Chapter Text
March
“No. Absolutely not. This isn’t possible.” Wilhelm squinted at the screen as the announcer read out the final results. There it was.
1.SWE Simon Eriksson……………… 286.03
1.SWE Wilhelm Lewenhaupt............. 286.03
How was that possible? The last few years they had been battling each other over podium placements, and now…they were tied for the world gold medal? They were world champions… together? Impossible. With all the factors and decimals that go into scoring, the likelihood of having an identical score as someone else was infinitesimally small. However, anything could happen in figure skating, which has been proven more times than Wilhelm could count.
“And that’s how you do it, pretty boy,” came a voice behind him. “I’d say sorry for your loss, but I’m really not. Besides, the silver will really bring out the mediocrity of your entire existence.”
He whipped his head around. There he was, Simon Eriksson. Wilhelm’s sworn enemy and unfortunately one of the other best skaters in the world (not that Wilhelm would ever admit it). It just so happened they both skated for Sweden, so there’d been extra animosity between the two for years, constantly battling each other for the hearts of their country.
“Did you even look at the scores? We tied , genius. I didn’t realize they were awarding extra points for utter depravity this year. What you went and did out there was disgusting.”
Simon snorted. “You’re starting to sound like the judges from last year.”
Wilhelm paused, blinking at Simon before scoffing, grabbing his water bottle and storming away in the direction of the changing rooms.
A little while later, they were standing side by side on the podium, as far away from each other as they possibly could be on the little platform, barely breathing, fists clenched at their sides, eyes glued forward. The crowd roared as photographers snapped photo after photo.
“This is an embarrassment,” Simon muttered under his breath.
“Yeah, how can my artistry be worth the same thing as… whatever it is you do out there?” Wilhelm shot back.
“Oh, you know what?”
Simon swiftly kicked his leg out, and his toepick went right into Wilhelm’s calf.
“Ow! What the hell!” cried Wilhelm as he pushed Simon, who toppled into the silver medalist, who fell off the podium right into the president of the ISU, who went crashing down onto the ice. Simon righted himself and grabbed Wilhelm’s hair, pulling him down. The audience gasped as the two of them rolled all over the ice, grabbing, hitting, and yelling colourful expletives. They both knew full well this was a very bad thing to be doing, especially as they were currently being broadcast to televisions all over the entire world. But the hate-filled heat of the moment caused them both to go blind to their surroundings, only focused on taking the other out.
Eventually, security intervened and tore them apart, and dragged them away in opposite directions. As Wilhelm sat drying his skates in a quiet hallway with the security guard hovering over him and his coach fuming at his side, he checked his phone. Their little tussle was already trending. Some people thought it was hilarious, others were calling for them to be stripped of their titles, and others were already making frightening ship edits for them. He quickly scrolled past a startlingly well photoshopped screengrab of the two of them on top of each other on the ice, lips locked. He shuddered and tossed his phone into his bag.
Two weeks later
“The International Skating Union has come to the decision that Simon Eriksson and Wilhelm Lewenhaupt will both be stripped of their titles, medals and are hereby banned from competing in men’s singles for life. You two idiots will never do a quad lutz in competition ever again.”
Well fuck. What the shit was Wilhelm supposed to do now?
He saw Simon storm out of the boardroom in a blur from the corner of his eye. Wilhelm quickly rose from his seat, taking off after him, ignoring the fact that every single reporter and camera in the room was now tracking his every move.
“Hey!” he called out in the hall. “I hope you’re happy. This is all your fault. If violence and anger weren’t your default, none of this would be happening right now.”
“You hope I’m happy?” spat Simon, walking back towards Wilhelm. “What the fuck is there to be happy about? What the hell am I supposed to do now? Everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve fought for that you just got handed to you, it’s all gone because of stupid fucking judges not being able to do their job properly. Fuck you, Wilhelm.” They were now nose to nose. Or rather, nose to chin, as Wilhelm had a few glorious inches on Simon. Simon had to look up to glare at him. Ha.
“So what are you gonna do about it?” Wilhelm retorted. “Search for solace in the loving arms of Grindr and talk trash about me on twitter? Go right ahead. Might I remind you I have over a thousand more followers than you. Just try them.”
Simon made a movement as if he were going to push Wilhelm, but at that moment the doors were flung open and all the reporters and officials filed out of the boardroom into the hallway, so he dropped his arms and took a step backward, away from Wilhelm, instead.
“Goodbye, Wilhelm. The one good thing about this is that I will never have to see you ever again as long as I live.”
May
“Oh fucking Christ. You’ve got to be shitting me,” muttered a horrifyingly familiar voice as it stepped up to the counter.
Wilhelm had been working as a barista since The Incident, and it was probably going to be where he’d be working for the rest of his life. As long as he didn’t continuously keep knocking things over and messing up orders, as he had been doing for the last three months. It really was a wonder he hadn’t been fired yet.
“Oh, Simon. What are you doing here?” Wilhelm blurted in surprise.
“Uh, this is a coffee shop. I’m here for coffee, dumbass.”
“I'm not a dumbass, you’re the dumbass, dumbass!”
Suddenly, as if in a series of slow motion events, Simon grabbed someone’s drink from the table behind him and tossed it in Wilhelm’s face. Wilhelm launched himself over the counter at him. Somehow, Simon caught him. Hands on his hips, he hoisted him into the air, then threw him back over his shoulder. Wilhelm’s entire face was smushed into Simon’s ass. He squeezed his eyes shut. That was not something he wanted to look at. As Simon’s hands slid down to grasp Wilhelm’s ankles, Wilhelm wrapped his arms around Simon’s waist, kicked his feet loose from his hands, and sent his legs flying backwards. He flipped off of Simon and landed gracefully on his feet, in true figure skater fashion. The other patrons all looked at them in stunned silence. Some of them had their phones out, filming.
Well. For the second time this spring, they’d be making headlines for public fighting.
He saw his boss watching from the door to the storage room. You’re fired, she mouthed. Yeah, that sounded about right.
The next morning, Wilhelm was about ten minutes into his daily 90-minute meditation session when his phone started ringing. With a dramatic sigh, he answered it.
“Hello? Wilhelm Lewenhaupt speaking.”
“Wille, you little shit, what’s up?” his brother’s voice rang into his ear.
Figure skating ran in their family. Their mother had been a darling of ice dance in the early 90’s, and Erik had followed in her footsteps. He had had a very successful career, even winning a bronze medal for Sweden at the Olympics—the country’s first medal in figure skating since 1936. However, that didn’t translate to the coaching career he tried to have once he and his partner had retired three years earlier. It appeared that his handful of skaters all seemed to get noticeably worse under his guidance, so they all fired him. Their mother was none too pleased about him embarrassing their family name like that, but sometimes you need to just try things and see what happens.
Wilhelm had been pushed to take up ice dance as well, seeing as it was apparently tradition, his ‘familial duty,’ as it had been stupidly referred to by his mother during one or two arguments when Wilhelm was just a kid. But he didn’t want to do ice dance. Ice dancers don’t jump, and Wilhelm kind of wanted the thrill of throwing himself into the air and hoping for the best. And at nine years old, the thought of holding hands with a girl was disgusting. So he finally wore his mother down with his incessant whining and stopped the search for a partner for him. Fourteen years later, it turned out to have been the right move. Up until now.
“Oh, hey Erik. What do you want?” The two brothers barely ever spoke on the phone, communicating solely through text messages and their Snapchat streak. Something was up.
“Listen, I saw the video of that little… show you put on yesterday. I have a proposition for you.”
That phone call was how he found himself standing at center ice two days later at 6:07 am.
“I’m telling you, he’s not coming. He thought this was all a joke. As did I,” said Wilhelm as he and Erik stood watching the giant digital clock on the far wall of the rink.
“Yeah? Well, you still showed up.”
The proposition, as it turned out, was that Erik thought the way the two of them handled each other in that coffee shop brawl—though, to the layman’s eye just looked like a messy fight between enemies, which it was— had the foundations of a great ice dance couple. Apparently. Through a series of loopholes including the fact that the ISU rulebook never stated anything against same-sex couples skating together because the rules had been written so long ago that that would’ve been ‘common sense’, and then apparently no one bothered to go back and change them, and the fact they had been barred from men’s singles and they were never to do a lutz again, he figured the three of them could perhaps make a comeback all together. In an Olympic season, no less.
That was the only reason Wilhelm had agreed to this ridiculous idea. He was going to the Olympics and standing on that podium come hell or high water. Skating with Simon was probably the biggest natural disaster imaginable, but Wilhelm was nothing if not a fighter. All he needed to make this dream a reality was for Simon to actually show up.
And then he did.
He stepped onto the ice and glided towards them in his very tight black leggings and sleeveless shirt, and Wilhelm was definitely not taking stock of Simon’s arms. It was completely unreasonable for arms that nice to be wasted on someone so insufferable.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” quipped Simon as he came to a stop next to him and sprayed dusty snow all over his legs.
“Hu—what?” replied Wilhelm.
“You’re staring. If you want to get up on this, all you have to do is ask.”
“I—what? No I’m not. I don’t want that,” he stuttered. His mouth was suddenly very dry. Must be all that pure unadulterated hatred firing up again. Simon snorted.
“Alright, you two, listen up!” Erik clapped his hands together. “This totally adorable fighting thing you guys got going on? That stays on dry land. The moment you step on the ice, I want you acting like the sun shines out of the other’s dick, got it? I understand you’re both used to only thinking about yourselves, only skating with yourselves, but now you’re a team. You’re partners. You as a singular person don’t matter any more. You move as one, you breathe as one.”
Wilhelm eyed Simon out of the corner of his eye. Turns out Simon was doing the same thing. How was he supposed to skate with this person? How were they even going to get away with this? Even if it wasn’t technically against the rules, there’s no way the figure skating world as whole would let them compete together without a fight.
“Let’s start with some stroking.” They both started to skate away. “Together! Holding hands!” Erik called after them. Wilhelm and Simon looked at each other. Their eyes shifted down towards their hands, and back up.
“You know, in order to skate together we’re gonna have to actually touch each other eventually,” said Simon. He held his hand out. Wilhelm tentatively took it in his own. Hm. Simon’s hand felt very small and delicate in his own. So delicate he could crush every single bone and cause Simon extreme pain with the slightest squeeze. It was awfully tempting.
“Don’t get too comfortable with this,” Wilhelm hissed. “Don’t start fantasizing about my hand when you lie awake in bed at night.”
“The whole point of this is to get comfortable, dumbass,” Simon shot back, “but I can assure you I will definitely not be doing that. You wish.”
“Are you two done flirting over there, or should I just go?” Erik called out. He made a gesture at them that said what are you waiting for?
Simon squeezed Wilhelm’s fingers and took off, violently yanking Wilhelm along with him. He was sure he got whiplash from it.
The whole point of ice dance is to be in complete sync with each other. It became very apparent very quickly they were going to have a lot of work to do. They pulled each other, they pushed each other. Tripped, stumbled, tangled feet together, and fell once or twice. After twelve minutes of Why did you do that? Why did you do that?, Erik decided to try a new tactic.
They stood at center ice, facing each other, holding hands. They were supposed to be looking into each other’s eyes and breathing together. It was the worst thing Wilhelm had ever experienced. And he once broke his ankle in the middle of a competition.
Simon’s eyes are really brown, Wilhelm thought to himself. Like poop.
“This is really fucking gay,” muttered Simon. “I’m a figure skater that has sex with men and this is too gay for me.”
Wilhelm immediately pulled his hands out of Simon’s and looked away.
“What, dude, I wasn’t talking about having sex with you.”
Wilhelm cleared his throat. “Can you please stop talking about having sex with men while you’re looking at me?”
Simon snorted and fixed him with an amused look. “Oh really? Based on previous experiences, I didn’t think that was an issue for you.”
Wilhelm glared at him sharply. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
With that, he turned and skated off the ice, Erik yelling at him that they were only 46 minutes into their three-hour practice and that he was never getting to the Olympics by being a diva. Wilhelm just kept on his way.
He was sitting in the locker room with his head in his hands when Simon came and found him a few moments later. He poked Wilhelm’s foot with his toe.
“Erik said I had to come and apologize to you or something. I’m not sure what for, but here I am.”
Wilhelm lifted his head and glared at him. “Great apology, dude. Thanks.”
Simon rolled his eyes. “Is this about the previous experience thing? Because I was just—”
“Listen,” Whilem spat, standing up. He loomed over Simon in what he believed to be an intimidating way, but perhaps the sparkles on his shirt told a different story. “I don’t know what you think you know, but that was one night at an event where I was drunk and it meant absolutely nothing. So back off.” Simon’s face broke into a smirk. Wilhelm wanted to smack it off.
“Babe, I don’t think you were that drunk because if you were, I wouldn’t have gone for it. I’m nothing if not a gentleman.” He paused. “And if you ask me, I thought it was pretty hot. The whole enemies having hate-filled, passionate clandestine makeouts in dark corners really is as good as the movies make it out to seem.”
Wilhelm pushed him, and Simon stumbled backwards and landed ass-first into a garbage can.
“Your internalized homophobia is really quite charming. If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here for you. You know, since we’re partners and all.”
“Fuck you. We are not anything. I’m out of this.”
Apparently Erik had been hovering in the doorway for a moment or two. “You’re out of what?” He asked, eyeing Simon still sitting in the trash. “And help him out of there, would you? God, this is like babysitting. I’m calling it for today but I will be seeing both of you tomorrow.” He turned to le ave and then stopped. “I expect you to be warmed up and ready to go at 6 o’clock sharp.”
Erik left, and Wilhelm reluctantly offered his hand to Simon. Simon took it, and pulled. Instead of getting up, though, Wilhelm went down on top of him, knocking him and the garbage can over. They were frozen like that for a moment, Wilhelm hovering over Simon. Their eyes locked, and Wilhelm felt a very strange shift in his stomach. God, he hated Simon so much, just looking at him made him feel physically sick.
After a few moments, Simon cleared his throat. “Are we just gonna stay like this until tomorrow? Because I’ve got places to be.”
“Oh, right,” said Wilhelm, rolling off of him. He stood up, quickly collected his things, mumbled something that vaguely sounded like “see you tomorrow,” and was out the door.
The next few days of practice carried out in much of the same way—bickering, trying to trip the other, an exasperated Erik, and calling it a day only one hour in. At the fourth practice, however, things started to get interesting. Having accomplished nothing but wasting everyone’s time the last three days, Erik decided to try a different approach.
“Alright, you boneheads. I am slowly but surely losing brain cells simply by being near you. I know I’m going to regret this with every fiber of my being, but today we’re going to try some lifts.”
Wilhelm shot a nervous look at Simon. The two of them had just barely accepted having to hold each other’s hands. Obviously, he knew this was coming, but he did not love the idea of getting all close and personal like that . Holding Simon’s life in his hands like that? It would be all too tempting to accidentally drop him on purpose.
“So I’m gonna be lifting Wilhelm, right?” Simon asked. Wilhelm frowned.
“Um, I’m taller than you, so I think I’ll be the one lifting you.”
“With those limp wrists?” Simon snorted, “Yeah right. Plus, I know we’re defying gender norms and all that, but you’re the little fairy here. I’m lifting you.”
“There’s no way in hell I’m letting you hoist me up into the air. You’re gonna fling me right into the boards.”
“ Enough, you absolute idiots. In the true spirit of defying gender norms, you’ll both be doing the lifts. Simon, you’re up first.”
After some explanation and direction, they began skating slowly, hand in hand. They were starting off small and easy. Wilhelm placed his arms around Simon’s neck, while Simon slid one of his around Wilhelm’s waist. With a hop, swinging his legs up, Simon placed his other arm under Wilhelm’s knees. Okay. So far, so good. They were still moving, and Simon hadn’t dropped him yet. Actually, for such a tiny person, he was quite muscular, Wilhelm noted. He could feel the muscles in his shoulders pressing into his arms. Being so close to Simon made him nauseous.
And then, Simon caught his toepick in the ice and they both went down, Simon falling on top of Wilhelm.
“What the hell , you idiot! I can’t believe you just dropped me!” screeched Wilhelm.
“I hardly dropped you, I tripped.” Simon rolled his eyes. “Besides, that was our very first attempt, so quite frankly, what else did you expect?”
“Uhhh I don’t know? To be able to trust my partner?” muttered Wilhelm.
“Oh, so now you want to call me your partner?”
“Whatever, just get off of me!”
Simon rolled off of him, and Erik skated over to them. “Wow, you guys actually had me believing in something for a moment there. Now get up and do it again.”
Wilhelm lifting Simon turned out to be even more disastrous. He wasn’t built like a partner skater, his strength was all lower body. And it showed, the way he immediately dropped Simon the moment he leapt into his noodle arms. It resulted in another round of bickering and Erik yelling at them.
“Okay, you two are insufferable and more doomed than I originally thought. In the name of bonding and strengthening that you both so critically need, I am implementing joint off ice workouts and regular hangouts. I might be a coach, but as demonstrated in previous years, I’m no miracle worker. You two need to provide some effort of your own.”
Wilhelm’s mouth fell open as he heard a snort from Simon beside him.
“Um, I’m sorry, no. We’ll skate together and that’s it,” Wilhelm said, thinking he’d rather climb Mount Everest on his knees backwards in the rain than have bro time with Simon.
“Um, I’m sorry, no,” Erik copied, “people aren’t going to be taking you seriously as it is. If it comes off in interviews and in your skating that you two haven’t managed to learn to work together—which quite frankly I'm not sure if people will believe anyway— don’t think for a second they’ll hesitate about not sending you to the Olympics. This is a real shot in the dark we’re taking here, and we all need to be on top of our shit to make it work. Got it?”
“Aye aye, captain,” Simon grumbled quietly. He turned to look at Wilhelm, fixing him with those poopy brown eyes. “Shall we try again, partner?”
Wilhelm gave him the fakest smile he could muster, the one usually reserved for bowing while trying to keep it together after a most unfortunate skate. “Let’s do it, partner.”
He held his hand out to Simon who reluctantly placed his own in it, and the two of them skated off, trying to get their feet moving at the same time with each push of their blades.
“Oh yeah, this is looking way better already!” Erik cheerily called after them.
Wilhelm rolled his eyes.
“Ready?” he asked quietly, met with an affirmative noise from Simon. He let go of Simon’s hand, placing his arm around his back as Simon turned to face him, placing a hand on Wilhelm’s shoulder. They locked eyes and Wilhelm, knowing what to expect this time, engaged every muscle in his body, bracing himself for the force of Simon launching himself into his arms, and the subsequent crashing into the ice face first.
Although this time, the fall wasn’t quite immediate. Wilhelm and Simon managed to hang on for about eight seconds before gravity started doing its job.
“Oh my god, you guys actually did it! With zero bitching!” Erik cried. Between his tone of voice and the look on his face, it seemed as though he actually meant it earnestly. “I’m so proud.” He pretended to wipe a tear away.
Wilhelm smiled as he pulled himself up off the ice, glancing at Simon.
“If we could do that without the fall next time, that would be great,” he said, taking a moment to just lie on the ice.
“We’re making progress,” Erik said, skating over and coming to a stop next to the two of them. “Small, slow, infant sized steps, but still progress. At this rate we should be ready for the 2034 olympics.”
He suddenly jabbed Wilhelm in the side with his elbow, and Wilhelm yelped, glaring at his brother. Erik shifted his eyes down to Simon, and Wilhelm grumbled to himself before offering his hand out to Simon to help him up.
“Now that’s the kind of teamwork I like to see,” Erik said as Simon got to his feet. “You’ll really trick everyone into thinking you care about each other.”
“Okay, I have a question,” Simon said, raising his hand like a kid. “How is this all gonna like, actually work? It’s pretty common knowledge that we hate each other, the ISU is going to insist that we’re banned even if that’s only technically from men’s, and people are gonna throw a hissy fit over two guys trying to skate together. How are we gonna get away with this?”
These were the questions they had all been avoiding since they started this thing, and while the three of them could pretend in the rink where it was just them that this was a normal, logical plan that would work, the truth of the matter is that there was a high chance that it…wouldn’t.
While on the outside, figure skating appears to be an open, accepting sport, it’s extremely traditional and most of the International Skating Union officials are white people above the age of 50. There’s a history of corruption and politics, and having two recently banned skaters team up and try to ruffle some feathers would most likely not be taken very kindly to, and that was without the fact that they’re both men. Adding that into the mix, there was a very high possibility Simon, Wilhelm, and Erik were about to face an embarrassment and outrage of international proportions.
They were no strangers to that, given their recent history of public fisticuffs, but this was going to be something entirely different. They were about to open themselves up to a whole new layer of criticism and gossip.
“Yeah,” Erik said with a nod. “I’m not going to lie to you guys, this isn’t going to be easy. People are going to have a lot to say, and most of it probably won’t be nice. But I think that’s partially why we have to do it. We’re literally not breaking any rules or doing anything to go against the terms of your punishment, and I think seeing the first same-sex skating pair on the world stage is going to do a lot of good. You’re going to become a lot of people’s heroes.”
Wilhelm swallowed. That was a lot. Logically he already knew all that, but it was different actually voicing it.
He loved skating. It certainly wasn’t without its many (many) flaws, but it was his favourite thing in the world. He skated because he loved it. He never set out to be someone people looked up to, though it came with the territory. That part kind of stressed him out. People were always watching, and unfortunately, sometimes you get into fights in public and get into huge trouble because of it. Having his career ripped away from him was the worst pain he’d ever experienced. But now, somehow, he was getting a second chance. Only this time, there was also the added insurmountable pressure of being a trailblazer or some shit. It was a lot.
Simply put, they really, really couldn’t fuck this up.
“We need to get you guys registered with Skate Sweden,” Erik continued, interrupting Wilhelm’s quickly spiralling thoughts, “and they’re definitely going to want a press conference, and then shit is going to hit the fan. So, are you guys ready? From here on out, there’s no going back. If we’re doing this, we’re doing this.”
Wilhelm turned to look at Simon, who met his eyes with a shrug and something resembling a smile. Weird. Things suddenly turned very serious, and now apparently they were actually going to put their differences aside or something to work towards a common goal. Or at least try. Probably die trying, honestly.