strand of Wille’s hair around his finger, seems to try to keep his expression neutral, like it doesn’t matter. Wille can see through it, knows how important Simon’s sister is to him, how much he values her opinion.

”I’m sorry, it’s a dumb idea, you really don’t have to-” Simon continues but is cut off by a kiss, Wille pushing himself up on an elbow to do so.

”Simon, I’d love to meet her,” He says. ”Have you told her anything about me already?”

Simon averts his gaze, suddenly looking a little guilty. ”Well- yeah. We kind of spent the day together after you stood me up so she knows about that. Other than that- not really, not any details at least.”

”Oh.” Wille’s stomach drops at the realization, suddenly knowing exactly what kind of a first impression he’s already made on Simon’s sister. ”Simon, she’s gonna hate me.”

”No one could hate you. Don’t worry, I’ll tell her beforehand. It will be fine.” Simon looks happy as he digs up his phone to inform his sister of the change in plans. He assures Wille once more that it’s all gonna be fine.

The heavy feeling in Wille’s stomach isn’t entirely convinced.

***

Wille can feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest as they stand together in the faint fluorescent light in the hall outside Simon’s sister’s apartment. He’d said he was all in and he’d meant it, he is. Doesn’t mean he wouldn’t rather escape back to the little bubble of only him and Simon, existing in a space beyond other people and their opinions though. Where is that rabbit hole when one needs it?

Simon squeezes his hand reassuringly and it almost helps with the tumbling of nerves currently flooding him. Almost.

Then the door opens and Simon immediately dives in for a hug, not-so-discretely whispering something Wille can’t make out into the brown-haired girl’s ear.

As they pull apart, Wille’s tugged into the apartment, finally faced with the nerve-wrecking reality that is coming face to face with Simon’s sister. He’s been trained to make good impressions his entire life, have met countless people whose opinions of him supposedly mattered (were crucial even, in the words of his mother) and yet none of it seems even slightly helpful now as he’s trying and failing to put on an air of charisma, of genuineness, in the hope of changing this girl’s opinion of him.

And then they lock eyes as Simon steps aside to give Wille room in the narrow hallway. He can feel his mouth fall open. Oh. Oh.

”Oh, hey Wille.” The very familiar brunette says in greeting and Wille’s stopped dead in his tracks, can feel all his overwhelming nervousness suddenly pouring off of him. What are the odds.

”Sara! Hi!” He steps past Simon and pulls her into a brief hug. They’ve never hugged before, but the relief that courses through him at being faced with the familiar face, the girl who, just like Simon, has never seen him for anything other than himself, he can’t help himself.

If she’s surprised she doesn’t say so, instead wraps her arms around his neck and lets him squeeze her tight. ”It’s good to see you,” he says earnestly and she smiles. It’s not the sunshine-smile that Simon does but close enough. Wille can’t believe he hasn’t made the connection before.

Simon’s expression as Wille turns back to him is priceless.

”Sara, what the hell? You already know him?” He demands, doesn’t seem to know if he’s annoyed or amused by this fact. His eyebrows are scrunched adorably together, lips pouting slightly.

”Yeah, he’s a friend of Felice’s, the daughter to my boss. We’ve been riding together a few times,” she shrugs before ushering them further into the apartment, to the tiny living room where the dining table has been set up. Ayub gives them a little wave from his seat next to the window, asks them how their weekend has been with a suggestive eyebrow-wiggle. Wille can feel his cheeks heat up. 

Simon doesn’t seem to register the greeting, is too preoccupied glaring at his sister.

”And you didn’t deem it important enough to mention that you’ve been riding with the Crown Prince of Sweden?” He asks, almost accusatorially, as he sinks down on one of the wooden chairs, tugs a little at Wille’s sleeve to get him to sit down next to him.

”I thought he was just Wille?” Sara gives him a pointed look. ”And it’s not that big of a deal. It’s not like you tell me everything you do at work.”

Simon looks at her incredulously for a second before shaking his head in disbelief, smiling down at his plate.

”And here I was worrying about how to introduce you two, imagine how much thinking you could have spared me if I’d known you were already friends.”

”You shouldn’t overheat that chimp brain of yours by thinking so much,” Wille teases, earning himself another elbow in the ribs and a laugh from Ayub.

”Don’t get him started with this again,” Ayub pleads with a grin. ”Do you know how many conversations I had to endure on whether or not I thought you joking about his good looks on the show that night meant you were into him or not?”

Simon grumbles something about everyone teaming up against him today but looks not-so-secretly pleased with the situation regardless, unable to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up even as he tries. Wille sneaks a kiss to his cheek, just because he wants to, just because he can. Ayub cheers. Sara shoots them a look Wille can’t read before busying herself with spreading marmalade on a piece of toast.

She remains unusually quiet, doesn’t participate in the chatter around the table, only gives short answers when asked about her job and the horses. There’s a conversation that needs to be had between the two of them and Wille knows it, knows their previous friendship won’t get him off the hook, that he still has some convincing to do in order to regain her trust. He’s not sure how to go about it though.

And then the moment presents itself.

”I’m just gonna go get some more whipped cream since someone seems to think the dish is ’cream with waffles’ and not the other way around.” Sara says, grabs the empty bowl and stands up. Ayub doesn’t even look slightly guilty, he just grins at her and shrugs.

”Wille, would you mind helping me out?” She asks as she passes him. Simon shoots her a warning glance which she pretends not to notice.

The aching dread returns to the pit of Wille’s stomach, but he nods obligingly, squeezes Simon’s hand as he follows Sara into the kitchen. He had been prepared to grovel after all, the fact that it’s Sara and he knows her doesn’t mean he didn’t mess up, didn’t screw with her brother’s feelings.

”So, you and my brother, huh?” She says as they enter the kitchen, positions herself against the counter with her arms crossed. Wille shrinks under her gaze, feels the buzzing anxiety grow inside his chest again.

”Yeah- I- uh-,” he stutters. Sara raises an eyebrow at him.

”Look, Wille, I like you, I do,” she starts, shoots him a sympathetic look. ”But Simon was really messed up after that whole stunt you pulled. And I know things aren’t as easy for you because of the royal stuff. I know you just want to feel normal and that you have a shit ton of anxiety and stuff so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Just don’t hurt him again. Simon will bend over backwards for the people he loves, he’ll give every last bit of himself to keep you happy. So you can’t let him.”

The protective look in her eyes, the way her voice shifts and the apparent love that fills it when she talks about Simon reminds Wille of Erik, makes him wonder if this is how Erik would have acted on his behalf if he’d ever gotten to meet someone Wille dated. (Are they even dating?). He can picture Erik giving Simon the big-brother-talk, the two of them bonding over music or video games or their mutual horrible taste in pizza toppings.

”I won’t Sara, I promise,” he says softly. ”Your brother- I- I love him. We’ve only just met but I’d do anything for him. Hurting him again is the last thing I would want.”

”Good. Now will you help me with the whipped cream?” She says, takes a carton out of the fridge. Accepts him, just like that.

He gratefully accepts the bowl and the electric whisk she hands him and silently vows yet another time to never ever hurt Simon again.

”That took you guys long enough” Simon says as they emerge from the kitchen, raises a questioning eyebrow at the two of them as Wille places the bowl of whipped cream on the table in front of Ayub. There’s another stern look thrown Sara’s way, which is yet again ignored.

Wille touches Simon’s shoulder as he sinks down next to him, squeezes it lightly to try to convey that it’s fine, that it was a good conversation, that he’ll never ever hurt him as long as he’ll live. Simon probably doesn’t get it but he turns his sunshine-smile towards Wille and it’s all good for now.

They’re immediately pulled into conversation with Ayub who delights in telling Wille all about his favourite embarrassing moments with Simon growing up. Simon himself groans and shoves at his friend’s shoulder to shut him up, but to no avail. He shoves a large forkful of waffle in his mouth instead.

”Simon, stop chewing with your mouth open” Sara complains, prompting Simon to chew even louder. It’s the best brunch Wille has ever been to in his life.

***

The weekend comes to an end way too soon.

”Do you really have to go?” Wille is almost embarrassed at the way the words escape his mouth as a whine. Almost.

”Someone has to keep all the insomniacs company, I thought you of all people knew that.”

But Simon hugs him even tighter, buries his face in the crook of Wille’s neck. Soft curls tickle his cheek, the smell of Simon’s cologne lingering in his nostrils. Wille, for the millionth time today wishes he could just press pause, spend the rest of his life in a moment of nothing but him and Simon, no obligations or mothers or radio show audiences demanding their share of Simon’s attention.

”Do you have to go right now though?” He pleads, knows it will be to no avail but pleads nonetheless.

”Yeah, or I’ll be late” Simon sighs, pulls back reluctantly. ”I’ll talk to you later?”

Wille just hums in agreement, not at all looking forward to heading back to the castle, to facing his mother after disappearing off for the entire weekend. But it’s Sunday night and Simon has to work. Keep the insomniacs company. Wille is quite certain he will, once again, be one of them. What a downgrade after the weekend they’ve had.

He waits until Simon’s figure has disappeared into the radio station’s building before resignedly turning around to get back in the car, telling Malin they can go home now. Home. The word doesn’t even feel right to apply to the castle anymore. He shrugs deeper down into Simon’s purple hoodie, letting the leftover scent of his cologne sooth the ache of his missing sunshine at least a little.

***

Wille can’t help himself, can’t contain himself longer than fifteen minutes of merely co-existing with Simon as another faceless listener, a number in the statistics. His fingers have dialed the number before he can even recognize what he’s doing. Ayub finds this endlessly amusing as he takes Wille’s call, but lets him through nonetheless.

’Hey caller, you’re on the air with Simon on Late Night Vibes, what’s on your mind today?’

’Hi Simon. I can’t sleep tonight and I guess I’m calling because I- just wanted some advice on how to deal with missing someone.’

’Oh, hey monkey! Good to hear from you again, it’s been- uh- too long. This someone you’re missing, are you having a hard time sleeping because of this?’

’Yeah. It’s just not the same without them. My own bed doesn’t feel right anymore.’

’Oh. Right. I don’t really have any good advice other than assuring you that they’re probably missing you too and that you’ll be together again soon enough. Maybe even tomorrow? Keep that in mind, okay? Hopefully that can help you at least a little with the sleeping. Try to picture him- uh, I mean- them- there next to you’

’I hope so. I’ll try.’

’Do you wanna request a song, perhaps? Or do you want me to pick one out for you?’

’I’d love it if you played your song.’

’Well, in that case, here’s Troye Sivan with WILD for you, Wille. Try to get some sleep and I’m sure you’ll see him again soon. This is Late Night Vibes with Simon on The Vibe FM, 104,6.’

Wille pulls the blanket up tighter around himself, closes his eyes as he lets the song, Simon’s song wash over him, tries to imagine himself in a different bed. A smaller one, already occupied by someone else. It helps a little. Simon’s easy chatter in his ear is a comfort, makes him seem closer than just a faraway figment of Wille’s imagination, makes them seem more real. 

He’s almost asleep, eyes drooping shut to the sound of Simon interacting with his listeners when another familiar voice makes him suddenly do a double take, come back from his half-asleep state.

’Hi, this is Simon on Late Night Vibes, who am I speaking to?’

’Hi Simon, this is Felice.’

’Oh- Felice- I mean hi. We are talking about food tonight, more specifically what food we’d pick if we could only eat one thing for the rest of our lives. What’s yours ?’

’I mean, I obviously think pasta is a superior food, do I have to pick a specific dish or can I just say pasta in general and give myself some options? ’

’You’re actually the first person tonight to get this question right! Pasta really is only reasonable choice and I’m definitely not only saying that because it’s what I would pick myself. Since it’s my show and I therefore make the rules I’m gonna let you have this one. Congrats, you’ve got pasta for life! Hypothetically.’

’Amazing! And- speaking of getting things right… -I just wanted to say I’m really happy for you and all, but maaybe consider flirting with your boyfriend on your own time? If you know what I mean, wink wink. You’re so cute it’s bordering on gross, think about all the poor single souls out there. And thank you for a great show!’

’Wait- what? Uh- I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have a- I mean, I’m not sure if- I-’

’Hey, it’s okay, forget I said anything. Can I request a song?’

’Oh, yeah of course!’

’’Can I have ’About Damn Time’ with Lizzo?´

’What? I mean- yes, coming right up! You’re listening to The Vibe FM, now playing Lizzo's ’About Damn Time’ for Felice. ’

***

Mon 1.54 am:

felice!!
why would you do that?

Hi Wilhelm, did you have a good weekend? ;)
One: I expected updates and you kept dodging my calls
Two: come on guys, please keep it in your pants and off the radio grid
Three: I’ve never called in to a show before, it was fun!

oh sorry, i didn’t mean to 
i’ve just been busy

Mhm. Busy making out with mr radio man
I get it

i mean you’re not wrong but i thought you didn’t wanna talk about that? ;)
and it wasn’t you specifically, i turned my phone off to escape my mum for a sec
do you wanna catch up over lunch on wednesday?

Yes. Falafel place by the water?

sounds good.
oh and felice?
do you really think he would be my boyfriend?

Yes dummy, of course he will. Just ask him

***

As the sun starts climbing its way up the horizon Wille blinks tiredly at it, not having managed to catch more than a couple hours of sleep at most, too preoccupied with irrational jealousy of the listeners getting to interact with Simon, overrun with the urge to call, to text, possibly once again escape the castle and go over there. He wouldn’t even have to say anything, Wille could sit in the studio and exist in Simon’s presence for a little bit and his night would have been significantly better. But he doesn’t want to overdo it, doesn’t want to drag Simon into the shipwreck that is his insomnia, cling too tight and scare him off before they’ve even had the chance to build something together. For now Wille has to stay afloat on his own.

I want you, Simon had said. Wille wants to believe him, wants and desperately needs to prove the little voice inside his head wrong, the one that keeps yelling at him how this is definitely too good to be true, that people like him don’t get to keep things like this. Just you wait, it says, it will all crumble to pieces soon enough. Wille tries to ignore it. He doesn’t want to wait, has waited enough for a lifetime.

I want you to ruin my life, Simon had sung, so soft and warm and sincere. Like he’d be willing to sacrifice everything for another second in Wille’s arms. And Wille doesn’t doubt his sincerity, doesn’t doubt Simon’s feelings for him anymore, not after the weekend they’ve had, not while he’s still high off the the sensation of love and home and comfort. But the little voice is telling him how Simon might think he does, might believe he knows what he’s in for but is he really prepared for what’s to come? Is Wille really willing to let him give it all up for his own selfish purposes. What if Simon lets him ruin his life and regrets it? Wille’s no stranger to the entitled ways in which he’s been brought up, to the royal tendency of using and discarding, of taking advantage and sweeping collateral damage under the rug. Always putting themselves first, the family, the image, everything else coming second. 

And even now that he’s desperately trying to see Simon’s way, scared senseless of once again making decisions for him, of unintentionally hurting him when trying to protect himself, he’s not sure where the line is between allowing Simon to make his own choices and taking advantage of someone who offers up way more than Wille could ever deserve.

Simon told him to ruin his life if that’s what it takes and Wille is scared senseless that it just might.

He’s disrupted in his spiral of thoughts by a faint knock on the door. Three quick raps and merely a two-second delay before it glides open, the person clearly not awaiting an answer.

”Morning, princeling.” Alva chirps sunnily on her way in, the usual breakfast tray and clipboard clutched in her arms. Wille breathes out a sigh of relief at the sight of her, her presence a welcome distraction to the intruding thoughts once again trying to overtake him.

He smiles tiredly at her, gestures to the armchair in the corner as he makes his way out of bed and curls up on the couch himself. She helps herself to a cup of coffee without even asking and it makes something warm bloom in Wille’s stomach to have formed this easy way of co-existing with a person he once used to despise simply for her job title. He remembers awkward curtsying and insistent ’Your Highnesses’, even when told to skip the title, with a shudder.

”Did you have a good weekend?” She asks.

Soft smiles. Warm hugs. A worn down leather couch. Easy banter with the two people most important to the one person most important to him. Laughter bearing the promise of friendship. Scones with too much baking soda. A smear of whipped cream gently brushed away from his cheek. Never-ending smooth planes of skin illuminated by the soft morning sun rays. Kisses tasting like spring. Simon.

”Wille?”

”Yeah.” He breathes out, still caught up in the memory. ”I did. What about you?”

She smiles at him knowingly but doesn’t prod for details, instead shares a story of how she’d gotten some time off due to his absence and had used it to go see her sister and baby niece.

They share the two pieces of toast, chat easily for a bit. Wille tries his best to delay the inevitable to-do list, the coming lecture on princely behavior and how forsaking his commitments and disappearing for an entire weekend is very unbecoming of a future monarch. He asks questions, tries to keep the conversation going, stay in his happy weekend-bubble for just a second longer.

Alva humors him at first and he’s eternally grateful for her, but eventually the insistent dings from her tablet become too much and she pulls it out of its case, shooting him an apologetic look.

”Oh,” she says after glancing at the screen. ”Your mother requests your presence in the conference room. Says it’s urgent.”

Wille fights the urge to roll his eyes, to childishly insist that if she wants to talk to him she can reach out to him and not his assistant. Which she hasn’t.

But he has been gone the whole weekend without offering any explanation to his absence other than being needed at a friend’s. Her silence, the lack of calls or texts, after the initial ones on the night he and Malin had left, did make him slightly uneasy at first, but that had of course swiftly been pushed to the very back of his mind in the presence of Simon, whose mere existence makes anything else in Wille’s life, his mind, his surroundings seem so utterly unimportant, fade into nothing but background noise.

Right now there’s no Simon. Not even a good morning text, since it’s still only nine am and Simon most certainly is still blissfully asleep. Wille can almost picture him curled up in bed with the duvet pulled so high up the only thing peeking out is a few ruffled curls, the soft way he breathes with lips slightly parted. Cosy, warm. Unlike Wille’s own bedroom where there’s no Simon and there’s once again room for thoughts, suppressed feelings, the ever-present knowledge of not being able to live up to what’s expected of him.

”Wille, I think we should go.” Alva touches his elbow lightly, a little crease having formed between her eyebrows. Wille thinks she probably knows more than she’s letting on, knows exactly what he’s in for, but he’s in no mood to ask, will face his mother’s wrath head on soon enough anyway.

He nods, pulls on a hoodie over his button-up shirt, a small act of defiance he knows will make her face scrunch up even more in dismay, his failure to upkeep a proper manner of dressing ever the eyesore to her.

As they make their way into the conference room there’s already a small number of people there, some he recognizes from their PR team, some he can’t quite place. They give room for him and Alva as they enter, clear a path for them to make their way to the Queen sitting at the head of the table. She’s swiping her finger across a tablet on the table in front of her, doesn’t even look up as they approach. She just swipes. Again and again and again. Wille’s not sure if it’s a good thing or not, can feel his nerves swirling in the pit of his stomach, anxiety buzzing under his skin.

He clears his throat. ”Good morning, mum.” He says, tries to keep his voice neutral. ”I’m sorry for my absence this weekend, I was needed elsewhere. I trust you and dad managed well without me at the auction?” Polite, polished, not a trace of his internal nervous shaking apparent in his voice. In any other situation she’d probably be proud. Now she doesn’t look at him.

”Mum?” He tries again.

”Wilhelm, would you care to explain what this is?” She looks up from the screen at last to meet his gaze, raises a questioning eyebrow.

Wille looks down at the tablet in front of her and freezes, any trace of the polished and proper armor suddenly crumbling to pieces, leaving him bare and exposed, chest torn open all the way down to his quivering heart. All of him laid bare to be judged and scrutinized. 

His walls are crumbling, his knees are trembling. Because on the screen is a very familiar setting. The familiar red brick building, which in only a weekend had come to feel like a home. A blonde woman holding open a car door. A boy with curly hair in a purple hoodie. And the Crown Prince of Sweden wrapped up in his arms.

She swipes again. There’s handholding. Soft lips pressed to a rosy cheek. A brief peck on the doorstep to Sara’s building. 

The curly-haired boy in the hoodie, the Crown Prince in his long coat. A shared smile. Intertwined hands. Heads tipped back laughing at a joke Wille can’t remember anymore.

There hadn’t even been any cameras around, they’d been so careful. Or so he’d thought. 

His hands shake as he clenches his intertwined fingers even tighter together in the pocket of his hoodie. Picture-Simon looks so happy. Wille wonders vaguely what the joke had been.

”Who is this, Wilhelm?” His mother urges, keeps swiping.

Grainy pictures of Wille and Simon stumbling out of the radio station building on that morning that had possibly been the best one of his life. He can see the little smile on his own face, even with the low quality, envies the way that version of himself gets to be wrapped up in Simon, so filled with happiness and bliss and fucking finally to even have spotted the person taking these pictures.

His mother’s gaze is piercing. ”Who is he?” She repeats. As if she doesn’t already know. As if the people in the room haven’t been carefully selected to handle this crisis or whatever they’ll want to call it. He’d bet an arm and a leg they’ve already come up with a strategy to discredit the photos, claim it’s not him. Had it been him and Felice they’d be over the moon, celebrating the publicity. Wille feels pretty sure his previous guess of noble heritage being a determining factor in any mother-approved suitor is about to be proven right. His chest feels tight, the panic steadily rising. Never before has being right felt so wrong.

He shrinks deeper into his hoodie. The very same one the curly-haired boy is wearing in the grainy picture. Stolen with the promise of returning it the next time they’d see each other. ’So you can sleep better’. Simon had said and smiled as Wille poured all his feelings into yet another kiss, allowed himself be wrapped up and adored and missed even before parting ways.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, the sound filling the otherwise alarmingly quiet room. All eyes turn towards him.

Mon, 10.42 am

good morning ❤️

i missed you in my bed :((  can i see you today?

’I want you to ruin my life’ Simon had said. Wille had just hoped it wouldn’t have to come to that. At least not so soon.

Chapter Text

There are too many pictures, too many eyes.

Wille can’t breathe. He can feel the familiar sensation of tightness in his chest, the way the world seems to narrow down, get blurry around the edges. Vaguely he can make out Alva’s voice in his ear, the way there’s an insistent tug on his sleeve, but it’s coming from a place far, far away. Barely audible, barely noticeable in the fog he’s losing himself in. So much like his nighttimes, with the sheep taunting him endlessly, the world blurring to a faint backdrop. Except it’s not nighttime anymore and there are no sheep but for a faint whisper at the back of his mind. One saying ’I knew you’d fuck up, I knew you’d ruin him, didn’t I tell you so?’

There’s another tug and he lets his legs follow, allows himself to be guided out of the room, gently pushed down into a sitting position on a velvety couch. A soothing hand on his back and it should really be his mother, shouldn’t it? Except it’s not and it stings. The panic is swirling and his heart beating loud enough to pulsate through his ears and his phone buzzing and it’s all too much-

He can’t. He won’t. He can’t.

He lets his head slump tiredly against the wall, draws in a shaky breath. Then another. The lingering scent of Simon is a soothing presence in his nostrils, the purple hoodie enveloping him like a long-distance sunshine hug. Only a shadow of the real deal but right now the only thing keeping him grounded in the moment.

”I can’t do this,” he tells Alva. Knows he doesn’t have the option to refuse.

”You can.” She says with unwavering certainty. ”You’ve come this far, haven’t you?”

And it’s true, he has. They have.

They sit there for a while, Alva’s hand gently rubbing his back, Wille struggling to get his head above surface again, fill his flooded lungs with air. Every returning breath feeding the determination rooting itself deep inside him. Not a delicate flower anymore but a sprouting weed quickly spreading roots. Strong and resilient and angry. He’s fought for this, he literally just got it and they’re not taking it from him. They’re not.

He taps anxiously at the keyboard of his phone, tries to find a string of letters conveying all the overwhelming emotions currently inhabiting him. Finds the Swedish language strangely insufficient. There aren’t words, none big enough to make sense of this, none important enough to explain. But it’s Simon and it’s important and so he tries anyway. 

Types and erases. Types and erases. 

Eventually he gives up, pockets the phone. What can one say through text when all that’s left to say speaks louder through actions? When nothing matters except for once again getting to breathe the same air.

He pushes himself to his feet, tries to grab hold of his inner resilience, bottle it up so it won’t abandon him again. Alva raises an eyebrow at him. ”Feeling better?” She asks, watches him carefully. Wille shrugs, gestures with his head in the direction of the conference room.

They return to the room. He can feel the way his knees are trembling but his back is straight and he’s not folding. Not this time. Not when there’s sunshine and hoodies and leftover dishes from breakfast cluttering a worn kitchen table to return to. Not even when the collected weight of eyes on him weighs heavy, when muffled whispers behind his back makes his skin crawl. He pretends not to notice as he pushes his way past them.

”His name is Simon,” he says as he comes to a halt at the head of the table, looks his mother straight in the eye. Like she doesn’t already know. ”He’s- we’re-” he trails off, unsure of how to define the absoluteness that is Simon’s presence in his life. The larger than life sort of feeling, still not defined by a word, a label, simply a sensation of belonging stretching itself between them.

”Reckless is what you are,” she says sharply. ”Engaging in relationships, public ones without the involvement of the PR team, without a background check and a briefing and my blessing? What you do reflects back on all of us, Wilhelm. Do you wish to abolish the monarchy, is that it?”

If he said yes, would that end in casualties? It’s on the tip of his tongue but he swallows it down, picks his battles.

”I don’t,” he soothes, ”It’s not like that. Mum, I love him.”

She looks ready to rip her hair out.

”Wilhelm, you barely know him!”

”I know him better than I’ve known anyone before,” He states, simply, truthfully. ”It’s my life. I just wanna be with him.”

”You ’just wanna be with him’? You’re Crown Prince, Wilhelm. It’s not that easy.” She crosses her arms, looks at him like she’s not certain who he is anymore. Wille isn’t so sure himself either these days.

”Why can’t it be?” he insists, knows he probably sounds like a petulant child, pleading to his mother to reconsider the decision of no ice cream before dinner.

He only barely listens to the tirade that follows. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before, nothing he doesn’t already know by heart. A passionate speech about duty to the title, to the people, to the institution. Having to protect the image and the legacy over everything else, how he can’t expect to be treated like just anyone because he isn’t, doesn’t he get that?

He doesn’t. Doesn’t want to either.

It’s what he wants, desperately craves. To be just anyone. Just anyone that can fall asleep watching bad movies and kiss his boyfriend goodbye as he’s off to work and have coffee in public. He wants so badly it aches.

”Who took the pictures?” he interrupts. ”Who do I have to speak with to handle this?” The roots of the weeds have wound themselves tight inside his chest, rooted themselves in his very core, urging him to stand tall, to take action. To claim, to have.

Her eyes shift downwards, a flash of guilt ghosting across her face.

”That won’t be necessary,” she says firmly, the answer delayed just a few seconds too long. ”We did.”

That was not at all what he’d expected and he can feel his jaw dropping, the swirling anxiety in his belly turning red, anger rising up through his abdomen.

”Mum, you had me followed? Excuse my language but what the hell?” He tries to keep his voice level but fails ever so slightly, anger seeping through the words. It’s red, fire coursing through him, heavy pillars of black smoke rising towards the sky. Having the bodyguards at his tail every waking minute is one thing but someone else, someone taking pictures-. Wille feels dizzy.

”I was worried about you!” She exclaims, for the first time losing some of her composedness. ”You’ve been so down after Erik’s birthday and you wouldn’t talk to me about it, you just walked around here like a ghost,” she gestures vaguely with her hands in the air. ”And then you just disappeared off without bodyguards and came back looking like you’d given up, talking about unrequited love, of all things, before disappearing off again. Yes, Wilhelm, I had you followed. I was worried you were going to do something reckless and I knew you wouldn’t listen to me.”

If this had been a normal day Wille might have relished in the rare expression of concern, the obvious worry for his mental state. But it’s not a normal day and the smoke is clouding his vision.

”So you had someone document my private moments?” There’s a dangerous edge to his voice.

She purses her lips, her tone sharp. ”Anyone could have taken those pictures, you were in public, for god’s sake! We’re just lucky it was us and not someone else. Now we have time to handle the situation before it spirals any further.”

”I have a hard time understanding how my own mother spying on me makes me lucky,” Wille states bitterly.

She sighs. ”Wilhelm, sometimes I don’t know what to do with you. With Erik it was easier, he could see reason. I just wish-”

”Wish what?” He tries to keep the sharp stab of pain tearing through him from shining through. ”That I’d be more like him? That it had been me instead of him? Well, guess what? I already know that! Don’t you think I haven’t wished it myself a hundred times over? Don’t you think I see how you wish things were different every single day?”

He can see the stunned expression on her face, the way her mouth opens and closes, no words in retaliation to the painful truth at last spoken out loud between them. The lingering pain that he’d been carrying for years at last let out in the open, the old bone-deep flesh wound torn up once again. The ache like a missing limb, a taunting of the severed nerve endings causing a phantom pain harsh enough to again make his chest constrict, his vision blur.

”I can’t be here anymore,” he says sharply when another moment passes and she still hasn’t as much as reached out a hand in comfort. Not that he’d been expecting her to. It hurts nonetheless.

The ice in his words seems to finally break the one in her and she’s suddenly trying to restrict him, grab at him as he pushes past her.

”Wilhelm, we’re not done talking about this!” She calls after him, a hint of desperation in her voice.

”Well I am. I’ll be at Simon’s. I assume you already know the address, but don’t bother coming after me.”

He’s out the door before she has the chance to reply.

He doesn’t have the energy to convince Malin, who’s two steps behind him like always, or a driver to go against what will most likely be a direct order from the Queen, instead decides to make the drive himself.

His pulse is racing, chest again feeling too tight to breathe and he quickly makes his way down to the garage, slumps down heavily on the leather seat. He rubs at his chest, tries to make sense of the anger and confusion and sadness raging through him. 

In his phone there’s Simon, worried at his lack of response and his concern brings some sunshine back, feeds the delicate flowers cowering beyond the web of sturdy weeds and piles of smoky ashes from the fire. 

Mon, 11.12 am

i can see you typing, what's up?

Mon 11.42 am

wille?

Mon, 12.21 pm

has something happened?

you’re not ignoring me again are you?

Mon, 1.36 pm

can i come over?

of course ❤️

The reply is almost instant, like Simon has been waiting for his message. Wille feels a twinge of guilt course through him for once again making Simon worry, think he’s been once again discarded or ignored in favor of tending to a fragile reputation. He’s not. Wille wouldn’t. Not again.

The red car purrs as he turns the key. He stares blindly at the concrete wall for a second, tries to collect his thoughts enough to manage to exit the garage.

A sudden knock on the window makes him jump and Alva lets herself in, slides gracefully into the passenger seat.

”You’re not leaving me there with them, are you?” She asks, eyebrow raised. ”It’s complete chaos, you should have seen everyone’s faces when you just up and left like that.” The way her eyes sparkle hints at her own amusement of the situation.

”Alva- I- I can’t, I don’t think it’s the right time to- I mean- Simon-” He stutters, not really making sense of his own thoughts at the moment.

She bumps his elbow. ”Oh no, I’m not forcing myself into that conversation. I mean, I do want to meet him and all eventually, but I’m not dumb. I know when some space is needed.” She smiles gently. ”Nah, I was just thinking I could go with you and then take the car back? Save us some money on parking.”

Wille snorts. Like the crown would ever care about something as trivial as parking expenses. ”You just want to drive the car, don’t you?”

”Desperately.” She smiles at him and reaches out to gently pat the dashboard.

The car roars as they speed down the driveway.

***

Simon meets him outside the building, all soft smiles and ruffled curls in the wind. Wille waves goodbye to Alva as the soft rumble of the engine makes its way past them and down the street. He pretends not to notice the other dark car having pulled up behind them, tries to weave back the nausea of being followed, watched, photographed.

As he closes the distance, takes the few steps from the curb to the entrance, Simon reaches out for him, arms open in greeting and Wille wants nothing more than to fall into them, enter the blissful bubble where there’s nothing but sunshine and spring and them. Instead he takes a step back, throws an anxious glance over his shoulder. 

Simon’s face falls.

”Let’s go inside,” Wille says, pleads with his eyes for Simon to not take this the wrong way, not take it as a rejection when it’s merely him keeping them safe, keeping what’s sacred and theirs private for just a little while longer.

He’s quiet all the way up the stairs, can’t shake the unsettling feeling of eyes on them, of enquiring looks, nosy cameras, of losing control.

It’s not until Simon’s door is safely closed behind them, not until Wille has curled himself up in the corner of the worn couch that he can feel himself relaxing. Slowly lowering the tense set of his shoulders, unclench his fingers from their tight grip.

He heaves out a sigh, looks up at last to meet Simon’s gaze. He’s perched on the edge of the other end of the couch, an ocean of space between them, a distance so large that it feels suffocating.

”I’m sorry,” Wille says quietly, chews at the edge of his thumb nail. ”I’m really sorry.”

”Sorry for what? Wille, what’s going on?” Simon’s eyes bore into his. Not unkind but questioning, wary. Afraid of Wille pulling away again. Wille gets it. Grabs feebly at Simon’s hoodie, tries to pull him closer, overcome the ocean. Breathe the same air again.

Simon gets the gist, shuffles closer on the couch until his warm presence is right there, his arms a safe haven for Wille to fall into. He embraces the fall, the faint rushing of wind in his ears, glowing sparks of fire on his melting wings as he’s slowly enveloped in sunshine, drowning in it.

”What’s wrong?” Simon repeats, softer this time.

”There’s pictures, Simon,” he mumbles as he tugs at Simon’s arms to wrap them even tighter around himself. ”She had us followed”. Saying the words out loud makes a shiver course through him, a new hot burst of anger to burn inside his chest.

”I don’t get it, what do you mean?” Simon’s voice is rough in his ear, quizzical. 

”My mum- the PR team- I don’t know. They had all these pictures of us outside your work, outside here and Sara’s. They’ve had someone spying on us.”

”What the-” Simon breathes out, scrunching his eyebrows together in dismay. His arms wrap themselves even tighter around Wille’s body, almost tight enough to push away the increasingly large sense of discomfort currently inhabiting him, almost enough to suffocate the fire.

”Why?” Simon asks. Even though he must know the answer already. Even though it’s out of their control. ”Why would she spy on her own son?”

Wille shrugs. His mum’s mind seems to speak a different language, one far beyond his own comprehension. 

”Nothing I ever do is good enough for her- it’s like-” he stammers out ”She wants me to be Erik but I’m not- I don’t wan’t to- I can’t. I don’t understand why they can’t just let me live my life, have something that is mine- have you. Without ruining your life, I don’t want to- I can’t-” his voice rising in a desperate plead. ”Simon, I can’t”. 

Simon’s chin comes down to rest on his shoulder, curls tickling his cheek as he presses himself even closer, provides comfort in the simple act of proximity. ”Hey, it’s okay,” he whispers, breath tickling Wille’s neck. ”Tell me what you’re feeling,” he urges gently.

”I don’t know. Tired. Angry. Panicky. I didn’t know what to do so I came here.”

Simon sighs against his hair, a soft summer breeze tickling his skin. ”I’m glad you did. We do this together, right? One day at a time?”

Wille nods into his chest. One day at a time.

Simon makes them tea and they cuddle up together on the couch. It’s the most right Wille has felt since, well, since he was last curled up on this couch the day before. How it’s only been a day he can’t seem to wrap his head around. It feels like an eternity.

”How are you feeling?” He peers at Simon over the rim of his teacup, seeks out his gaze. ”I know it’s a lot. Perhaps more than you signed up for.” He tries to keep his voice steady, convey that it’s okay if Simon would want to back out. 

It’s fine. He’ll be fine. He would.

It’s a lie and he knows it.

Simon sighs. ”I honestly don’t know. A bit weird, I think. Angry that my sister is getting involved in this mess. But, I guess, it’s not like we didn’t know this would happen, right? It’s Stockholm, you’re unfortunately a very public person. Someone was bound to find out eventually.”

Wille hums noncommittally. ”Unfortunately.”

”And- we’re not hiding this- whatever it is, right?” There’s a sudden flash of uncertainty ghosting across his face, a slight tremble in the words. Like he’s still not entirely sure where Wille stands. Like he’s still entertaining the thought that he’s someone Wille would want to hide. It hurts. Even though it’s true, that deep down Wille would like nothing more than to hide him, hide both of them in a safe cocoon away from everything.

”It’s not like I want to hide this, us, it’s just- I don’t want to ruin your life. Don’t want to lose you,” Wille mumbles, mind filled with flashing lights, with cameramen pushing at Felice, with nasty comments and crude remarks.

”Wille, you’re not. You won’t.” Simon insists. ”I can make my own decisions. I choose to be here, choose to be with you.”

”Yeah, I know. I just have a hard time believing you would want to, I guess.” He mumbles, twirls the string to Simon’s hoodie around his finger. ”So what do we do then?”

Simon sighs, brushes a strand of hair out of his eyes, presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. ”I don’t know,” he shrugs. ”One day at a time?”

Wille smiles tiredly, lets his head slump down against Simon’s shoulder. ”One day at a time. I just want to be with you.” There’s a kiss pressed to his hair, a soft ’me too’ exhaled on his skin.

It’s enough for now.

He stays curled up on the couch even as Simon takes off for work, drained by the sleeplessness, the morning’s spectacle, the emotions running on overdrive.

”I’ll see you soon, monkey. Don’t wait up, okay?” Simon kisses his forehead gently before he leaves.

Wrapped up in Simon’s favourite blanket, the radio show on at a low volume in the background, Wille sleeps.

He wakes up to Simon nudging his way back in between his arms. Tired look in his eyes, dressed down to nothing but his boxers.

”Is there room for me too?” he asks in a low voice.

Wille lifts the blanket, opens his arms for Simon to climb in. Wraps them tightly around him. Tight tight tight around cold skin, warms it up with his own. Sparing a little of his own borrowed sunshine.

”Always room for you,” he mumbles, presses a wet kiss to Simon’s bare shoulder. ”How was work?”

”Good. Tiring,” Simon says, muffling a yawn. ”Ayub says hi. He was surprised you didn’t call.”

”Was sleeping” Wille informs him, nuzzles his nose into Simon’s neck, finds comfort in the familiar scent of his cologne, the soft curls tickling his cheek.

”Maybe you should always sleep here if that’s the case.” The words gently exhaled against his skin.

”Maybe I should.”

***

Wille wakes up first, gently disentangles himself from the heap of limbs on the couch, careful not to wake Simon’s sleeping form. 

There’s still dirty dishes in the sink. The recycling can is overflowing with pizza boxes and old milk cartons. It makes Wille smile as he puts an empty soda can on top of it, promising himself he’ll learn how to take it out later. It feels good having a purpose, getting to help out. He wipes some bread crumbs off the counter as he waits for the toaster, tries to figure out how to use the coffee maker. It proves somewhat complicated so in the end he settles for making them tea instead.

He’s in the middle of rummaging through Simon’s disorganized kitchen cupboards in search of sugar when his phone screen lights up, a familiar number filling the screen. His finger hovers over the side button, wills himself to wish her away. To muster up the courage.

He doesn’t.

”Hi,” he says instead, tries to keep his voice down as he presses his phone to his ear.

”Wilhelm, what do you think you’re doing running off like that again?” She says, in lieu of a greeting. ”Please come home. We’ve got the opening ceremony at the hospital today. And you have to be here for the morning meeting.”

”I think I’m gonna stay here for a while.” Wille replies, absentmindedly stirring some sugar down into the tea cup. ”I’ll go to the opening later, don’t worry about it. I’ll have Alva come over with the suit and my paperwork.”

Remote work is in fashion right now, isn’t that so? Who said he actually needs to be at the castle to keep up his work as Crown Prince?

His mother doesn’t seem to agree.

”Wilhelm, you have to think about how that will look!” There’s a desperate edge to her voice, a hint that maybe she’s losing control, maybe there won’t be consequences to his actions this time. It’s exhilarating.

”Actually, I don’t.”

Hanging up has never felt so satisfying.

***

And so he stays. Simon smiles all big and dopy at his timid request over breakfast, says ’of course’ and that they’ll make it work. And they do. They keep it low-key as they learn how to find their space in each other’s orbits, how to make room for the other in the chaos that is every day life. How to navigate the minefield that comes with a new relationship, especially so when it’s one the world is just waiting to rip apart at the seams to scrutinize every detail. 

For that reason they’re careful. Too careful, according to Simon. Not enough for Wille.

He’s still scarred by the flashing lights invading his and Felice’s personal space, haunted by the feeling of losing control every time they venture out in public and so he tries to keep them safe. Promises over and over again that it’s got nothing to do with Simon, that it’s only to protect him, to protect them.

And Simon smiles lopsidedly at him, teases him once again for trying to be a ’knight in shining armor’ and ’doesn’t he know that Simon can fend for himself if it comes to that?’. Wille laughs but deep down he’s scared senseless of the possibility of ever letting it come to that. There’s a hint of annoyance in the set of Simon’s jaw even as he playfully rolls his eyes, bumps Wille’s shoulder with his own. Wille knows it can’t last forever.

But for now it’s safe. Simon is patient and warm and they take it slow. One day at a time.

They stay out of the public eye, as much as possible. Laugh and joke and hold hands walking along the waterfront in Simon’s favourite park. Wille goes riding with Sara again, finds peace in the easy company where no words are needed to fill the silence and there’s nothing but fresh air and the thrumming of hooves against rain-wet gravel.

They go thrift shopping with Ayub. Try on silly hats and find little knick-knacks for the empty spaces on Simon’s shelves. Wille starts a collection of porcelain sheep. Simon claims they’re horribly ugly but dutifully makes sure to dust them thoroughly on the rare occasions where he actually manages to clean the apartment.

Simon makes them pasta in the evenings before he’s off for work, leaving with a wet kiss pressed to Wille’s cheek and a request to ’not wait up’.

At times (less frequently than Wille would want, more frequently than Ayub would prefer) he tags along to the radio show. Him and Simon play footsie under the table, make out during songs and commercial breaks enough times to make Ayub repeatedly threaten to quit his job.  

’That was Håkan Hellström with ”Nu kan du få mig så lätt” on The Vibe FM, 104.6. My name is Simon and we’re talking about unexpected celebrity encounters tonight. Don’t forget to call in with your- shh- uh- stories. Stop- oh-. Anyway, yes, please call in if you’ve got any- uh- lying around.’ 

…

’It’s time for another song, right? Yes. No- not that one- stop it-. Here’s ’So Handsome Hello’ by Woodkid, as requested by Isak. You’re listening to ’Late Night Vibes with Simon.’

…

’Would you shut up and come here now. Oh shit, the song isn’t playing- shh. Here we go.’

***

Felice
Wed, 1.10 am

Ugh I changed my mind, this is waay worse. Please go back to whining and pining and stop making out in people’s ears

jk I (mostly) love this for you, are we still on for lunch tomorrow?

Oh and bring Simon, I want to meet him in person

Wed, 1.17 am

I take it back. I don’t love it. Wille please stop making out with your boyfriend on live radio. WE CAN ALL HEAR IT

Wed, 2.42 am

that’s what you get for giving me relationship advice ;)

we’ll see you at the usual place 😘

***

Not-surprisingly Simon and Felice get along like a house on fire. Wille huffs and pretends to be annoyed but is secretly thrilled watching the two most important people in his life laugh together like old friends. It’s like yet another puzzle piece falling into place in the previous shattered mess that had been his heart and his life. Like things are slowly turning out the way the way they’re supposed to, like it was always meant to end up this way.

It’s not too bad this new life he’s making for himself, he thinks. A life where Wille and Crown Prince Wilhelm are slowly learning to co-exist. Not taking into account the fact that he still hasn’t spoken to his parents in weeks, that the only contact with the palace has been through Alva’s daily briefings, through Malin and Joakim taking turns in shadowing Wille and Simon around.

And then. There’s a conversation. A late night phone call when Wille is half asleep on the couch and Simon is away at work. An olive branch, a delayed attempt of understanding, a request of working it through together. It’s not enough and Wille mutters and scowls and insists he doesn’t want to go. 

Except he kind of does and there’s Simon who he wants to show off and show her that he can have, desperately prove that it will work, beg for her approval of this forbidden romance. Because, as much as he claims not to care, to be on his own path and on a mission to show he can be Crown Prince and Wille simultaneously, when it all comes down to it he’s still a puppet in her show. The monkey dancing in the circus sand, letting its strings be pulled with only the lingering hope of some applause in the end.

And so they do. On a sunny Saturday in June Wille takes Simon to Drottningholm for the first time.

”We could always go home, you know.” Simon eyes him carefully as they take yet another lap around the little garden outside Wille’s window at Drottningholm, Wille trying to put off the meeting for as long as he possibly can under the guise of giving Simon the full tour. ”Or to Sara’s. We could spend the weekend doing something fun. If you’re not up for seeing your mum.”

The way he refers to his apartment as home, as their home makes the flowers blossom in Wille’s chest.

”If we get through the next hour we can go anywhere, you pick.” He shrugs, kicks at some loose gravel with his sneakers.

”You think it will get that bad?” Simon’s eyes on him are searching, his hand tugging at Wille’s to pull them to a stop next to a bench. Wille reluctantly lets himself be pulled down onto it.

He looks away. Fixes his gaze on the two familiar gardeners a few rows back, tending to the flowerbeds side by side. ”I honestly don’t know what to expect.” He says eventually. ”It’s not like this has been done before.”

”Well, we are pretty historical, aren’t we?” The smile in Simon’s voice is audible and he winks at Wille as he turns to look at him.

”You say that like it’s a good thing,” Wille groans, lets his head slump heavily onto Simon’s shoulder.

”It is.” Simon insists. ”You’ve said it yourself, that the whole reason you did the public coming out thing was to make history? Make a difference to people.”

Wille looks up, raises a hand to twirl a dark curl around his finger, smiles as Simon leans into the touch. ”Mostly I just did it because I had a massive crush on a certain radio show host famous for disliking the monarchy. But yeah, that too, I guess. I wanted to be brave, prove you wrong.”

”You are brave, Wille.” Simon says softly, tugs him closer. ”I thought that then and I still think that now.”

Wille is overtaken with the whirlwind of emotions coursing through him. The thrum of affection for Simon, for the way he looks surrounded by flower beds and gravel, a glorious contrast to the polished perfection of the castle in the background. An overbearing sense of anxiety at the thought of losing this, of being declined the one thing he’d gotten to choose for himself. 

”We’ll be fine,” Simon promises, squeezes his hand. Relentless in his certainty, not a flicker of doubt of the existence of a them, of a future still filled with glorious messes and Saturday brunches and late night radio.

They’ll be fine. They will.

Wille nods in a hesitant agreement, tugs at Simon’s hand as they slowly rise to a stand and make their way out of the private garden, enter the palace through a back door.

The Queen meets them in the conference room.

”Wilhelm,” she says in greeting, gaze swiftly flickering downwards to their intertwined hands.

”Mum,” Wille says, straightens his back out of habit.

”Hi, uh, your majesty,” Simon stumbles over his words, doesn’t know he’s not supposed to address her before she’s spoken to him first. Wille loves him a little more for it.

”Simon,” She nods at him. ”It’s good to meet you at last. Please sit.”

Wille’s heart is pounding in his chest, fingers clenching tightly around Simon’s. A nervous thrum across his skin, awaiting her reaction, her disapproval, the carefully constructed speech of how this can’t be. How he’s had this break from duty, from legacy and now it’s time to return to the real world. How Simon surely must understand that this is the way it has to be.

Simon’s fingers are warm in his, a lifeline of sunshine Wille’s desperately clinging to. He won’t let her drown them. He won’t.

Surprisingly, she doesn’t attempt to. Instead she waits for them to sit down across from her before saying, with an uncharacteristic softness, that it’s a shame they’re meeting like this, that the circumstances are less than ideal and that it’s unfortunate Simon has gotten a wrongful first impression of their family.

”Wilhelm, I don’t want you to think even for a second that I wish for you and Erik to trade places. We might not always see eye to eye, but I’m your mother and I love you. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Her eyes are soft and Wille can feel his insides melting. The fizzling fireball of anger and resilient weeds are all crumbling down to a sticky pile of goo, his spine almost feeling too soft to keep him upright.

He sways a little in his seat. ”I-” he tries but can’t seem to find the words to form a sentence.

She doesn’t acknowledge his lack of coherent speech and continues. ”I’ve been having some time to think since the unfortunate event that happened and I’m very sorry for the way that must have come across to you. I do trust your judgement and I do want to be on your side. Even when I don’t agree with your actions.”

Wille tries again. There are more words now, slowly making their way up and out. ”So- we can- I mean, me and Simon- we can be together?”

”I’ll have to admit, I don’t think the situation is ideal.” She says, purses her lips, for the first time today hinting at her true feelings on the subject. ”However, it seems you’ve made up your mind, that this is what you need to do. And- I can’t lose another son, Wilhelm. I’ll support you. As long as you promise to honor your role as Crown Prince. As long as you’re willing to compromise on how to handle the public aspect.”

He nods wordlessly, blinks back the floodgates of water burning behind his eyelids. Simon squeezes his hand, a silent conviction of comfort, a life-line to hold on to.

”So what do we have to do?” He’s not dumb, he knows there will be conditions, isn’t foolish enough as to think they’re gonna get away this easily.

”Well, apart from the obvious, which of course is a thorough background check and the standard protocol etiquette classes, there has to be some kind of public statement regarding your relationship. You might have attempted to keep a low profile up until now but there’s still speculation going around. It will only take so long before the story is all over. If we want to stay on top of the narrative we have to announce it ourselves.”

Wille turns his head, seeks out Simon’s gaze. There’s a lingering bit of fear, of uncertainty mixed in with the softness of his chocolate eyes. It’s something they need to do, they’d been prepared for it, for the conversation, for the possible consequences of it. It doesn’t mean it’s not daunting suddenly facing it head on. Wille tries to telepathically convey once again that they don’t need to do anything, that it’s all up to Simon how and when they’ll eventually cross the line. But Simon smiles, a small crooked one. ’It’s fine’ he mouths, squeezes Wille’s hand in his own.

Wille smiles back. It’s fine. They’ll be fine.

They need to set up an interview with Rosenqvist, his mother tells them. She’s the only one they can trust and if this is what Wille needs to do then at least he has to be smart about it, strategic.

”No,” Wille says, can feel his pulse take off at the mere thought of being sat in that room again, back straight and lie through his teeth. He taps anxiously with a finger against the back of Simon’s hand. The fingers around his own tighten their grip.

”Your Majesty, if I may?” Simon cuts in. ”I was thinking. Or, well, me and Wille were thinking, actually, that we could do the announcement on the radio. I have my own show on The Vibe at night and that way we have full control of the situation.”

”With all due respect, Simon, I’ve heard about your show and the type of topics discussed there. It’s really not the appropriate forum for this conversation.” She looks at Simon with barely concealed dismay and Wille knows exactly what she’s heard, knows without doubt that she’s been informed of Simon’s rather extensive rants on the subject of their family and its role in society.

Simon looks right back, doesn’t waver an inch. ”And what exactly do you mean by inappropriate?”

”Given the small audience, the limited target group as well as its anti-monarchist reputation, I would say it is not the given choice for this type of announcement.”

”Maybe it isn’t- but maybe it’s the one we would feel most comfortable with?” Simon challenges. His voice is soft but his jaw is set as he meets her eyes without looking away.

The Queen sighs heavily. ”Wilhelm, is that how you feel too?” Her gaze is boring into him, making him squirm under its weight.

Wille looks between his mother and his boyfriend, draws in a deep breath as he tries to get his rapid heartbeat under control.”Yes,” he says eventually. ”I have full faith in The Vibe, if we’re going to do a statement it has to be there. I can’t do a proper interview for this, not again. I need to feel like I’m in control.”

”I suppose if I don’t allow it you’ll just go do it regardless,” She sighs again, suddenly looking ten years older. Wille feels a flicker of guilt course through him but swiftly disregards it. It needs to be on his terms, on their terms. It’s the only way. 

”We will have a meeting beforehand, screening all the questions and what you are allowed to share,” She adds, gaze firm. Wille nods, takes a sip from the glass of water having been placed before him.

”You’re going to have to make a song request too, Your Majesty,” Simon pipes up. ”It’s the main rule of my show,” He grins, making Wille almost choke on his drink. He has to stifle a snort behind his hand, masking it as a cough. He’d never even entertained the possibility of his mother listening to any kind of music except for classical and ceremonial pieces typically used to entertain the royals. The Queen looks equally taken aback but Simon doesn’t falter in his easy smile and insistent gaze. 

Eventually she seems to consider it for a split second, a pensive crease forming between her eyebrows. ” 'I’ll sleep when I’m dead’, Bon Jovi,” she says after a moment’s consideration, and Wille who didn’t think his eyes could get any wider suddenly realizes they can.

”Good choice,” Simon agrees. ”I prefer the earlier stuff myself, but anything Bon Jovi is always a good request, of course.”

”You can’t say who requested it,” She looks at him seriously and Simon mimes locking his lips and tossing away the key, making the hint of a smile ghost over her face.

Wille wonders incredulously if he’s woken up in a fairytale land because his mother and his boyfriend getting along is just something so unattainable he never could’ve even thought to hope for it.

”Don’t look so surprised, Wilhelm,” His mother says to his still dumbfound expression. ”Did you think I only listened to classical music?”. Wille shakes his head slowly, doesn’t admit to that being his exact thought.

”I was young too once you know,” She tells them conspiratorially. ”I sneaked out to see a concert or two back in the day when I was a young Crown Princess. Wilhelm’s grandfather was not very pleased, as you can imagine.” There’s a fond smile gracing her lips at the memory.

Wille doesn’t know what to say, finds himself staring dumbly at her. What is this day?

Simon looks highly amused. Alva at the far end of the table too, but hiding it better. Malin, who’s standing at the door, is the only one succeeding in maintaining a neutral expression.

”I think- uh- Simon and I need to go now, mum-” Wille says, makes a vague gesture at the door. ”If we’re finished, that is?”

There’s a stiff nod, an awkward goodbye with a promise to return soon and then they’re out the door, barely even making it into the car before collapsing in a pile of breathless giggles and relieved kissing.

”I can’t believe The Queen listens to Bon Jovi,” Simon mumbles against his lips. ”Do you think she listens to Queen too? That would be quite funny.”

”I can’t believe my life is real.” Wille sighs contentedly. ”This all seems like a crazy dream.”

”A good one?”

”The best one.”

When Malin asks them where they’re going, Wille says ’home’ without a moment’s hesitation. They watch Drottningholm gradually decrease in size in the rearview mirror.

***

’Hello everyone, this is Late Night Vibes with Simon on The Vibe FM, 104.6. It’s 12 am and I’m here all night to keep all of you night owls and night shift workers company. Like always, we’ll be playing good music only. 

Like you might have seen on The Vibe's social media this is gonna be a very special episode and I can’t wait to present tonight’s special guest. It’s been a long way in the making. Some of you might remember a show I did a while back where we talked about love and you guys got to call in with your best stories of overcoming the odds. It was supposed to serve as a catalyst for my own attempts to get to that point with a certain someone. And guess what, it did. I guess I have you guys to thank for that, don’t I?

I’m not one to go on air and wax poetics about love, about how it changes you and how every day you wake up wondering how you’re allowed to feel this lucky. That's not me and I’m not gonna do that. What I am gonna do though is to introduce you, my dear listeners, to my own very special someone. Some of you might know him as ’monkey’, others as His Royal Highness Crown Prince Wilhelm of Sweden. The last one is a bit over the top, I know. Now, dear listeners, you also get to know him as my boyfriend. 

You might be thinking now, how did this happen, how did someone so notoriously anti-monarchy as myself end up in such a relationship? Honestly, I’m not quite sure, but this little monkey managed to weasel his way into my heart and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

We’ll be taking some calls later, answer some questions, but for now, do you wanna say hi to the people, monkey?’

’Hi’