Chapter Text

i.

simon

In the instance of sweet aromas longing to fill every room, small homes are the best. When Simon opens the oven door to put in a new batch of cookies, a fresh scent wafts over him and the boy wrapped around his waist. It fills the air in seconds, a new layer over the old. The boy, whose chin is settled on the dip of Simon’s collarbone, exhales, the air from his nose tickling Simon’s neck. He chases it with a kiss to the underside of Simon’s jaw. Simon smiles; he watches the boy through a warm haze and can’t help wondering how this is even real.

It’s the middle of September, nine and a half months following one of the most stressful times in Simon’s life so far: juggling his drug addict father, a vicious bully at school, the betrayal of his own sister, and this relationship, which he never completely believed he could reclaim in the way he once knew it. He’d been right, of course—this isn’t the bond they had at this time last year. It’s better, he thinks. More developed, more real and sincere and stable. January was a challenge, June was a test, July was the final exam, and now…. Now Simon doesn’t even have to say the words; they’re laced in every touch, every smile, every “How are you feeling?” and “Have you eaten?” and “I’ve been stuck on this question for ten minutes, and I know you’re already finished, so—help.”

Whatever batter is left in the bowl is devoured by two spoons and little mercy. Simon circles back every time he adds another dish to the sink, and the third time, Wille catches him around the waist. He pins Simon against the cabinets, forearms against the counter, caging Simon in as he kisses him softly. Simon smiles against his lips, curls at the fingers pressing into his spine. This is the first night they’ve had to themselves since the beginning of the school year. Simon spent a month in Stockholm after they announced their relationship—suggested by Queen Kristina, so everybody had a chance to get accustomed to his new addition—so he became accustomed with waking up next to Wille every morning, eating breakfast together, and sharing the same schedule during the day. Simon spent the last three weeks of summer break at home, then it was time to move back into Hillerska—separate rooms on opposing ends of the hallway, which isn’t actually a result of their relationship but a fictional, short-lived one between Simon and his former roommate Nicolas. It’s a long story.

After getting herself into the mess of betraying her brother, protecting Hillerska’s infamous bastard August, and unintentionally, indirectly, stealing from the queen (that’s the one secret of August’s Wille agreed to keep), Sara made sure to be on her best behavior over the summer. When Simon returned from Stockholm, he received the news from his mama that both he and Sara could live at Hillerska if they wanted to. Sara spent most of the break looking for grants, apparently. So she’s there, and Linda is at a dinner with her coworkers. Simon isn’t expecting her for another few hours, at least.

When they break for air, Simon lifts his hand to trace Wille’s hairline across his forehead. He soothes a wild hair back into place, then his fingers linger beneath Wille’s chin, and he smiles.

Wille exhales a laugh. “What?”

Simon shakes his head. “Nothing.” The oven timer rings, a harsh interruption to their silence. Simon moves to take the cookies out, but Wille redirects him out of the kitchen.

“Go find something for us to watch,” Wille says. “I can finish these.”

“Okay. Preferences?”

“Since we’re here alone, no horror movies.”

Simon chuckles. “Scared?”

Wille gives Simon a small shove and Simon laughs. He plants a hurried kiss on Wille’s cheek before he leaves. Cool air hits as soon as he’s away from the oven; he hadn’t realized how hot it was in there. The squeak of the oven door fills the house. Though, the knocking on the front door is louder.

Simon stops mid-step, inches in front of it. He looks back, wondering if Wille noticed; he did. They stare at each other as if they could figure out who it is through telepathy. Malin would’ve contacted Wille first, and Ayub and Rosh would’ve told Simon they were coming. Or they’d sneak in through his bedroom window.

“Are you expecting someone?” Wille asks.

Simon shakes his head. There’s more knocking. He worries there are only two options of who it could be, and neither are good. But Wille is already a little on edge about being here at night alone, and Simon doesn’t want to freak him out more.

“It’s probably just one of my neighbors,” Simon says, shrugging. “I’ll get it.”

Wille abandons the cookie sheet on the stove and crosses the room to meet him. Simon opens the door halfway, leaning on the handle as he looks over the stranger. A man stands in front of him, tall, fair skin, blond hair; a poster boy for Sweden itself. He has a glass dish in his hands that looks strangely familiar.

“Good evening,” the man says with a smile.

Simon looks between the dish and the man. “Hej…?”

“I’m sorry to show up unannounced like this. I was just doing the dishes tonight, and I realized I never got this back to Linda.” The man offered the dish. Simon let go of the door to take it; the cold glass is calming against his skin. At least he’s sure this isn’t a journalist.

“Um… Who are you?” In the back of his mind, a voice scolds himself for the lack of manners. But showing up to someone’s house unannounced isn’t exactly proper either, Voice.

The guy’s mouth twitches. He extends his hand. “Hugo. I live across the street.”

Simon smiles politely as he shakes his hand. “Simon. I’ll let her know you brought this back.”

Hugo nods. “Have a nice night.”

Simon kicks the door closed. “That was weird,” he tells Wille. Wille hums in agreement, but he’s frowning at him. Simon raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Were you expecting somebody else?”

Chewing his lip, Simon walks around Wille to put the dish on the dining table. “Well… I don’t know, maybe? I kind of thought it’d be another journalist.”

Wille's shoulders rise to his ears. “Has something like that happened again since—”

“No,” Simon answers. Since his and his family’s public records were made private, he means. It’d been a small request he’d asked Wille to look into on the last day of the last term, but although he’d been confident in asking, he wasn’t sure the queen would actually do it. He still isn’t quite sure what made her say yes: him being Wille’s boyfriend, or the fact that it would be easier PR-wise in the long run if there weren’t journalists tracking Simon and his family’s every move.  “No, no. It’s just on my mind sometimes.” He shrugs. “I also thought it might be Micke. I’ve worried about that since we got away from him, though.”

“But you haven’t talked to him since February.”

“Yeah, but he came to Hillerska when he wasn’t invited. I’m just waiting for him to show up here, too.” Simon runs his fingers over the frame of the dish. “I think we’re focusing on the wrong thing here, though.”

Wille huffs, sitting on the edge of the table. “You think so?”

“We should be talking about this." He lifts one end of the dish. "This has been missing since August.”

“What? Really?”

Simon nods. “She made empanadas one night for dinner with her coworkers, so she said.”

“Babe.” Simon looks up at him. “Isn’t she at dinner with her coworkers tonight, too?”

Simon’s eyes go wide. “Oh, my god.”

Wille presses his lips into a smile as he takes the dish from Simon’s hands. “Is it possible that Linda is dating?”

Well, anything is possible, but…. He shakes his head. "No."

“Then maybe she’s making friends,” Wille offers, though he doesn’t at all look like he believes it. “That means Hugo didn’t make the cut.”

Simon makes a face. “That also means he kept that” —he points at the dish— “hoping she’d come back for it.”

“Maybe it’s best that he's not a candidate to be her… friend.” Simon can feel Wille’s eyes on the side of his face, but Simon chooses to ignore him.

“I wonder if… Sara knows about this,” he finishes when Wille raises an eyebrow.

“Hmm.” Wille pretends to think about it. “Well, I guess you’d have to ask her.”

Simon spots the discarded cookie sheet on the stove. “Aren’t we supposed to be watching a movie?” He smiles when Wille rolls his eyes.

“You can’t avoid her forever,” he says.

“She can wait one more night.”

Wille sighs. He kisses Simon on the mouth then nudges him toward the living room. “Pick something good.” Then he turns back to the kitchen.

Simon watches him before his eyes fall to the glass dish on the table. His fingers trail the top of the frame. His mama, dating? It's not that he doesn't want her to be happy, but... Well, he doesn't know. There's a bad feeling in his stomach. Mama told him once to always trust his own instincts, but what would she say if she found out his instincts were against her?

He withdraws his hand, shaking the thoughts from his mind. He's jumping to conclusions when he should be staying grounded here, during his first night alone with his boyfriend. Abandoning the dish on the table, he settles onto his couch and turns on Netflix. He focuses on the soft clatter of Wille in the kitchen, the glow of the TV against his skin,  the footsteps padding across the floor coming straight for him. He smiles at Wille and scoops two cookies off the plate as Wille is setting it on the coffee table, and he thanks him for a glass of milk. They settle onto the couch, Simon against his side, Wille's arm around him, encased in the warmth and aroma from the kitchen.

Although he tries to sink into it all and forget everything else, his mind still wanders as the movie begins to play. The bad feeling won't go away; he can't help wondering where Mama actually is tonight—and why she bothered to lie about it.