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Chapter Text

Wilhelm wishes he could say he was surprised to be standing at his older brother’s front door in Bjärstad but this seemed like the inevitable.

With a suitcase in one hand and his new cell phone in the other, his fist pounded on the door urgently. Almost like he thought his mother had already tracked him down in the four hours he'd been gone.

It took a few seconds for the door to fly open, Erik's eyes wide with alarm before they soften upon seeing his little brother.

The siblings hadn’t seen each other in almost six months, not since Erik up and left and basically fell off Earth as far as their parents were concerned.

“Wilhelm,” Erik says, his voice just like the younger remembered.

He hasn't heard it in person in what felt like years, only hushed on the phone in secret every few weeks. It sounds different, more clear, more soft, than it did through the speaker. It's oddly comforting for seeming so foreign.

“What are you doing here?”

Erik's eyes drop down to the suitcase in his brother's hand, one of the extra large ones they used to bring on their vacations abroad. He fights back an untimely smile thinking about lugging it through the streets of Spain a few years ago.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you… I just…” he continues, when Wilhelm's silence prolongs and he just stares at him. Words are caught in the boy's throat, he can tell that much, and it seems like the reality of what he just did (although Erik himself isn’t too sure yet) is sinking in.

The older man finally moves on impulse, taking the heavy bag from his brother and wrapping him in a tight hug.

Because when it comes to Wilhelm, he’s learned a hug could solve almost anything. Even when they were kids, when you're in a panic to get your younger sibling to stop crying before you get in trouble, a remorseful hug always worked.

Erik notices that, although Wilhelm has grown a few inches, he's skinnier than the last time he saw him. Feels a little too frail.

And now, there’s a scent to his brother that Wille doesn’t recognize - lavender mixed with something so distinctly homey - and he realizes in that moment that their shared, sterile scent of home is gone; for some reason, that’s the thing to break him. There were about ten thousand other things that could have brought Wilhelm to that point tonight but this was the final one.

Wilhelm breaks down in the arms of his brother, whom he missed so dearly, more than he could ever express, and hopes to never be separated from again. Because there was no way in hell he was going back there.

~

(Sara 10:52 pm) 

Where are you?

(Simon 10:52 pm)

ayub’s. u ok?

(Sara 10:53 pm)

Come home

“Fuck,” Simon mutters under his breath. 

Given the time, day of week, and insistence from Sara to come home, Simon knows this can only mean one thing; even through the loud chatter of Ayub's game, Rosh can sense the change in him. She somehow always does.

"Everything okay?"

Simon has to hold back a humorless laugh, texting Sara that he'll be home in ten and to stay in her room.

"Yeah, just Sara wondering when I'll be home," Simon answers, seemingly unfazed, like a pit hasn't grown in his stomach. "I should probably get going actually."

There's little protest from Rosh, because he swears she has a sixth sense, and nothing but protests from Ayub - because it's Simon's turn next, because they barely see each other now that he goes to Hillerska, because he promises he'll get a second turn if he stays for just a little longer.

Simon bides his friend a farewell with a roll of his eyes and promises that he'll be back soon. Rosh sends him a look that would've broken his composure had he not been dealing with this life for the past 16 years. 

He hears the screaming by the time he's three doors down, well-accustomed to being 'that house' on the block. 'That house' that, up until the new neighbor moved in six months ago, no one on the block speaks too. They talk a lot about them - the drug addict, the battered wife, the two traumatized children - but in the four years they've lived here, no one has ever tried to actually speak to them.

He'll catch their stares mixed with pity, fear, or judgement and realize just how often people look at him like that.

At school it’s because he's 'poor', in his neighborhood it’s because he's the kid with a drunk dad - there's constant eyes on him but no one's ever brave enough to talk to him.

Not until Erik, the nice but obviously well-off neighbor who Simon couldn't help but be curious about.

It's clear when people come from money, something in the way they talk and present themselves, and then hearing him confess to being a Hillerska alumni himself, so he can't help but wonder why he's here. Why he's the only one who's kindly acknowledged him and Sara with, greeted his mother with a fruit basket, and saw through the facade that Micke put up when he tried to make the first impression of a loving, family man. 

"If you guys ever need anything, my door is always open, Linda."

They have yet to accept the invitation. Simon's unsure if they ever will.

~

"Are you gonna tell me what happened?"

The two brothers have been having a silent stand-off in the kitchen for almost an hour now. The house tour and casual dinner out of the way left them with little to talk about except the elephant in the room, although Wilhelm was desperately trying to put it off. That should be Erik's sign to drop it, and usually he would, but a part of him feels like he can't. Wilhelm's energy is too... off right now. And intense. 

Wille's always been a little intense but it's scaring Erik tonight. 

The younger boy's gaze is glassy, looking everywhere but Erik as he takes in the small house and cozy decor. He doesn't wanna talk about it, about her, but knows he owes his brother an explanation. He showed up to his home unannounced, like a storm, and settled himself into his guest room. 

"Wille, I don't mind that you're here. You know that," Erik says, always the first person to open his home to others and especially his brother. "But, please, you gotta give me something. Even just a small something. I need to know what happened."

Wille's tooth is sunken into his lip, picking at the skin on his red flesh, before he brings his finger up to chew on his nail. They're bitten down to the nub, each and every one, with cuticles so ragged, they have to burn.

"Wilhelm..."

It's Erik's sympathy, his sadness, it's him trying to be patient but Wilhelm just can't right now.

He can't.

His mother had done worse things to him in the past and it didn't cause this type of reaction but, for some reason, it felt greater tonight. It felt like everything built up over the past 16 years of his life and hit him after one snarky little comment that usually would've went over his head. There was just too much pressure and hostility, too much of an icy, hateful gaze from someone who birthed him. Who was supposed to love him.

Someone who should make him feel like living is worth it and not making it more and more difficult each day.

"Erik-"

His voice breaks and he doesn't even feel embarrassed. He just feels weak and defeated, like he can't do anything right or help the one and only person he knows cares about him.

Tears gather in his eyes and he'd feel guilty for the way his brother's face drops if the pressure in his chest wasn't so tight. If his heart wasn't starting to race and it didn't feel like there was a ton of bricks sitting on his chest. 

"Wilhelm, breathe, it's okay."

But it's not okay. He's scared. He's had... thoughts like that before but never longer than a few minutes.

He never started making a plan, considering how much better he'd feel, how much more at ease he and everyone else would be, if he just wasn't here anymore. If he just went into his father's locked safe where he knew weapons were or locked himself in the bathroom where he could just-

He's met with Erik's chest where he just seems to completely break down again, collapsing against his brother's sweater and soaking it with his tears.

Breathy sobs and whimpered pleas of "no," that cause the oldest's throat to close up, tears burning the back of his eyes. He may not know what happened but he knows what his younger brother is begging him not to do.

"You don't have to go back, Wille, I would never make you go back."

Because Erik can promise him that.

He can't promise him a lot of things - like he's gonna love it here or the habits he picked up whilst living alone won't annoy him or he's not gonna eventually need to know what happened to bring him here - but he can promise him that he'd never, ever make him go home. 

It's a spoken promise that keeps Wilhelm up well until Erik went to bed, sitting on the couch alone with the tv humming lowly in the background.

The house is decorated more modern than he expected, none of the traditional pieces or antiques like at their family house anywhere in sight; he supposes that's the point. Between that and the new scent of homey lavender, Wilhelm is the most relaxed he's been in God knows how long. 

Under a blanket, fire crackling, a house so quiet, you could hear a pin drop - until there seems to be what only can be described as a roar coming from outside, a yell so deep and guttural, he doesn't doubt half of the block heard it as well.

Wilhelm's not nosy by nature, he knows all too well the importance of a person's privacy at home, but it's also the type of yell that scares him. Would probably trigger him, if it was more sardonic and feminine. 

He only gets up to peek out the kitchen window when he hears the roar again followed by a different masculine voice, loud, too, but also somehow soft, before the clash of a screen door swinging open cracks against brick. 

Wilhelm watches as a boy with curls and a small frame flies down the stairs, face only lit by the moon and Erik's singular porch light; even through mostly darkness, the tension radiating off of him is obvious.

His hands wound into his hair, twisting the strands through his fingertips before the messy curls spring back to life. His chest is heaving, feet pacing, before he just seems to stop. With his face now dropped into his hands, the distress just as clear as it is disturbing to witness, Wilhelm can't tear his gaze away.

He knows it's wrong to stare, even more wrong to stare when someone's having an emotional moment in their own backyard, but for reasons unknown to him, he's stuck in place. Watching right through the window as the boy takes a few breaths, running his hands up through his curls again, before plopping down on the stairs. 

The stranger looks young, probably around his age, but so defeated. How can people like them, people so young and supposedly care free, carry such a palpable sadness to them? 

"Wille?"

The sound of his name makes him jump, cheeks flushing as he cranes his neck back to look at Erik; he's caught like a peeping Tom and now he's really seeing just how wrong it was to continue his snooping.

The older man looks confused but also intrigued, making his way over to Wille with a raised eyebrow. He catches the moment Erik sees what grabbed his attention, him, too, probably awoken by the ruckus of fighting and slamming doors. 

"That fucking guy..." he hears Erik mumble, Wilhelm looking at him with a questioning gaze.

"You know him?"

Erik bites the inside of his cheek before nodding. Wilhelm swears he's not a gossiper but he feels something like relief when Erik decides to answer.

"Neighbors kid. Simon. He's your age," he responds, Wille following his gaze back to the boy on the stairs. His head is out of his hands but he still carries that tension, that worry, that oh so prevalent anxiety in his shoulders. 

"Was he the one yelling?"

He finds it hard to believe someone that small could sound like that. Sympathy and pity swarm in Erik's eyes, backing himself and Wille away from the window before closing the blinds. 

"No, that'd be his piece of shit dad. Happens almost every night," Erik says, his voice low but holding nothing but contempt. "He has a mom and sister, too. Linda and Sara. They're both sweet. Simon is too, although quiet."

Wille doesn't know what to say or ask. He doesn't know if he even wants to given Erik's words and tone but he knows he feels concerned for Simon and his family.

The question falls from his mouth before he can even stop it.

"Are they okay?" 

The only thing worse than him not asking is Erik's silence that follows, eyes shifting from his to the wall behind him. He thinks that's where the clock is ticking from.

"You should go to bed, Wille. It's been a long day, no? You can make me breakfast tomorrow." 

A smile attempts to pull at his lips but his feet don't yet wanna move, something deep within him pulling him toward the window. Just to look out for a few more seconds, make sure the yelling really has stopped or no one's followed the boy outside.

Erik can see the look in his brother's eyes and sighs, shaking his head as he gently guides Wille by the shoulder. 

"Bed. Now."

The commanding, brotherly tone is just enough to distract Wille, eyes narrowing at the taller man. Wilhelm might've grown a few inches but Erik's still got height over him. 

"I'm not a child, you know."

"Could've fooled me," Erik bites back, that ghost of a smile lighting up Wille's face. 

It's while Erik's getting water for both of them, distracted by the light banter back and forth, that Wille peeks between the slightly dusty white blinds. His gaze travels over the backyard to see its empty now, just a dark, eerie silence falling over the block.

He doesn't know why, can't even begin to wonder or question why his brain is thinking the things it is tonight, but he hopes to see Simon again. There was something about him that was hauntingly familiar, probably the sadness and frustration that crushes him daily, and Wille wants to help him.

He always wants to help people in ways he can't help himself. 

Chapter Text

Wilhelm saw Simon again three nights later; the conditions were similar. A roar-type yell in the silence of suburbia pulled his attention away from the mundane sounds of his tv.

He got up from bed to peek out his window, the red led lights he brought from home and flickering screen the only source of light in the room as he watches the boy next door make his way into the front yard.

He's not used to his neighbors being so close, hearing or seeing them with just a nosy gaze that Wilhelm seems to possess. His parents house is on acres of land, with large glass windows that Wilhelm can't help but find incredibly ironic; not that it matters, with no one around to witness what really goes on in that house. 

It was cold in Bjärstad tonight, a chill in the air brought by the dead of autumn. Wilhelm can’t help but wonder what about escaping outside seems to comfort Simon. If it's the cold air on his face in and of itself. If he needs that separation from the troubled walls of his home to the quiet outdoors. Or, maybe, it’s because anyone passing by at any moment (or nosily peeking out windows) could see him and offer help. 

Maybe it's all of them. 

Maybe it's none of them.

Maybe Wilhelm should stop projecting so much of his shit onto a boy he thinks might be sad, too, and mind his damn business - but much like the other night, he finds himself watching Simon. Unable to pull his gaze away from him and observe what little he can make out through the darkness. He doesn't seem as troubled as two nights ago, when his hands were pulling at the curls atop his head and his slender chest was heaving anxiously, but he doesn't look like he's perfectly okay either. 

Lit only by the porch light, he can make out that the boy's head is down, fingers toying with the ends of his sweatshirt - Wilhelm can't quite make out the color - and he holds that same dejected, slumped look in his shoulders. Like one of defeat Wilhelm, himself, knew all too well.

He knows he shouldn't be doing this, knows this is very creepy, unacceptable behavior that will get him labeled as the new neighborhood stalker, but he can't help but feel concerned. Erik didn't give him any more information than what he told him his first night here and he doesn't wanna seem too interested in the boy next door because, even though he appears to be living like a real adult now, his older brother is still his very annoying older brother.

What happens next is a series of unfortunate, although very deserved, events. 

Through the glow of the moon and porch light, Wilhelm sees the exact moment the boy named Simon looks up and catches his nosy stare. He's still sitting hunched over the stairs, elbows resting on his knees casually, but his head now angled toward the side window of Erik's bungalow. The eye contact is unmistakable, although he can't make out the exact expression on his face (thankfully, for his sake).

Wille hopes that means Simon can't tell how much his eyes widen, throwing himself back with a quiet, "fuck," before he jumps again at the sound of a knock at his door. 

Erik peeks in just as Wille’s all but leaping away from the window, a suspicious but amused look immediately crossing the older’s face. The two just stand there silently, staring at one another, Erik able to see clear as day how flustered his brother is. 

"What are you doing?" Erik finally asks.

He tries to keep the amusement out of his voice but it's hard. Way too hard. He wants to burst out laughing, truthfully. 

"N-nothing." 

"Nothing?" Erik mimics, watching as Wille sits on the corner of his bed. "Nothing at all?"

"Nothing, Erik, that's what I just said, isn't it?"

The man raises his eyebrow, almost mockingly, at his brother, looking between him and the window, him and the window, before Wille shakes his head.

It's the calm before the storm, that crazed look before two animals start brawling, and then it breaks.

Erik rushes over to the window and Wille jumps up and follows after him, about to grab him by the shirt if only his older brother, who towers over him, wasn't so obnoxiously nimble. 

"Erik, don't make it-"

The man peeks a nosy eye through the blind just as a figure next door makes their way back into the house. Erik's no rocket scientist and, luckily, it wouldn't take one to figure out who was just sitting there. Who his little brother was creeping on yet again. 

He makes a show of turning around and smirking at the younger boy, a half-teasing, half-chastising look on his face. Wilhelm doesn't think Erik could properly scold him if he tried but he still doesn't like that look.

"Wilhelm," Erik says and just the tone has Wilhelm groaning, blushing, throwing himself back onto his bed. "Were you creeping out the window aga-"

"No!" Wille shrieks causing Erik to throw his head back in laughter; he's missed a lot about his brother but he's especially missed teasing him like this. "Erik, stop, I wasn't creeping." 

He was. He knows he was, Erik knows he was, even Simon knows he was for fucks sake, but it was with good intentions. 

"Oh no?" Erik mocks, making his way over to sit on the opposite side of Wille's queen-sized bed. "What would you call it then?"

A few moments of silence pass between the brothers, Wille fighting off a red face as the older bites back a smirk, before the yelling next door starts again. It's the sobering, sad truth about what really caught his attention in the first place. The mood shifts immediately, something more somber overtaking them.

"I'm concerned," Wille admits. "I know it’s nosy of me, too, but I… I’m scared for them. I know you said it happens a lot but..." 

But he didn't expect to hear it just as bad only a few nights later. He didn’t expect fights like that to be that loud, that obvious. His mom only fought him with icy looks and mumbled, snarky comments; sometimes, she didn’t have to say anything at all to make Wilhelm feel like shit.

Erik can only nod, because it's sad and heartbreaking and there's not much that can be said other than that. The first time he heard a blowout fight was only two days after he first moved in. He phoned the police who didn't even seem phased by this type of call in this part of town and, after almost an hour, Erik saw one car in front of the house for ten minutes. 

"Have you called the police?"

Erik nods again, like Wille just read his mind.

"A few times. The other neighbors just seem to turn a blind eye. Or they're used to it," Erik says quietly, not friendly with any of them for that very reason; he supposes he sees why they don't call anymore, though, if they ever did. Maybe at one point, Erik hopes, they tried to help too. “It's a fucked up thing, Wille, because if the victim or victims don't wanna press charges, and they don't see anything, they can't technically do anything, you know."

Erik knows it's fucked up, feels outraged and sick every time he hears a particularly loud fight, but he knows Wille feels things way more deeply than him. Always has. He takes on other people's pain and sorrow like it's his own, as if he doesn't have enough.

"What? Then what the fuck is the point of police in the first place? And courts?" Wilhelm asks in disbelief. "That's bullshit, Erik."

"I know it is, Wille, believe me I know," he acknowledges, "but there's nothing more we can do than mind our own business and offer support. It's not our problem to completely concern ourselves with, because sometimes that just makes things worse, but we can always offer support to them, okay?"

Wille wants to say so many things, protest in so many ways, but he knows Erik may have a point. He also knows this is his brother warning him gently to tread carefully about the next door neighbors.

"Okay..." Wille sighs, because he has to remember he just barged into his brothers life, uninvited, and can't cause a ruckus just yet. "But I still think it's fucked up."

"Of course. Because it is."

A heavy silence lingers between the brothers, silence back in suburbia as the yelling next door seems to simmer. It may only be for a few minutes or the rest of the night but they both know, they all know, they'll hear it again soon and it makes Wille's stomach sink. It'll make him feel the need, as obnoxious and nosy it is, to check outside for the boy with curly hair. 

Erik gets up when the silence and gloom become too much. His eyes briefly move to the window where the blinds are ruffled from their scuffle, a smile pulling at his lips. 

"You know what a good way to offer support is?" When Wille looks over at his brother with genuine curiosity, Erik almost feels bad for teasing him one last time tonight. "Actually talking to Simon. Maybe introducing yourself, bringing a fruit basket. Anything but peeking at him through your window like a-"

"Fuck! Off! Erik!" 

Erik leaves Wilhelm's room (formerly the guest room but now his room) with a loud, booming laugh. Wille feels his cheeks burning, fierce embarrassment coursing through his veins as he tries not to smile. He loses that battle miserably as he throws himself back down on the bed.

He missed his brother.

~

"Wait, the rich guy’s house? Who went to your new fancy stupid school?"

Simon nods as he bites back a smirk, Ayub's distaste for Hillerska almost as strong as his own. 

"I thought he lived alone," Rosh says, remembering seeing the new neighbor a few times after he'd waved or said a polite hello to them and Simon. 

"He does. Or did, I guess," Simon shrugs, "unless there's a ghost in his house that I'm just noticing but the person staring at me last night seemed very much human."

Simon thought he was going crazy when he felt someone's stare on him, looking behind him in the dark before catching the faintest hint of red light coming from the house next door. He looked over in curiosity and almost jumped when he saw a figure staring at him, shorter with a smaller frame than Erik but he knows Erik also wouldn't dare stare at him in the first place.

He thinks their neighbor, only a few years older than Sara, is the only person who doesn't look at them like they're battered freak shows. 

"You know what, though, I don't know what's worse. A ghost secretly watching you or a person," Ayub comments, his two friends side-eyeing him on their walk back to Simon's; the two insisted on walking their friend home even though he told them it was absolutely ridiculous. "Like, if it's a ghost you wouldn't even know, right? It could've been watching you for weeks which makes it freaky, especially since they're, you know, dead," the boy continues, earning a sarcastic nod from Rosh and Simon, "but a person who knows you could catch them at any moment? That's shameless, man. We gotta find out who this is."

"I'm not too concerned," Simon mutters truthfully. 

He's used to stares, knows why the new person was probably staring in the first place but will have no qualms about telling this new person to mind their fucking business. Simon doesn't know why it’s so hard for people to just mind their fucking business. 

“Um, you should be! That’s weird as fuck!” 

It's weird, sure, but Simon also knows what the peeper undoubtedly heard and naturally grew nosy about. He knows Erik was the one who called the police when he first moved in, because none of the other neighbors care to anymore. He knows the man meant well, that that's what a person feels like they're supposed to do, what feels natural to do, but it never works.

Not in this part of town. Not with people like them. Not with this type of abuse that is so reliant on the victims who will never speak because they're scared and powerless. 

"It's whatever," Simon shrugs, because he's not about to tell Ayub and Rosh why the boy next door, whoever he is, was looking outside in the first place. "I'll say something when I see them."

That happens to be ten minutes later, after Simon and his friends get to his block and he insists he can make it from here. They give him shit, of course, Ayub whining that he never sees him anymore and Rosh looking at him skeptically, that way she always does when she thinks he's keeping something from them.

Which he's not, not really, but he also doesn't wanna risk the embarrassment of them hearing something. 

Simon makes his way into the backyard quietly, briefly considering just sitting out in the cold for a bit before heading in. He never knows what he's gonna walk into but he likes the peaceful, quiet, frigidness of the outdoors. All he's subjected to is the howl of the wind and a crippling sense of bitterness that the other houses on the block are silent, with the exception of the bark of a dog. 

He's become so used to escaping outside that he doesn't feel the cold anymore. Doesn't even realize how brutal it is. Barely even-

"Fuck, it's cold!"

He hears the breathless grunt from the house over, both fences low enough to see a little too clearly into the neighbors backyard.

Where Simon's yard is a messy patch of discolored grass and a rusted swing set, Erik's is all neat concrete. He has a fancy grill Micke has commented on more than once and a 10-piece patio furniture set Sara almost Googled out of curiosity.

Just like last night, he can tell the person with a garbage bag in his hand isn't Erik - not only from the voice and frame but, most obviously, because of the faint light on his face. He looks similar to Erik with dark blonde hair and pale skin but younger, probably around Simon's age. He carries himself almost clumsily, sock-covered feet walking on the pavement. 

"He doesn't have grass?" The boy continues. "Who the fuck doesn't have grass?"

Simon almost feels bad for eavesdropping until he realizes this is most definitely the boy who was spying on him last night. He doesn't know if it's a blessing or completely tragic that he seems to be cute but that's neither here nor there. Not when, like always, he just can't fucking stop himself.

His snarky mouth will always, without fail, be the thing that gets him into the most trouble. It’s why bruises are littering his back right now.

"You look different when you're not spying on me."

Chapter Text

Erik can admit that he's being a bit of a hypocrite right now but his excuse is the same as his mess of a younger brother's - he's concerned, so he peeks out the window like a nosy creep.

To be fair, it should've only taken Wille less than fifteen, twenty seconds at the most, to throw out the garbage and yet, Erik's been waiting with the movie paused for almost two minutes now.

He mutters to himself as he gets up begrudgingly, padding through his house in slippers, with purpose, to the back door. It's all glass but meticulously covered with long blinds, desperate for the privacy he never got as a child.

He'll never be the type of rich person who cries about their childhood, because he had everything and more and is eternally grateful for the lifestyle he was born into, but his house was so fucking suffocating growing up, he'd trade it all for this in a second.

He did trade it all for this and has never regretted it, for himself, in the slightest; the only stitch of regret he had was rectified a week ago when the brother he felt guilty for leaving showed up on his doorstep.

He could see that Wille's in pain, could see he was suffering greatly when he got here because of her, but he seems to be doing better now.

He's smiling and laughing and talking to Erik so, for now, that's enough. 

Erik peeks through the blinds, searching the backyard when his eyes land on Wille standing at the gate; he almost calls out to tell him where the garbage can is when he notices he isn’t alone. 

Simon's on the other side of the fence in his own yard, leant against it casually with his arms crossed, pointedly looking at Wille.

"Oh, no fucking way," Erik chuckles, knowing he should stop looking, stop creeping, take his own advice and all of that shit - but he simply can't.

Not yet. It's all just way too fucking funny.

~

"You look different when you're not spying on me."

Wille thought nothing would shock him more than the biting cold on his feet, or Erik's lack of grass, but the low voice laced with sarcasm nearly made him jump out of his skin. 

"Jesus Christ!" Wille yelps, dropping the garbage bag as he flails his hands in the air. His fight or flight response has actually gotten better because when he was a child and Erik would scare him, he'd drop to his knees and start crying.

The blonde looks toward the voice that came from the yard over and he feels his eyes widen, immediately recognizing the curls he's only seen from far away.

Wille can only stare dumbly because, apparently, what else is new?

He stares and searches the boy's face in the dark for any flicker of emotion but comes up blank. He's leant against the gate, that much he can see with the help of Erik's light, and the boy, to his horror, is smirking at him.

It’s barely there, barely pulling at his lips, but just noticeable enough for him to be aware when it’s gone and Wille knows then that he needs to speak up.

“I'm sorry," Wille finally blurts out, because Simon’s clearly waiting for him to say something, anything. "Oh god, I'm sorry," he repeats because, for some reason, that's all he can seem to fucking say. 

It doesn’t seem like enough but he has to say it.

"You're sorry for getting scared or you're sorry for spying on me?"

Wille feels heat rush to his cheeks and he distracts himself with the garbage bag at his feet, checking quickly to make sure it didn't rip - he can at least say there’s been one victory tonight in the form of durable plastic.

"Uh... both?" Wille says, although it sounds a lot more like a question. "Mostly the spying, though. Very poor taste as a newcomer," he chuckles awkwardly, trying to lighten the mood but failing miserably. "I'm sorry about that."

"Would be poor taste if you were born here, too," Simon mutters, gaze searching over Wille curiously, suspiciously, like he's wondering why this freaky stalker who screams like a woman is in his neighbors backyard anyway. 

"That is true. So fair. Super fair, actually," Wille says, because he rambles when he's nervous and everything about Simon up close and personal, up close and confronting him so bluntly about staring at him, seems to make him nervous.

"I'm- I'm Wille, by the way. Erik's brother. I'm, uh, I'm gonna be staying here for a little and I-"

"Look, just don't make this spying shit a habit and we'll be cool, Wille," the boy says, cutting him off with an unamused look.

A silence quickly lingers between them, Wille’s face falling because he's so used to getting cut off like that; he's not sure he's ever finished a full sentence before his mother is screaming at him.

"Speak louder, Wilhelm! You're mumbling. I hate when you mumble like that," when he's feeling hesitant to tell her why he's feeling anxious, because she just doesn't understand. 

"Oh, because I'm such a bad mother, is that it, Wilhelm?" when he's finally able to speak and she twists his words like a knife. 

"Erik's gone. He left us and he left you so don't mention his name again!" when he's trying desperately to find some common ground with her, talk to or bond with her in any sort of way, because he doesn't know what else he could talk to her about.

He doesn't know why she-

"I'm sure Erik told you already but I'm Simon." 

There's the slightest hint of defensiveness in his voice but it's a little less biting, a little less hostile, and Wille feels comfortable enough to look back up at him.

"I, uh, yeah, he might've mentioned it after I..."

They both already know Wille was spying on him, that's no secret, but it seems pretty crazy to actually admit it so brazenly aloud to him.

“I was just checking to make sure everything was okay, by the way," he decides to admit, because he doesn't want this boy to think he was being creepy or pervy in any way. "I heard, um, something and I just... I wasn't trying to be weird, even though I guess any way you look at it, it is."

His chuckle is awkward and he thought nothing could make it worse until he speaks again.

"I really did just want to see if you were good... bro."

If Wille could drop dead, he'd choose to right now. His face is so red from embarrassment, he thinks he may anyway. 

He's surprised when he hears a low chuckle leave the boy next to him and, all things aside, it's one of the prettiest sounds he's ever heard.

He has a terrible feeling if he ever sees him in the day light, and not just under the hue of fluorescent lights and the moon, he'll be even prettier. 

"I'm good, bro," Simon assures, humor laced in his tone and Wille needs to go inside right now - for his pride and his feet's sake. "I'll be even better if you stop spying on me, though. Kinda fucking scary to feel someone watching me."

"Consider it done, Simon, no more spying!” the blonde promises, an awkward, forced chuckle leaving him at the sight of his neighbor's blank stare. "Scouts honor."

He brings his hand to his forehead and it's one of those moments where Wille knows, undoubtedly, his own embarrassment will keep him up at night dreading his existence.

Silence falls again between the two boys and Wille is actually grateful, impressed even, that Simon doesn't laugh at or berate him. 

"Okay, wow, yeah, anyway," Wille stutters, because he needs, needs, needs to get the fuck inside. "Sorry, won't happen again! The spying, I mean. It was nice meeting you, Simon."

The boy's lips quirk, like he's fighting a smirk, before he opens his mouth. The sarcasm is back. 

"You too, Wille.” 

Wille hurries over to the garbage can that's the reason for his night being ruined (never just the consequences of his own actions or general state of nervousness) before rushing back into the house.

His feet feel numb, close to falling off, and he thinks that might be the most awkward interaction he's ever had. Like, truthfully, it couldn't have gone worse.

And now he has to face Erik and pretend he didn't just make an absolute fool out of himself and-

"Everything okay?"

"Fuck!" 

Wille jumps as he yells at his brother sitting on a bar stool, the light from the paused tv shining into the kitchen.

He can see the smirk all over Erik's face. 

"Did I scare you?"

"No shit."

There's a pregnant pause that Wille wishes didn't exist and Erik welcomes wholeheartedly before he-

"So, little brother, what took you so long? Get lost in the backyard?"

"Why don't you have grass?" Wille asks, outrage in his tone as he hopes, prays, the subject changes. "It looks weird with just concrete."

"Me and you can get right on that then, a spring project, growing grass or whatever," Erik says offhandedly, "but I'm more interested in why you were outside by the gate for so long."

"It wasn't that long and I wasn't doing anythi- wait..." Wille says, once his brother's words sink in. "How did you know I was by the gate?” he asks, “were you... were you spying on me, you fucking hypocrite!"

Erik throws his head back in laughter, like his own hypocrisy and spying is the funniest thing ever.

"Wille, it should've taken less than 20 seconds, obviously I got concern-"

"Oh shut up! You were just being a creep!"

"I was not!" Erik argues back, throwing his hands up in defense, a smile that’s proof of his lies spreading across his face. 

”I wanted to see if everything was good, maybe you stubbed your toe or something-“ he says, causing Wille to scoff and roll his eyes, “but then when I just happened to see you by the gate, I had to stay to make sure everything went... okay," he says, biting his cheek to control his growing smile.

"So...” Erik finally continues, much to his brothers dismay. “Did it?" 

"Did it go okay?" Wille parrots, frustrated. "Did it go okay with the boy next door who saw me literally spying on him through my window, even though I wasn’t trying to spy? What do you think?"

"I think I saw you salute him, so, naturally, I have to assume it went-“

”Oh my god!” Wille groans, his frozen feet now the least of his concerns. He has to find out how to wipe his fucking memory of the last five minutes, and Simon’s and his brother's for that matter.

”Fuck! You! Erik!” 

Erik walks behind his younger brother with loud bouts of laughter, eyes following him as he passes the couch and right down the hallway to his room.

"Yo, Wille, where are you going? We have to finish the-"

The door at the end of the hall slams and echoes through the house, Erik plopping back down on the couch with a smile spread across his face. 

~

The house was uncomfortably quiet with Micke gone.

It's ironic how that serenity, that calmness, doesn't quell their uneasiness any more than the slamming cabinets and drunken screams do; it’s because his presence is always here, always lingering, and it causes the Eriksson family to almost always be in a state of fight-or-flight. 

Yesterday's episode was a particularly bad one, not because Simon or Linda talked back and tried to calm him down but because, for some reason Simon has yet to figure out, it was just one of those nights where he decided to be extra miserable and take it out on his family who only want to help him.

Simon could still feel the consequences. 

Can still feel the bruises from when he shoved him into the wall. Still has a lingering headache from his loud, drunken slurs and screams.

Still brewing with all of the suppressed rage and anxiety that courses through him every time that man makes his way into the house, every time he walks past his sister or mother.

He knows the exact temperament of his father by studying his foot steps, his body language, and will take the brunt of his anger because then he knows, at least for a few days, they'll all get a break.

Micke stays away when he knows he’s crossed a line - when he leaves a particularly nasty bruise or injury to one of his family members - and comes back apologetic, sober, and, sometimes, with flowers or candy. 

Last month was daisies.

The month before that was a king-sized stock of his and Sara's favorite chocolate.

The time he broke Simon's wrist, he fixed the rusty swing set in the back by adding a few screws. 

Even with Micke’s absence, Simon still finds himself fleeing outside - almost out of habit.

He deeply inhales the cold air he's become immune to and lets his mind wander, his imagination that used to save him when he was younger always envisioning the same thing: he's living far, far away from this little town of Bjärstad, maybe in a big city somewhere, living as a singer-songwriter who performs in dinky little bars and works his way to the very top.

The city doesn't matter.

The scale of his fantastical career doesn't matter.

His main goal, the main attraction to that fantasy, is that he's far away from this town where no one knows him. No one hears what goes on in this house, the gossip about his life.

No one's peeking at him through windows, regardless of their intentions. 

Simon didn't know what to think about the new neighbor next door but he knows, after only talking to him for five minutes, that there was probably no malice behind it.

It was still weird as hell, that's for fucking sure, it still pisses him off to no end that people just can't mind their business, but he found himself more amused by him than anything. 

Found himself biting back a smirk, suppressing a laugh. Found himself wondering where this awkward, rich boy came from and why he was so-

"Simon?"

Sara's voice pulls him from his thoughts as he meets her gaze, her smaller frame standing in the doorway.

"Hey. You okay?"  

He couldn't count how many times he and his sister have asked each other that question throughout their relatively short lifetimes.

"Yeah, just wanted to check on you," she says, making her way outside despite her strong distaste for the cold. "I don't know why you like to freeze out here."

"I'm immune, actually," he teases, a small smile pulling at her lips. 

He knows Sara won't sit out here long with him but he appreciates her next to him nonetheless. He appreciates how much they can say when they just sit in silence, looking at the dull views of their unkempt backyard.

He appreciates that when the neighbors salute randomly pops into his mind and he snorts, she doesn't immediately hound him for the reason he's laughing. 

But she's an older, nosy sister at the end of the day and can't help but inquire. 

"What? Do you find sitting in the cold funny?"

"I find you sitting in the cold pretending not to shiver funny."

She elbows him lightly and he elbows her back, both of them always so, so careful in their movements with each other.

Nothing too fast. Nothing too hard. Nothing that could potentially make them flinch and face the reality of their lives. 

"I met Erik's brother," he finds himself telling her, not sure why the words leave him. Not sure why he's admitting that but also not surprised he's telling his older sister. "He's staying with him for a little bit."

"Wilhelm?"

Simon looks at her with a confused expression, brows pulled together. 

"You know him?" He asks, before adding, "he told me his name was Wille."

Sara nods, briefly looking over at the neighbors house (and his pretty, expensive patio furniture) before speaking. 

“He told me about him when he first moved in. He’s your age,” Sara says. “Maybe he goes by a nickname but Erik definitely used the name Wilhelm.” 

Simon nods, biting his tongue because he already doesn't like that he told Sara this. Doesn't know why he felt the need. 

"Maybe."

Silence lingers between them, their little neighborhood quiet and peaceful with nothing but howling winds. It's nice to not be the reason it's full of loud screaming. 

"Is he cute?"

Simon looks at Sara with a confused, almost weirded-out expression, not missing the smirk on her face. 

"What?"

"Wilhelm,” she says before correcting herself. "Wille. Is he cute?"

Simon rolls his eyes because absolutely not.

Him and Sara rarely talk about boys together, only did briefly when he told her he was gay and she inquired about his type, and they're not about to start - especially not because of the peeping, nervous wreck of a rich boy neighbor. 

"We're not doing this, Sara."

"Ah, so that's a yes. Got it."

"No," Simon sighs, rolling his eyes at his older sister. "That's a we're not talking about boys together, Sara."

Sara rolls her eyes, the wind picking up proving to be too much for her as she shivers.

Not one for physical touch unless this very circumstance, Simon smiles softly when she shimmies over and rests her head on him.

He knows all siblings have a special type of bond, the only other person in the world who knows what living your life is kind of like, but he thinks siblings who grow up in a house like theirs is entirely different.

They’ll always have each others back.

They'll always trust each other.

They know that no matter what happens, no matter where they escape to the moment they can, they'll always check in with the other. 

"How long do you think until he comes back this time?"

How long do you think we can try and breathe somewhat normally? How long do we not have to feel completely fearful? How long until we go back to walking on eggshells in our own home?" 

Simon tightens his hold on her and swallows the lump in his throat, a heavy silence hanging between them until he can talk and not sound like he's gonna cry.

Simon hasn't cried since that final screw fell out of the rusty swing set years ago. 

"I don't know."

~

Five days, almost six. 

Simon thought for sure they were gonna have their first Micke-free week in months until he stumbled in the door and began his screaming.

Linda was working the night shift, thankfully, although that's why he was so pissed, and Sara was already locked away in her room which left Simon to take the brunt. 

He wanted that, he preferred that, was so mad that they didn't get a week without him that he met his father's screaming and shoving back tenfold until Micke used his size against him and threw him out the back door. 

"You better l-learn your fucking place, Simon!" he shouted, reeking of alcohol and disappointment. "I'm f-fucking sick of the way you disrespect me."

Simon won't shout back because he's outside and everyone has heard enough, knows enough, spectates and watches enough, so he sits up on the ledge and just feels grateful he's wearing a hoodie.

Micke stumbles back inside when he realizes his son isn't gonna fight, will probably be passed out on the couch in the next twenty minutes like nothing happened.

Simon stays outside for longer, though.

Way longer.

He stays outside until Micke's probably been dead asleep for two hours and is snoring away; he lost feeling in his fingers but that's only because he's stubborn and refuses to wear gloves because he likes to use his phone. 

He likes to use his phone and mind his business so he doesn't even hear the sound of a sliding glass door or shoes smacking on concrete.

He doesn't hear the mumbles of "needs grass asap" or "thank god I wore shoes" in a soft tone. He doesn't even feel the quick, fleeting gaze that lands on him a few times until he suddenly looks over and sees an all too familiar figure lingering toward the gate. 

Not this shit again.

"Hi! Oh god, this looks bad. I wasn't spying, although... this looks awfully suspicious," Wille says before Simon can even say anything, his hands raised innocently. "Erik put me on garbage duty."

Simon blinks, stays sitting on the ledge with his hood over his curls, grateful his expression is hidden because his lips are quirking.

"Okay."

He watches that same, slightly dejected look cross the blonde's face under the faint back door light; it was the same one that he saw almost a week ago when he cut him off and made him feel bad.

Simon expects Wille to go inside after that, completely turn around and leave him alone again, but he still lingers.

Still watches the boy thoughtfully. Shifts his weight from foot to foot while his eyes move uncertainly, like he's trying everything in his power to not stare at the back door Simon was thrown out of. 

"Are, um..." Wille says, the words stuck in his throat like he's building courage. "Are you okay?"

Simon doesn't mean to scoff, he really doesn't, but it just happens and he pulls his hood down so Wille can see the slightly exasperated look on his face. 

"Really?" Simon asks, "Did our no spying conversation mean nothing to you?"

"I wasn't spying!" Wille yelps, and if the light was just a little bit brighter, Simon would think his cheeks were flushed more pink than red. "You're sitting in the cold and I just happened to notice. And yeah, okay, maybe I looked out the window when I heard a noise, but I wasn't purposely spying on you. You just happened to be there and I-"

"So it's my fault you're spying on me?"

"N-no! No! Oh, my god, no! I just wanted to know if you're okay and that if you ever-"

The look on Wille's face, a mix of defeated, embarrassed, and horrified, is too much for Simon to hold in his laughter anymore; it could be the hypothermia getting to his head but he's pretty sure the expression is really fucking funny.

"I'm kidding," Simon assures, wondering how the fuck him and Erik are even siblings. Erik seems to be calm, cool, and collected while his brother just... isn't.

He can tell by the look on Wille's face that he doesn't know what to make of Simon, of his moods, and a part of him is grateful for that.

He’d hate for someone to see just how fucking tired he is. 

"Right, kidding, funny, I should be laughing," Wille says, a fake chuckle leaving him that has Simon biting back a smile. "Sorry. I'm a nervous wreck."

"Really? Haven't noticed."

A real laugh bubbles out of the boy now and if it sounds way nicer, way way nicer, than his fake one, Simon won't say. Won't even let himself think it, if for a fleeting moment. 

"For real, though," Wille says, after more silence passes and he absolutely should've gone inside. “Are you okay? I... I don't mean to be nosy but it's, like, really fucking cold out and-"

"I'm good.”

Nothing more, nothing less, nothing to make Wille pursue more of a conversation with him; Simon can't exactly be mad, though, because, despite himself, he keeps answering.

He's entertaining it. He's smiling and almost laughing, hypothermic shock or not. 

"Alright, good, just checking," Wille says, biting the inside of his cheek and looking over the backyard, maybe admiring the dead grass, before he speaks again.

Simon has no idea why but this boy actually speaks again.

"So is that... was this more or less weird than our first interaction?"

"Depends," Simon finds himself saying, words going before his brain can stop him. "Are you referring to you watching me through your window or last week when you screamed at me?"

Wille blinks and then blinks again, dumbfounded, quirked lips pressed together so he doesn't laugh.

"Both."

Simon looks over Wille and the blonde does the same, gauging the other in the faint light and hoping the darkness is just dark enough for the other not to notice.

Not notice how they're both still trying to size up the other, see what they're about, see why, despite themselves and all the shit they're dealing with, they're weirdly intrigued by the other. 

They have no reason to be, they barely know anything about the other and, yet, they are anyway.

"Well, it's not saying much..." Simon says after a few moments, "but less. Considerably less, but still pretty fucking weird."

Wille laughs again and the boy has to stop himself from smiling, the ache in his bones and lingering doom of going back in his house quickly hitting him.

This type of shit is reserved for his imagination, banter with a boy and the possibilities of where it could go.

Because he knows why the neighbor is doing this, knows what he heard and probably saw, and can't let his mind wander.

Can't stop to consider why he's entertaining this in the first place.

Can't even begin to question why this distraction - talking to a nervous boy he'll only admit to himself is cute - is so much better than cold. 

"Alright. Cool. Noted," Wille says, smiling softly under the light. "Goodnight, Simon. Stay warm."

Simon allows his gaze to linger over Wille's face, knowing that tonight was a bad night, a terrible one after a semi-peaceful five and a half days, before down at his frozen fingers.

He has to go back inside now.

"Night, Wille."

Chapter Text

Over the next few weeks, Wille settled into Bjärstad with surprising ease; surprising, because it should've been incredibly difficult for him.

He should've been anxious about his mom tracking him down somehow, about how he was missing school and assignments with an increasing possibility of getting held back a year. That something was just gonna go horribly wrong because Wille, for as long as he could remember, always had an anxious soul.

There was comfort in the fact, though, that his anxiety had actually helped him in this case.

He planned this get away meticulously for weeks.

Covered his tracks expertly, not only for himself but also Erik, because his older brother made it a point to keep his new address, his new life, very private. A secret, really, that he only told his little brother. Wille just kept thinking, even in his poor state of mental health, that if he was the reason his parents found out where Erik was now, he would never forgive himself.

Erik was an adult with his own money and rights, they couldn't do anything, he knew that, but just the idea of it made his skin crawl. Erik fought for his own life, got away from the harshness of their mother and complicit father, and he wasn't gonna ruin that for him.

He would've stayed there and suffered if he thought there was a chance he would but he planned and planned and planned. He was determined not to ruin it, even though his mother would suggest he was born to, because he couldn't be there.

He needed Erik.

He needed his older brother who made everything better with his sarcastic comments and good-natured teasing. He needed this calm, welcoming home that was such a stark contrast to their family house.

The two brothers quickly fell into a routine that Erik knew, for now, was okay. He worked from home while Wille hung out around the house and handled chores before they ate dinner together and watched tv. It was simple. It was quiet. It was everything the two boys needed - nothing more, nothing less - and it was good for now.

Just for now, just for a few more weeks until schools went on winter break and Erik would talk to Wille about possibly enrolling at Hillerska for the spring term. He'll save that conversation for another day, though. He's too busy teasing him about his budding friendship with the boy next door. 

"We only talked twice, Erik, I'd hardly say we're friends," Wille grumbles.

"But you wanna be friends with him, don't you?" Erik asks, trying to keep his usual playfulness out of his tone.

Because, yes, as much as Wille peeking out the window is fucking hilarious to him, even more hilarious of Simon to call him out, he thinks they also both need a friend. He thinks they'd actually be really good friends, given what he knows about Simon's life and what he and Wille have lived through. 

Whether you're working or upper middle class, the children of fucked up parents who should've never brought little humans into this world can always find something to bond over; the problems are different, the dynamic, too, but the feelings of sadness, the feeling of being hurt over and over again by your very own parent, Erik thinks, are probably the same. 

"Shut up," Wille mumbles, his cheeks warming. 

Because of course, of course, Wille wants to be friends with him. He's been intrigued by the boy since the moment he saw him, and not all for a shallow purpose (although he really is fucking pretty). 

"Oh, Wille, Wille, Wille," Erik drones on, the younger already sighing. "When are you gonna learn that 'shut up' immediately translates to 'yes, you're right, Erik?’”

"Or when are you gonna learn that shut up actually means shut up?"

"Good one," his older brother mocks, throwing a french fry at him in a manner that would have their parents fainting - "where are your table manners!" "For real, though, Simon's a good kid. I approve of this friendship."

"I don't remember needing your approval," Wille says, his teenage snark causing Erik to roll his eyes. "And I'm not even sure he'd wanna be my friend. I think I freaked him the fuck out."

"But you explained yourself, no?"

Wille nods. He doesn't know how he feels talking about this but it also feels nice to finally have someone interested in him.

“Okay, well then it's probably good," Erik says. "It's just fucked up, what they have to deal with and everyone hearing it... It can't be easy."

"It doesn't seem fair that we're talking about it right now either."

Wille feels bad for even knowing in the first place, watching Simon's most intimate moments after the fact, but it's also hard not to. It's even harder not to feel incredibly concerned.

"You're right," Erik nods, most of the food on their dinner plates gone. "We won't talk about it anymore. I just wanted you to know that." The two leave it at that, small smiles exchanged between both of them, before the older is speaking again. "Now help me clean this up."

Simon's not outside when he throws the garbage out an hour later but Wille hears commotion right as he's falling asleep. He peeks at his phone to see its just past midnight, eyes heavy with sleep but the concern heavier.

He wants to get up and look, his body is basically itching to, but the yelling stops quickly, and then his eyes fall shut. 

~

He always hears her before he sees her.

The clacking of her high heels against the granite floor sobers him but not completely, the hand rubbing at his chest doing little to soothe him; the louder her shoes get, the worse it becomes. 

He knows he has to stop before she finds him. He has to just stop, just breathe, because he can't feel like this.

He's not allowed. No son of hers is allowed to be weak. Erik isn't, wasn't, so why is he? W hy is he so weak and emotional? Why is he anxious when he has everything in the world? Why does he feel that way when boys are supposed to be tough and strong?

She bursts into his room and he's huddled in the corner on the floor. That particular corner is his favorite, he doesn't know why, maybe because it's under the slightly drafty window, but it just makes him feel trapped now. 

He takes in her looming figure - she's probably six inches shorter than him but she always manages to make him feel like a scared child in every way - and realizes looking at her watery outline that he's crying. Watching her through wide, fear-stricken eyes because not only has he gotten caught but he's crying. 

"Wilhelm," she says, her voice exhausted, because she's tired of dealing with this. With him. "What's the problem now?"

But that's the thing. What gets her so mad. What makes him feel so crazy.

He doesn't know.  He doesn't know why he wakes up some days and feels like he's gonna die. Why he'll wake up with a pit in his stomach and fear in his heart and can't find it in himself to breathe.

Or, sometimes worse, when he notices himself breathing and feels like he's somehow gonna stop himself.  He can't speak, can't breathe, can't see, so he just shakes his head. A whimper escapes his mouth, too, and he swears even through his clogged ears, he hears her scoff. 

"Wilhelm, get it together. We have company coming soon."

People from his dad's company. People just as uptight and judgmental as his parents. People he feels just as unsafe around, probably even more, and who look at him like he's a pathetic excuse of a son. 

He was the second, it shouldn't have mattered, but now he's the one expected to take over and he's as weak as men come - even though he's only 16. 

"I- I just can't breathe. I- I don't know why, mom, but I can't- I can't-"

"In and out, Wilhelm, it's not that hard," she says, standing high and mighty at her spot in the doorway. "We have much to prepare for. We need you down there."

"But I can't-"

"Wilhelm!" 

Through the tears, he can see her anger. The disappointment. The, dare he say, hatred.

She hates that he's this way. She hates that he's the one left. She hates that he can't breathe on his own, like it's not something he also hates about himself. But she's supposed to tell him that it's okay. That she'll help him. Why doesn't she wanna-

"Help me." 

It's a plea that falls from his lips and he wishes he could take it back the moment it escapes. He knows she can't breathe for him but she could make it easier. She doesn't have to make him feel even worse, even more weak. Doesn't have to look at him the way she does, talk to him in that defeated tone of disregard and indifference. 

"I don't have time for this," she says, like she always does. She doesn't have time for anyone but herself and work. She used to have time for Erik, until he stopped listening to her. "Be downstairs by 4:00, Wilhelm, or else."

Breathing gets harder, his cries start, and tears start to trail down his face as he feels himself hyperventilating. Why can't she help him? Why can't Erik be here? Why does he have to live here in a home where nobody likes him?

"Mama! Please, help, I- I can't-"

"Enough!" 

Her voice shakes his room, this house, the very Earth he wishes he wasn't born on, and it only makes him cry more. He fucking hates it, crying in front of her, but he hates not being able to breathe more. 

"I warned you that if this behavior doesn't stop, changes are gonna have to be made," she says, commands, really, with the worst type of snark in her tone. "You're 16 now, not six, but you don't act like it when you resemble a frightened child, now do you, Wilhelm?"

He doesn't say anything because he can't. He's too busy trying to breathe through the panic and massive lump in his throat. 

"Downstairs. 4:00."

Her voice saying "4:00" echoes over and over and over in his head: 4:00 even though he just had a panic attack. 4:00 even though he had two more before and six after. 4:00 even though the thought of going down there, the thought of being in this house anymore, had his mind filling with images so grotesque and harmful to himself, it scared him.

Scared him enough to cry because he didn't wanna feel that way and scared him enough to beg, scream, cry out for-

"Help! Help me! I can't breathe! I-"

"Wille?" 

Erik's voice is frantic and, even through his sleep-induced haze, Wille then realizes the first voice he heard was his own. His body and sheets feel wet, like he was soaked with water. He licks over his lips and tastes salt, a mix of sweat and tears. He can only make out Erik's concerned face through the red led lights and faint moonlight shining through his window. 

"Wille," his brother's voice says again softly, hand gently resting on his shoulder. "What happened? Are you okay?"

His chest is burning, eyes are too, but he can't let Erik see him like this. How weak he is. The display he made when he first came was bad enough but still, it's so hard to breathe, he's not sure he'll be able to talk. He silently nods into his pillow, hoping Erik will think maybe he was just sleep-talking like he used to when they were younger.

Erik doesn't leave right away, just slightly tightens his grip and stays by his side. He doesn't say anything, which Wille welcomes greatly but also dreads because he thinks he then might be able to hear how shaky and uneven he sounds. 

"Mm okay," Wille finally mumbles, turning more into the pillow so his words are partially muffled. So his teary eyes are hidden. "Just wanna sleep."

He doesn't even need to see Erik to know his older brother doesn't believe him. He sits there in silence for a few more moments, Wille silently begging for him to leave before he passes out, until he finally gets up. 

"We'll talk tomorrow morning, Wille," is all he says, slippers padding toward the door before he's finally alone again.

He counts five minutes, then ten for good measure, before escaping outside. He can't help but think of the irony between him and the neighbor both seeking refuge in the cold night air. Thinks if maybe he's doing this because of him, because perhaps there's something to it, or if he's looking for a replacement for his drafty corner spot. 

The latter would make sense, since Wille takes the chair and shoves himself into the corner of the small front porch. His head falls into his shaky hands, fingers pulling at his long strands of blonde hair.

He winces when, either purposely or accidentally, he's not too sure, he feels himself tug harshly at a strand. It stings his scalp and makes him wanna cry out but he does it again. Keeps pulling at his scalp and feeling the harsh stings as he tries to catch his breath. Deep breathing was never his forte but he tries hard, slowly in and out, in and out, as his eyes fall shut.

He keeps his head in his hands and tries to breathe, tries to push his mother's voice out of his head.

He hates that he's haunted by her, even in her absence. That he's never truly away from her harsh words and cold looks. He's been gone for weeks and, yet, one dream sets him back like she was in front of him, watching him like he's pathetic. Weak. Watching him like she wishes she only had Erik and just had to deal with him leaving, not be left with the reminder of who she's now stuck with. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," he mutters under his breath, words shaking, his chest heaving. 

The cold might be making it just a little bit harder to breathe but he welcomes it, the crisp night air on his face. His red-tipped ears are still clogged, only able to catch the wind howling in his ears until he hears-

"Wille?" 

His name is soft but far away, eyes fluttering open. He hears it again, a gentle, "Wille," that pulls at something in his rigid, heaving chest, and he looks up to see Simon standing at the side of the gate, watching. 

He's still smushed in the corner, still on the verge of panic, but he almost wishes he could laugh right now at the sickest form of payback. 

~

"Wille?"

Simon feels like the biggest hypocrite but he can tell something's wrong.

He's the first to acknowledge that it's none of his business, that he should just go back inside because that's the only reason he got up, but his feet don't allow him to move; in fact, they took him off his own porch and over to the side of the fence. On his side is rusted chains, probably not replaced since the house was first built. Erik has a new white picket fence that shines, looks as new as the day it was installed.

Something about the stark contrast of it but both boys outside in the cold makes Simon's heart tug. 

The neighbor's tucked into the corner of the porch, his head down, arms resting on his knees. He would've missed him curled up and shaking if it wasn't for the light. Wille's blonde head snaps up and Simon tries to smile, although he knows the boy probably can't make out his expression. He makes no indication that he knows where his voice came from, like he really knows what's happening, and it scares Simon for a brief moment, l ike he's falling victim to hypothermia.

"Wille?" 

His voice is still soft but a little louder, body daringly inching toward the gate.

A few silent moments pass before Wille moves from the corner, making his way down the steps; his movements are slow but not hesitant and that distinction makes Simon feel a little bit better about his hypocrisy.

Wille's then standing before him, his arms crossed in front of him.

"Oh, hey Simon," Wille says, his voice sounding different than the other times they've talked.

He can't pinpoint why, something more strained or shaky than the cute nervous rambling he'd heard all those nights ago.

"Sorry to, like, steal your thing,” the boy stutters. “It... it just happened."

Strained and shaky or not, his words still cause a smile to tug at Simon's lips. 

"My thing?" Simon asks. "You mean going outside?" 

A strained chuckle leaves the blonde, Simon's eyes dropping briefly to catch Wille's hand rub at his chest. 

"Yeah," Wille mutters, a humorless laugh leaving him. "Something like that."

He falls silent and Simon c an see up close and under the light that Wille's gaze is unfocused and slightly glassy. He doesn't think he'd recognize it so clearly if it didn't look so familiar, didn't look so much like Simon, himself, a few years ago when he'd stay in the house and try to fix everything.

Simon was scared of what he'd do, that he'd become like him, that he'd do something really unforgivable, so he learned fleeing was the best thing - his mom confronted it softly, Sara locked herself away, and Simon ran after poking the beast.

Simon ran, but at least he could breathe. He remembers during those times sitting wasn't enough, actually made it worse, and he'd walk; it’d clear his mind in the best way possible. 

"Do you wanna go for a walk?"

There were about a million things Simon could've said but, for some reason, he blurted that out. He was about to take it back before Wille met his gaze, hand still rubbing at his chest, and nodded. 

"I- I think I'd like that, yeah," Wille says, "you weren't about to go back inside, were you?"

"No."

The two boys walk side by side, wind howling around them. The streets of the small town are unsurprisingly desolate for nearly 2 a.m.

Before moving to Bjärstad, Simon lived in a similar town an hour from here so he wasn't surprised by small town culture: having nothing to do but go to a shitty pizzeria, a run down bowling alley, and having your nose in everyone’s business. That seems to be a thing everywhere, though, people gossiping about their neighbors.

Simon doesn't know much about the boy beside him, just that maybe he's got some shit too, but he does know some of what Erik told him. Simon's about to ask what it's like living in Stockholm before Wille, surprisingly, starts the conversation. 

"Have you always lived here? In Bjärstad?" 

Simon relishes in the small, simple, unimportant fact that, unlike everyone here, Wille doesn't know that he's an outsider. 

"No. I moved here when I was 12." 

"That's cool," he says and even in his... different state, he still manages to sound genuine. "Do you like it here?"

Simon holds back a scoff, knowing it'd give away how much he doesn't like it here; although, that's a lie. Bjärstad's fine. Bjärstad's like any other small town someone like him would live in.

He hates what Bjärstad was supposed to be. What it could've been. He hates that Micke tainted Bjärstad in the first three weeks when he came home shit-faced and screaming. 

"Do you like it here?" Simon asks.

Wille looks at him with a funny expression but he still answers anyway. 

"Yeah. It's nice. Quieter than Stockholm," Wille says, a shiver running through him, probably from the cold. It takes him a few moments to speak again. "I mostly like being here with Erik, though. I missed him."

"You haven't seen him since he moved?"

Wille shakes his head silently, Simon watching as his hand raises again and, instead of rubbing at his chest this time, brings his thumb to his mouth. He chews on the short nail, gnawing at the surrounding skin, and Simon hopes he doesn't start bleeding. He doesn't do particularly well with blood. 

"I couldn't imagine going that long without seeing Sara."

"Is that your sister?"

"Yeah, she's a year older than me," Simon shares, suddenly thinking back to their embarrassing conversation the other night - "Wilhelm, Wille. Is he cute?" "She's annoying but I love her."

"I don't know if anyone is more annoying than Erik," Wille chuckles, and for the first time tonight, it seems real.

Simon smiles because if there's one thing he can relate to, it's unconditional love for a sibling. 

"He seems nice, though. Definitely one of my favorite neighbors," Simon says, biting back a teasing, growing smile but he just can't help himself. "He doesn't, like, spy on me or anything..."

Another real laugh bubbles out of Wille that causes Simon to giggle, the blonde's exasperated groan quickly following. 

"I'm never gonna live that down, am I?" 

"Probably not, no," Simon chuckles because he's nothing if not brutally honest - even though he was the nosy neighbor tonight but neither of them acknowledge that yet. 

"And that's fair," Wille sighs, although a pretty little smile is still pulling at his chapped, red lips. "It's so fair."

Despite the winds and cold temperatures, the walk is peaceful. And calm. There's a stillness to the sleepy town right now that makes both the boys feel at ease.

Their arms bump ever so slightly as they walk, Simon naturally leading the way. They've kind of swerved through the blocks, coming up to a main road where he's sure they won't see a car in sight.

"How long do you think you're staying?" Simon asks, breaking the silence. Wille looks over, pale face with a red-tipped nose twisted in slight confusion.

"What?"

"How long do you think you're gonna stay?" Simon repeats, "With Erik?"

The question on the surface Simon didn't think was too unusual but he can tell the second Wille registers it, that he's uncomfortable. His hand goes back to not so subtly rubbing over his chest, eyes falling down to follow their feet in front of them.

Their arms bump and then bump again, the warmth from the blonde's arm permeating through Simon's purple sweatshirt. Wille seems to keep their arms together for just a few seconds too long, like he's relishing in the casual, barely-there touch, before the warmth is gone.

Simon considers it a miracle when he catches one of the only 24-hour convenience stores up ahead, a saving grace in the form of flickering lights, shitty coffee, and piles of candy. 

"Are you cold? There's a 24 hour store down there," Simon says. "They have good hot drinks. And some candy. Wouldn't recommend the food, though. It's pretty gross."

It takes a few seconds but something about his words makes Wille smile and nod. 

"I could use tea, yeah."

They come to find out that, while they both don't like coffee, Wille's a tea drinker and Simon's hot chocolate. They made fun of the other for being an "old man" but at what cost because "who drinks hot chocolate past the age of 10?"

Half the trip is spent bickering and bantering, sharing chocolates and sour candies (that they definitely shouldn't be eating at this hour) while the other is spent in a comfortable silence. Back is the arm bumping that seems accidental, that the boys barely notice even though it sparks little flames up their arms and through their freezing bodies. 

"I feel a bit like a hypocrite, you know," Simon says suddenly, when they're almost to their homes, just a block away.

Wille looks over with a smile and questioning eyes that shine in the moonlight. 

"Why?"

"You know, the whole spying thing," Simon says, a groan leaving Wille that has him chuckling softly, purposely bumping their arms. "I don't mean it like that," he continues, "just that... I wasn't meaning to spy on you. I didn't even know you were out there but then I just happened to see you and I..."

He what? Felt bad? Knew something was wrong? Wanted to make sure he was okay and didn't just mind his business?

It was a little bit of everything but it didn't sit right with Simon. Felt exactly what he said - hypocritical - even though Simon knows his heart. He knows deep down, like every other teenager, he just wants to be cared for, properly looked after, and then a cute boy moves next door and goes out of his way to talk to him. Goes out of his way to-

"You just wanted to make sure I was okay."

Wille steals the very words from Simon's mouth and the two just stand there, hands full of candy, before the shorter boy allows himself to nod. Wille breaks out into the most beautiful, big, genuine smile he's ever seen and Simon can only smile back, because he's happy he decided to admit that. 

"I get it," Wille says, a knowing smile pulling at his lips. "Thank you for tonight. It really helped." There's something soft and slightly vulnerable in his tone. Simon knows its vulnerability because he'd never allow it to slip into his own. “I haven't had Erik for, like, months so I've been really lonely without him,” Wille admits, “but it was nice, doing this. I'm stuck with him all day so..."

"So, what?" Simon asks, "You wanna meet up at 2 every morning to eat candy and drink tea?"

"What about hot chocolate?" Wille counters, a smile pulling at his lips. 

Simon has to bite back a laugh of his own, something just far too endearing about the way his head is cocked like a puppy.

He can't allow himself to think about how much he's smiled tonight, how he's slightly disappointed they're back in front of their houses. He just knows he has to tread lightly, very lightly, and not allow this one night of whatever to take down the walls he's so cautiously and meticulously built around himself.

"We'll see," Simon says, licking over his cold lips, eyes getting heavy with exhaustion. "Goodnight, Wille."

"Thank you again, Simon," the blonde says, red hands folded into one another as his gaze searches his face. Like he's taking him in one more time. "Goodnight." 

Chapter Text

Erik and Sara are one in the same that, despite their best efforts, they can't help but be suspicious of their siblings. The two brothers were in the grocery store Sunday night when Wille ran off to get a pack of hot chocolate, Erik giving him a look of confusion when he returned.

"Hot chocolate? What are you, 10?" 

Wille rolled his eyes (although he had said the same thing to Simon) and threw it in the cart. 

"We only have junk food, soda and one vegetable, Erik, what's the difference?" 

Erik knew his brother's hot beverage of choice was tea. He can't ever remember a time, apart from freezing in the Alps, where he willingly chose to drink hot chocolate; now, he has a pack of 12 with a faint blush on his cheeks. 

Suspicious. 

Sara knew her brother liked to escape outside when their house got too much. It was the same way she'd burrow herself into bed and pretend she was someone else. This week was a surprisingly good week, though, in terms of Micke's sobriety and temper, which is why she was suspicious when Simon continued to sneak out at night.

She didn't look for too long, it felt wrong to peek any longer than a few seconds, but she watched with a tentative smile as she watched the same scene unfold almost every night: Simon goes outside, breathes in the night air before turning his head and shaking it, almost in disbelief. It's the head shake he does when he's playful, teasing, but doesn't want to completely show it.

She's known for as long as their lives turned to shit due to alcohol and drugs that Simon doesn't show his feelings. He thinks she and Linda don't notice but they do. And when the neighbor Wilhelm, Wille, who she's yet to be introduced to, meets her brother at the gate with two steaming cups in hand, she can tell he drops the facade a little.

Barely at all, it's almost unnoticeable, but her brother slightly resembles a semi-relaxed, maybe even a little flirty 16-year-old and not a jaded, terrified boy who's suffering. It makes her smile, makes her so happy for him, but it also makes her feel a little sad. Because she's watching through her window as Simon manages to easily make a friend, she doesn't know how, what he's even done to do so, but she'd say they definitely seem like they're becoming friends.

Their smiles would say so, them meeting almost every night this week says so, the way Simon comes in and she hears a quiet, almost giddy chuckle would definitely say so.

Sara likes Erik, she's liked him since the moment she met him and he stared down Micke for a few seconds too long, so if his brother is anything like him, she'll support this budding friendship for now and try not to feel so bad. 

~

"You're full of shit!"

"I swear, Simon! Why would I lie about that?"

"You're telling me someone not only confused you with the prince of Sweden but then proceeded to head butt you?"

"No, they tried to head butt me," he clarifies, like that makes his story any more believable. "But once they saw that I wasn't him, they backed off, luckily." 

Simon scoffs into his mug and Wille can't stop the smile that spreads across his face. 

He knew it was bold, presumptuous, even, to buy hot chocolate in the hopes that they'd find themselves in this situation again but it's like he had no control over his feet at the grocery store.

He knew when he saw Simon outside the next night (not because of yelling, to Wille's knowledge) that it was bold to meet him at the fence as if that was an okay thing to do.

But he had felt so settled after his walk with Simon that night, in a way he'd never experienced after one of his panic attacks - panic attacks mixed with a dream, a haunting memory, about his mom would normally set him back for days but that morning, he woke up feeling almost giddy. Happy. 

He woke up hoping he'd get the chance to talk to Simon again in any capacity, about anything, and when he saw him outside later that night, he, perhaps too eagerly, went for it.

It paid off because Simon looked at him with a small smile of his own and said hi and then they just kept talking. They complained about the cold and, instead of going inside, Wille told his neighbor to wait while he got him something. 

The laugh of disbelief that left Simon when he saw the steaming cup, the softness he couldn't stop from creeping into his gaze as he sipped the hot chocolate, made it all worth it for Wille. So were the freezing hands and heart palpitations and suspicious looks from Erik as he came inside each night. 

Their conversations were light, casual, nothing heavy like the circumstances they were slowly discovering surrounded the other. 

Wille told him about growing up with Erik - the good memories - and his favorite places to go in Stockholm (usually not a club where he was almost getting head butt). Simon told him about when he met his best friends Rosh and Ayub his first week here. How they all clicked right away and seemed like they'd been best friends their whole life.

They talked like two normal teenagers just getting to know each other. No drama, no baggage, no tears or blood or panic attacks - just giggling into hot drinks, shy smiles, and lingering gazes. 

"I feel like I can't believe this story," Simon says, that familiar hint of teasing in his tone that Wille's heard all week. "You don't even look like him, do you?"

"I don't know, a little bit I guess?" Wille says questioningly, "But what? You don't think I can pass for royalty or...?"

Simon's gaze wanders shamelessly over his face and Wille can't stop looking him - his eyes, the curls, those pink smirking lips that are a little bit wet from his drink just too much for Wille's heart right now. He feels hot all the sudden in the freezing November weather, cheeks probably an embarrassing shade of bright red. 

He watches as the boy in front of him smirks even wider, tongue peeking out to lick at his lips; Wille doesn't know how he stops his eyes from following. Maybe he doesn't and that's why Simon's smirk widens. 

"Not even a little bit," Simon says, "then I'd have to immediately dislike you."

"Hm, okay, riddle me this then," Wille begins, Simon's eyes rolling but his lips twisting up into an amused smile. "Would you rather be neighbors with the prince of Sweden, my doppelgänger, or someone who, occasionally, spies on you through their window?"

Simon throws his head back in laughter, his neck in clear view of Wille who tries not to panic (or faint) at the sight; if anything, he's saved by the way this is his first time hearing this type of chuckle from Simon. It's melodic and pretty and cute and makes butterflies go off in his stomach in such a way that Wille can 100% confirm, as if he didn't already know, he may have a slight crush on his neighbor. 

"Depends, you riddle me this one," Simon bites back, "would you rather get head butt for looking like the prince of Sweden or would you rather get head butt for being a nosy fuck and spying on people through your window?"

A laugh escapes Wille and while it sounds nowhere near as pretty as Simon's, he can say with everything in him that it's genuine. 

"Does the person I'm spying on agree to meet me for hot beverages, eventually?"

Wille doesn't realize he cocks his head and crosses his arms over the fence, almost brushing Simon's. Simon doesn't realize he steps forward, raising a brow as he looks over Wille. It's like that night they were walking, arms bumping as if they were magnets drawn together. Eyes meeting, expressions matching, hearts pounding in a way they won't acknowledge, can't admit. 

"They might," Simon says, mirth in his eyes.

The moon is full tonight, big and bright. It seems to shine down from its spot in the sky perfectly between their houses and makes Simon look ethereal.

Wille's never had a crush before and it seems like his body and mind were preparing him for just how whipped he'd be when he eventually developed one. Foolishly, he allows himself to look at Simon, look in his eyes, for a moment. Travel down to the perfect slope of his small, button nose and quirked up lips that look impossibly smooth in this frigid weather.

"Then the second option," Wille mumbles, hearing how, even to his own ears, his voice has gotten a little deeper. "Definitely the second option."

He can't quite read the expression on Simon's face but he feels comforted by the fact that he doesn't tense or move away. This type of dynamic Wille is still unsure about. He's not necessarily uncomfortable, because he feels so strangely comfortable with Simon, but he just doesn't know.

He doesn't know. 

"B-because, you know," the blonde stutters, "I like hot beverages."

And when Wille doesn't know, apparently he's a fucking idiot. 

Simon laughs again and Wille's heart jumps. He's surprised Simon doesn't hear it and call him out, hell, he's surprised Erik doesn't hear it either. Simon bites the inside of his cheeks to suppress his growing smile. 

"Do you now?" Simon teases, shaking his nearly-empty mug of hot chocolate between them. "Then you'd know this is superior."

Wille's never too sure how long he and Simon usually stay outside.

It's usually long enough for them to finish the drinks that are keeping their fingers warm, before the cold starts seeping into their bones. Wille's cheeks and nose turn a daunting shade of red because he always finishes his tea first. Simon finished his drink a while ago, while he was sharing the stories about Rosh and Ayub, so he suspects they've been (unknowingly) suffering in the freezing for a while. 

"Do you think we're gonna end up getting sick?" Wille asks.

"I hope not," Simon whines, "I hate being sick."

"Me too." 

The wind howls and serves as a reminder that it's cold and windy and the two boys should really be indoors for the night. 

"I should probably go inside, though," Simon says, hands toying with the handle of his (Wille's) cup. "Thank you for this again. I'm excited to see tomorrow's mug."

Wille had only been presenting Simon's hot chocolate in Erik's best mugs - one shaped like a cat (Simon wants a black cat, Wille wants an orange one), one with little tropical fruits (Wille learned that Simon loves tangerines, Wille hasn't touched a piece of fruit in years), one showcasing an aquarium (Simon has three fish), and tonight's was adorned with purple flowers.

If Wille picked it because he noticed Simon likes to wear his purple hoodie, he won't say; if he's also trying to contain his smile at the fact that Simon said tomorrow, he really won't say. 

"I'm happy you like them. I put a lot of thought into which of Erik's mugs I steal."

Simon chuckles for one last time tonight before they say goodbye, sweet, almost shy smiles on the boy's faces. Their fingers brush as Simon gives him back the mug and it's something so small, so chaste, but enough to keep Wille feeling disgustingly giddy as he makes his way back into the house.

The sobering contrast from cold to warm is welcoming, a smiling Wille making his way over to the sink.

He replays tonight's conversations over in his head the way he always does. Thinks about the subtle little looks and touches that light him up inside and all the interesting facts he's learned about Simon. He likes that, in some way, Simon's allowing them to become friends. It's a tentative friendship, if they can even call it that, but he's just happy they're able to talk. Distract each other.

He's happy that it seems like Simon's home life isn't as tumultuous this week as it usual is and that the boy seems lighter because of that. From the first two interactions, he wasn't sure if the boy would ever warm to him - and with good reason, he didn't make the greatest first impression.

Wille's intrigued by Simon, yes. He thinks he's the prettiest person he's ever seen before, has felt this overwhelming need to make sure he's okay, but also really does just want to be his friend.

Everyone needs a friend.

The blonde chuckles as he recalls Simon telling him about when he first met Ayub, how he thought he'd never be friends with someone like him - loud and overly playful - but came to be so incredibly close to him.

He's happy that Simon has friends like that; secretly, Wille wishes he did too. He only has-

"What are you laughing at?"

"Jesus Christ, Erik!" 

Wille nearly drops the glass in his hand at the sound of his brother's voice, turning around just as Erik flicks on the kitchen light. He's standing tall in his matching pajamas and slippers, looking every bit teasing as he does stupid. 

"What are you doing, you stalker?" Wille bites, "Watching me in the dark like a creep."

"Um, between the two of us, who got caught spying on the neighbor?" Erik asks, stepping further into the kitchen. He takes a seat by the counters overlooking the sink, a smirk pulling at his lips at the sight of two cups. "Also this is my house, in case you forgot. Can't be a stalker in my own home."

"You can if you're watching me in the dark."

"Watching you clean my cups in my kitchen in my house, yes," Erik says, before continuing to speak because he just can't stop himself. "Also... I can't help but notice two of my mugs in the sink. Any comment on that, Wilhelm?"

He usually hates when people call him Wilhelm. He's so used to hearing it in a cold, disappointed tone, but Erik's teasing way of saying it almost makes him smile; he would've if he knew he wasn't about to get made fun of. 

"I was very thirsty," he says, tone dry and bleak. It only makes Erik's smirk grow wider, more suspicious and mocking. 

"Oh, I bet you were," the older responds, Wille focusing on getting all of the chocolate out of the purple mug and not the implication in his brother's tone.

The only sound in the kitchen is running water, Erik watching the younger carefully. His cheeks are tinted red from the cold and his blonde hair is slightly windswept; if he pulled the strands back, he's sure the tips of his ears would be a matching shade of scarlet.

The older man's eyes then catch two boxes on the counter across the room: caffeine free green tea and hot chocolate, the very same Wille had thrown in the cart last week. He had suspicions in the grocery store, then the first night when he saw Wille quickly escape outside but now, it's horrifically obvious - Simon Eriksson likes hot chocolate. 

"You know, if I had known the neighbor liked hot chocolate, we could've gotten marshmallows."

"He doesn't like them with marsh-" Wille blurts out the fact he learned this week (which quite frankly appalled him) without even thinking. He doesn't even need to look up to know his brother has a shit eating grin on his face. "I- I mean, I don't like them with-"

"Oh, cut the shit, Wille," Erik laughs, throwing his head back in pure glee at making fun of his younger brother. 

"Ugh since when are you so nosy, Erik?"  Wille whines, turning off the water as he places the two mugs in the drying rack. "You were always annoying but it's soooo much worse now!"

He leans his back against the sink and cringes when he feels water seep into the soft fabric of his sweater. 

"Because you've never had a crush before," Erik says, flinging his hand over in an attempt to swat him playfully. "I've never had a crush to tease you about and see you soooo giddy and happy and smiley over a-"

"Fuck you! It's not a crush!" 

It is.

It is a crush.

It's a big fat crush that does make him annoyingly giddy and happy and smiley - why is his brother saying the word smiley? - and he's gotten all the confirmation he needed this week. 

"It's okay to have a crush, Wille, I've had crushes too," Erik says, "I've never had a crush on a boy but..."

"Please, please, shut up," Wille groans, embarrassment quickly overcoming him. "I'd rather die than have this conversation again."

Wille was around 13 when he thought he might be interested in boys.

To his 13-year-old self, he thought the best course of action at the time was going to his brother (yes, that part was right) but then he proceeded to ask him if he ever liked a boy before.

It wasn't funny at the time. It was a very serious, very emotional, very eye-opening conversation between the two brothers that made Wille feel so safe and accepted. He only ever felt that way with Erik and knew in that moment, he'd only ever feel that way with him in terms of family members.

"You'd rather die before you get to kiss Simon?"

"Shut! Up! Erik!" 

What follows despite the late night hour is, essentially, a water fight. Wille flings the water-soaked rag in front of the sink in Erik's direction, smacking his brother right in the face. He didn't expect to have such impeccable aim, or for it to possess such a satisfying smacking noise, and doubles over in laughter, a type of laugh he hasn't heard from himself since he was a little kid. 

It would've made Erik mad if he didn't realize that fact, too.

The older boy jumps up and rushes toward the sink, Wille too busy laughing his ass off to notice as Erik turns the sink on, grabs the nozzle, and points it toward him; Wille can't even get mad back because he got him wet first and he made sure the water was warm. Once they're drenched and the floor is dangerously slippery, they're cleaning up the mess that would've made their mother irate with towels. 

"That was fun," Wille remarks, Erik fighting a smile. 

"That was your doing," he says back, although it really, really was fun; he has to try to be the adult, though, since he usually does a shitty job. There's a comfortable silence as they lazily mop up the floor, the big puddles causing them to occasionally chuckle. "For real, though," Erik speaks suddenly, Wille looking over questioningly. "You and Simon seem to be getting closer. Becoming friends."

Erik's wanted nothing more for his brother than for him to make a friend his age. It broke his heart when elementary school Wille always told him he was his best friend. When he'd pick him up from school and he'd be on the swing set alone. He already possessed a fierce protectiveness over his brother because of their parents, mostly Kristina, but when he started school, it only became worse. 

Instead of getting defensive, Wille finds himself wanting to share. Wanting to talk about Simon. Craving the fact that, again, someone is interested in him. 

"We are, I think," he admits, an uncontrollable smile creeping up on his face. Of the memories that started this, how he forgot that night actually came from something bad. ”I wasn't sure at first but then last weekend we went for a walk and it... it was nice," Wille says. "It's easy to be around him. I feel weirdly comfortable with him, even though we still don't really know each other. He..."

He made me forget, he almost says, almost slips. He made me feel better after a nightmare, after a panic attack, and that's never happened before. 

Erik seems to know, though, because he always does. He gives Wille a gentle smile that should make him feel happy but only makes his stomach turn. He knows where this is going.

"That's really good, Wille, I'm happy to hear that," Erik says at first, but his eyes are soft, his tone even softer. They sit in silence for a few moments and Wille, for a split second, thinks maybe he won't say anything at all - but if it's between saying something or not saying anything at all, his brother is almost always gonna say speak up. "We never talked about that night, you know."

I know, Wille wants to say, I was hoping we never would. 

He knows that's slightly irrational, and unrealistic, because Erik didn't push him to talk about what landed him in Bjärstad in the first place; but it's hard to talk about, embarrassing even. He can hear his mother's voice in the back of his head telling him how much better Erik is, how he never dealt with the issues Wilhelm does even though he had it ten times harder as the eldest son. 

"Yeah," is all he says, voice low, eyes down. He suddenly feels very tired. 

"Wille," Erik sighs, looking at his brother with a mix of sympathy, curiosity and tiredness of his own. Could he already be getting tired of Wille and all his problems? Wille really wouldn’t blame him.

"It was nothing, Erik," Wille says with a shake of the head. "We haven't talked about it because there's nothing to talk about."

"So you didn't have some kind of nightmare then?" Erik asks, Wille cringing because he feels too old to be having nightmares. For his brother to be talking to him about a bad dream that made him freak out. "You weren't calling out for help?"

"No," Wille says, Erik shooting him a look of 'c'mon' that immediately has him backtracking. "I mean, maybe I was, I don't know. I don't remember."

Erik sighs again but doesn't push. Nothing good will come from pushing him but he knows this conversation has to happen soon. A few conversations have to happen soon.

"Okay," the older man says, nodding his head. He looks over to see it's almost one in the morning. "We should get to bed, Wille."

Wille nods his head silently back, mumbling a quiet "goodnight Erik," before making his way into his room.

~

Ever since they met four years ago, there's only been a few Saturdays that Simon, Rosh, and Ayub haven't spent together. Only illness, family events, and extreme cases of catching up on homework, but not stupid Hillerska homework, can have you exempt (Ayub's words, of course). There wasn't much to do in Bjärstad so they usually did the same four things: eat at the pizzeria, go bowling, practice with Rosh at the football field, or hang out at either her or Ayub's house to game and watch movies. 

Tonight was the football field, Rosh practicing for her game in a few weeks while Ayub and Simon sat on the sidelines. 

"That's disgusting, Ayub, what the fuck," Simon laughs, bundled up in a jacket as he sits next to his friend.

It's funny how he can sit in his backyard for hours on end and not be bothered by the cold when right now, it feels like he's about to freeze to death. 

"No, trust me, it tastes so much better than it sounds," the boy says passionately, like it's his life's work to convince people to eat pickles on pizza. "I actually did it by accident. I would've never thought to try that combination but I-"

"Please tell me he's not trying to sell you on fucking pickles and pizza."

"Shut up, Rosh!" Ayub whines, not even flinching as she kicks the ball toward him. "Don't cloud his judgement. He might like it."

"I won't," Simon says at the same time Rosh says, "he won't," the two sharing an amused look while Ayub whines in the background. Rosh plops down in front of her two friends, laying out to stretch on the grass before coming back up with a groan.

"So what should we do tonight? Eat at the bowling alley or pizza-"

"Pizza! With pickles!"

"Not with fucking pickles!" she groans, a laugh bubbling out of Simon. 

He's always has a good time with his friends. They're just able to pull him out of any sort of bad or anxious mood he may be in depending on what's going on at home but these past few days, actually almost two weeks now, have been weirdly good. Calm. Micke's been working and sober and a picture of what he promised he'd be when they moved here. 

Simon doesn't wanna get his hopes up, he never will anymore, and he's actively trying not to think that this is the calm before the storm. A storm that will inevitably end with flowers or chocolate or a fixed swing set. 

For once in his life, Simon's trying to enjoy the moment of calmness, contentment, even if it's short-lived. Even if the boy next door might be making it all just a little easier. 

"Maybe we should try it, Rosh," Simon finds himself saying, only half-joking. "He might be onto something."

Ayub was ecstatic, Rosh was horrified, and Simon was laughing the whole way to the pizzeria. Of course, he didn't try Ayub's disgusting pizza but he humored his friend.

They sat around the little table at the crowded restaurant as they all caught up. Rosh and Ayub told him all about the drama at their school and Simon, shockingly, had nothing to share because, for a fancy boarding school, nothing too dramatic seemed to happen at Hillerska. 

"Boarding there is probably different though," Simon says, having no desire to stay at that school any longer than he has to or deal with rich people drama. "My neighbor went there and he said it was pretty crazy so I probably miss all that shit, thank God."

"Oh fuck, wait a minute, speaking of your neighbor," Ayub blurts out, a mouth full of pizza. "Did you ever call out your stalker? Or was it actually a ghost?"

"Oh shit, yeah!" Rosh says. "What ever happened with that?"

For the life of him, Simon doesn't understand why he lies. Why his immediate reaction is to lie. 

"Nothing, really."

Rosh always calls him out, it's happened in their friendship since they first met, but he doesn't expect Ayub too also. 

"What? Nothing? What the fuck do you mean nothing?" 

"I mean nothing," Simon says, a guilty smile pulling at his lips; it could just look like a smile of amusement, though, hopefully. "That's why I said the word nothing."

"But- but was it a person? A ghost? Does Erik have an old man stalker squatter living in his home?" 

Simon bites down on his lip so he doesn't laugh. 

"No, not a squatter or a ghost. His brother is staying with him for a little bit, though."

He thinks back to the night of his and Wille's walk, where Simon uttered that question and he completely shut down. It made him uncomfortable for some reason, to put a timeline on it, or maybe, to imagine going back to Stockholm. 

"His brother? Older or younger?" Rosh asks, ever so inquisitive.

Simon and her share the quality of minding their business, usually, but he can see that's obviously changed between both of them. She's watching him curiously but with a gentle smile. He's secretly pondering the reasons why Wille doesn't wanna go home. 

"Younger. He's our age."

"Interesting," Rosh hums, Simon rolling his eyes as Ayub pipes in too. 

”Yes. Interesting. Very interesting."

Simon looks at both of his friends with a narrowed gaze, stealing a piece of pizza from Rosh's plate.

“What about that is interesting?"

"What about that is interesting?" Ayub mocks, Simon scoffing as he throws a stray piece of crust at his friend. "For real, though," His friend continues, "you haven't talked to him? Ask him why the fuck he was creeping on you?"

"Not really," Simon says with a shrug, sprinkling parmesan cheese on his pizza so his lack of eye contact is excusable. "I see him outside sometimes but he seems... harmless. I don't think he was doing it to be weird."

"That's literally weird though," Rosh says with a shake of her head.

"It also must be weird to live next to a screaming drunk."

It's meant to be funny, some form of dark humor that Simon has to possess to stay sane sometimes, but his friends faces drop. Simon rarely talks about it with them, with anyone, so when he does, it's jarring.

His friends tell him over and over again that if he ever needs to talk or stay over, they're there for him. They want to be there for him and will always be there for him. But Simon, to his core, believes it's his shit to deal with - his family, his problems, his ways of coping. It's not fair to bring other people into it, they only get hurt, and he needs the happy, playful, fun distractions he gets when he's with his friends. 

That comment kind of slipped out, although it's true. He knows that's why Wille wants to make sure he's okay. 

"Simon," Rosh says softly, sympathy slipping into her tone. He looks at her and shakes his head subtly, Ayub hitting his foot softly under the table. 

"It's true," Simon says with a shrug, with an immense need for the subject to be changed now. He doesn't want to think about his dad or his home life or his (not so) secret little meetings with the boy next door who makes him feel something he won't acknowledge yet. "So,” he continues, “if he's looking out the window every time he hears him yelling, I won't hold it against him."

His friends are looking at him so pathetically, with such sadness and worry in their eyes, it makes his stomach sink.

This is why he can't talk about these things, why he feels no desire to - he doesn't like seeing his loved ones sad and this makes them sad. He wants to tell them that things have actually been good, that no screaming or fighting or hitting or drinking has been happening but then he'd have to confess that that's not the norm.

That every time he leaves their houses, he's back to walking on eggshells. 

"Anyway," Simon says, a messy transition from conversation but a very clear sign he's no longer talking about this. "Where are the pickles?" 

Ayub smiles but it's fake, Rosh keeps her gaze on him and he feels it burning into his face. The happy lightness he's been feeling all week slowly begins to dissipate as they finish their food.

Simon was silly to think that it could last. 

~

Simon goes home later that night to a suspiciously quiet house and a heaviness in his body.

He's feeling pulled toward the backyard because he's gotten used to that routine but ends up in his bedroom, throwing his body down on the mattress. The springs squeak as he closes his eyes, letting out a sigh.

His head is pounding slightly, because he, Rosh and Ayub weren't quite the same after dinner. They went back to Ayub's to watch a movie but Simon could feel a shift in the air; there was a shift in him too, though, so maybe that's what it was. Maybe Rosh and Ayub weren't shooting each other secret glances. Maybe Ayub didn't tone down his playfulness just a little to offer more silent support and maybe Rosh wasn't giving him that face she does when she's quietly checking in. 

He plays over the night in his head, in such a different way with such a different demeanor than the other nights these past few weeks. Other nights, although he willed himself not to, he went over his and Wille's conversations and would try not to laugh.

Wille was just as awkward and bumbling as he was those first few times they talked but he was also teasing and kind and confident in a way he's not sure the boy realized. He doesn't know if he realizes the way he leans into Simon sometimes makes him catch his breath catch, the way his eyes not so discreetly look him over before landing on his lips.

He likes the way Wille looks at him, he really likes it, but it also scares him. It scares him because maybe if he keeps staring, he'll start to discover all the shit Simon desperately tries to hide. He thinks the boy next door has the power to strip him like that, which scares him. Scares the ever-living shit out of him.

It scares him that he's wondering right now if Wille's outside, waiting for him. He wonders just how long he'd wait if he thought Simon was gonna come. Maybe they should exchange numbers to avoid this as the weather gets colder and-

A sudden banging noise causes Simon to stiffen. 

His mind stops racing, his body taut as he sits up quietly. His bed squeaks but he hears it again a few seconds later, a big, loud, constant bang that sounds like it's coming from outside. 

Without even thinking, Simon gets up and quietly surveys the house.

It's late, he's sure Sara's sleeping in her room, the door is closed as usual, and his mom is working the night shift. He peeks his head around the corner to see Micke sleeping on his recliner, tv playing softly.

All is well in the house, his family is safe, so Simon shouldn't investigate. There's no reason to, but he's out the door before he can stop himself. 

His eyes take in his dead, messy backyard with only the lone rusty swing set. A part of him almost thinks maybe the slide or monkey bars finally fell off and that's what the banging could be. He steps forward to check when he hears it again, followed by a gruff "fuck!"

It's not exactly a shout, a yell, but Simon's able to hear it from a yard over. 

It sounds pained enough, angry enough, tortured enough, and for a split second, it scares Simon. The banging and the raised voice and the fact that his outside sanctuary is tainted by that. The sound of metal clattering against concrete screeches through the air and causes Simon to flinch, ears ringing. His head snaps over to the sound and that's when, lit by the backyard lights, he sees Wille in his backyard standing alone. 

His blonde hair is in disarray, like he was trying to pull the strands out one by one. He's standing in the middle of the cement looking lost, defeated, his chest heaving. The two garbage pails and their lids lay around him in disarray; it looks so odd and out of place in Erik's otherwise immaculate, picturesque yard. 

Simon's scared and concerned and he feels extra cold tonight even though the weather isn't any more frigid than usual.

He's finding that he can only stare at Wille, frozen in place, watching as the boy shakes his head and rubs at his chest frantically. It looks like he's seconds away from collapsing and Simon really hopes that's not the case because Erik really doesn't have a stitch of grass to break his fall. 

Finally, as if Wille can sense his stare, he looks up and their eyes meet.

Chapter Text

Wille knows he's wrong in thinking that if he hadn't fallen asleep on the couch and woke up screaming, Erik would've never mentioned his nightmares and reasons for running away from home.

The show had just been so dreadfully boring. His tired body was melting into the couch by the second, because it was so much more comfortable than the one at home that no one was allowed to sit on. The blanket was warm and fuzzy and wrapped around him so cozily, he felt his eyes getting heavier and heavier; for some reason, illogically, it also seemed unlikely for him to have a nightmare while napping - it had never happened before, usually only when he's in a deep, deep sleep.

He'd also still been so stupidly happy and giddy over Simon, over seeing him later because they see each other almost every night now, that he didn't expect his mother to appear. But that's the thing about her, what makes her so scary - she comes when he least expects it. When he thinks, for a split second, he can be happy.

He dreams of his 16th birthday.

It was just a few weeks after Erik had left and the loneliest he'd ever felt in his life. He didn't know it was possible to feel as terrible as he did.

He’d felt sadness before, depression even. He knew all too well how awful his anxiety could make him feel but in that moment, nothing seemed to compare to the vicious emptiness of feeling completely alone. He didn't blame Erik for leaving, he never could, but it made him so fucking sad. He felt abandoned even though Erik wasn't responsible for him. He felt like he was never gonna see his brother again.

It had never been so hard to breathe, before he eventually passed out and woke to his mother looming in the doorway. The two just stared at each other - cold, emotionless eyes meeting teary, puffy ones - and it made Wille wanna cry again. He just wanted to cry and cry and cry because Erik was gone, his mom hated him, and this was the worst birthday he ever had; he didn't even hear those words once - happy birthday - only had a few texts from people he went to school with.

His eyes filled with tears again but his mother's harsh tone made him pause, like his tears froze because of her very voice. 

"Are you done moping around?" 

Moping around, moping around, like him being in bed for days on end with matted hair, unbrushed teeth, and puffy eyes was moping around. 

"I'm not."

His words seemed like they should've sounded defiant but they only sounded shaky. Scared. They only sounded like he was mere seconds away from crumbling and falling back into a panic-induced slumber. Her laugh that followed was mocking, looking at her son with eyes that were in no way motherly. 

They never were. He was unsure if they could ever possess that quality he secretly longed to see.

"You're not? What do you call this then, Wilhelm? Normal?" 

When he didn't answer and began picking at his nails dried with blood, she spoke again. 

"He's not coming back, Wilhelm. He left us, left you, and he's never coming back, so enough of this nonsense. We'll just forget about him."

"But he's my brother, mama, and your son," he says, because even though he knew all the reasons Erik left and talked with him in detail about it, he still doesn't understand how she can be like this. "How can we just-"

"We can and we will!" 

Her voice was shrill and rang in his overly sensitive ears.

He should've known their conversation was about to hurt him by the way she looked at him, sneered at him, entered his room menacingly like she was a hardened criminal and not his very own mother.

The silence was tense. Wille was holding back tears with a massive lump in his throat. 

"He doesn't love us, Wilhelm," she says, before something switches in her gaze and becomes tighter, colder; it'd make him cry if tears weren't already behind his eyes. "He doesn't love you."

"Yes he does," he croaked out despite the tears, despite her looks, despite the way he's always wavered in her presence because he's terrified of her. 

Wilhelm isn't confident about anything in this world besides two facts: his mother wishes he was never born and Erik is the only person who loves him. 

"Really? And what makes you think that?" his mother asks, a small, mocking smile on her face. "Him leaving you here alone, without any way to contact him?"

It was all a part of Erik's plan to leave everything his parents had bought him behind and that included his phone. He had promised, though, promised, that once he got a new phone and number, he'd make sure Wille somehow got it. 

"That doesn't mean he doesn't-"

"And maybe, Wilhelm, if you helped more, he wouldn't have left."

Her words were harsh, her tone was cold and calculating, and even though he knew her insinuation was completely false, that he and Erik knew exactly why they both wanted to leave, it still hurt. Still killed him. Still made the tears building in his eyes break, because he knows how much pressure his older brother was always under. 

"We're always so worried about you and your... episodes that it leaves Erik feeling neglected. And unimportant," she continues, her body like a mass of coal beside him. "He is- was, the one meant to take over after me and your father so he was prepared for that. He knew that. But then you have to go and start having these fits and it completely-"

"Erik doesn't even want to be a lawyer!" he snaps, because her words are making his chest tight and 'having one of his fits' right now would look really bad. "Or a judge! He doesn't want anything to do with the firm or have his life planned out for him when he-"

"You, Wilhelm!" His mother yells, raising her voice and causing him to shrink in on himself. Shrink away from her completely because while his mother has never hit him before, it looks like she really wants to. “It's your fault Erik's gone! That he left and you'll never see him again."

"No," he says, shaking his head. Because that's not true. Not even a little. Erik's gonna text him as soon as he can. 

"You drove away Erik and now we're all gonna suffer."

Suffer because they're left with him. Suffer because why would they want Wille when they could have Erik? They'd rather have anyone else but Wille, but not Erik. Erik loves him. He wasn't why he left. 

"No," Wille repeats again, his head shaking faster, a familiar tightness squeezing at his chest. 

"You're selfish, Wille, and you don't know how to handle yourself. I see it, your father sees it, even Erik saw it," she continues, like he's not crying and actively fighting off a panic attack. "But you have to fix what you caused and step up now."

"No, no, no, no, no, no," Wille begins to mutter because he's not selfish, he tries not to be anyway, and he's learning how to handle himself. 

Erik told him that it's okay for him to feel like that, that it's not his fault, and that he can do things to feel better; he, like Erik, also has no desire to follow in the footsteps of his ancestors and take over the family business.

"Yes, Wilhelm," his mother says, her voice more harsh, more shrewd. All the agitation behind her words only makes the tightness in his chest worse. "Since your brother left because of you, you will fix it."

"No!" 

Erik didn't leave because of him. He didn't. Erik didn't-

"Wille?"

He wakes to Erik crouched beside him, his older brother's concerned face staring back at him. Wille's gaze is teary again, he's breathing hard, but he can still make out just how concerned Erik is. His gaze wanders around as he takes in the familiar living room - the crackling fire place, bright walls, the large flat screen tv playing that same boring fucking show; the smell of lavender, the new smell of home, comforts him in a way it never has before. 

"Wille, what happened?" 

Wille's stomach sinks because Erik's looking at him the same way he did the other night in his room, the same way he did when he was on his doorstep crying into his chest, and he's not ready. He can't. Not with his mother's words still ringing in his head. 

"Nothing," Wille tries, his words breaking as he shakes his head. "Nothing. I... it was just a dream, I think.” 

"It seemed like more than a dream," Erik remarks gently, wiping the stray tear rolling down his brother's cheek. He looks over Wille carefully, like he's completely dissecting the look on his face, the terror in his eyes, the hair sticking to his clammy forehead. “You know we need to talk about it. This happened the other night, too."

"Nothing happened the other night," Wille snaps, suddenly feeling very hot and sticky under the blanket. He kicks it off his body but barely feels relief when the slightly colder air hits him. "I told you, Erik, there's nothing to talk about."

The older man watches him for a few more seconds before getting up with a sigh. He brings his hand to his short blonde hair, plopping down beside Wille on the couch. He keeps his distance in the silence, the mangled, sweat-soaked blanket sprawled out between them. 

"So you're trying to tell me you're not having nightmares?" Erik finally asks, Wille flinching at the word itself. "This is the second time I've heard you, Wille, please don't sit here and lie to me. This isn't gonna work if we-"

"What's not gonna work? Me staying here?" Wille snaps again, on the defense, so he knows the shit about to leave his mouth is unreasonable. "You're gonna make me go fucking back?" 

"He left because of you."

"You drove away Erik and now we're all gonna suffer."

"He doesn't love you."

"Of course not," Erik says, his face morphing to outrage at even the suggestion, "but we have to-"

"But it's nothing, Erik," Wille continues, hearing the shakiness in his own voice. He's reeling from the nightmare, yes, but he's also not the best liar in the world (at least to the people he cares about). And Erik knows that, too, because he just turns his head to look over Wille's face - he's giving him a chance, another one, before they inevitably fight about it. Erik's been warning him that they need to have some conversations but-

"I just don't wanna fucking talk about it," Wille finally grumbles, the tightness he usually feels, what he knows he's putting off with anger, replaced by rage and fear. So much fear.

He doesn't wanna talk about his mom. He doesn't want to hear how weak he is. He doesn't want Erik to think twice about letting him stay here because maybe a part of him really did leave because of him. Some of it makes sense. Wille's problems, for a little bit anyway, really did consume and tear apart their household.

"I know but I have to know something," Erik begs, leaning into the couch as he looks at his brother. His gaze is soft despite the growing tension and it only makes Wille feel worse for doing this right now. "You show up here in the middle of the night without warning which I don't mind, you know that. That's why I gave you my address in the first place," Erik says, speaking almost as if he were to a young child; Wille supposes in this moment, he is. "But you came here looking pretty fucked up, Wille, you scared me if I'm being honest, the look in your eye… and now you're waking up screaming and having nightmares and I don't know what to..." 

Erik sighs again, runs his hand through his short blonde hair again and Wille knows now, for a fact, that he's tired of him. Tired of this. Regrets ever sending Wille his information and his mother was right all along. 

He's not sure how long they sit in silence but he knows it's long enough for a frustrated Erik to look over at him and shrug in disbelief. 

"You really have nothing to say back?"

Wille feels a lump form in his throat, angry tears burning his eyes. Erik bites the inside of his cheek, maybe not to scream or groan, and although it makes Wille hate himself, he's grateful. 

"I told you I don't wanna talk about it."

"And I told you I need some fucking answers! You've been here for almost two months!"

One month and 20 days but who's counting?

"What the fuck do you want me to say, Erik?" he finally yells, his battle against tears losing. He feels his cheeks become wet, slowly and then all at once. Pouring out of his eyes. “Do you really need me to spell it out for you? Do you really need me to remind you how much mama hates me?"

Erik's face drops, eyes swarming with sympathy, and he reaches out to touch his shoulder. 

"She doesn't hate you. No one does. She just-"

"You don't know, Erik! You don't fucking know!" Wille exclaims, shrugging off his brother's hand roughly. His eyes are quickly flooding with tears that run down his cheeks, chest tightening and his stomach in knots. "It got so much fucking worse after you left me. I... I wanted to-"

His words die off, caught in his throat he’s about to choke. He wanted to do so many things but he's not sure which he was about to admit to.

Call him sooner?

Run away?

Force Erik to come back and suffer with him?

End his own life for a split second? And then another split second? And then have the recurring thoughts and images come over and over and over again, he started to get scared and-

"I didn't leave you, Wille."

Erik's words rip him from his train of thought, looking over to his brother who's staring at him in confusion - had he said that part out loud?

"What?" 

Erik's confusion only seems to morph to sadness, maybe even pity, and that's the worst thing Wille could've seen in his brother's eyes. Almost worse than disappointment. 

"I didn't leave you, Wille, you know that right?" Erik asks, his voice dropping to speak in a soft, almost hushed tone. "We talked about it a lot before I left. I thought you understood why I had to go."

Because he couldn't take it anymore. He didn't want that life. But neither did Wille. Wille didn't wanna be there either.

“It was a tough decision, and I didn't take it lightly, but I-"

"You had to, I know," Wille says, wishing he never let that slip. "But it was just hard to deal with, Erik, and I had to get away too. I had to get away from her but that doesn't mean I wanna come here and- and talk about it. You know what she's like so why do I have to tell you?"

"Because you're staying with me without their permission, Wille. They're still your parents and you're underage, it doesn't matter that you're my brother," Erik says, because it's as simple as that. He has no doubt, especially now, that their mother would have him arrested for kidnapping in a second. "But if they're... if she's hurting you or if something happened, you have to-"

Wille jumps up from his spot on the couch and begins to pace.

The heat coming off the roaring fire would be comforting in any other instance but not right now. Not when his hand flies to its rightful place on his chest and it feels like he's about to pass out. He bites down on his cheek so he doesn't say it - "she wasn't hurting me but I wanted to hurt me" - and he knows he's gonna get a canker sore. He also knows his reaction is definitely suspicious, can feel Erik's gaze on him, but his mind, his body, everything about him right now, just riddled with anxiety and terror. 

Erik watches the scene before him and feels like he could cry. Is about to cry, if the lump growing in his throat is anything to go by. He knew the relationship between Wille and their parents, Wille and Kristina in particular, was rocky but never in a million years did he think she'd harm him - he would've never ever ever left him alone there if he did.

Every part of the older man feels like it's on fire, following Wille as he stands up and makes his way over to him. He reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder but lets it fall, remembering the way he shoved him off before; his taller frame is towering over his little brother so he takes a few steps back, puts his hands up innocently.

"Wille, you need to talk to me. Please."

"I fucking told you there's nothing to talk about!" Wille yelps and his voice breaks. His breaths come out choppy and ragged and his hand starts rubbing at his chest more frantically. "How many times do I have to say it? How many, Erik?"

"If she hurt you in any way, you have to-"

"She didn't." 

But that's a lie. She did. Not with her hands, not in the same way Simon's dad hurts him, but emotionally and mentally, she destroyed him. Broke him down. Made him feel so weak and alone and defeated, he didn't wanna be here anymore. 

"Then why are you-"

"Because you left me, Erik!"

"It's your fault Erik's gone! That he left and you'll never see him again."

"You drove away Erik and now we're all gonna suffer."

"He doesn't love you."

"You- you claimed to love me and then you left me there! With her!" Wille's completely sobbing now, choking out the words as he feels himself overheating in front of that fucking fire. "How the fuck could you just- just leave me there with her? You know she hates me."

"She doesn't hate you, she-"

"Fuck you! Yes she does!" 

Wille's not violent by nature, in fact, he's usually more scared and cowers, but he can't stop the way he advances toward Erik and pushes at his chest. The taller man barely moves, he's more shocked by it, but then Wille does it again. Hits and pushes at his brother's chest again and again and again before he's being grabbed by the wrists. 

"Wille, stop."

"It's your fault Erik's gone! That he left and you'll never see him again."

"You drove away Erik and now we're all gonna suffer."

"He doesn't love you."

"Fuck you, Erik. Fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck yo-"

Erik pulls his younger, crying brother into him, holding back tears of his own as Wille breaks down in front of him. As he leans into his comfort and cries into his chest for a few seconds, because Wille can't help but accept the love and physical touch that's given to him, before he starts shaking his head. Muttering incoherently into Erik's shirt through his wet, shaky voice.

"Wille, it's okay, you have to-"

"Fuck you."

The curse should sound vicious and biting but it only sounds heartbroken. It only sounds like a boy who, for the past six months, has desperately needed his brother and was living in hell. He pushes away from Erik and stares at him through his tears, his plan to not show him how weak he is failing miserably. 

"I know you're mad. And that I don't know what you went through when I was gone," Erik acknowledges, his face full of sympathy, voice gentle. "But I think it's also something we really need to talk about. You're missing school too, so if I have to enroll you somehow, I don't see how it'll work if we don't-"

It's too hot, way too hot, and Wille feels like he can't breathe; because if he can't even stay with Erik, how is he supposed to enroll him in school? That's how is mother is gonna find him. That's how all of this is gonna blow back up in his face. That's how he's gonna-

"Wille, where are you going?"

He doesn't realize he's flying out the back door until the cold air hits his face. It's the slightest bit of relief he's gotten since he opened his eyes. 

Wille's used to the feeling of loneliness, anxiety, shame. He's used to feeling that scary, indescribable sensation of nothing, when you find yourself just merely existing from day to day. When you start to come to the startling realization you don't even know how you're spending your days but weeks, months, are passing by - what Wille's not used to, is anger.

He's not used to when anxiety and fear make him feel such red hot rage, he doesn't know what to do with it all coursing viciously through his body. His hands fly to his hair and he pulls. Winces when he tugs harder than he's ever tugged before and lets out some sort of strangled yelp.

He catches sight of the garbage cans on the side of the house, not even feeling the cold underneath his socks as he charges toward them like they've personally offended him. The banging against the concrete, his fists against the metal, doesn't sound as loud through his clogged ears; maybe if Erik had some fucking grass, it wouldn't be making any noise at all and no one would hear him. 

He doesn't know in the moment if this even feels good - being destructive just because he feels fucked up and angry - but he knows when he feels a stare on him, a stare that's starting to become familiar and maybe that's how he senses it in the first place, he's embarrassed. 

Embarrassed and humbled and guilty, because the look on Simon's face just might be the worst thing he's ever seen.

~

In a turn of events, after Wille's calmed down and left the garbage pails alone, the blonde hops over the fence and joins Simon at his ledge; Simon hasn't sat with anyone but Sara on this ledge and while that doesn't seem like an important fact, it is to Simon.

Especially because, for a brief moment, Simon almost wanted to leave everything be and just go back inside. Pretend he didn't see anything, pretend they didn't make eye contact and pretend he didn't witness a deeply personal moment of Wille's where Simon was scared; he wasn't necessarily scared of Wille, he knows he's harmless, but he was scared by how his body reacted to seeing violence. 

Violence in his place of solitude.

"Wille," he said softly, although his feet were unable to move toward the fence. The banging was still ringing in his ears, causing his heart to race, and maybe Micke's uncharacteristically good behavior was actually doing more harm than good - he'd gone without incident for so long, he was forgetting how to deal with it. 

"Simon," Wille breathed, like Simon's face, his voice, his standing right before him, completely snapped him out of it. His hands were just a little extra red tonight and Simon has to wonder if it's from the way he was throwing and beating on the metal tins. "I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head because of course, of course, Wille knows without him even saying why he's shell-shocked right now. "I'm sorry," he repeats, his hand reaching up to rub at his chest in that way Simon is quickly becoming familiar with. "I didn't mean to..." 

His words die off and Simon only watches Wille, his expression broken. He can make out his wet eyes under the light. His tear-stained face and palpable anxiety that's coming off him in waves. 

"It's fine, Wille," he said, taking a step closer to the fence. Wille doesn’t move. "Are you okay?"

He thinks it's funny they ask each other that when it's obvious they're not; he thinks it's even funnier that each and every time, they lie to each other's faces and say that they are.

It was different this time, though, very different, because Wille just looked at him like he was trying to figure something out, maybe if he really wanted to answer or not, before he chuckled humorlessly and shook his head.

"No. No," he breathes, shaking his head. "Not really."

They haven't said anything of substance since. 

Simon told him to come over so they could sit down. They chuckled - real but quiet chuckles - when Wille almost fell climbing the fence haphazardly. He apologized periodically and Simon only silently shook his head because there was nothing to apologize for. 

Simon comes outside to brood quietly and suppress his feelings; if Wille chooses to smack his brother's garbage cans around, that’s his choice. 

Just like all the other nights, without the melancholy and mysterious vibe, he's not sure how long they sit together in silence. He just knows that, somehow, even with the tragedy, with how sad and dramatic their lives seem to be, it's comfortable.

They're able to sit side by side in a comfortable silence and nothing really feels that bad. Simon can say, at least for himself, that he stops thinking in these moments. 

He wishes the same for Wille.

"Me and Erik got into a fight," the boy says instead, pulling Simon from his thoughts.

He looks over to see Wille sitting there with a contemplative look on his face. His long blonde hair is messy, from his fingers running through it, yes, but also maybe sleep. His pale skin seems to glow under the moonlight, tear stains gone and replaced with some sort of boyish quality that makes Simon's heart jump.

He didn't think he had a type, has been around white Swedish boys all his life but this one in particular seems to do something for him. For his weak, gay, eager-but-terrified-to-love heart. 

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

Simon knows that sometimes just saying something aloud is enough, makes it real, but that doesn't mean you wanna go into detail. Wille bites the inside of his cheek and it looks like he could start crying; Simon really hopes that's not the case because, admittedly, he's not the best at dealing with crying people. 

"I- I don't even know what to say, where to start," Wille admits through a humorless chuckle. "I know I just, like, inserted myself into his life and have, really, no fucking right to be here but-"

"You guys are family," Simon says with a shake of his head. He very clearly believes (sometimes deeply wishes he didn't) that fucked up or not, they hurt you time and time again or not, family is family. You watch out for family, you protect your family and you do everything in your power to make sure they're okay. "Why shouldn’t you stay with him?"

Wille's quiet for a moment and Simon fears he overstepped before the blonde is speaking again.

"My parents, my- my mama in particular is really..." Simon can’t quite make out the expression on his face - something a little deeper than fear, than sadness - but it’s something strong enough for Wille to rub his chest again. "Let's just say she makes it very obvious that she likes Erik more than me. She always has. And then when he... when he left, things got..."

He licks over his cold lips, shaky breaths leaving the chapped skin. 

"Wille," Simon says, "you don't have to tell me this if you don't want t-"

"I do," Wille blurts out, shaking his head. "I- I do because I said a lot of fucked up shit to Erik tonight. Stuff that I didn't mean because, Jesus fuck, Simon, you don't know what my mother is like. The shit she says to me with no fucking regard. And, like, I knew why Erik wanted to leave. We talked about it for months before and I understood, but when he left... it was so fucking hard. She was so..."

He sucks in a harsh breath of cold air and Simon wants to reach out for him. Put a comforting touch on his shoulder or reach for his hand gently or something, but he doesn't know how that'll be perceived. If that’s the type of comfort Wille needs right now.

"He wants me to talk to him about it, about all the shit that happened because he claims if I stay here, he needs to know," Wille says, relaying the gist of what their fight was about he supposes. "But I... it’s so hard to talk about, Simon. I don't want Erik to hear about how..." Simon listens carefully, even leans in a tad because if the wind howled at that very moment, he would've never heard the words that left Wille's mouth. "How weak I was. How weak I am. She just fucking hates me, and I don't know why. I don't know what I ever did besides exist but I can't go back there. I can't... I can't fucking go back there."

He's speaking in between shaky breaths and suppressed sobs.

Simon's not sure he could stop himself if he tried from offering the slightest bit of support to Wille right now, because his words pull at something deep within his chest and he thinks Wille's so brave, way braver than him, for saying all of this right now.

Simon couldn't imagine, even though he wants to. Needs to. 

He presses his pajama-covered leg against Wille's sweatpants, suppressing a small smile when Wille not only doesn't tense up but leans further into the touch; he and Wille are the same in that regard, noted. 

"I know that I don't know you both that well," Simon begins, keeping his gaze on the blonde boy beside him. "But Erik seems like a really good person and brother. He's a good neighbor, has been since before you showed up," he says, bumping his shoulder with a small smile and feeling maybe a little too happy when Wille's lips quirk back. "But I don't think he'd ever think that of you, Wille. You're his little brother. He loves you."

When the blonde doesn't say anything, but keeps his leg pressed against Simon's like his life depends on it, he lets the silence and his words marinate before speaking a few minutes later. 

"When I told my sister Sara about you..." Simon says, not even thinking about how his words sound, "she already knew about you. Erik had told her." Wille's eyes soften and, although they've been a bit glassy all night, they seem to get a little wetter at his words. "I can't imagine how living without him was, I'm sure it was the hardest time of your life, but I don't think it was easy for him either. Being away from you. He talked a lot about you, Wille. He missed you just as much."

He has a feeling he's not talking because he's scared he might cry. Simon doesn't wanna make that happen but he also feels the need to speak. To really listen and respond to what Wille's been brave enough to share with him; and if he can do that without exposing himself completely, he'll like that even more. 

"Talking about shit is hard, I know it is," Simon says, his words barely above a whisper because that's probably as deep and personal as he can get regarding himself. "You don't have to tell him everything, you can just start slow. Say only what you feel comfortable with. But Erik's here and wants to listen. Erik won't judge you. Erik's your family, Wille, and the good kind. Let him be there for you.

Simon knows about the bad kind of family. Knows about it all too well. He also knows how much it would hurt if Sara and his mom didn't let him be there for them.

The expression on Wille's face when Simon looks up at him nearly makes the boy faint.

So many people stare at him but no one's ever looked at him like this. No one's ever looked at him in a way that made him feel like they were only looking at him as Simon - not the poor non-res, not the boy with an abusive dad and battered mom, just Simon.

Just Simon and that's enough.

Their bodies are close, but not too close. Their legs are the only parts touching until Wille's elbow just barely presses against Simon's arm; they're both in long-sleeves but can feel the warmth permeating through the others fabric.

The two boys have an obvious height difference - Simon noticed on their walk and was surprised Wille didn't make fun of him for it during their banter - and it's showing right now. Makes Simon's heart beat just a little faster at the fact. Simon usually doesn't like feeling small, it scares him, but right now, it's having the exact opposite effect.

He's looking up at Wille while the blonde is looking down, his gaze that held unwavering eye contact slipping down to his lips. It was brief, so brief that Simon probably shouldn't have caught it but he did. It causes him to lick over them, his pink tongue peeking out of his mouth and the air changes dramatically between them.

Crackling with something thick and addicting and so ill-timed, Simon's about to speak before Wille breaks the trance between them. 

"You talk to your sister about me?"

A moment of silence passes between the boys, Simon blinking at Wille and then blinking again because-

"...That's what you fucking got from my monologue?" 

There's outrage in his voice but it's also twinged with amusement. Simon shakes his head in disbelief as Wille's chuckle rings through the air. 

"I'm sorry," he says, with a smile way too big for a genuine apology. "Your- your words really did help me, I was stunned into silence so I wouldn't start fucking crying, but I... my brain was stuck on that for some reason."

"For some reason," Simon mimics with a roll of his eyes, biting back a smile way too big to be properly mocking. He bites down a little harder when he catches the faint blush on Wille's cheeks. 

The two boys sit there, one leg and one arm pressed together. It's something so small but so comforting. Has both of them not even wanting to breathe the wrong way to mess up the feeling of chaste, sweet, warm comfort. 

"Thank you for listening to me, Simon," Wille whispers, like he only wants it between them even though no one else is around; he bets no one else is even outside on this block right now. "You really helped me, tonight. Just knowing I could come out here and... and see you. Talk to you. I feel comfortable with you. And safe."

It's another brave admission that Simon envies Wille for. How he can just express what he feels unabashedly, simply. How he can talk about his problems and what's bothering him without feeling like a burden to those around him.

Simon wishes he could admit that he feels the same way.

"I'm happy I was able to help," Simon says instead, before knocking their elbows again. "Happy you did actually hear some of my insightful advice before you got distracted." 

Simon has to look away when Wille chuckles, hiding his smile before his eyes widen upon noticing Wille's not wearing any shoes.

"Wille, what the fuck? You're only wearing socks!"

The blonde looks down and seems to take in the sight, twiddling his sock-covered feet around. It surprises Simon in no way that they match; he doesn't think he owns one pair of matching socks. 

"I thought my feet seemed extra cold tonight."

Simon's laugh echoes through the backyard followed by Wille's and, for the first time, it's nice to be filled with sounds other than howling winds and muffled screams from inside the house.

~

Erik's not surprised that, despite the way he stormed out, Wille comes back in laughing hours later.

He didn't mean to be a stalker spy (again) but he had to look out ever so often, because having Wille out of his sight now, but especially after that fight, was hard. 

He knew a lot of that discussion was just their high-tempered emotion. It was Erik being frustrated and Wille being frustrated right back. It was them fearing for their future they know may be tentative. It was both of them dealing with the elephant in the room that they were separated for six months and way more affected by it then they acknowledged to the other. 

Wille finds him at the table in the kitchen.

The two boys don't say a word but look at each other carefully. Erik checks Wille's face for tears and Wille checks Erik's for any lasting signs of anger or bitterness - being punched over and over in the chest isn't exactly the easiest to forgive and forget; the older man looks over his brother before landing on his feet.

"Wille," he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "Please don't tell me you only went outside in socks."

"I wasn't exactly in the right frame of mind to remember shoes."

Erik isn't sure if he wants to laugh or start crying, watching Wille's face closely. It's actually crazy to Erik how different the boy's demeanor is now, how all the pent up anger and anxiety is gone and replaced with a slightly guilty, shameful look - but his brother has nothing to feel guilty about.

He's about to tell him so before Wille speaks.

"I'm sorry for a lot of what I said," Wille says, the words seemingly just blurting out of him. "I- I'm not sorry for not feeling ready to talk about it, because talking about stuff is hard for me, Erik, and I know you don't really struggle with that... but I am sorry for saying that you left me. And cursing you out. And punching you in the chest. Several times."

Erik knows it's not a laughing matter, not a conversation or a fight they should be laughing about, but his lips quirk in amusement and Wille's do the same before speaking again. 

”I know we have to talk about some things so I will, I'll tell you some stuff. But not all of it. If- if we could talk about things slowly, I think that... I think that would be better. Easier for me."

Erik could just about cry hearing his brother speak like this. He takes his breaths in between words and his eyes are bouncing around Erik and the dark walls of the kitchen but he said it. He talked to him. He let him know what he feels comfortable with and did it firmly but not angrily; Erik wishes they weren't sitting across from each other so he could hug him. 

"I know talking about stuff is hard, Wille, and I shouldn't have made it seem like I was forcing you. I'm sorry," Erik says, knocking his little brothers (frozen) foot under the table. "I just wanted to make sure you were safe. That if anything happened, I knew about it so you definitely wouldn't have to go back."

Those words make Wille freeze, his face drop. It turns the newly somewhat confident and strong Wille into a scared little boy and it breaks Erik's heart.

"I can't go back there, Erik." His words are barely above a whisper. "She... she was so bad. Worse than usual. She kept saying you didn't love us. Didn't care about me. That you left because of me and my... episodes." Erik had a terrible, sinking feeling that's where Wille's mind was going; he shouldn't have been surprised that it was their own fucking mother feeding it to him. "I know that's not true, though," Wille says before the older could assure him another time. "I really do know that. I was just... I was upset before."

"I know," he says, a soft smile on his face. "We talked a lot about it and I know it was hard. It was really hard leaving without you."

Erik truly considered taking Wille in the middle of the night and changing their names. It seemed too fantastical to work, though.

Their parents were too powerful and they had such a tight hold over them, over Wille and had made him so scared, that it seemed like it would've ended up doing more harm than good.

Wille's eyes flood with tears and Erik can't stop himself from getting up and making his way around the kitchen table. He plops down in the seat next to Wille and puts an arm around his brother, grateful he doesn't start crying again. 

"We can't fight like that anymore," Erik says after a few moments, Wille huddled into his arm. "No more yelling, no more forcing the other to talk about things, and no more punching in the chest. We can only meet each other in the middle, okay?"

Wille pulls back and wipes at his wet face. He laughs a little as he looks at Erik and nods. 

"Yes. Yes, that's fair," Wille says, before looking down at Erik's chest. "I'm sorry again for..." He reaches out and pats him softly, awkwardly, and Erik can't stop the loud laugh that leaves his mouth. 

"Also!" Erik begins, swatting Wille's hand away playfully. "No more talking shit about me to your boyfriend out there. I'll have you know I've known Simon longer than you."

His brother has his Simon smile, his Simon eyes, his Simon voice and, most notably, most frequently, his Simon blush - all four seem to be in the room with them right now.

"Shut up," he mumbles, pushing away from him. "He's not my boyfriend."

"Interesting. You didn't deny talking shit."

Wille rolls his eyes and bites back a smile, Erik watching his brother with a sense of pride.

He knows a lot of this was Wille, that Wille's always been strong and has dealt with so much shit in his short life, but he's also grateful that, for maybe the first time in his life, he also has a friend. 

~

It takes a few days but Wille ends up telling Erik about his nightmares.

He tells him that they're usually more memories, more his mother's biting words and icy looks than made up scenarios or monsters under the bed. Erik takes the information in stride and is as supportive and kind as always. Wille still feels embarrassed to be having something like nightmares at his age - he feels too old to be having them - but Erik told him just because you get older doesn't mean you can't have bad dreams. 

They also talk about the possibility of Wille starting school somewhere.

Erik admits that he doesn't know how they'll really pull that off without him having any type of guardianship or his old papers but that maybe he can talk to the headmistress at Hillerska; she knows him, knows their family, and maybe won't be as suspicious if Erik talks to her personally. 

"Hillerska?" Wille sneers, not able to keep the disgust to himself. "Your stupid boarding school? That's over here?" 

Wille wanted to die during the three years Erik had gone to that school. It wasn't as bad as his absence this time around, because Wille was younger, more oblivious, and Erik had come home every weekend and for holidays.

He knew, though, that it was a ridiculously posh school for the rich and elite - and even though he was a part of that demographic, he couldn't fucking stand them.

"It's not that bad, Wille," Erik reasoned. But Erik loved it there. Erik can fit in. Erik can somehow seamlessly fit in with any group of people and exist perfectly. 

"It literally sounds miserable, Erik, why can't I just go to a public school around here?" Wille whined, having fought his parents tooth and nail to go to a public school in Stockholm. "I hate rich kids."

"We're rich kids, little bro, don't forget that now." Wille sucks his lips in, a humbled expression that makes Erik smirk. "Also... I think you'd be very interested in a particular student who goes there."

Wille's brows pull together at his brother's words, watching the man suspiciously. 

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean?" Erik counters, "Who have you been interested in to a severe degree since you moved in and spied out the window like a peeping To-"

"Okay!" Wille yelps, Erik doing nothing to hold back his laugh. "Okay! I get it!"

Except... he really doesn't? Does Simon go to Hillerska? Why would he go there? That doesn't seem like the type of school he'd want to attend. 

"Him and Sara go there on a scholarship," Erik says, answering his silent questions; he doesn't even have to say who him is. "They don't live there, though. Take the bus every morning."

Wille sits there and silently takes in this information. He tries not to feel too excited, too intrigued, but the smile (the Simon smile) pulling at his lips will expose him every time. 

"How's Hillerska seeming now?" Erik asks. Wille doesn’t even have to look at his brother to know he’s smirking.

~

"So," Wille says one night, him and Simon at their usual spot at the fence. They're in their own yards tonight, Wille's shoes making the cold much more bearable. "How do you like your school?"

Simon raises his eyebrow at the question, having no business looking so cute when he's confused. 

"Hillerska?" he asks, more so grimaces, and Wille feels oddly proud that he just knew that a school like that wasn't Simon's preference. "It's fine, I guess. Kind of fucking stupid because it's mostly elitist assholes." Wille can't hold back his laughter, a pretty little smile creeping on Simon's face. "Why do you ask?"

"Me and Erik were talking about it the other day. He- I'm missing a lot of school so we're trying to figure out where I can go without, you know, my parents really finding out," Wille explains, just the thought making him anxious. "Erik knows the headmistress so it seems like it'd be easy, but yeah... he told me you and Sara go there."

He's not pushing Simon for an explanation, he's really not, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't interested in why he went there. If it was because of more than just the scholarship. 

"We do," Simon confirms with a nod. "It's fine there, I guess, but you're not about to hear me give it a glowing recommendation either."

"No?" Wille hums, cocking his head to the side. "You seem to love it."

"I love getting to be in the choir but that's about it."

"Oh? You like to sing?"

It's funny the things he learns about Simon. What little facts and tidbits he'll slip into conversations and leave Wille wanting to know more about; he makes a note in his head to look for a music themed mug in Erik's collection.

The boy in front of him looks almost shy, caught off guard that he blurted that out about himself. Wille smiles softly at him, hoping it comes off as appreciative and encouraging. 

I want to know things about you, Simon, he thinks, I think I might want to know everything about you.

"I do, yeah," Simon admits, seeming to take a vast interest in the long sleeves of his purple hoodie. Wille thinks it's so endearingly cute how they hang past his hands. 

"Sing me something."

Simon's laugh rings free into the crisp evening air and Wille begins to wonder how he didn't assume he was a singer; his laugh is pretty, melodic. He thinks he might pass out if he ever hears him sing. 

"No fucking shot."

"Oh c'mon, Simon," Wille whines, swatting him softly over the fence. "Don't make me sing instead."

"I feel like you're a terrible singer."

"Whatever happened to the funky race? A generation lost in pace..."

"Oh no," Simon giggles, a smile spreading across his face at Wille's horribly tone-deaf singing. 

"Wasn't life supposed to be more than this?"

Simon whacks him playfully over the fence, sweater-covered fingers grazing his chest. 

"Please stop," Simon whines, the blonde just smiling like an idiot. 

"Then you sing it!"

"No!"

Their eyes are glinted with amusement, with a softness they can't quite pinpoint.

Everything's calm and sweet and, dare Wille say, progressing after the fight with Erik. Playful touching and coy little looks between him and Simon that have his heart jumping in his chest. Their eyes linger more, land on the others lips when they laugh or when a tongue peeks out to wet them in the cold air.

"Let go off my hand and it will, slip on the sand if you don't..."

"I think you missed a line," Simon says dryly, Wille rolling his eyes and flipping him off. 

"Give me the chance to break down the walls of attitude! I ask nothing of you... not even your gra-"

Just as he was about to nail the high note, Simon's laughter and pleas to stop in the background, his back door flying open causes both of them to jump.

They both turn to see Sara standing in the doorway, pajamas and slippers on, gaze immediately falling on them. It feels a little awkward, like she'd caught them doing something intimate even though they were just giggling and singing. 

"Sara," Simon says, his voice still twinged with light, with happiness; Wille doesn't have to look at him to know there's a smile on his face. "Are you okay?"

Wille doesn't know Sara, hasn't talked to her much less even seen her, he thinks, but he can somehow just tell she isn't. There's a blank, scared look on her face that makes his stomach sink. It only gets worse when he notices Simon tense, the hand that was on the fence between them quickly dropping. 

"Come inside, Simon," Sara says softly. Wille's surprised he even hears her with how quietly she said it. "Please."

The curly-haired boy spares a glance back at Wille, the happy expression where his eyes were glinted with fond amusement gone; now, his eyes are the same haunting, expressionless ones he first saw over this fence.

"I'll see you later, Wille."

Simon's gone before he can even respond. Sara looks between them from the doorway for a few seconds, her gaze lingering on Wille before she follows her brother into the house. 

It's only a few hours later, after almost three weeks of silence, that Wille and Erik hear yelling next door again.

Chapter Text

Simon knew his life for the past few weeks was just the calm before the inevitable storm and yet, it still hurt when it was ripped away from him. It now made living life - his typical, day to day life of walking on eggshells and holding his breath - that much harder to accept.

The taste of normalcy was heartbreaking. The taste of what his life could be like without all the drama and fear, fights and bruises, had left him feeling hopeful in way he hadn't felt in a while, maybe ever before. He became so stupidly used to the idea that he could be a normal teenager, the kind he moved here to be, that he forgot who he really is.

He doesn't have the normal house or the normal parents or the normal problems of a 16-year-old boy. He goes to his not so normal school with his sister where they're the poor siblings, he hangs out with his friends who he has to keep secrets from or else they'll be terrified for him, and he gets butterflies from the boy next door who, while he might have some shit too, doesn't seem nearly as damaged as Simon. 

Wille's able to talk about his emotions so bravely, seemed to welcome it even. Wille could still so outwardly express the way he feels about people - "You really helped me, tonight. Just knowing I could come out here and see you. Talk to you. I feel comfortable with you. And safe."  He can make him feel important, makes an effort to get to know Simon and that's the most terrifying thing for a person like him. 

Because then he'll really see it - the baggage he comes with. Not just his family (because he already knows that, knew before they even spoke) but the emotional baggage. How Simon will do anything in his power to not be vulnerable, let people see him, run from his emotions, and for good reason he thinks; if he dwelled on everything he was feeling, he's not sure he would ever stop crying.

It was nice while it lasted, though, living in that fantasy. Simon was really beginning to like it, maybe a little too much, so perhaps the timing was actually good. 

It was just past midnight and Micke was passed out somewhere in the living room. He came home drunk that night Sara pulled Simon in from the backyard and hasn't been sober since; the fight that broke out tonight was over something as cliché as dinner being cold. Linda was working the night shift so Sara and Simon were responsible for making food.

They took turns stirring the spaghetti and seasoning the jar sauce, Sara smacking Simon playfully, carefully, when he almost spilt the whole salt shaker in the pot. They ate together on the couch, much to Sara's dismay, and it'd been a relatively peaceful evening until Micke stumbled through the door demanding his dinner.

Simon had been in the bathroom as Sara quietly heated up the food, one minute humming It Takes a Fool to Remain Sane under his breath and the next, hearing Sara's alarmed yelp and glass clattering. He ran out with his heart racing, never quite sure of the sight he was gonna see, and was relieved when he saw Sara was, while stiff and looking down at the floor, unharmed. Their dad was over on the couch, a broken bowl and a pile of spaghetti in front of him. 

"What the fuck?" Simon sneered, making his way into the room. Sara just stood and stared at the mess like she had caused it, everything about her body language uncomfortable. 

"Was fucking cold," he slurred, as if that's a good enough reason. "How hard could heating it up be, Sara? I worked all day and you can't put shit in the microwave?"  

Worked all day, Simon wants to scoff, how do you work all day when you’re this shit faced?

"I'm sorry, dad, I thought it'd be-"

"We were in school all day," Simon says, because Sara will take it and he can't see that. Sara will say something he takes the wrong way and she'll get in trouble. Simon just can't have that, not ever. "If it's not hot enough, heat it up yourself." 

Both kids knew just by the breath their father took that it was gonna get ugly. Simon shot Sara a side-eye and she shook her head, the younger mumbling to please just go in her room now; by some fucking miracle, after a few moments and her eyes glossing over, she did. 

Simon heard a knock at his door ripping him from the memory before Sara entered, her face immediately crumbling when her eyes fall to his cut up hand. Micke threw his beer bottle before rushing toward Simon, the glass shattering against the wall and cutting his skin; there's no other visible bruises though, his shirt will always cover his back, and that's a win in his book.

Less questions and looks of pity.

"Hi."

Simon can tell just from his sister's voice that she feels guilty. He smiles gently at her, beckoning her over to his bed. She closes his door gently before making her way over, plopping down on his mattress with a sigh. They sit side by side on his small twin bed, backs against the wall with his blanket under them; he knows that she catches the little teddy bear shoved in the corner, because Sara catches everything, but she doesn't comment on it. 

His sister doesn't speak just to speak - she usually has something important or factual to say, occasionally teasing and at Simon's expense. They sit there in the silence of their melancholy household, Sara letting her head drop to Simon's shoulder. 

"I'm sorry." 

Her words are barely above a whisper but they still make Simon's chest hurt. 

"Sara," Simon says warningly.

They've been dealing with this long enough to know that they don't have to apologize to each other about anything regarding their father. Or the choices they make to escape his wrath. 

"I know," Sara says before he can begin, "but I... I shouldn't let you handle it alone. We shouldn't even say anything to him in the first place." 

Simon knows her words are partially correct, because Simon does purposely mouth off to take heat off Sara, but it's also unfair. It's fucking bullshit. It makes Simon so mad when he really thinks about it that all the pain and bruises seem worth it. 

"Fuck that," Simon says. "He's an asshole and was yelling at you."

"So, what?" she snaps, whipping her head off his shoulder to look at him. "You think it's better that he hits you? That's stupid, Simon." Her voice shakes and he has to bite down on his lip so he doesn't sigh, cry, scream, he doesn’t really know anymore. He can feel her gaze on him again, looking over his hand before taking it in hers. "Did you clean this?"

"Yes."

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"No.”

His back's gonna hurt like a motherfucker tomorrow but, for now, it's okay. Technically not a lie.

They lapse back into silence and whether it's because there's nothing else to say or Sara doesn't believe him, he's not sure. Simon just knows that he welcomes it, finds it comforting, although it's not as nice as the one he gets outside. With the howling winds, occasional bark of a dog, and the sweet, teasing, horrendous singing voice of the next door neighbor. 

His lips would pull into a smile if he didn't know that whatever all that was, whatever all it is, can't go on anymore. It was just a fleeting look into what could be, what Simon's missing out on, what Simon would greedily take if he wasn't such a broken mess.

"Is that the song you and Wilhelm were singing the other night?"

He didn't even realize he was humming again until he hears his sister's accusatory tone; his eyes meet Sara's who’s watching him with that knowing look she always seems to wear, her lips just barely quirked into a smirk. 

"No."

Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You never lie to a sibling who always knows when you're lying.

"I think it is," she says, her voice thick with sarcasm, a heavy insinuation that makes Simon’s heart hurt.  

"I think you're wrong."

"I think you like the neighbor and won't admit it."

Him and Sara don't talk boys and that's not about to change. Simon can't bear to talk about Wille to anyone - not Sara, not Rosh, not Ayub - because then that'll make it real. Then he'll have spoken to someone about the boy he's quickly grown fond of, grown used to, but has to let go anyway. 

“You’re wrong, Sara, just drop it.” 

He doesn’t mean to be short, Sara doesn’t deserve that, but all the realizations since Micke’s relapse have been hurting him; they’ve really been hurting him and so have the bruises covering his body.

”Simon…” Sara says softly, quietly, an uncharacteristically sympathetic look in her eye. “You’re out there every night with him. How are you gonna try to say you don’t-“ 

“I’m not out there right now, am I?” 

“Not now, but probably later.” 

He rolls his eyes because he hasn’t been out there in days.

A part of him wished he and Wille had exchange phone numbers so he could tell him what was happening, even though he already knew, already heard it. He thinks he just wants to talk to the boy all the time and that's the problem.

"Not later," Simon disagrees; he only seeks the comfort of the cold directly after the incident, not in the eerily calm aftermath. "I don't know if it's a good idea for us to keep..." he looks for the right word to use under his sisters knowing stare. He doesn't even know why he bothers trying to be discrete with her. "...hanging out," he settles on, Sara scoffing beside him. 

She doesn't say anything after that for a while, long enough for Simon to get lost in thought about his life and how secretly sad it makes him. Long enough for him to think Sara has (hopefully) dropped the idea of him and Wille entirely until she speaks from beside him. 

"You're lucky to have made a friend so easily." Simon feels an ache in his chest at her words for more than one reason, turning to look at his sister. "I didn't mean to," she begins, and Simon has a funny feeling he's about to be told he was spied on yet again. "But I saw you guys outside a few times. Just looked out the window to make sure everything was okay and you guys seemed... really good together. As friends, even, but maybe more. I haven't seen you laugh or smile like that in a really long time."

Simon wants to argue that of course she hasn't, because they don't laugh or smile that often at school; of course with each other but that's it. He wants to argue that he smiles and laughs with Ayub and Rosh but they both know it's not in the same way it is with Wille. He just wishes they weren't even talking about this, giving him hope. He just wishes he didn't feel so messed up inside about everything. 

"It's not like that, Sara. We both just... like going outside."

It sounds fucking lame even to his own ears. Great.

"You like spending your nights in the freezing cold and staring at each others lips?"

The look he gives her must look especially defeated because her face drops ever so slightly, frowning. She puts her head back down on his shoulder, poking at his hand with her pointer finger; she purposely avoids the cut up parts and band-aid. 

"All I'm saying is there's nothing wrong with you having a friend, Simon. You deserve one, more than anyone."

Her words could make him cry. He thinks if he wasn't so broken, wasn't so fucked up, he would feel tears burning behind his eyes. 

"Not more than you," he says, voice barely above a whisper; if he could wish for anything in this world, even for their father to stop hurting him, it'd be for Sara to find a lifelong best friend who loves her as much as he does. She stays quiet because that's what she does, especially when the conversation is turned on her, and that's something he can't blame her for.

"You're my best friend so I'm good," she says, and he's just able to tell his older sister is smiling. "But you and Wille are cute. You shouldn't be scared to be friends with him."

But that's exactly what he's scared of. Maybe not the friends part all that much but how much he wants to be more than that. How Wille looks at him like he doesn't just wanna be friends with him, either.

That's not a possibility, though, Simon thinks. As much as he really really wants it to be.

~

Given the nature of their first unofficial meeting (Simon catching him peeping out the window) and the constant reminder of his stalker-like behavior (courtesy of his brother and Simon, himself) Wille is more mindful when looking out into the neighbor's backyard. It's come to be almost like second nature when night falls, lingering by the window or back door for any hint of curls.

The yelling has happened nearly every night now, a contrast to the quiet serenity that overtook their block for weeks, and Wille can only imagine what it's like for Simon inside that house. It makes him sick with worry to think about, even sicker that he hasn't seen or talked to Simon in days. He doesn't know why they didn't exchange phone numbers. 

He'd found the perfect music mug shoved in the back of Erik's cabinet resembling a piano with music notes but it's just sitting in the dish rack, patiently waiting to be used; of course, his older brother notices that Wille's yet to put it away after washing it. 

"So," Erik says over dinner, nosy eyes full of curiosity. When his gaze moves over to the sink, Wille already knows where this is going. "Any particular reason you haven't used that mug yet? I didn't even know I owned that."

"No? You seem to be an avid mug collector."  

It's a distraction at best and they both know it but Erik still smirks. Still lets the silence linger between them because, as hard as it is, he's trying to be better at Wille coming to him first. He likes bothering him about his crush on the next door neighbor, and it's all innocent, but after their argument, they're both really trying. Erik also can't help but feel concerned because it's hard not to notice Wille hasn't been escaping out into the cold as much this week.

After a few moments of quiet chewing and utensils scraping on cheap plates, much to the older man's surprise (because perhaps a therapeutic lapse of silence really does work and isn't just meant to be awkward as fuck), Wille speaks. He doesn't know why he blurts the words out but he knows he can't keep his concern to himself any longer. 

"I picked that mug for Simon. Because he likes singing."

He expects Erik to smirk again, or point out that it's a piano mug and not a microphone, but he only nods his head thoughtfully. "Okay."

"But..." Wille finds himself saying, continuing, because holy fuck is he so concerned. "I don't know. I haven't seen him in a few days, like he hasn't been outside ever even though his dad has been..." He doesn't wanna utter the words because it scares him, because he doesn't wanna make it seem like he's gossiping even though he and Erik know very well what Micke Eriksson has been up to. "I don't know, Erik, I'm just really scared. And I feel bad. What if me joining him outside every time has, like, made him not wanna go? I don't wanna be the reason he suffers inside and-"

"If that were the case, Wille, I think Simon would tell you," Erik says softly, shaking his head, because although his neighbor is quiet, he also doesn't take any shit. "I mean, fuck, the kid called you out for spying on him the first time you talked, he's obviously not shy or scared," his brother reasons, Wille smiling slightly as he rolls his eyes because wow he'll really never live that down; the look Erik gives him he's seen before, a soft look he wears when he's being completely honest. "You can't think it's you when it could be anything. It's getting colder out, he wants to be with Sara, maybe he's going on walks, you won't know until you talk to him, right?"

Wille knows his brother is right, that he doesn't really know if he's the reason Simon hasn't been outside, but he can't help but feel suspicious. He kind of, unintentionally, started inviting himself out there with him and then it kind of stuck - but that didn't mean Simon wanted him intruding on his personal quiet time every night.  

"I don't know when that'll be, though," Wille says and this time, the whine in his voice makes Erik smirk. "It's almost been a week. I wish I, like, at least had his number or something so I could know for sure if everything's-" Through the cracked open window (Erik almost burnt dinner before), they hear the undeniable squeaking of the neighbor's back screen door.

Wille freezes in his chair as Erik's eyes widen, brows shooting up almost playfully. 

"Look at that," he hums, voice filled with the slightest hint of amusement. "There's your chance..." he says, eyes moving over to the sink again. "...to get that fucking cup out of this kitchen finally and full of hot chocolate!"

"Erik, shut up!" Wille yelps, his hands flying out as if to cover his brother's smile, like he's not talking way louder than him. "The window is open!"

The window is open but the blinds are closed - the blinds are always closed - so no one besides Erik can see Wille frantically moving about the kitchen. He got making his tea and hot chocolate down to a perfect science, preparing them both in record time, but couldn't stop the anxiety from coursing through his body as he paced around frantically.

Going outside now felt weird. Felt way more presumptuous and intrusive than the first time he did it, if that's even possible; truthfully, he didn't even wanna go because he felt so fucking weird but his pride, his humility, could never outweigh the genuine concern he felt for Simon. He wasn't used to Erik being there when he walked out with two steaming mugs in hand and a palpable nervousness that came from seeing your crush but he didn't like it.

Not one bit.

He didn't like Erik witnessing that embarrassing moment and he didn't like how, as he approached Simon outside, he just knew something was wrong. Saw his purple sweatshirt with the hood up and immediately felt like the curls he wants to run his fingers through being covered was actually some sort of bad omen. 

~

Simon was in pain for a lot of reasons tonight but these three felt like the worst: Wille was before him holding their hot drinks, one of the mugs had music notes all over it, and the blonde looked especially beautiful when he was nervous (so much like the first night they met). His hair was slightly roused, cheeks already pink, and his tooth was sunk in his bottom lip as he stared at him with that sweet look he always wears.

They both just stared at each other for a few moments, for some reason it feeling weirdly surreal after not seeing each other like this for only a few days. Simon didn't know if it was just because he felt so defeated and sad with life or if something was wrong with Wille, too, for the energy to be so off tonight. But Wille's eyes are still so soft and kind. He still carries himself in such a way that makes Simon wish this could work. His voice is gentle, maybe even a little shaky, and it'll make everything about this so much harder. 

"Hi."

Simon licks over his lips, all too aware of the way his hood is blocking most of his face. 

"Hey."

The tension is thick and not like it usually is. Not like the usual your crush is in front of you, we're looking at each others lips, let's keep touching arms and not move an inch type tension. It was like an impending cloud of doom, one that could be seen in Simon's eyes, if he weren't such a coward and showed them to Wille. The blonde's holding the mugs tightly, probably tighter than needed, mouth opening and then closing like he doesn't know what to say.

He finally settles on-

"How are you?"

It's different than their usual are you okay. The idea is the same, though, he's still checking in, like he always does. Simon's grateful his face is covered because he knows it's obvious he's about to lie.

"I'm okay. How are you?"

Wille smiles softly and Simon wants to crumble. Tell himself never mind and that maybe this could work. Maybe Wille won't mind him being broken. Maybe he'll fix him the way everyone else wants to, the idea Simon, himself, has fucking detested more than his father ruining him - but the bruises littering his body, the way he feels ready to throw up at someone seeing him that fragile, that weak, that vulnerable, is a constant reminder that it won't, not ever.

Because Simon's always taken care of himself. That's not about to change just because a cute boy moved in next door and made him feel something other than pain.

"I'm good," Wille says, before that smile falters after a few seconds and he shakes his head - honest to a fault, as always, in a way that makes Simon's heart somehow mend and bleed out all at the same time. "Actually, I- I haven't been good," the blonde admits. "I mean, I have, everything's good with me and Erik again but I'm just..."

Wille's looking at him like he wants him to say something, anything, but everything just hurts too much. Simon's cold hands because Wille's still holding his steaming mug. His back because his dad's swinging fists and harsh slam on the walls doesn't just go away in a day. The knowledge that he has to let this go.

"I know it's none of my business," Wille finally says after a few moments, seemingly realizing he's not gonna talk. "But are you okay? Really okay? Because if you're not, you can always talk to me and-"

"Yes," Simon blurts out, his voice harsher than intended. He takes in a deep breath, pulling his sweatshirt tighter around him, around his face. Wille's staring at him like he doesn't believe a word out of his mouth. "Sorry," he mutters, voice considerably softer, lower. "But yes, Wille, I'm fine. Don't worry."

It's not your place, he wants to say, It's not your place to worry and no one's been worried for the past four years but the words don't come out. They're trapped in his throat, trapped because of the wide-eyed blonde boy with two mugs and the most genuine concern swarming in his gaze. 

The silence between them is usually comfortable, usually safe. Almost since the moment they met, the silence somehow managed to never be awkward even though they were strangers; now, after knowing each other a little more, after sharing moments of chaste touches and whispered confessions, it feels tense. Awkward.

It feels like something that was so naturally there and good and blossoming is spoiling because life is complicated. There's too much hurt in their young lives, in Simon's life, to have something like this. 

"Do you want your hot chocolate?"

Wille tries a gentle smile, a soft tone. It would work if Simon didn't spend these past few days berating himself to get over this. 

"I'm not thirsty."

But they didn't drink their drinks at night over this fence because they were thirsty. They both know that. They didn't even drink them to stay warm. They both know that and maybe that's why it's so hard for Simon to say it. Why Wille takes a step back like he was injured, smacked right in the chest, his face twisting in confusion. His wide, soft eyes become more frantic, trying to search over Simon's hood covered face but finding nothing. 

Simon knows after all these years how to hide his emotions and if Wille was gonna cause him to break that way too, he wore the hoodie just in case. 

The wind howls around them, neither boy speaking. Simon knows Wille's looking at him, can feel his gaze, but he can't bear to look back, so he looks at his hands. At the steam coming from their drinks and the cute music-theme mug that feels very mocking right now. Simon's not sure how long they're quiet for but it's enough time to count 28 music notes and 13 piano tiles around the side and handle. 

He expects Wille to speak again, at some point, because he's obviously not, can't, but he doesn't expect the words that leave him.

"I'm sorry," he says thoughtfully, as if he's been reflecting in their long span of silence and tension. "I- I know I kind of, like, started inviting myself out here with all of this," he says, shaking the mugs in his hand slightly. "Made it all a thing even when it wasn't supposed to be, and you probably liked that alone time out here in the first place." The doubt and genuine sorrow in the blonde's voice is making all of this so much worse. Simon wishes he could just say how much he really liked that it became a thing - but, of course, he's fucking silent. "I didn't mean to intrude, I just... I thought it was okay and that we were like..."

Becoming friends? Already there? On our way to more? Keeping each other company because Simon's broken and jaded and Wille's anxious and running from his mother?

A few moments pass and the blond bends down to put their mugs on the cold, hard ground. Something about that, the mugs being out of his sight, gives Simon the strength to finally speak. 

"It is okay. It was okay," Simon corrects, before he takes a deep, shaky inhale and hopes Wille can't hear it. Can't tell how much he doesn't wanna be saying this.. "But... I don't know," he continues and now he has to drop his gaze again because he'd rather not see the look in Wille's eyes. "Maybe it's not a good idea anymore."

Simon doesn't know what type of reaction he expects from Wille but he's programmed to believe it'll be one of anger. Anger or outrage or maybe even refusal because there's been a few times in the young boy's life where, for whatever reason, despite his facial expressions and very clear body language, people just don't take no for an answer.

He should've known that Wille wouldn't be like everyone else. 

"If that's what you want Simon, then I can respect that," Wille says, before his voice drops and a defeated, low tone takes over. "Even if that's not what I want." He doesn't know if Wille even means to say it, though, because it's so lowly spoken and his eyes are looking down at the drinks.

Simon almost cracks thenh, almost asks him what it is he does want then but knows it'll only hurt. Because Wille's brave and beautiful and honest and has no business putting himself into someone like him. Simon stays true to the coward he is tonight and doesn't say anything else. Not a thank you or an apology or anything to indicate this isn't fucking him up more than he cares to admit.

He doesn't say anything when Wille just stands there in the cold digesting all of this, looking from Simon to the ground to the hell of a house behind him before, finally, he lets out a sigh.

"Um okay, yeah, so..." It's the awkwardness Wille always possesses, just like the first night over this fence, and, even now, Simon can't help but find it endearing. "I, um, I guess I should go inside now."

If Simon opens his mouth, he'll beg him not to so he only nods. Looks to the ground, observing the old pair of dirty sneakers he threw on and wonders if Wille remembered to wear shoes tonight. He wants to ask but chooses not to and, instead, decides in that moment to look when he retreats back into the house. Wille bends down to pick up the full, hot drinks that have gone cold, the blond looking over at him once more with a gentle smile.

It's not forced or even fake. He still regards him so kindly and for that, Simon wants to scream. 

"Goodnight, Simon."

He somehow manages to speak through the lump in his throat. 

"Goodnight, Wille."

With two mugs in hand, he turns around and makes his way back to his house. Simon almost smiles when he sees socks and slippers on his feet, not the best choice of footwear for December but at least something to keep him warm. Wille slows as he gets to the door, standing there almost like he's debating on going in, before he turns and looks back at Simon.

It feels like a moment in a movie or show where some sort of resounding, profound music would play. Have the audience believe some big moments about to happen, like Wille's about to charge back to pull him into a kiss or Simon's gonna jump the fence and allow the pleas to leave his lips.

Neither happen. 

Wille makes his way into the house but keeps the sliding glass door open. Simon knows he has no right to be nosy after what he just did but can't look away. His heart jumps when the blonde appears again no less than 30 seconds later, making his way over to Simon with the door still open; for a brief, ridiculous, stupid second, Simon thinks his movie moment's about to happen and Wille is gonna kiss him over the fence. 

"What are you-"

"You don't have to take it. You can throw it out the second you go back inside," Wille begins, Simon looking at him in confusion. Wille's cold hand touches his as he reaches over the fence holding a small piece of paper. He looks down, ignoring the sparks that shoot through him when their fingers collide, and sees a phone number. "I want you to have it. Just in case."

Wille leaves no room for a response and rushes back into the house. He leaves Simon standing alone in his yard, the wind howling around him as he clutches the piece of paper like a lifeline. 

~

Wille waits for the text, any text. He waits and waits and waits until he's so embarrassed by himself and his lack of notifications, he asks Erik to throw the device in the fireplace. 

"Wilhelm, you just might be the most dramatic person I've ever met."

"I'm going crazy, Erik! It's not funny," he whines, throwing his phone on the chair and himself on the couch. Buries himself under the blanket, head shoved in a pillow. "I've never looked at my phone this much in my life. I think I have a problem."

His words are muffled but his brother can still make them out, a smirk on his lips as he plops down on top of Wille's phone. 

"You definitely do," Erik agrees casually, resting his feet on the coffee table - it's an act that would appall their mother so it's the only reason he does it. "It's called love. Lovesick, if you will."

"Fuck you," Wille bites back, attempting to kick him but the distance too large. 

He didn't think not talking to Simon would be this hard. That he really had so quickly and so strongly grew attached to freezing his balls off outside and blushing like a ridiculous middle schooler with a crush; he stuck to his word about giving the boy space, though, and hadn't ventured back outside unless he was throwing the garbage out (because Erik really did stick him on trash duty).

Even when he heard Micke. Even when he knew Simon was out there. Even when he wanted so, so badly to just know if he was okay. 

"Don't get mad at the truth, little brother. I am very old, very wise, very in the know about-"

"You almost set yourself on fire before."

Erik stares at his brother in mock disbelief, a laugh bubbling out of the younger boy. 

"That was fucked up, Wille."

"Sorry." 

He didn't sound sorry. Not at all. There was never a person who sounded less sorry.

"Oh, by the way," Erik begins, Wille peeking up at him again from his pillow. "I'm meeting with Anette tomorrow afternoon. You should come."

Wille looks at his brother blankly, picking his head up.

"Who the fuck is Anette?"

A look that can only resemble slight disappointment crosses Erik's face, fingers reaching up to squeeze the bridge of his nose as he sighs, "Wilhelm..."

"What?" The younger boy asks, sitting up to look at him. "I literally have never heard of an Anette before." 

"Hillerska's headmistres, Wille. We talked about this the other day."

"Okay?" he says, because how the fuck was he supposed to know that? "I'm not on first name basis with the headmistress of Hillerska, Erik, how the hell am I supposed to know her name is-"

"Lilja. Headmistress Lilja, okay?" Erik says with a roll of his eyes. "Let's start with some quick ground rules. One: don't drop the f bomb in her presence or call her Anette."

"I would've never called her Anette if you didn't tell me that that was her name," Wille bites back. "Like, I did not know that until three seconds ago even though you acted like I should know that."

Erik stares blankly at him, blinking once and then again silently.

"What?"

"Nothing," Erik says, shaking his head. "I just hope Simon texts you soon. You're miserable as fuck without your tea time."

Wille stretches his leg just enough and kicks his brother in the shin. 

~

It was funny that, less than three months ago, Simon sat in his yard alone every night and was truly content with everything about. The mere idea of anyone but Sara infringing on his time out here actually felt like the worst thing to ever consider. It was his space, his time to reflect and brood, his time to get away from that house and just enjoy the solitude.

Solitude was the main thing (mostly getting away from his father) and yet, being out here now just doesn't feel the same.

His eyes look toward the fence almost uncontrollably, memories of him and Wille playing over in his head that just won't stop. Everything from their first meeting to learning silly facts about each other to the deeper, more recent moments. When their hands would collide and they'd swat at each other, fingertips lingering on the others chest. When their eyes would bounce back and forth until their gazes finally met, everything about it shy and sweet but oh so pure. When Wille jumped the fence and bared a vulnerable side to him that was brave and endearing. 

Simon thinks about the look on Wille's face when he rejected his drink, rejected him, and it makes his stomach sink. Makes him feel sicker than he already does because his dad, apparently, was on his best behavior for a few weeks only to make an especially nasty comeback. He can feel it in the way his body aches, how he winces when he moves the wrong way. His back is littered with bruises, his cut up hand is slowly healing, and every night feels like he's one hit away from completely breaking down.

The fights have always been bad, so have Micke's drug and alcohol use, but it all seems to be getting progressively worse. His temper toward Sara, toward Linda, almost like he knows it's gonna make Simon fight him and give him a reason to smack him around.

The wind blows and a shiver runs through Simon. The weather has gotten colder, which also makes being out here not as enjoyable. Simon thought he was used to the frigidness, welcomed it even, didn't feel it anymore, but these days it's like all he can do is feel. He's sad and angry and frustrated and cold and really craving a stupid hot chocolate he only used to want on occasion. 

He looks over the fence one more time, Erik's blinds closed per usual, before quietly making his way inside. Micke should be passed out and he knows Sara's in her room, saw her go in there once shit hit the fan before. He peeks in the living room to see his dad in his usual spot, snoring on the recliner with a half-empty beer in front of him. Simon sneers at him before making his way to his room, closing the door softly. 

He throws himself on his bed with a sigh, eyes heavy as he shoves his cold hands under the blanket. A new development, besides Micke's increased aggression and Simon hating his place of solace, is insomnia. Simon's always had trouble sleeping, ever since his dad started drinking. His body just always seemed to be in such a constant state of fight or flight, wondering if his mom is okay sharing a room with him, wondering if he's gonna be asleep when he hurts Sara, that he'd simply lie awake at night.

He listens carefully for any hint of a sound, any cry for help or a crack of glass against the wall. He only ever gets sleep because he just passes out, wakes up in a frenzy because he has no memory of falling asleep in the first place. He tenses for all of four seconds when his door creaks open, Sara peeking her head in the doorway nosily. 

"Hi," she says once he beckons her in, the door closing softly behind her. She observes him laid out in his bed, smiling to herself as she sits at his desk chair.

It's covered with a few cans of soda, candy wrappers, and his computer with an aquarium background; it keeps Olle, Oski and Felle company.

"Hey," Simon says quietly, sitting up and resting against his headboard. 

There's no drama to debrief, not really, anyway, so he wonders what she's here for; his sister's not one to beat around the bush, so he's sure it'll only take a few seconds for her to get to it. He's unnerved by the way she's looking at him curiously, almost like she's waiting for him to confess something first before she has to ask about it - but he doesn't know what it could possibly be. He has nothing to confess, nothing he wants to talk about, nothing consuming every part of his mind since the moment he-

"Did you do something stupid?"

Simon snaps his head over to look at his sister, her eyes narrowed at him accusingly.

"What?"

She looks at him blankly, in no way falling for his innocent act - truthfully, he should've known better anyway. 

"Did you do something stupid?" she repeats slower. "I haven't seen Wilhelm outside with you."

He takes in her words with a pregnant silence, staring back at his sister in disbelief. 

"Are you- are you fucking spying on me, Sara?" Simon snaps, wondering right about now why the fuck he keeps getting watched like some international sensation in a gossip magazine. "Stop peeking out your window like a stalker!“

It's not the greatest thing that her large bedroom window overlooks the backyard - he doesn't have insight into her safe place, it feels unfair that she has a grand view of his.

"Then stop self sabotaging, Simon!" She bites back, usually never one to be nosy but he sees all of that has changed. Even for himself. They used to be so good at minding their own business.

"Shut up," Simon mumbles, burrowing himself further into his covers.

He doesn't wanna talk about this ever but especially not right now, after his more depressing than usual time outside; if there was a textbook facial expression for older sister disappointment, she just invented it. 

"Simon..."

"No," he says, and his voice is gentle but firm enough for Sara to know he's serious. That this isn't up for discussion, no matter how casual the conversation seems. 

"You don't have to pretend that there wasn't something-"

"I don't wanna talk about it, Sara," Simon snaps, a sinking feeling coursing deep within his stomach. "I don't force you to talk about things so don't force me."

It seems harsh but true. He and Sara are especially good at hearing harsh realities.

She sighs but drops it altogether, swiveling around in his second-hand gaming chair. The fabrics ripping a little and it squeaks but it gets the job done; it's also way better than when he steals one of the dining room ones. Sara doesn't mean to look around at his desk, she really doesn't, but it's more so like she can't help but notice all the clutter on it. Kind of like the view of the backyard from her bedroom window.

Simon's laid out in bed, eyes fighting sleep under the blanket, when he hears his sister's voice again.

"I'm not gonna force you to talk about anything. I'd never do that," she says, rising from his chair. She stands between the desk and his door, looking over his sleepy, staring figure. "But you could at least text him. He's probably worried because you know he must've heard everything."

Simon knew all of this himself, is keenly aware of it. He hasn't moved that paper off his desk since Wille handed it to him and yet, he's pretty sure he's memorized the number from staring at it so much. Although he was ready to fall asleep no less than five minutes ago, he's back to being wide awake. Grumbling low curses under his breath at his sister, who he truly loves dearly and knows is always right, but doesn't appreciate tonight. 

He formulates about five different texts in his head, even opens up his phone and writes one in his notes app before, with a shake of his head and a heavy sigh, he closes out and locks his phone. The number lay taunting him on his desk for a few more days until, one night, Simon finally breaks. 

~

It was one a.m. and the fighting next door had yet to cease. Wille lays in bed, his hand hovering over the emergency call button that he's been grappling with back and forth. Erik's words from his first few days here play over in his head - "...there's nothing more we can do than mind our own business and offer support. It's not our problem to completely concern ourselves with, because sometimes that just makes things worse, but we can always offer support to them, okay?" - but they only make him sad. 

Only make him feel like he's doing absolutely nothing to help or support them and allowing them to be hurt. He knows it's none of his business, he knows Simon set a boundary with him, but it's concerning their safety, their wellbeing, and Wille's a nervous fucking wreck because the yelling hasn't stopped for hours. He doesn't understand how no one could call anymore, hearing what he does right now. He would never wanna make things worse, make things harder on Simon and his family just to clear his own conscience, but it's very apparent they need help. 

He gets up from his bed and starts pacing, because laying here is making it worse. His phone feels like it's a thousand pounds in his hand; if he doesn't call the police, he's gonna call Simon and beg him to let him help just for tonight. That he, his sister, and his mom could all squeeze on Erik's couch and have a slumber party in his homey living room. A part of him also wants to wake up Erik, get his advice on it (even though he knows what he's gonna say) or help him calm down but that's a little selfish.

He's a ball of anxiety, a mix of emotions, he doesn't know what to do or how to feel and he just wishes Simon would-

He would've second guessed his phone vibrating in his hand if it wasn't for the way it lit up the room. He stops in his tracks as he stares down at it, an unknown number coming up with one text message. He's never scrambled to open his phone up so fast in his life, not even when he thought he posted the most embarrassing photo to date on his Instagram story (a full shot of his disgusting, inflamed mouth when he was trying to see if he had strep throat).  

His heart picks up when he reads the text, in a way he's only used to experiencing over the fence with a pair of brown eyes and curls before him. 

(Unknown 12:43 am)

hi wille. it's simon. r u up?

If the circumstances were different, maybe Wille would've waited thirty seconds to answer.

(Wille 12:43 am)

hey. yeah, i'm up. is everything ok?

It feels like hours go by, Wille's heart pounding in his chest, stomach anxiously knotting, before his phone vibrates again. 

(Simon 12:45 am)

can u meet me outside? our usual spot?

Wille has no time to dwell on how happy he feels reading those words - our spot - because he's rushing down the hall and into the kitchen to throw on his shoes. He takes Erik's jacket thats two sizes too big on him but was, of course, left hanging sloppily over one of the chairs.

Simon's already at the gate when Wille's outside, the blonde trying his best not to seem frantic or anxious but finding it incredibly difficult. 

He approaches Simon at what he hopes is a normal pace, Erik's automatic lights flickering on with every step. His purple hoodie is on again but no hood and Wille thinks that could be a step in the right direction. The boy's head is down, staring at his feet and his hand to his face, so he's not sure he knows he's approaching. 

"Hey," Wille says softly, surprised but grateful it doesn't sound as breathless as he feels - both, from his overwhelming emotions and scurrying around the house. 

Everything racing inside him - fear, excitement, desperation, longing - freezes when Simon looks up at him. When the most beautiful boy he's ever seen, with soft brown eyes, smooth pink lips in the dead of autumn, and curls that smell of coconut, looks up at him with his nose slightly swollen and blood dripping down his skin. 

"Simon," Wille breathes out, his hands itching to reach out but thinking better of it. "What happened?" 

He knows what happened. They both know what happened. He's been hearing it all fucking night and hasn't done shit about it. Simon doesn't say anything either, just looks at Wille with emotionless eyes that, in the faintest of light, look glossy.

Daringly, but also almost uncontrollably, Wille raises one of his hands slowly, what he hopes is a soft, reassuring look on his face. He moves so slow, it probably looks like someone put him in slow motion, like he's tending to a wounded animal and doesn't wanna frighten it back to wherever it came from. He can't quite make out the expression on Simon's face but knows it must be a relatively good sign when he doesn't flinch away. Wille nods as slowly as he moves, nods questioningly, hand approaching his face.

He keeps his eyes on him the whole time, checking for any hint of fear until, suddenly, Simon nods. It's a small nod, barely a twitch of his head, but Wille catches it. Simon's eyes fall shut when Wille touches his face gently, his cold hand meeting smooth, warm skin.

Wille's first thought is how anyone can think to mark up something this perfect.

His thumb brushes over his cheek tentatively, savoring the way, instead of moving away, Simon almost leans into his touch. His finger traces over the apple of his cheek, like he's touching something made of glass, before landing on his jaw. His pointer finger slides over to the other side, gentle but completely in control as he moves Simon's face around to check his bloody nose. He holds back a wince when he sees just how swollen it is, dried blood right below his nostrils.

Sadness quickly morphs into anger. Anger at his fucking father, anger at Erik for telling them not to get involved, anger at himself for just listening and pacing in his room while Simon was getting hit.   

"Is it bad?"

Simon's voice is quiet, uncharacteristically shaky in a way Wille's never heard before. It makes his chest, his heart, ache. 

"It's not bleeding anymore," he answers honestly, because he can give him that bit of good news. "Just some dried blood. And your nose is a little swollen."

He doesn't respond, because what's really a good response to that, just nods his head slightly. Wille's hand moves as he does so but he doesn't let go, he can't let go, and he runs his thumb over his jaw again. The air is frigid around them, temperatures probably below freezing, and Simon's only in a sweatshirt, Wille in socks and slippers. 

"Do you wanna come inside? Clean it up a little?"

He expects an immediate no. Expects Simon to do the same thing he did weeks ago over this very same fence and run back in the house; Wille's not sure he could even allow that right now. Simon's eyes are a soft, wet shade of brown, gaze roaming over Wille's face searching for something. He doesn't know what he's looking for but, if he knew, he'd give it to him.

He wants Simon to trust him, like him, think of him as someone who will listen to him because Wille knows all too well what it's like to be alone and suffering. He's about to be pathetic and beg when Simon whispers, "okay."

There's only one bathroom in the house and it's between the two bedrooms so him and Simon are extra quiet as they make their way inside. Wille grabs an ice pack out of the freezer on their way, keeping the door half-open as he fumbles around the cabinets. His movements are slow, meticulous, not only to keep Erik from waking up but not to alarm the boy beside him in any way. Simon sits on the closed toilet and watches Wille silently, neck craned up curiously as his gaze bounces from the blonde to around the bathroom.

Although Erik's house is small, and fits in well in the neighborhood, the inside is newly renovated and decorated nicely. His bathroom is large with white granite, double sinks, and a claw foot tub Wille has yet to use; he could've sworn he heard Simon mutter something under his breath about it when they first entered.

Wille can feel the boy's eyes occasionally burning into his face but he welcomes it, is glad Simon's here. He doesn't wanna fuck this up but he also needs, needs, needs to help him in any way he can. 

"Dinosaurs or regular?" 

Wille's question seems to startle Simon, looking over at Wille in confusion. 

"What?"

He holds out the two different boxes of band-aids; he doesn't, however, tell Simon that his brother had gotten the dinosaur pack for him. Something like a smile pulls at Simon's lips and, for the first time tonight, Wille finds himself about to smile as well. 

"Dinosaurs, I guess," Simon says, "but I don't think I need or want a band-aid on my face."

"It's for your hand."

He noticed the old, worn band-aid covering his knuckles. He can't even think about why or how he got the injury in the first place. 

"Oh."

Wille keeps the dinosaur band-aid box and ice pack on the counter. He checks under the sink for a wash cloth, letting the water run until it's warm. Simon's watching him the whole time prepare his supplies like a doctor before surgery, Wille squeezing out the towel before facing him. 

"O-okay," Wille nods, towel in hand, eyes falling to the lower half of his face. He scowls almost immediately seeing Simon's puffy nose with dried blood. 

"It's not that bad," Simon says, having looked at himself in the mirror before. "Stop frowning."

The words don't have bite but aren't exactly humorous either. It does nothing to take away from Wille's displeasure, his immense anger and guilt.

"It shouldn't be there at all, Simon," Wille says quietly, lifting the towel to his face to wipe off the blood. Wipe off all the blood and any hint of hurt or mess or impurity on his face. Wille wishes he could just so easily wipe it off him, wipe it all away and take the pain and suffering away with it. 

~

Simon's heart hasn't stopped pounding tonight but it almost jumps out of his chest when Wille touches him. 

He's so gentle, so soft, so kind and slow moving toward him, as if not to traumatize him anymore tonight, it makes him wanna cry. He's not sure he can, not sure he ever will if he's not in the privacy of his locked room or shower, but if there's ever been a time he wanted to break down by how genuinely good someone was treating him, it'd be right now in this disgustingly fancy bathroom. 

His words make him wanna cry almost more than his gentle touches. A lump forms in his throat and he can't say anything. Can't feel anything except the pounding ache in his nose and the feeling of comfort back in his chest at just being in Wille's presence again.

He hadn't thought twice about finally texting him after the night he had; truthfully, he was scared of what he'd do, just how bad he'd really feel, if he didn't. 

Wille cleans his face gently and Simon, for once in his life, allows himself to be taken care of. He doesn't know what it is about this boy, why he's allowing it with him but he just knows it feels right. Feels like he has no choice but to accept what Wille's willing to give him, even though he knows he doesn't deserve it. 

Simon's selfish, he's coming to realize. He hadn't known that before about himself. 

"Has this happened before?" 

Wille dares to ask the question he was dreading to hear - but if Simon's here relishing in his help, disturbing him at one in the morning with his drama and blood, he supposes he needs to talk to him a little.

"No. The smack in the nose is actually new," Simon says, the feigned amusement in his voice like this is gonna make it any easier to say accompanying him. "He's really keeping us on our toes this week."

It's only Wednesday - technically Thursday, he supposes. It's felt like the longest fucking week of his life. 

He can tell the comment upsets Wille by the way he frowns again, shakes his head as he gently finishes wiping under his nose. He doesn't comment on it, though, doesn't even scold him for using dark humor like Sara or his friends do sometimes. He just keeps standing before him silently and touching him like he's the most precious, delicate thing on Earth.

Wille wipes under his nose one last time before mumbling a quiet "all done," Simon's lips quirking into a small, thankful smile.

Their eyes meet and the curly-haired feels lost in a trance, lost in the way he's missed seeing the blonde's brown eyes up close and talking to him. He doesn't know what to say now, doesn't know what he can say without breaking down anymore tonight, but the silence has always been good with Wille. 

"You only have to tell me what you feel comfortable with," Wille begins, and just the start of this conversation has him quickly, desperately, crawling back into his shell. "We don't even have to talk about it at all but I... I have to ask, Simon," he breathes, eyes so easy to read, face so easy to determine that he's twisted with pain. "Is there, any help at all that you guys can get? The... the police or something? He made you bleed, that's not okay. He could get into a lot of-"

"The police have been called before. Plenty of times," Simon says, not able to keep the defense and snark out of his tone. "Don't act like Erik hasn't told you."

Wille's easy to read, Wille allows himself to be vulnerable enough to be read, so Simon can tell he's guilty. Guilty but still honest.

"He told me because I said it's fucked up that they're not here more," Wille says, "that you all have to deal with that. But you don't Simon, especially if he's... if he's hitting you. That's not at all fucking-

"It's none of your business, Wille."

He made it his business coming here, though. He made it his business the second he texted him and showed up in his yard with a bloody nose - but, of course, Wille would never say that. Of course Wille would still look at him with all the kindness in the world and make his heart soar. 

"You're right, it is none of my business," the blonde agrees, "And I would never wanna make anything harder for you guys. Or worse." His eyes fall to his nose, puffy, sore and blood-stained. He swears out of the corner of his eye, Wille's hand twitches to touch him again. "But I don't like knowing you're getting hurt right next door and that I- I can't do anything to help. I care about you, Simon, it's hard to-"

"Why?"

He doesn't mean to blurt it out so abruptly but it just falls out of his mouth. He can hear Sara's voice start to build up in his head, slowly, quietly, and then like a loud, irksome echoing. 

"Stop self sabotaging, Simon!"

"Stop self sabotaging, Simon!"

"Stop self sabotaging-"

"What do you mean why?" Wille asks.

He's genuinely confused and Simon wants to laugh. It feels embarrassing now, doing this with him, he should've known he was too vulnerable and fucked up after the night to be in this boy's presence. 

"Why do you care about me?"

Wille's eyes narrow at the question, body looming over him as he's still sat on the toilet seat. Everything about it should make Simon feel scared - his growing attitude, their height difference, the enclosed space - but he's not. Similar to that night in his yard when he noticed how much bigger Wille is, it doesn't scare him.

Nothing about Wille scares him except for the fact that he hasn't hurt him yet and makes him feel things. 

"Why wouldn't I care about you? We're..."

The words die on his tongue, hanging in the air, and Simon raises an eyebrow. They're what? What does Wille think they are, want them to be? What was Wille gonna say before, maybe, the memory of Simon rejecting him over the fence popped back into his mind? Simon scoffs at the thought, at Sara's fucking voice in his head, but Wille probably thinks he's scoffing at him.

"Exactly," Simon says with a shake of his head. "We're what? Neighbors?"

Wille seems to observe him for a few seconds, gaze wandering his face like he's attempting to get a read on him. Simon knows he usually makes it hard but he must be slipping tonight, given everything, because the blonde's face softens and he shakes his head. 

"Well yeah but I wanna be more." The words make his heart stutter for all of three seconds, stomach fluttering so intensely, it feels like he's gonna throw up until Wille continues. "I wanna be friends with you." 

He says he wants to be friends but looks at his lips when he does so. Moves his body just a little closer until his leg hits his knee and sparks fly between them. His hand twitches to touch him again and Simon would let him if he just fucking did it. 

"And what if I said I have enough friends?"

His voice is deeper than intended. More breathy. The air feels incredibly thick in this ridiculously expensive bathroom. Wille licks over his lips and Simon swallows as he stares up at him. Never in his life did he think something like this would play out while he was sitting on a toilet. 

"I'd say how about just one more?" Wille's voice makes him shiver, rivaling his in depth and breathiness. "I'm probably going to Hillerska after break. We'll have each other. And I can meet Sara." 

"People are gonna like you there. You won't need me or my sister." 

Because rich little white boys get along swimmingly with other rich little white boys. Wille's personality doesn't even matter at that point, they'll accept him immediately. 

"I don't care if other people like me or not," Wille says, "I wanna be friends with you. Everyone needs a friend."

"Bullshit."

Wille just blinks at him, for the first time tonight leaving him unable to read his facial expression. His voice is still calm, though, still quieter and soft-spoken. 

"Why do you say that?"

“Because I see the way you look at me, Wille.”

It's bold and presumptuous and blurted out sloppily but perhaps also the elephant in the room. They both know it, both feel it right now, and it's making Simon that much more scared about everything.

He wants to be Wille's friend, yes, but he also wants more. He wants more of the lingering eyes and electric touches. He wants Wille to tower over him and make him feel small, make him feel protected in the best possible way. He wants to stop being such a coward and hang out with the boy who he's come to genuinely enjoy being around. Who he allowed into his safe place and then became tainted when he left. He wants-

"Is that such a bad thing? How I look at you?"

Simon catches a hint of something in Wille's eyes before it's gone. He's staring up at them so intensely, meeting his gaze in a way he's never done before with anyone, and he thinks in that moment - no. No, it's not a bad thing. It's a really, really, really fucking good thing. 

"No," he breathes, the one speck of true, whole-hearted honesty he can give this boy tonight. "No, it's not."

His voice is a whisper, his tan cheeks pink, and his heart is ready to completely explode. He can't even feel the ache in the middle of his face anymore, especially not when a smile crosses the blonde. When his brown eyes seem to lighten in a matter of seconds and his leg bumps his knee again. A tense silence, their touching knees and a lingering sense of doom slowly fizzles out in the bathroom that night.

Wille quietly finishes cleaning up Simon's face before moving onto the dinosaur band-aids. Simon learns the story behind a young Wille's preference for this particular box. The two boys fall back into what they were used to outside - coy smiles and lingering gazes and chaste touches - in the short amount of time it takes them to finish up in the bathroom and make their way into the kitchen. 

Their arms bump as they walk side by side in the dark. Wille's talking quietly as Simon listens while also observing Erik's home. It's just as nice as he imagined, just as nice as that patio table in the backyard. His eyes fall on the drying rack that holds a few cups, Simon's chest panging with hurt - no sight of the music mug anywhere. He thinks his hot chocolate would've taste especially delicious in that one.

He ignores the clock that says it's almost 2:00 in the morning. 

"Me and Erik are meeting with Anette tomorrow to see if I can-"

"Wille?" 

The blonde pause and stops in his tracks, looking over Simon's face. He doesn't know what he looks like right now, probably a fucking mess, but Wille's face softens and he cocks his head to the side. 

"Yeah?"

Simon suddenly feels nervous but a different type of a nervous. A nervous he's not used to. It's not the nervous feeling of walking on eggshells or fearing for your family's life. It's not the nerves that come with hearing your front door swing open and a brash voice screaming through the house, your dad's hand flying at you and then feeling warm blood ooze out your nose.

It's something lighter than that. Something he should be dealing with instead of the former. It's something scary and unfamiliar but also exciting. It takes him a few minutes to get the words out, another unfamiliar feeling of blood rushing to his cheeks.

"Is it too late for our drinks?"

His voice comes out different from just moments ago, gone the breathy deepness and replaced by a quiet, softer tone. It makes Wille smile, licking over his lips and pressing them together as if to contain it.

"Oh?" Wille smiles, bumping his arm lightly. "You're thirsty now?"

Simon would've thought he was mad if he wasn't already moving around the kitchen, tea bags, hot chocolate and two mugs on the counter.

Simon looks down with a smile when he sees the piano mug, nodding his head silently as he plops down on a barstool. He watches Wille move around the room comfortably, almost like he's following a routine, and something about him doing this every night for him, for them, makes his heart twist in ways he doesn't even wanna think about.

"Wait," he says, Wille's words from before finally registering in his brain. "Who the fuck is Anette? Why are you using her name like I should know her too?"

Simon's getting up and slapping at Wille's chest just a few seconds later, mortified by the loud laugh and how he's gonna wake his brother. 

"No he won't, don't worry," Wille said, rolling his eyes and gently pushing Simon 'out of his work zone.'

The boys talk and laugh and shush each other until the birds are singing. And they did wake Erik, several times, but he never came out. He didn't wanna spoil the fun but he already decided it's gonna be the first thing they talk about over breakfast tomorrow.

Chapter Text

For Simon, winter break usually meant spending every day at Rosh's house, gaming with Ayub till 5 in the morning, and attempting to catch up on much needed sleep. Never on that cold night in October, when he felt someone's gaze on him through the next door window, could he have imagined those plans would ever change. They don't fully change, because Simon's not the type to get a crush and forget about his friends, but he also finds that he really, really, really always wants to hang out with Wille. 

The weather was getting too cold for their nightly over the fence meetings.

After they got five inches of snow with temperatures dropping down into the negatives, the boys quickly realized they needed a new meeting place; luckily (and unluckily) for them, Erik didn't seem to have a problem with them hanging out in Wille's room. 

(Simon 6:47 pm)

are you sure tho? i feel bad lol

i don't wanna wake him up or anything

(Wille 6:48 pm)

yes 100% don't worry lol he doesn't mind at all 

i have a feeling he's happy i finally have a friend who isn't him😭

Simon has a love-hate relationship with that word. Friend. 

He's happy they're friends, happy he got over his little self-sabotaging episode as some would call it and accepted Wille back into his life; but another part, a much bigger, needy, desperate to feel like a normal teenage boy with a crush part, detests that they're using the word friends. It doesn’t sit right with him at all. It feels wrong to use the same word to describe him and Wille's relationship to that of his, Rosh and Ayub's.

They both know you don't think about how badly you want to kiss someone who's just a friend. How often their eyes linger on their friends lips, how often they find any reason to touch. Simon can barely contain himself from smiling every time they speak or even text, so he has to be careful right now with Ayub and Rosh beside him on the latter’s couch.

(Simon 6:47 pm)

oh yes bc that's what we are

friends :D 

Simon keeps an eye on his friends, surprised they haven't called him out already for texting.

They're having a movie marathon of some of Rosh's favorites tonight, each movie night swapping who gets to choose; when his time comes, Simon's torn between Twilight or High School Musical even though they're both intensely hated amongst the other two.

(Wille 6:50 pm)

oh right, sorry, neighbors 🙄

neighbors and soon to be classmates <3 

The meeting with the headmistress had gone well, Wille even saying she was nice and incredibly understanding about everything. She didn't bat an eye at his parents not being there and Erik being his (unofficial) caretaker, which seemed to help put the boy at ease. The idea of seeing his mother again  really seemed to terrify the fuck out of him. Simon doesn't want to see him that anxious ever again, even if it'd mean going on the walk that started everything.

(Simon 6:52 pm)

why do i feel like ur gonna try to copy my homework every day?

(Wille 6:53 pm)

why do i feel like you'd tell me to go fuck myself if i did?

A laugh, a giggle, escapes Simon's lips before another text comes vibrating through. 

(Wille 6:53 pm)

for real, though, erik's cool with it :) he thinks it's actually better too since i forgot to put on shoes that one time lol

Another laugh, more of disbelief that he did that in the first place, accompanied by a roll of his eyes is the last straw for the two beside him.

"Okay, that's it!" Rosh exclaims, pausing the movie. "Who the hell are you texting?"

His smile falls and he knows he looks suspicious, like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He looks over at Rosh who's laid out on the sectional, staring at him accusingly with the remote in her hand. She and Sara must've rehearsed that look together.

"What?"

Ayub side-eyes him with an expression he can only describe as really dude?, now also chiming in.

"You're giggling and smiling over there but I was under the impression you're only two friends are with you now soooo..." Simon rolls his eyes and gives his, yes, okay, one of two ('three') friends the middle finger, before a look of horror crosses the boy's face. "Wait..." Ayub continues, like he's had a grand revelation. "You didn't befriend some rich prick from that school, did you?" The boy's tone would suggest that that school housed criminals who'd done the worst of the worst. "I knew this was gonna be a terrible fucking idea, I just knew it!"

Simon rolls his eyes again because while the people at Hillerska do fucking suck, he wouldn't say they're all that bad. He also wouldn't say his opinion on that changed within the past few days either. 

"Ayub, I already promised you that I'd never-"

"Then WHY are you giggling?" He cries, "Explain yourself!"

Rosh sighs deeply at Ayub's dramatics, launching a pillow in the air and directly at his face. She then turns to Simon, looking just as accusatory and nosy as before. They have a silent stand off that Simon knows in no universe is he winning. 

"So?" Rosh asks simply. "You gonna tell us about him or keep it to yourself for now?"

Damn. Straight to the point. He should've guessed. But he can still try.

"I was texting my-" Rosh's eyes narrow and Simon resists the urge to scream, knowing not for a second can he lie to them about this. Lying about his family is easy, that's serious, they won't push that as much - but unattainable, closed off, scared to love Simon having a crush?

It's probably unbelievable to them. Unbelievable but horrifically apparent by the dreamy look on his face.

"I'll keep it to myself," he sighs, "for now."

He mutters the words so quietly, he's surprised his friends hear him but he knows they did from the way their mouths fall open almost comically.

"Wait, what? I- I didn't think you actually met someone!"

"Simme getting some and not telling us? What the fuck, man! I tell you guys!”

"Ayub, you’re literally a virgin, what are you saying?"

"Okay... but I would tell you guys!"

Simon bites back the smile threatening to overtake his face, quickly texting Wille back - i'll prob be home around 11, maybe we can hang out then? 😊 - before closing his phone.

He can feel Rosh and Ayub intensely staring at him, Simon's face becoming uncomfortably warm. He swears he's never fucking blushed before in his life but these past few weeks, he feels this sensation far too often. 

"How long has this-"

"Where did you-"

His two friends have a silent stare down before Ayub sighs, rolling his eyes. Rosh always fucking wins.

"Fine, Rosh! You first, I guess."

She turns to Simon who's politely waiting to either be humiliated or harassed. 

"How long has this been going on?"

Simon reflects on the question for a few seconds, not sure he has an answer for her.

He and Wille aren't even close to anything, they only just agreed to be friends less than two weeks ago, but he thinks the night after the walk, the night Wille started their drinks tradition, is when things started to change. Even if he didn't wanna admit it then that he was starting to like spending time with the new boy next door.

"I don't know," Simon still says with a shrug. "It's... it's not really anything? We're just friends."

Ayub scoffs from across the couch, throwing the pillow Rosh pelted at him toward Simon; his aim is much worse and hits the cushion.

"Just friends my ass," Ayub mocks, "Do you giggle and smile like that when we text you?"

"No. Because you guys aren't funny." 

(But actually, that was exactly his point. Using the word friends for this in comparison to him and Wille just feels all types of wrong). 

"Oh, fuck you! I take offense to that!" Ayub yelps, a hand over his wounded chest. "That's bullshit and you know it! Take it back!"

Simon's mouth quirks at his friend's dramatic display, Rosh's look of judgement toward him harsh. Simon loses his battle with laughter a few seconds later when she sticks an unsuspecting chip in his open mouth.

"Rosh! What the-"

"Shut up already! We need to get all we can out of Simme about his crush before he shuts us down," the girl says, knowing her friend all too well.

He's tolerating them for now, she knows it, he's giving them the bare minimum but that's okay because it's better than nothing.

"Okay, so it's nothing serious yet. You're just friends," she confirms, Simon nodding hesitantly. "How'd you meet?"

He immediately starts shaking his head, the two of their faces falling. That will give it all away immediately - peeping neighbor/alleged ghost they thought he didn't even speak to yet turned very convenient crush. And then it could all get even more complicated with them realizing Wille probably knows more about his home life (and the rapidly decaying state of it) than them. Not a can of worms he wants to open yet, if ever. 

"No, no, no, okay, that's enough," he says, swatting at them playfully. "I've said too much already."

"Said too much?" Ayub shouts, "You haven't said shit! We don't even know where you guys met! Or his name! Can you at least give us a name?"

Simon narrows his eyes at his friends, all of the sudden so seemingly innocent and quiet as they smile awkwardly at him - even Rosh. It makes him snort, a small sound coming from his nose as he shakes his head. 

"You guys are insufferable," he says, knowing he's gonna regret this. Hoping this will just be a small moment tonight and they'll forget that this particular part of the conversation even happened - still, he can't give too much away yet. "I'll give you an initial."

Ayub looks like he wants to protest but Rosh elbows him. 

"We'll take it."

A few seconds pass by, then, "W," Simon says.

Nothing more. Nothing less. No quirk of his lips or any further comment. He's hoping they can just move on from this altogether. His friends sit on the couch blinking, turning to one another in confusion before back at Simon.

"W?" Rosh repeats.

Simon nods. 

"W?" Ayub parrots, the curly-haired sighing like a stressed out mother of five. 

"Do you guys need your ears cleaned or something? Yes, I said w!”

There's annoyance in his tone but it's playful. Teasing. This conversation should freak him out but it's only making him feel a little giddy. He's feigning some of that annoyance a bit because it feels funny to do this - giggle and share about the boy he only kept inside his mind, kept in the moments of just them two.

He's never shared about a boy he’s liked before, there have been people who liked him (most notably an older boy at Marieburg named Marcus who Simon just didn't reciprocate feelings for) but he's never been able to get harassed by his friends for smiling at his phone like this.

"What kind of name starts with w, Rosh? I'm blanking."

"To be honest, so am I but maybe-"

"Can we finish the movie now!" Simon whines, getting up slightly to smack his friends with the certified pillow weapon. 

It's the distraction that was needed and Simon is grateful.

After the war of pillows is over and the movie's back on, he sneakily checks his phone to see a message from Wille and can't contain his soft smile.

It just seems to pull at his lips completely uncontrollably; he's only aware of it because he remembers to wipe it off to not tip off the others again.

(Wille 7:31 pm)

sounds good 🤗

Simon was foolish to think his friends would let him walk home alone later that night; he was even more foolish to think his friends would forget about the one hint he had given them. He personally forgot about it after an hour, partially distracted by his friends and the movie and partially distracted thinking about seeing Wille later.

It'll be their first time hanging out in his room and it makes Simon's stomach flutter. Thinking about simple things like where they're gonna sit, what they're gonna do. Talking is easy, talking he's used to, but the closeness in a room, the howling wind not filling the silence, is new and daunting - but it's also exciting. He's excited to see a piece of Wille that he hasn't seen before. He's excited to-

"Motherfucker, it's cold!" 

They're about to turn onto Simon's block and while a part of him is concerned Micke's gonna ruin something, he's assured by the fact Sara would've texted him if anything was happening. He’s more consumed by nervous excitement, his eyes falling to Wille's house instead of his own. 

"You guys don't have to walk me home, you know," Simon reminds his friends. "I'd get here fine all on my own."

"It's okay," Rosh says, shaking her head. "We don't mind the cold at all!" She looks at their other friend pointedly, his glove-covered hands thrown up defensively.

Simon shakes his head and bumps their arms lightly, heart stammering as they approach closer to the house and he sees a figure in the distance. Crippling, tight anxiety immediately pools in the pit of his stomach and it's crazy how fast it can rack through his body. How much the mere thought of his father, the thought of seeing him or being embarrassed by him in front of his friends again, makes him feel like he's gonna throw up. How quickly and viciously his heart begins to race and it feels like the world is crashing down. 

But just as quickly as he grows anxious, when the automatic lights flicker on and Simon sees a taller, lanky figure that's definitely not his father, he feels himself relax immediately. Feels that familiar feeling of excited nervousness start to build up again, grow tenfold.

"I would literally trek through the North Pole for Simon, don't sit here and suggest that I..."

Simon slowly begins to block out Ayub's voice, not because he's unappreciative of his friend's loyalty and dedication but because the closer they get to his house, the easier it is to confirm it’s Wille. He's taking the garbage out to the curb tonight, his designated trash duty job that he takes very seriously. His not winter appropriate slippers are on his feet along with gray pajama pants and a black sweater that no one should make look so good. 

Ayub's still chattering but Rosh is quiet, which is normal, but when Simon looks back, he sees her looking over at Wille.

"Is that the brother?” she asks, “The window spier?"

"Rosh, stop," Simon whispers, knocking his elbow into hers. She smirks but eyes him suspiciously, like she already knows something he doesn't want her to know. Or hasn't told her yet. 

"Wait, Simme, is that-"

"Sh!" Simon shushes frantically, because, as luck would have it, the three are standing in front of his house right as Wille's lugging the garbage can down the driveway. The blonde looks over and sees the three of them standing in the dark, staring for a few seconds before he must register who it is. 

"Jesus Christ, Simon," Wille chuckles, a hand flying to his own chest. "You scared me."

"Scary being watched in the dark, isn't it?"

Simon's words are teasing and playful, like they are when they're alone. When he's in Wille's mere presence and something playful and childlike and healing comes over him. He was keenly aware of his friends next to him, just yelled at them no less than ten seconds ago for saying the same thing and, yet, Wille's in front of him and he talks and teases as if they're alone. 

"Okay, relax," he grumbles, rolling his eyes full of mirth, lips pulling into a smile that Simon cannot afford to see right now.

An awkward silence hangs in the air afterward, Wille looking at Simon, Simon looking at Wille, as Rosh and Ayub just stare at the two, dumbfounded. The two boys miss the way the others side-eye each other knowingly, Rosh mouthing 'w?' and Ayub nodding his head, certain; Simon almost jumps when he clears his throat.

His friends are holding back smirks and he knows it, they know it, Wille's never met them before and he probably knows it. He looks at the boy who's smiling softly, feeling awkward to not introduce them or say anything when-

"Hey man, I'm Ayub, one of Simon's best friends!" Simon closes his eyes for a brief moment and lets out a sigh, opening them back up to shoot daggers at him. "That's Rosh. Our other best friend." Rosh gives an awkward wave that Wille reciprocates with the perfect, expected level of awkwardness. "What's your name?"

The moment Ayub utters that question, Simon's sure of two things: his friends are up to something and he's most definitely fucked. Wille just smiles sweetly, politely, completely oblivious to the wreckage Simon will have to deal with later. 

"Nice to meet you guys. I'm Wille," he says, "Erik's my older brother. I'm living with him for a little."

Simon catches Rosh's gaze and her smirk is completely spread across her face. She raises her brows questioningly, everything about her mocking and amused. 

"Wille," Ayub confirms, "is that with a w?" 

Rosh snorts and Simon narrows his eyes at her, just barely suppressing a groan. Wille seems to take his friend's odd behavior in stride, some slight amusement in his voice as he answers. 

"Uh, yeah. Yes," he nods with a slight chuckle. "I think that's the only way to spell it...? But I could be-"

"Shouldn't you two, like, go now? It's cold."

Simon can't help but cut off Wille, staring at his friends with a deadly look in his eyes; if they had lasers, right now he's really wishing that was possible, the two would be running for their lives. 

"I don't know, it's not feeling too cold right now, maybe we could-"

"Yeah, no, we should definitely get going actually," Rosh says, saving Simon from at least one disaster tonight. He shoots her a grateful look and she only nods, a knowing look between them that, now, he owes her more details. 

"It was nice meeting you guys again," Wille smiles, another awkward, endearing wave that would've made Simon chuckle if he wasn't keeping an eye on Ayub in particular. 

"You too," Rosh says simply, Ayub throwing Simon a smirk that he meets with a sneer of his own.

"Yeah, nice meeting you too Wille with a w," he says, reaching over to hold at his fist; Wille briefly stares down at it before extending his own hand and bumping his. "Maybe we'll see you again one day."

Before Wille can respond with something polite that will make Simon's stomach soar, because his crush and his friends are talking, he's pushing Rosh and Ayub down the block.

"Night guys, let me know when you get home."

"Oh, we will, Simme, don't you worry," Ayub says.

Simon knows that only means one thing - they're gonna be texting him non fucking stop about this. He never should've given them an initial. 

~

"So..." Wille says, sat on his bed as Simon looks around his room. "Your friends seem nice."

Simon scoffs as he stands over by Wille's plain desk. The blonde had spent all night cleaning it for this very moment, would've died of mortification if Simon found dirty underwear or all the water bottles stuffed under the bed.

He was used to having an uncomfortably spotless room. His mom would berate him and Erik until it was to her standards, especially if they had company coming over. That was torture. That made cleaning his room and keeping a tidy space just an anxiety-ridden task that reminded him he was a failure in his mothers eyes - but this, cleaning for the boy he liked coming over, was much better motivation.

Wille had never felt so inclined to clean and organize in his life.  

"Yeah, they're okay," Simon responds, although there's an underlying hint of affection in his tone. Wille smiles just hearing it. He hopes to one day also have a friendship like that - teasing and funny but also warm and full of obvious love. 

"Just okay?" Wille quips, Simon looking over his shoulder to roll his eyes. His gaze lingers over Wille sitting in his bed, his back against the headboard and legs stretched out, before traveling up to the red led lights on the wall.

They cast a glow over the room with a tone that Wille, usually, doesn't find seems any particular way; but, right now, it lights Simon's face in such a strange contrast. The dark, sinister red lighting up the angelic face he usually admires in the moonlight. 

Simon looks beautiful both ways.

Simon makes his heart jump just by being in his very presence, whether he be smiling or frowning or even sneering at him.

Simon is here with him in his new room, his new life, and he didn't account for the reaction he'd be having to all of this. His scent taking up his space, his own leaving with the boy later, their eyes shamelessly traveling over the other because that's what they can do in the privacy of Wilhelm's room.

Not even the stars or trees or peeping brothers and sisters are witness to them right now. 

"Just okay," Simon confirms with a smirk. "I like your lights. They're cool."

"Thanks. They're the only thing I smuggled out of my old room."

Simon observes him with an expression he can't quite make out. His heart stutters when he makes his way over to the bed, hands folded into one another nervously. He hasn't noticed many outwardly nervous habits from Simon and for a split second, he wonders if he's anxious being here with him. If being away from Sara is hard (even though he's right next door) or if maybe something bad happened at his house again. 

"Is it okay if I sit?" Simon asks from the edge of his bed.

His curls are fluffy and Wille's decided that it's one of his favorite versions of him, with soft eyes the prettiest shade of brown. He thinks Simon could've just asked to steal his bed and he would've said yes. 

"Of course," Wille says, patting his comforter. "I'm sorry, I'm a terrible host. I didn't even prepare our drinks."

Simon chuckles as he makes his way up into Wille's bed, crawling over to sit against the wall, his legs pretzel-style. 

"I kind of sprung myself on you so, you're excused."

They had rushed into the house right when Ayub and Rosh left, the two apparently no longer as immune to the frigid cold; if Wille was also trying to prevent running into Erik, he won't say.

"Okay, good," Wille chuckles awkwardly, a different type of tightness in his chest. "I'm new to hosting."

He almost prepared an array of snacks ("that's a fucking charcuterie board, Wille") and board games ("you're gonna play over 20 board games?") before his brother told him to just relax.That he and Simon will probably just do the same things inside that they do outside - give or take a tv and warmth.  

"You're doing good," Simon chuckles back, his eyes floating around Wille's room once more. 

Apart from the lights on his wall, the room is fairly bare and impersonal. There's only his queen-sized bed, a dresser, and a desk in the corner.

Wille recalls haphazardly packing his stuff into his suitcase the night he left and, regretfully, didn't have decor in mind; as many clothes as he could fit, toiletries, and electronics took precedent. His room at home was no better, everything fit to his mom's taste and white-beige theme. 

To others, he could see both rooms being sad, depressing, even. No personalization, no pictures or items to reminisce or attach memories to. All he has are the red lights that brought him comfort in his plain, melancholy space, the red lights now casting a glow on Simon's soft, curious face.

"Do you miss your old room?"

He smiles because he thinks Simon might be a mind reader. If he was, though, he'd probably call him out on how many times he curses Simon for being so pretty and sending his queer heart into overdrive. 

"Not really," Wille says, shaking his head. "It was more depressing than this one, if you could imagine that."

An image of his corner under the drafty window flashes through his mind. 

Simon laughs but it doesn't reach his eyes. That's Wille's favorite laugh of his, when his beautiful brown eyes crinkle and he throws his head back. Now, though, he sees the slightest twinge of sadness and the worst thing in this world would be Simon pitying him; but just as quickly as it appeared, it's gone and he's speaking. 

"I wouldn't say this is depressing per se," Simon begins, Wille raising a questioning eyebrow that makes his lips quirk. "I'm for real," he says, "maybe just a little... impersonal."

"I mean that does check out since I'm essentially a squatter in Erik's guest room."

This time, Simon's laugh is the one he loves. It meets his eyes and he shakes his head, trying to hide his smile as he looks down at the blanket. Wille's hand twitches to touch his face again, slowly and carefully. Feel that impossibly smooth skin under his thumb again. Lift his chin to see his smile, the one that makes his heart pound. Look in his eyes he swears holds all of Simon’s deepest, darkest secrets and repressed emotion. 

And maybe, just maybe, allow his gaze to slip down to his lips. Think about what it'd be like to kiss him, just a simple, small press to his lips. Simon picks his head back up before he gets the chance. 

"You just need, like, pictures or something," Simon says, looking over his bare walls. "And maybe little things on your desk. Mine is, like, covered with a bunch of shit."

"So was mine until I cleaned it for your arrival."

"Oh?" Simon quips, a teasing smile lighting up his face. "You cleaned for me? You shouldn’t have, Wille.” 

Wille rolls his eyes, knowing his lips are spread into a smile of his own. It's disgusting how impossible it is not to smile around him. He could've never prepared himself for how embarrassing it is to have a crush.

"Shut up,” he mumbles. “What does your room look like?"

He turns his attention completely to Simon now, something so surreal about seeing him on his bed, leaning against his wall and actually looking comfortable now. 

"Well it's like half the size of this, first of all," Simon points out. "Honestly, it's not much. I have my bed, that's also half the size of yours. My desk and computer-"

"With shit all over it."

"With shit all over it," Simon confirms, smiling at Wille and making his heart jump. "I have my keyboard, and before you ask, no, I won't sing for you," he says, rolling his eyes when Wille groans. "And then I have my fish tank."

"Oh, yeah! I forgot you have fish. That must be fun. Three of them, right?"

Simon's lips pull into a smirk, his cheeks seeming to try and match the red lighting in the room. Wille bites back a smile, because of course he had to let Simon know he remembered. 

"Yeah, they're cool. They just swim around and do their own thing."

"Do they have names?" Simon looks at him with the most outrageously offended look, he can't help but burst out into laughter. ”What?”

"Of course they have names!" Simon says, like not naming fish who wouldn't know the difference is a grave sin. "They’re Olle, Oski, and Felle."

"Why are you saying that like I should know that?” Wille asks, amusement in his tone. “Sorry I don't know Olle, Oski, Felle, or Anette."

Simon lets a laugh slip out beside him, stretching out his legs from their criss-crossed position. His sock covered feet touch Wille's leg but neither move, neither even acknowledge it. 

"Anette, I'll give you. I didn't even know that," Simon admits, "but Olle, Oski, and Felle? They're a household name. You should definitely know them."

Wille's never felt such a light, happy feeling in his chest. He didn't know it was possible to feel this giddy, this happy, and he can tell in this moment he's addicted. Maybe people don't get addicted to the person they like so much but the feeling of being around them; Wille suspects that for him, it's both.

"Okay thank you for educating me," Wille begins, "but are you saying then you can actually tell them apart? I feel like that's impossible."

"Of course I can! They're my pets!" 

"Bullshit," Wille laughs, knocking his leg into his foot gently. He finds it incredibly endearing how he has two completely different colored socks on. 

"Do you wanna fucking bet?" 

Simon whips out his phone like he's on a mission, Wille watching with what he can feel on himself is a ridiculous smile.

The curly-haired is just wearing such a cute expression of fury as he scrolls. His intense brown eyes light up when he seems to find what he’s looking for, a tiny hum of satisfaction leaving his mouth.

Wille begs his stupid teenaged body to behave, especially when Simon shimmies his way over to him.  They're now sat right beside each other, leant against the headboard as Simon holds his phone between them. Wille stares down at the photo in hand, three little orange fish side-eyeing the camera.

That alone makes him chuckle, Simon throwing him a look so similiar to that of Olle, Oski, or Felle - no one knows, not even Simon although he'll claim to. 

"That little one, with the black dot under his eye, that's-"

"Where's this black dot you speak of?" 

"Right there!" Simon's finger points to a non-existent dot on his phone, Wille humoring him for all of two seconds.

"Hmm," he hums, "I think that's a speck of something on your phone."

"I think!" Simon yelps, poking Wille in the chest with his free hand, “that that's Olle's little birthmark."

"Can fish have birthmarks?" Wille ponders aloud, turning his face to look at Simon.

He tries not to laugh when he sees a mock exasperated expression cross his face, the most perfect side profile he's ever seen. Simon then cranes his neck to look at him. 

"I'll have you know that they-"

They don't expect their faces to be so close.

For Wille's taller frame to be slightly above him as they're both sat up right, Simon's shoulder just pressing a little lower than Wille's and into his bicep.

For Simon to look up with those pretty brown eyes that widen and his words then to just die in his throat. Wille wants to smile but can't, the air suddenly too thick. Simon licks over his lips, taking in a shaky breath that the blonde only catches because of how close they are. 

"Do," Simon whispers, voice considerably lower, breathier.

Wille watches the word leave his mouth. Watches Simon notice in real time with him that they're this close, alone, and all too aware of the others mouth. All too aware of just how easy it'd be to do anything but talk and giggle, as amazing as that is too. 

But if Wille doesn't speak, doesn't distract himself quickly, he's gonna pull this boy in and kiss him senseless. It'd be too easy to, with their faces so close. Bodies so close. Both of them so ready to kiss their friend and forget about everything else.

Wille can picture it in his mind. Can see just how easy it'd be to reach out and touch Simon's face again, slowly and gently caress his cheek and savor the feeling of his warm skin under him. How good it feels that guarded, frightened Simon feels safe enough with Wille to allow his touch.

It'd be just enough to slowly bring the boy into him, for Wille to quietly ask if he can kiss him and for Simon to answer with lips pressed against his.

Their kiss could grow more frantic, more desperate, quickly turning into fumbling hands and clumsy teeth because they're sixteen and alone in Wille's room together.  

Wille could mumble against Simon's mouth and pull him onto his lap, feel the weight of Simon underneath him. Have his hands wander to his waist, squeeze him with care because he'd never do anything to hurt him, tell him how much he's been wanting to-

"What about the others?"

Wille's voice sounds fucked, more fucked than Simon's, and he can't even feel embarrassed because he's too concerned about calming himself down.

It doesn't help; in fact, it makes it ten times worse when he sees the dark, dazed look in Simon's eye. Sees that the boy's just as enthralled as him, his Adam's apple bobbing before he speaks. 

"I... uh, what?" 

Simon shakes himself out if it, coconut wafting in the air. His phone is still hanging between them, Wille reaching up to nudge it with his finger; the fish are still on the screen, still side-eyeing the blushing duo suspiciously. 

"You told me which one Olle is," Wille says, trying to get the words out as normal as possible. "How about the others? Tell me about the others."

It's not a request but a demand: tell me about the others so I don't kiss you and change this tentative friendship already.

Simon looks like he wants to protest and a part of Wille hopes he does, so he can give in to what he wants, but another part of him hopes he doesn't because he's not strong enough to resist. Brown eyes search his for a few seconds, tooth sinking in his lip, before he sighs. 

"The middle one with the funny eye? That's Oski." 

Wille looks at the fish with completely normal, small eyes and huffs out a laugh.

"His eyes look normal to me."

"That's because you're not his dad."

Their laughs are more breathy, the air still charged. Their arms are pressed against each other and Wille's not sure who does it first but somehow, Simon's foot is resting against Wille's leg. This is good for now, although Wille is fully prepared to become a father to three fish if that's what it takes. 

"Okay, sure," Wille says, "but what about Felle? That one eye looks funnier than Oski's. Maybe you got them confused?"

"Maybe you got them confused," Simon mocks, reaching over to pinch Wille's arm gently.

He does it so gently, you can't even consider it a pinch, just an awkward grab of some skin. Wille doesn't wanna think about why Simon's so soft and cautious with his touches. If he's trying to emulate how he wants to be touched or is scared he's gonna hurt someone by accident. 

Wille smiles but doesn't dream of pinching Simon back. Instead, he quickly grabs the boy's hand and they fall into a flurry of squirming and trying to keep their voices (mostly laughter) down. Simon rips his hand away and tries to pinch him again, Wille making another jab about mixing up Oski and Felle before quickly snatching his hand back. 

It's not until Wille squeezes it gently and runs his thumb over his skin again and again that Simon simmers.

His eyes follow Wille's thumb and they both take in the contrast - Wille's big, pale hands versus Simon's smaller brown ones. It looks right that they're holding each other, that they somehow manage to fit perfectly. Wille's positive that, if he intertwined their fingers, they'd just slide into their rightful place like a puzzle piece.

They sit there, Simon staring up, Wille looking down, and their hands together. The silence, while comfortable, is thick again, and something about the lack of fresh air is really making it seem intense between them.

Simon's the one whose fingers twitch and start everything, just slightly curling around the larger ones near his. He breaks the eye contact to watch, Wille shortly following. Similar to the way he touched his face, to the way he always touches and regards Simon, he moves them carefully, slowly. He moves them like, even in such a simple action, he's trying to prove to the boy he would never hurt him. 

Their fingers are half way intertwined when, like magnets, they both look up and meet each others gazes. Simon regards him carefully, expression unreadable, until Wille's lips quirk and Simon's do the same. Then they're both smiling, cheeks warm, hearts pounding, and Wille knows this is it. With just one move, one look, one gentle pull of Simon toward him, everything could change. It could be the thing that-

In their bouts of wriggling, Simon's phone had fallen out of his grasp and in between them. They both feel it before they hear it, vibration after vibration underneath them.

"What the fuck is that?" Simon asks, voice low, slightly breathy again. “Does Erik have one of those fancy vibrating beds in his guest room?" 

Wille smiles because he sneers the same way he did when he saw the renovated bathroom and claw foot tub. 

"Not to my knowledge," Wille says, looking down to see the boy's phone lighting up. He picks up the non-stop vibrating device and hands it to Simon, who takes it and almost immediately groans, "Fucking Ayub."

(Ayub 12:43 am)

simme!!!

how dare u keep wille with a w from us!!!

you said u didn't approach him and yet, you've been giggling

and flirting

and BLUSHING with him?!

since when tf do u even blush???

(Rosh 12:43 am)

ayub, he's not gonna answer, he's too busy with wille with a w

(Ayub 12:44 am)

that's exactly my point! 

we need to know the TRUTH now simme!

facetime us.

wille with a w seemed nice.

he won't mind. 

plz 

plz

plz

plz

(Rosh 12:44 am)

can u stfu, i wanna sleep 

(Ayub 12:44 am)

can simme tell us about wille with a w

i won't rest until we know

Wille can tell by the look on Simon's face that whatever all the messages say secretly amuse him. He's fighting back a smile but attempting to remain strong, that cute, furious face back as he types frantically. 

"Is everything okay?" Wille asks, amusement in his tone. Simon looks up and nods, finishing the message before locking his phone. 

"Yes. Ayub is just an idiot."

"Oh? Is that how you talk about your friends?" Wille asks, leaning in slightly, brows raising playfully. "I'm kind of scared to be yours now."

He's happy to be of course, beyond grateful, but they also don't feel a lot like friends; granted, Wille hasn't ever really had any true friends to make the comparison.

He has people he hung out with in Stockholm, mostly just in school and after sometimes, but he hasn't talked to them since leaving. They haven't reached out to him but he hasn't reached out to them either and doesn't at all feel inclined. He also never felt inclined to kiss them like his life depended on it. 

"You should be," Simon teases, a playful expression right back. "Just don't be an idiot and you'll be good."

"Can't promise that," Wille chuckles, smiling when Simon nods. 

He's probably only been here for an hour at most but it's getting late.

It feels like that time of the night where there'd be a feeling lingering in the air that he should go. That it's late enough and a spontaneous hang out and Erik's down the hall possibly sleeping; but Wille, even though he feels himself getting a little tired, doesn't want him to leave yet.

"What time is it?" 

Simon looks down at his phone, still lit with a few messages from Ayub. 

"Almost one."

Wille bites down on his lip, not wanting Simon to feel like he has to stay here any longer but also wanting him to know he absolutely can.

"Do you- do you wanna watch a movie or something?" He feels ridiculous that he was ready to kiss him three seconds ago but is scared to ask him this. "I know it's late so, like, if you're tired or something, we don't have to. I just wanted to-"

"Wille," Simon smiles, eyes full of mirth that prove he's definitely making fun of him; they're just pretty that Wille doesn't care. “I'm down to watch a movie. Nothing scary, though."

Nothing scary so Wille makes sure to scroll through the horror section, much to Simon's dismay.

They pile the pillows behind them to rest against the headboard, Wille shimmying under the blanket and Simon following. The laptop rests on one leg each, Simon grabbing Wille's hand away when he goes to click on demon or ghost movies and Wille chuckling when Simon suggests movies made for children. 

They meet in the middle with a stoner comedy that they barely pay attention to. They're too busy talking and laughing and shoving each other throughout it.

The blankets are warm around them, Erik's central heat kicking on, and the howling winds outside are just muffled background noise to them. They don't even hear it, definitely don't feel it, because now they're new thing to fill the silence is muffled giggles and screaming potheads.

When the plot somehow manages to grab their attention and occupy their tired minds, their bodies seem to have other plans. Move on their own accord.

Wille feels a weight on his arm, looking over to see Simon had fallen into him a little bit. His head rests on the corner of his own pillow, just a few inches away until he and Wille would be sharing. The blonde doesn't comment, doesn't move, doesn't do anything to change their position.

Instead, he finds his sock-covered foot under the blanket and taps it once with his. It could've been mistaken as an accident if he didn't do it again and then again, feeling Simon's eyes on him before a quiet chuckle fills the room. 

His and Simon's feet tap each other back and forth, back and forth, an occasional giggle, until Wille's foot stills against his. 

~

Simon knows Wille's asleep when their game of footsie ends.

He knows it when he feels the slightest hint of pressure atop his curls, looking over to see Wille sleeping against him. He knows it when a sleepy groan slips out and then his breaths even, warm against Simon's face. This is a sign he should leave now, that he's been out long enough and has ignored the vibrating of his phone in his pocket long enough - but he's just never felt so at peace before.

He's calm in a way he didn't know he could be, feeling so warm and safe and wrapped up in the lavender scent of Wille, he doesn’t wanna go home yet. Brave the outside cold and tumultuous house, so different than the pleasant stillness of Wille and Erik's.

He very slowly reaches into his pocket to see six new messages: four from Ayub, one from Rosh, and one from Sara.

(Simon 12:46 am)

if u don't stfu rn, i'll block u and you'll know nothing ever

Ayub (12:46 am)

u wouldn't dare

Ayub (12:59 am)

answer me now

what r u and wille with a w doing 

Ayub (1:14 am)

did u really block me :(

Simon chuckles lowly to himself, deciding he's gonna let his friend sweat it out into the morning; he checks Rosh and Sara's private messages.

Rosh (12:50 am)

just to be clear, i wasn't harassing you in the gc and therefore am entitled to more exclusive info

Sara (1:55 am)

Are you still out with Rosh and Ayub?

Simon checks the time and sees that it's almost 2:15, letting out a sigh. He really doesn't wanna brave this fucking cold right now or leave this bed.

Simon (2:13 am)

hey sorry, yeah i'm still out but i'll be home in 5

Five minutes passes and he hasn’t moved.

He cranes his neck over to peer down at Wille and smiles, long blonde locks curling around his forehead. He wants to reach out and touch them but has to be careful not to wake him, sliding slowly out from under him.

His head lolls and Simon freezes, watching as Wille fusses a bit before relaxing again; he hopes he doesn't stay in that position all night, though, or he'll wake with a horribly sore neck.

Simon moves slowly down the bed and is amazed by how it doesn't creek. He can barely turn over in his bed without the whole house knowing. 

He watches Wille for a few more seconds, standing over him and this time, he can't help but reach out and move the stray pieces of hair off his forehead.

Wille's young face looks so relaxed in his slumber, like nothing haunts him. Like he's not plagued by panic attacks and anxiety, flashes of his mother who he seems terrified of.

Simon tries not to smile when Wille's grimaces as he takes his hand away, biting back a laugh. 

He watches the boy for a few more seconds, making sure everything is settled, before he turns around to quietly sneak out.

He doesn't even get his foot in front of the other before a hand reaches out and grabs his wrist; he would've screamed if he wasn't mindful of the fact that Erik was definitely sleeping now down the hall.

"Where are you going?"

Simon smiles at his deep, sleepy voice. 

"I'm gonna go home, you were sleeping, Wille," Simon says, not recognizing the softness in his tone. 

"No, I wasn't." 

Simon rolls his eyes but is unmoving from his spot, looking down at Wille who's greatly resembling a cat whose just woken up from a 17-hour nap.

"Okay, sure you weren't," Simon agrees because it's too late to argue with a cute, sleepy blonde. "But it's 2:00 in the morning. I should go anyway."

Wille groans and stretches his arms above his head. A content hum leaves his mouth as his long limbs extend into the air, pushing the blankets off him as he goes to stand up.

"What are you doing?" Simon asks. Wille looks at him like he's grown five heads. 

"Walking you home,” he says, like it should be obvious.

The curly-haired rolls his eyes, wondering why the hell everyone in his life insists on walking him home - he's very capable of getting there on his own - but especially Wille who lives less than 100 steps away. 

"Wille, don't be ridiculous," Simon says, "I can-"

Wille stands up and pulls him by the sweater wordlessly, dragging him out of his room like a petulant child. Simon whisper-yells at him the whole way through the house, Wille still too much in his sleep-induced haze to fight back.

He watches Simon from the front door as he puts on his shoes, the tall blonde leant against the door as the curly-haired stares up at him, unimpressed. 

"I can walk home on my own," Simon grumbles (although not really that grouchy, his stomach is most definitely fluttering from Wille's blatant insistent).

"And I can watch you walk the few steps to make sure you're safe."

Simon wonders if those words would come out as easily if Wille wasn't half asleep; regardless, they do a fucking number to his already butterfly-ridden stomach.

Once his shoes and jacket are on, he looks back at Wille to see him fully asleep while standing, his head resting on the doorframe. 

"Wille," Simon whispers playfully, standing on the tips of his toes. Wille, despite himself, finds himself smiling, cracking open one eye.

"I'm not sleeping."

"I didn't say you were."

His other eye opens and the boys find themselves in a familiar trance. Wille looking down, Simon back on his feet looking up, and their gazes searching over the others face. The blonde's eyes make their rounds to Simon's lips and Simon does the same before meeting his gaze again. 

"Thanks for letting me come over," Simon whispers, words hushed.

"You should come over more," Wille whispers back, voice deep with sleep and making Simon swallow thickly.

Jesus Christ. 

"Oh? Is that another invite already?" Simon asks playfully, cocking his head to the side. "How lucky am I?"

It's meant to be teasing, hoping to evoke a pretty smile out of the blonde, but Wille's too busy staring at him. His bleary gaze is bouncing around his face, tooth sunk in his lip like he's trying everything in his power to maybe not kiss him goodbye. Simon wishes for nothing more. 

Wille eventually smiles and shakes his head, cracking open the door. The cold air rushes in and makes both the boy's hiss. 

"Fuck," Wille groans, Simon right along with him. "We're never hanging out again outside."

"Speak for yourself," Simon says, knowing nothing, not even Wille and his warm bed and inviting lips, will take away his love for escaping outside. Wille's gaze falls to him one last time and Simon knows he has to get away from him.

If he doesn’t, he will be making out with him right here.

"Goodnight, Wille."

A few beats of silence, that familiar howling wind, and then his voice. 

"Goodnight, Simon. Text me when you get-"

"No."

Simon can feel Wille's eyes on him as he walks down the steps and over to his house. He's still on the porch when Simon looks over and sees him standing there in the faint light.

He shakes his head and waves, Wille bringing a tired hand up to his messy blonde hair and waving back. He giggles quietly as he walks into his house, way too quickly realizing Micke isn't passed out in his chair. 

He forgot for a moment his house usually isn't full of laughter. 

He walks quietly, cautious of every step, and almost makes it to his room unscathed until he hears Sara's voice. 

"So, where have you been?"

~

(Simon 11:09 am)

look who greeted me this morning 🥰

if u tell me which one this is, i'll buy us snacks for the next THREE hang outs 

(Wille 11:09 am)

next 3? that's presumptuous

(Simon 11:10 am)

😐

Wille giggles in a way that Erik has now deemed his brother's Simon giggle (adding on to the Simon smile, Simon eyes, Simon voice and his Simon blush). The blonde hopes his older brother doesn't hear, because he was mortified when he pointed it out in the first place; he's about to look around suspiciously, seemingly alone, until, speak of the devil and he shall appear, he pops his head around the corner. 

"Oooh yippee! What super funny thing did Simon say now?" Erik asks, a dreamy, sarcastic tone in his voice. 

"Fuck off Erik," Wille bites back, the man not deterred in the slightest but encouraged to make his way over and plop down next to him. He looks over at his brother's phone, Wille scoffing as he pushes him away. "What the hell! Nosy much?"

"I hear you guys chit chatting every night, how could you possibly have more to talk about?"

Wille shoves his brother away, scooting over to the other side of the couch before intensely examining the picture Simon sent of one of the fish; he says one of them because no way in hell can this boy actually tell them apart.

He will say, though, that this fish has a fairly normal eyes so it's (apparently) either Olle or Felle.

(Wille 11:13 am)

that's felle for sure. 

i want chips, pizza, and the same brew of tea from the 24/7 store :D 

"Really, though, Wille,” Erik says, the boy turning to look at his brother. He's stretched out across the couch, remote pointed toward the tv. "I'm happy you guys are hanging out in here. It's getting way too fucking cold for your outdoor antics."

"Can you really hear us?" Wille asks sheepishly, because as quiet as he and Simon try to be, they usually can't help but burst into laughter or banter at some points.

"No," Erik says, shaking his head. "But I always know when you guys are texting because you smile at your phone like a lovesick little-"

Wille throws the pillow across the couch, incredibly satisfied when it hits his brother right in the face. 

~

(Wille 3:17 pm)

i can't believe you made me buy pizza with pineapples 😟

that's actually a fucking crime, simon

you're making me commit crimes

Simon should've known better than to text Wille while he and Sara were watching their show in her room but he, apparently, has zero fucking self control. He bites down on his lip so he doesn't laugh but it's no use, he can't hide his eyes lit like the sun.

(Simon 3:17 pm)

maybe if u respected my animals, you wouldn't have to be a criminal??

i literally told you all of their characteristics 

(Wille 3:18 pm)

and i TOLD you there was nothing wrong with oski's eyes! 

that was the most normal fish eye i've ever seen????

Simon smiles, laughing quietly under his breath, before he feels a stare on him. A very intrusive, persistent stare that causes him to look over and see Sara regarding him with a half-amused, half-pissed out expression. 

"What?" Simon asks innocently, like he hasn't been texting through the whole show. Sara just continues to stare blankly, not saying a word, until Simon throws down his phone with a sigh. "What?" he whines again, poking Sara with his foot once, then twice, then smiling when she cracks and her lips quirk. 

"You're annoying when you have a crush."

"I don't have a-" His words die when Sara's look hardens, a stare off between the siblings before the younger sighs. "I'm not annoying."

Sara tries to hide her laugh but fails miserably, swatting him on the arm lightly.

"Yes you are," she says, "you can't even watch a 30 minute episode without texting him."

"Yes I can."

If there's one thing Simon is, it's competitive - and his sister knows that. 

"No you can't."

He decided then and there to leave his phone face down on Sara's bed, his sister clicking the show back on with a smirk - it takes Simon a whopping seven minutes before he's turning it back over to respond to Wille. He knows his sister knows, can feel her gaze and hear her mocking scoff, but, for once, she doesn't say anything. She spares him just this once and for that, he's grateful.

~

Wille (4:45 pm)

are you doing anything tomorrow for christmas?

Christmas Eve for Wille and Erik was, usually, a whole day fucking affair.

They were dragged to different firm members houses each year, forced to spend the holidays with people they hardly knew in stuffy suits and ridiculously formal attire.

They'd go back home where they then barely saw their parents but were showered with expensive gifts the next morning that the housekeepers wrapped; Wille was eleven when he noticed his parents handwriting didn't match those that said Merry Christmas, Love mom and dad on his presents.

He should’ve known then, from the love, because his parents would properly say from.

The only good memory the brothers have of the holiday was spending the day with each other. They had made their own tradition to never leave their pajamas, eat food with little to no nutritional value, and watch only the cheesiest of Christmas movies until their eyes hurt. 

That's exactly what they plan on doing tomorrow, tonight just another calm, quiet night of dinner and Erik's trashy reality tv. 

Simon (4:48 pm)

no, we're celebrating tonight with presents and stuff bc my moms working tm night 

me and sara will prob just hang out in my room

hbu?

Wille (4:49 pm)

me and erik usually just watch the most terrible christmas movies ever produced and eat our weight in candy 

Simon (4:49 pm)

omg aw that sounds fun! :D

A thought pops into Wille's brain that, while tempting, doesn't seem appropriate.

Simon's been coming over a lot but something about inviting him over for a holiday seems too much, even if he's not really doing anything. He just thinks having him here for a day like that would be better, knowing all too well how sad it could feel being alone, even though he has his sister. He's also always increasingly concerned about Simon's father being in the house with him and holidays usually mean drinks. 

His thumbs move above his keyboard contemplatively, beginning to gnaw on his lip when he hears Erik's voice.

"Wille, everything good?"

His brother has a way of checking in right as he needs it. He looks at Erik before back down at his phone, taking a few seconds to think before, like usual, the words just blurt out of him. 

"Would it be weird, and okay, if I invited Simon over for Christmas? And his sister?" Wille asks, because it'd be super rude not to include her too. "He said his mom's working tomorrow and I'm guessing just his dad will be there so I..." 

Erik regards him with a soft smile, one that would definitely embarrass him if he wasn't so ridiculously interested in getting Simon over here tomorrow. 

"I don't think that'd be weird. It's nice to invite people," Erik says, "and it's okay with me, although I think I'll find it incredibly difficult not to embarrass you."

"Don't you fucking dare, Erik, I swear I will-"

"Damn, damn, okay little brother, I'm kidding," the man laughs, his hands up defensively, "but yeah, I'd say go for it." Wille rolls his eyes and looks back down at his phone, formulating a message in his head before just going for it. 

Wille (5:55 pm)

so you totally don't have to and it's just an idea

but if you and sara are like bored tomorrow or something, u guys can come over here if u want 😊

erik's cool with it and we definitely have enough food lol but again, don't feel like you have to 😊

He cringes at himself for overdoing the nervous smiley faces, throwing his phone screen down on the couch. Erik snorts under his breath and Wille snaps his head over to him. 

"Shut up."

~

"So..." Simon says later that night, his mom in bed, Micke passed out in the room with her, and the two siblings cleaning up the living room. Sara looks over at him with the garbage bag open, the younger holding dirty plates. "Wille invited us over tomorrow."

"On Christmas?" she asks, face morphed in confusion. "And us? I haven't even met him."

"Okay but you can tomorrow," Simon says, plopping the plates down in the trash.

There was also remnants of festive wrapping paper and clothing tags, their mom, even as they get older, making sure they have plenty of presents under the tree. It could feel silly to some teenagers, too juvenile, but Simon and Sara appreciated it more than most kids. 

"Wow, you're actually allowing me to meet your crush?”

"Not if you call him that, tomorrow!" Simon yelps, throwing a used napkin at her. She dodges it with a disgusted scoff, eyes shifting as she thinks.

Sara doesn't necessarily dislike meeting new people, she actually has a desire to, but sometimes the idea of doing it, especially with little to no warning, could be a little much for her. 

"We don't have to go," Simon says after a few silent moments, just the shifting of the plastic garbage bag. "It was just an invitation.”

"But you wanna go." 

It could seem like a question but it's not. Not from Sara. Not from his sister who knows him inside and out and has seen her little brother the giddiest he's ever been in his life. He could lie, he could deflect, he could tell her he doesn't care, but they both know he'd be lying anyway. 

"Yeah," he says, voice lower, almost shy and sheepish, because even though they both know it, it's different for someone like Simon to admit it. 

The two siblings clean the rest of the living room in a comfortable silence, the question lingering in the air. Sara wordlessly wipes down the table as Simon cleans the utensils in the kitchen, both of them plopping back down on the couch when they're done.

A beat of silence, then two, then Sara looks over and Simon does the same. There's an expression he's never seen on her face before and he doesn't quite know what to make of it. 

"Let's go tomorrow."

Simon can barely contain the excited smile on his face, biting the inside of his lip to contain himself. 

"Really? Are you sure?"

Sara smiles softly and nods her head, knocking her brother in the arm playfully.

"Yeah. I wanna see what you look like in front of your cru-"

"Don't!" Simon yelps, knocking her back, "call him that! You're gonna slip up tomorrow and I'll die of embarrassment."

Sara rolls her eyes but doesn't comment further, turning on the tv in hopes that the boy next to her, who's already whipping out his phone, will pay attention this time.

(He doesn't).

~

Wille shouldn't have felt as nervous as he did to answer the door.

He'd greeted Simon like this almost every day this week, talked to him every second since Simon texted him that first night, and, yet, he felt those all too familiar butterflies in his stomach.  He could see two heads in the window of the door, smiling when a familiar pair of pretty brown eyes catches his. 

"Hi guys," Wille says, quickly ushering them in out of the cold. "Merry Christmas!" 

"Merry Christmas," the siblings say in unison, taking off their shoes and jackets in the small entryway.

Wille catches Simon's gaze and smiles, all the nervous butterflies dissipating and replaced with the usual feeling of Simon butterflies when he smiles back; he will never ever ever fucking admit to his brother that those are a thing. 

"We- we brought these by the way," Simon says, handing Wille two family size bags of chips. It doesn't go unnoticed to the blonde that these are the very same ones he'd asked for when he thought Oski was Felle, a knowing look between them. 

"Thanks, Simon," Wille smiles, taking them from the boy. His gaze then turns to Sara, who just shrugged off her scarf. "I'm Wille, by the way. I don't think we've met yet."

"We haven't," she says bluntly, although her voice holds no malice. "Nice to meet you, Wille. Sara."

Wille nods his head, eyes darting between the two of them and, at the worst possible time, feels his heart pang. They don't look like they deal with the heavy shit that they do at home, the screaming and yelling that this whole block hears. You'd never know from just looking at them.

A somewhat awkward silence falls between them, Wille about to say something (he doesn’t know what) when Erik's voice calls from the kitchen.

"Wille, did you get the door? Was it your-"

"Yes! Yes I did!" He yelps, most definitely too loud for inside the house but he never knows what his fucking brother is gonna say. "Simon and Sara are here."

"Well come on in and help me then!" 

Help him as in unload the chips, candy, pour the soda, and pop in the microwavable pizzas and finger food.

Wille notices that Sara seems to relax slightly around Erik, a familiar face who she probably already likes. His older brother only has to be around people for a few minutes for them to immediately like him, his charm and charisma just as impressive as it is obnoxious for Wille to witness.

Simon's pouring out the last of the chips into a bowl when he catches Wille watching him, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

"Hi."

Wille bites down on his lip, smiling anyway.

"Hi."

They miss the way their siblings side eye each other, Erik smirking when Sara laughs slightly. The two are still in their only little world so Erik flicks the side of Wille's head and hands him a bowl, telling him to fill it up and bring the rest in the living room.

The couch is big enough to fit all of them, Erik's designated spot on the sectional, but they still laid out a big blanket on the floor for nostalgia purposes. Simon's eyes immediately light up when he sees it, for some reason always loving the coziness of blankets and pillows littered on the floor. Snacks cover the table in the dark living room, fire place roaring, and the first of many shitty Christmas movies is on.

Sara almost immediately claims the reclining chair after she discovers it has a massage feature, huddled under a blanket with a pile of chips in hand; Simon takes one look at her and scoffs, elbowing Wille lightly. 

"If you corrupt my sister with all your fancy rich shit, I'm gonna kill you."

Wille smirks over at him, the two boys taking the cozy spot on the floor. They piled pillows to the back of the couch, similar to their set up against Wille's headboard that night, and Simon can already just feel the weight of Wille's head potentially falling on him again. They also share the blanket Wille pulled in from his room. 

"What do you think her opinion of the tub will be?" Simon's mouth drops open a little, almost a little like he didn't expect Wille to know he thought it was ridiculous, and he can't stop the laugh that leaves him. "What? You thought I didn't catch the look on your face when you saw it?"

Before Simon can respond, Sara and Erik shush them, speaking at the same time.

"Quiet lovebirds."

Both boys snap their unimpressed expressions at their rightful sibling but they're too busy laughing, giving each other air high fives from their distances.

~

For Simon, winter break usually meant spending every day at Rosh's house, gaming with Ayub till 5 in the morning, and attempting to catch up on much needed sleep. And while he still did all that, he also spent the rest of it texting Wille what felt like every waking moment, sneaking over to his room, and having one of the best Christmases of his life since he was a kid.

After the initial lovebird comment, Sara and Erik had, surprisingly, not made fun of their siblings anymore.

Maybe it was because the further it got into the night, the more sweet and sentimental it had felt. The cheesy movies were ridiculous, they seem to get more and more ridiculous every year, but it also created a vibe that was wholesome.

Wille and Simon kept their comments (because of course they had to talk) uncharacteristically quiet. They touched the whole time - their game of footsy, leg pressed against leg, basically sharing a pillow - until Wille, almost 7 hours into movies, fell victim to sleep and found his rightful place on Simon's shoulder. 

Erik saw them when he got up to refill his drink but didn't say anything, only shared a soft smile with Simon. Sara saw them from her chair and was tempted to take a photo, because she'd never seen her brother watch someone they way he watched a sleeping Wille, but she refrained.

She looked away and give them that sweet, innocent private moment.

Her gaze then shifted to Erik who caught hers right back, glinted eyes and knowing smiles that, at least for the rest of the night, they'd keep their comments to themselves about how annoying and love sick their siblings were for each other.

Chapter Text

"Wille..."

Just from the heavy disappointment in Simon's tone, Wille knows he's about to be (yet again) egregiously humbled and embarrassed this morning. 

The two boys were sitting on the bus going to Hillerska, bright and early at seven a.m. on the dot. It was Simon's idea last night, while tucked away in Wille's room, that they should get to school a little early today; it would get Wille acquainted with the campus and feeling a little less anxious. 

"Wille, stop," Simon pouts, gently tugging the hand he was gnawing at away from his mouth.

Simon had seen him do that in the midsts of his panic attacks, had seen the blood and skin ripped away at his cuticles, but noticed he did it when he was simply nervous too; the biting wasn't as intense, he didn't have that almost dissociative look in his eye, but it was there. It was still there and it made Simon sad to see; Wille then seemed sad that he was sad. 

"I'm sorry," he sighs, an apologetic smile on his face. "I guess I'm just... a little nervous for tomorrow."

The two were in Wille's bed in their usual spots - perched up against his headboard, blanket and legs tangled together, arms touching. Simon kept their hands together and Wille smiled as he looked down at them, like he couldn't believe he was holding hands with this boy; sometimes Simon couldn't believe it either.

Wille intertwined their fingers, which fit perfectly as they suspected, and rubbed his thumb over Simon's skin. It was comforting, meant to soothe, even though he was the anxious one, and it made Simon's heart pull in every direction.  

"It'll be okay," Simon reassures gently, quietly, in a tone that no one but Wille hears. "You have me and Sara. You already know people so that'll be good."

And when that didn't seem like enough, when he still felt Wille sigh and tense slightly next to him, he wanted to do anything to help - even if it fucking meant waking up at an ungodly hour.

"We could go a little early if you want?” He suggests softly. “So you could look around the school and get used to it. My mom walked me and Sara through our schedules the first time because we were a little nervous too and it made us feel a lot better."

That suggestion really did put Wille at ease last night, just so happy that Simon cared enough to go early with him - but both of them still woke nervous this morning for different reasons.Wille was scared to see this school Simon warned him about. Have nosy eyes on him as the new, mysterious student who's starting in the middle of the year; apparently, this is a rarity, an acception made for the Bernadottes. 

Simon didn't know how he felt about showing up with the boy he just knew people were gonna be interested in. Because, for whatever annoying reason the curly-haired doesn’t wish to understand, rich white people are obsessed with other rich white people. He also didn't know how to feel that said new boy, the boy he couldn't get enough of, seemed to have never taken the bus in his life and, thus, didn't know fuck all about how it worked. 

Wille looks over to see Simon staring at him, eyes hard but a hint of a smirk pulling at his lips. 

"Please don't," Wille begs, pressing his head into the back of the seat. "That was embarrassing enough, Simon."

Because how was he supposed to know he had to download an app to pay for the bus? He thought cash was universally accepted anywhere! He also didn't think the old man driving would so loudly berate him with the morning rush of sleepy patrons and judgmental stares. Wille had told Simon last night that Erik could've driven Sara and them, was more than happy to, but he vehemently refused. 

"Have you seriously never been on a bus before?" Simon couldn’t keep the judgement out of his tone if he tried. He even laughs a little, Wille pouting at him which only makes him laugh more. "I mean, you lived in a city for fucks sake!” he continues, the embarrassed blonde melting further into the seat. “Did you not take public transportation?"

Wille can't for the life of him tell this boy, this beautiful boy he likes more and more each day, this beautiful boy who detests all things ridiculously fancy and privileged, that he grew up with a driver all his life. There's just no way to tell someone you have a driver and not seem like a complete and utter douchebag. 

"No," is all Wille says sheepishly, his cheeks heating.

Simon narrows his eyes suspiciously, immediately knowing something's up. If there's been only one downfall to hanging out with Simon nearly every day during the break (up until this moment Wille couldn’t think of one) it's that the boy already picked up on when Wille's hiding something; it's incredibly heartwarming but also mildly inconvenient. 

"So, what, your parents just drove you around everywhere?"

Wille scoffs at Simon's tone of disbelief, at the idea that his parents would do anything nice for him and that Simon has caught on enough to know his parents are shitty and wouldn't do that. 

"Not exactly, no," he says, suddenly fascinated by the ripped fabric in the seat in front of his. Simon has no interest, only coutinues to stare 

"Erik?" Simon asks; Wille wonders for a second why he seems so intense about this, is obviously pushing right now, until he looks over and sees mirth in his eyes.

A look like he knows what Wille's holding back.

Something in the blonde's gaze must give him away too because Simon shakes his head, staring at him in a way he's learned means the boy isn’t backing down. 

"Someone..." Wille begins hesitantly, sighing because holy shit he's gonna sound like such a dick right now. "Someone, kind of, like, drove me around... me and my family, when we needed."

Simon blinks and then blinks again, the look of utter disbelief on his face so humorous, Wille would laugh if he didn't think Simon was about to void their friendship.

"Her name is Malin," he adds for good measure with a small, humble smile - to his credit, he loves Malin.

Sees her as more of a mother than his own and is probably the only person in the world, besides Erik, who knows some of his deepest, darkest secrets; but hearing about someone having a driver, mother figure or not, could be a little ridiculous, he supposes.  

"Malin," Simon repeats, testing the name on his lips. His voice is half amused, half sarcastic, cocking his head at the blonde beside him. "And is this Malin... are you telling me you have a fucking driver, Wille?"

"She's my family's driver! I didn't hire her!"

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Simon mutters, almost like the way he did when he saw Erik's bathroom. "Do you realize how insane that is?" The boy asks, his face way too pretty to look full of such disdain. "Maybe that's why people thought you were the prince of fucking Sweden, with a driver."

"And a bodyguard."

Wille thinks he deserves an award for not cracking immediately, Simon's eyes growing comically large before he finally lets the giggle slip.

"Kidding. You should've seen your fa-"

"That's not funny!"

Simon smacks him in the chest, incredibly lightly the way he always does. His hand then lingers on his blue sweater, the way it always does.

And just like Wille always does, will continue to do because he would never even playfully hit Simon, he places his hand directly on top of his and welcomes the sparks that shoot through him. 

"It kind of is," Wille says playfully, usually never having this type of energy in the morning. "Why would I need a bodyguard?"

"Why would you need a driver?" Simon asks incredulously, their intertwined hands (that they don't even realize are intertwined anymore) dropping down between them. "Why would you need a ridiculously large clawfoot tub and why would you need-"

"You and that fucking tub!" Wille throws his head back in laughter, trying to be quiet because he doesn't need to be stupid and obnoxious to everyone on this bus right now. "What's so wrong with it?"

"Are you for real?" Simon snickers, because even though he's come to genuinely like and respect Erik, his interior design choices are insane to him (although he does have good mugs). "No one in Bjärstad has shit like that."

Wille bites back a comment that in his area of Stockholm, that's considered nothing, the most basic of appliances. That it'd rather be considered the norm and Erik would actually be judged for only having one bathroom. Wille doesn't forget that he's lived a privileged life, that he's considered an elite member amongst Swedish society - his parents don't let him forget it - but he does sometimes forget that people live in other ways. That not everyone is used to the luxuries and intricacies he's experienced and, thus, it could be a little jarring. 

"Well, maybe one day you can use it and be converted."

Simon smiles and Wille heart soars because he's positive he'll never get used to just how pretty he is. 

"No shot."

The school is only a short distance away once they get off the bus. Simon and Wille walk side by side, closer than most friends would but not holding hands, as the curly-haired warns him about the worst of the worst. 

"Mr. Englund's kind of a dick. He only really gives extra help if you pay for it instead of at workies," Simon explains, Wille swearing he's listening even though the boy's side profile is disgustingly perfect. "And then the third years fucking suck. August and Vincent especially. Actually, August is, apparently, second cousins with the real prince of Sweden, not you, but don't worry, he'll tell you within the first two minutes of meeting anyway."

Wille can't stop the laugh that bubbles out of him. 

"But does he have a driver?"

The blank look Simon throws his way only makes him laugh harder.

"Too soon," he says, shaking his head. Wille smiles fondly and sometimes he thinks it must be too big because his cheeks physically ache. "Anyway," Simon continues, "some of the girls in our year are actually cool. Maddie and Felice, especially. Felice is in choir with me but I-"

"Holy shit wait, am I gonna be able to hear you sing then?" Wille asks, stopping in his tracks; he thinks it's a crime that Simon has been relentless in his refusal to sing for Wille. He still is, it appears, if the way he rolls his eyes and keeps on walking is any indication. The blonde shamelessly chases after him. "I'll join the choir if I must, Simon!"

"I heard you sing, they'd never fucking allow that."

Wille scoffs as he fully catches up with Simon, seeing the grand school building coming into view. It's just as posh and immaculate as he was expecting: perfect landscaping covered by the last remaining bits of snow surrounding the acres of land. There's only a few students walking around campus, some other non-boarders maybe, but it's mostly desolate and strangely quiet. 

"Classes don't start until 8:15 so it's pretty dead," Simon confirms. 

In the 45 minutes of blissful calm (or as calm as it could be), Simon helps Wille find his locker, walk through their schedule and offers to show him around the other parts of the campus. Simon can't help but drag him toward the music room on their way to class, where he and Wille squeeze on the bench together and fiddle with the keys. Simon isn't surprised that Wille can not only read sheet music but plays the piano.

"What, you don't know how?" Wille asks, even though Simon is tapping away playing parts of the school song. 

"No," Simon huffs, trying not to sound too bitter. "I can only play by ear."

Wille continues to learn things about the boy beside him that only make him more intrigued, more fascinated, about him.

He's opened up a lot since their times outside, finds that he's actually quite giggly and playful and teases way more than he'd expect from the brooding neighbor in the yard next door. But the more serious things - the things with his dad, the very obvious tension between them, the way they've almost kissed half a dozen times - still lingers in the background.

Wille would never push about those things either, feels too shy to even mention his (quite obvious) feelings and overwhelming want to kiss him - but, sometimes, he secretly wonders if Simon would ever even think about opening up to him.

Simon plays the first few notes, then messes up, expecting Wille to laugh or call him out; but when he looks over, the blonde only smiles fondly. Gently takes his hand, because Simon swears this boy only touches him like he's made of glass, and places it over the correct key. His hands are cold in Simon's warm ones but it's not uncomfortable, somehow never is. Being around and with Wille is when he feels the most comfortable. 

"Are you feeling less nervous for today?" Simon asks, looking over to the clock. "We have like 15 minutes until our first class."

That should make Wille feel nervous, should twist his gut and bring up the nausea he's used to experiencing, but coming early with Simon today really did help put him at ease. Just having the boy beside him in general.

"I actually am," Wille says, knocking their arms together softly. "Thank you, Simon." 

The looks between them are too soft, too sweet. Even though they're in school, Wille finds himself moving closer to Simon, their bodies like magnets, eyes to lips, sparks shooting up their touching arms. Simon, uncontrollably, licks at his own mouth in a way that has Wille scrambling, because he doesn't want their first kiss to be anywhere near Hillerska as much as he wants it to happen already. 

"I know you're not a morning person," Wille continues, a playful tone slipping through his voice, "actually really grumpy in the morning, so for you to-"

Two bumbling boys bursting into the music room cause the two to jump apart. The bench creaks underneath them but they can barely hear it over the two people bantering back and forth. Wille regards them curiously, the dark-haired playfully pushing the strawberry blonde.

"I didn't fucking mean it like that, Henry, I just-"

Henry must be able to feel eyes on them, the boy snapping his head over to see Wille and Simon sitting by the piano. His eyes narrow at the intrusion, even though they busted in on them, before falling on Wille. He regards him with a blank expression, confused, because he can tell he's new, before his eyes move to Simon.

Wille doesn't like the way his eyes roll, lip curls, at the sight of him. 

"Non-res," Henry says chastisingly, making his way over to them. The other boy lingers behind, eyes moving back and forth between Simon and Wille. "What are you doing in here?” He sighs dramatically, “you can't just bring your poor friends here to show off! I know they probably want to-"

"Simon was just showing me around actually," Wille blurts out before the boy can speak. "I'm new. Today's my first day."

They don't even seem to take in the information, too focused on Simon beside him. 

"Oh. Wait. That's your name, non-res? Simon?" he mocks, "I didn't know that."

Simon just rolls his eyes as the boy by the door sighs out, "Henry..." like even he's tired of his charade. The strawberry blonde looks back innocently, shrugging his shoulders.

"What, Walter? Did you know that?" 

"He knew that and so did you," Simon mutters under his breath, Wille looking over at him. 

He's tenser than before, eyes on the keys, and Wille really doesn't like the way this is playing out, what this appears to be. It would seem like friendly banter and joking if Simon wasn't visibly annoyed and uncomfortable. Henry and Walter also seem like rich kids Wille knows all too well. Wille didn't even start school yet, Erik had to pull some strings to make it happen, so he can't tell them to fuck off just yet the way he wants to - but he won't be cordial either. 

"Well we weren't done in here so if you could..."

Wille knows it's rather bold. He doesn't know where the confidence came from but they really were in here first. And now he needs to ask Simon about them. 

The two boys look like they don't really know what to make of Wille and him kicking them out - a mix of disbelief and intrigue (because who the fuck is this new kid telling them what to do?) - before the dark-haired pulls his friend away. 

"Let's just go. Class starts soon anyway."

Henry waits a few seconds, just stares between Simon and Wille, Simon and Wille. The blonde thinks he might say something before he just scoffs, muttering something that sounds like "fucking non-res" under his breath before they both turn and leave.

Silence fills the room with just Simon and Wille left on the bench, the formers face still down. Wille's hand twitches to touch him, lift his head because he hates when Simon lowers it in moments like this instead of hiding his smile cutely. He waits for Simon to make a move before he can't help but elbow him gently. Simon looks over and catches Wille's soft stare, lips quirking as he, much to Wille's delight, elbows him back. 

"Were those the dick third years you warned me about?" Wille asks softly, "though they didn't tell me about the prince so I guess not."

Simon tries to smile, would probably fool Wille if he didn't memorize his real one, as he shakes his head. 

"No. They're in our year. Also dicks."

Wille holds back a chuckle, biting down on his lip. He lets the silence linger, just looking over at Simon and patiently hoping he'll say something, anything, about it. They're used to sitting with each other in silence but this one is the awkward kind they've also occasionally grown used to. 

"Non-res?" He tries, voice low like he's saying a bad word. The way Henry had said it made it seem like one. Simon scoffs and rolls his eyes, pulling the arm against Wille's away; he doesn't think about how cold he feels now.

"Yeah."

The reply is short. Wille's stomach tightens nervously. A few beats of silence, Wille's heart stuttering, then, "why do they call you that?"

Simon's gaze is different when he looks at him this time. Gone is the soft, brown fondness replaced with something icy that matches his tone. 

"Probably has something to do with me living off campus."

Wille knows, or is at least hoping, that Simon isn't mad at him. Those guys were very clearly being dicks to him, didn't even care that there was an audience either so he could only imagine how it would've went if he was alone. But it still makes Wille feel nervous inside, can still feel his face drop and render him speechless because he's never good at people being mad at him.

He should be used to it by now, living with his mother for the past 16 years.

Simon's nothing like his mother, though, proves to be like nobody he's ever met in his life, because he sighs before he puts his arm back against Wille's. Gives him that comfort his touch-starved self clearly so desperately, obviously, needs. 

"Sorry," the boy mutters, although his eyes are trained back on the piano keys. "They're just assholes. Everyone here is."

He kept saying that in the weeks leading up to this moment. Wille was positive they were, he knows how these people are, detests them even though he's one of them on paper - but he didn't expect to see it before school even officially started.

The blonde smiles even though it's all so fucked up, hoping his face will portray what he's too scared to say. 

"Everyone but you. And me," Wille says, bumping his arm playfully. Simon peeks at him and his lips quirk, like he's trying not to smile, before he emphasizes "friend." 

That gets a laugh out of Simon that Wille was hoping to hear, the smaller boy shaking his head. His curls bounce and Wille's eyes immediately fall to the coconut locks, then the brown, crinkled eyes and tempting pink mouth. It's defeating the purpose of the word friend in the first place, the same way Simon's gaze meets his before falling to his smiling lips. 

Friends, they say as they stare at each other like they're gonna kiss.

Friends, they say as both their hearts start pounding in their chest. 

They allow themselves to stay in the moment for the fleeting amount of time they have left, on the bench smiling and bumping arms softly, before the inevitable reality sets in. They both should've realized, distracted by getting to know each other and the blissful journey of becoming friends, that their realities have never been pretty. This would be no different. 

~

Wille found himself incredibly disturbed by Hillerska for many reasons: people staring at him as if he was some sort of celebrity or public figure, the teachers, and headmistress herself, making it a point to introduce him as if he was such (even though his family were one of the many wealthy alumni), the way random people flocked to him in the halls or after class as if he had given them any impression that he was friendly. 

But what disturbed Wille the most, what was making him more and more annoyed throughout the day, was how people treated Simon.

Wille hadn't really left the curly-haired's side and while all the attention was on him as the new boy, the new Bernadotte boy, still, no one had approached him. He swears he hasn't heard someone even utter Simon's name or look his way once if it wasn't to look around him at Wilhelm himself. 

It was weird, bizarre, and incredibly uncomfortable.

Dumb and dumber had been talking shit to him this morning but then went on to just blatantly ignore him like everyone else. He doesn't understand how someone like Simon can even fly under the radar. How everyone isn't completely enthralled by him.

It was on their way to lunch, still attached at the hip, when Wille got his answers and shit hit the fan. It was crazy how just a few hours could make things go from the best they've been to horribly strained. How fast Wille's stomach could knot with anxiety because what the fuck just happened? How does stuff go so wrong so fast?

"The third years eat first," Simon whispers to Wille, the two boys sat side by side. "Some stupid fucking... tradition, or whatever. They love those here."

Wille scoffs because he heard stuff like that from Erik, stuff he shared with Wille when he got older because there's nothing more grotesque than hearing about the on the table tradition or hazing. 

"I've heard," Wille says, before looking down at their side of the table.

He recognizes most of the boys from their classes, Henry and who he now knows as Walter in particular. The way their faces changed as Wilhelm was introduced by the headmistress would've made him laugh if he didn't already hate them. If he didn't watch the way they spoke to Simon and then sneered at him again when they noticed them next to each other. 

Simon's about to say something (seemingly snarky from the look on his face) when three obnoxiously loud, boisterous boys enter the room.

Wille can feel Simon immediately tense next to him. He looks over and hates the expression he sees, annoyance and fear all over his pretty face, which makes something protective surge through his body. 

"Simon," he says lowly, just for him to hear. "Are you okay?"

Are you okay? he asks over the fence, his drunk father screaming inside the house, cold air whipping around them.

Are you okay? he asks, just the voices from people at school making him tense, chatter around them like their arrival is nothing to everyone else. 

Simon only looks over and nods, answering with a quiet, "yeah," when Wille says his name again, something in his guarded gaze shifting when they make eye contact. 

"Who are they?" the blonde asks, voice still quiet, protective instinct humming through him. He didn't even notice his foot was pressed against Simon's until the other boy moves it away slightly. 

"The third years I mentioned before," is all Simon gets out, before the tall one with curly black hair looks across the room.

The moment he makes eye contact with Wille, a smile breaks out across his face. He walks over to the table and starts banging on it obnoxiously, every student in the room turning their attention to him; if Wille wasn't already scared of the way this random stranger was smiling at him, he was scared of how quickly he was able to command everyone's attention. 

"Listen up motherfuckers," he begins, some chuckles and snorts escaping a few boys at the end. "As prefect, I find it my duty to personally make you all aware of our newest student."

Wille tenses almost as much as Simon when August makes his way over. Simon curses lowly under his breath, shrinking away from Wille and putting on a front (because he now knows that's what it is) - it reminds him so much of those first few days of knowing him. His eyes are hard, jaw clenched, and his arms are folded protectively in front of him. Like he's trying to, both, draw attention away from himself but also appear tough and unbothered.

August stands before Wille and the first thing the blonde notices is how familiar he is. Not because he's met him before but people like him, people just like him, and they give him severe anxiety. The way they try to be likable and charismatic, enter a room with something that resembles charm, but only makes his stomach pull; if you told Wille he and Erik had spent Christmas with him at the law firm parties, he'd probably believe it. 

But he thinks he'd remember a name like-

"August Horn of Årnäs," he says, like his name is the pride and joy of this school, this country. "I'm prefect," he repeats, like he hadn't just announced it so grandly. "I heard your brother was too when he went here. Erik Bernadotte? Was also captain of the rowing team?"

He puts emphasis on his last name, the last name that holds power and status, and it makes Wille's skin crawl. Makes him wanna scoff because why the fuck is he reciting this back to him like he's speaking from a Wikipedia page?

It makes him feel even worse how uncomfortable Simon is beside him, the whole table with eyes on them. 

"Uh, yeah," Wille stutters out because holy fuck everyone is looking at him. "That'd be Erik."

Erik would get along with August, might even like him. Erik knows how to play both sides of the fence so genuinely and Wille for the fucking life of him doesn't understand how; sometimes, deep down, it makes him wonder which version of his brother is real. 

"Erik and you're Wilhelm, right? The brothers from Bernadotte & Erlhing?"

Wille bites back a comment, his jaw clenching. He's not used to anger, he's really not, but he feels it slowly building like that night of the fight with Erik.

He wants to tell August to fuck off, mind his business, and not mention Erik in relation to the firm ever again. That his brother had made it a point to separate himself, no matter the narrative his parents are still trying to spin, and he doesn't need to start rumors. 

Before he can, though, August's boastful smile is back on his face. 

"Rickard Cronquist, R&C Gates, is my stepfather. I believe our parents might have-"

"I don't really follow my parents work," Wille says shortly. He doesn't want to and doesn't care to. He doesn't want to even more if it means dealing with people like this. 

The boy's face falters but he quickly regathers his composure, the dozens of eyes on them probably having a lot to do with it; he also can't imagine he appreciates someone younger, a first year, talking to him like this. 

"Ah, of course not, you're still a little young, I guess," he says, before his eyes shift to Simon beside him. His gaze zeroes in on him like a hawk to a mouse, although Simon is the farthest thing from meek. "Is the little socialist bothering you?"

"He was harassing him this morning too! Fuckin' non-res," Henry pipes in, Simon's head shooting up. Wille's too busy staring down the strawberry blonde to notice Simon's own harsh, annoyed gaze. He's not too busy to notice when Simon flinches beside him, looking over just as August is ruffling the boy's curls. 

"Oh? Is that right, sosse?" August hums, his tone just playful and friendly enough to seem joking - except, just like before in the music room, it's obvious it's not by how uncomfortable Simon is.

Simon shakes his head away from the older's hold, shrinking away toward Wille just to be out of his reach; for Wille, it only increases that protective instinct. Makes him feel such red hot rage and irritation, he has to really, really remember to think before he speaks. He has to try and-

"Be careful with this one, Wilhelm," August warns, "he ran his mouth the first day of class talking some shit about my family, the royal family, and how poor people-"

"His name is Simon."

A few surprised chuckles fill the otherwise silent room, the boys looking at each other dumbly. Some because maybe they genuinely didn't know that, others because someone just snapped at August. Someone didn't seem phased by the boy who held a small amount of power and exploited it the way all insecure people with a sliver of status do.

August looks baffled, Wille knows that much. Wille would smirk right in his fucking face if he wasn't so annoyed. The laugh that leaves the prefect is fake, almost pained, and for what feels like the 50th time today, the blonde cringes. 

"What?" August chuckles.

He resists the urge to roll his eyes, feeling Simon's gaze burning into his face. He doesn't look over at him, though, not even a little. He continues to look up at August without an ounce of fear, not an ounce of anxiety that would usually be plaguing his body right now. 

"Non-res, socialist, sosse," Wille repeats, the words seeming like slurs. "But his name is Simon. Only Simon."

Not one chuckle escapes right now. Just a dead, uncomfortable quiet as everyone either stares at Wilhelm's hard gaze, August's baffled expression, or Simon staring down at his hands; naturally, the biggest asshole is the one to break it. 

"Okay, so let me warn you about Simon then," August says, like he's only talking to Wille and not a room full of people in front of Simon himself. "He's not exactly someone people like us should be around. You really might wanna be mindful of that if you're going to be-"

"He's my friend," Wille says, leaving no room for error or mistake. "He's my friend and I think it's fucked up that you-"

"Wille."

Simon's voice is hard but low. So low that only Wille hears it but he keeps talking because fuck that and fuck them. They've stared at him all day and now they're fucking with Simon.

"...think it's okay to talk shit to people when he's not doing anything."

"Not doing anything? He's mooching off the system by being here on a scholarship, him and that sister of his, so I-"

"Don't talk about my sister."

It's the first thing Simon has said aloud since entering the dining room. Wille's not surprised in the slightest he only speaks up when it's in honor of his family. August looks surprised that he said anything at all, scoffing as he turns his attention to him.

"Oh? When'd you grow a pair all the sudden, non-res? You now think it's okay to-"

"His name is fucking Simon."

Wille's voice is harsh, louder than before, and has a tone of finality. He didn't even know his voice could possess such a quality, especially when talking to a room full of strangers. The thought of speaking up usually makes him wanna vomit but this is just blurting out of him. It doesn't seem like he could stop if he wanted to. 

August's attention is off the curly-haired and back on shit-talking Wilhelm, the taller boy regarding him like he's lost his fucking mind - before hell can break loose, because they all see the way Vincent stands up and begins to stalk over, the housemaster makes his way in with a platter of food for the third years to take first. 

Wille can hear August mumble something under his breath but doesn't quite catch the words. He's too busy looking around the tense room, the third years scattering up to the food while the other boys, very obviously, mumble about the scene that just unfolded.

Wille looks over to see Simon's head down, his hands balled into slight fists, thumb pressing into his hand; he'd wanna take it in his if the boy wasn't so tense.

"Simon," Wille says, his name starting to sound weird after repeating it so many times. "Are you o-"

"Don't."

Wille's heart drops at the word. At Simon's tone. At the dark, detached, angry look in his eyes when he finally peeks up and catches his gaze. The blonde's eyebrows pull together, looking over the boy in confusion. 

"What?"

A moment of silence between them, then another, before Simon scoffs and shakes his head. His chair squeaks against the floor and echos throughout the room, the sound of utensils clattering and chattering boys drowning out the dirty old sneakers smacking against the floor. 

Wille stares at his retreating back feeling nothing but pure and utter confusion - what the fuck just happened?

~

Up until an hour ago, Simon was annoyed that he and Wille only had morning classes together - but after that shit show of a lunch, Simon's stomach growling at skipping the meal, he couldn't have felt more grateful. 

He knows that he should've expected Hillerska to create some sort of fucking drama like this. He'd just been so lost in the excitement and giddiness of Wille, of the boy next door going to school with him, that he forgot the reality.

That, instead of having a friend at this school where he only gets berated and called names, Wille now just sees the way he gets bullied everywhere - at home by his dad, at school by his peers - and even though Simon is tough and stands up for himself, for his family, he's trapped in situations that make him look weak. That make it appear like he needs someone to save him when he's very capable of saving himself; he's just learned to pick and choose his battles.

If Wille thinks he's gonna be his savior everywhere, as much as Simon likes him, as much as Simon sometimes wishes he could accept that, he's incredibly wrong. And he knows the boy meant well, he really does, but it only made Simon angry. And embarrassed.

It made him feel the way everyone else does who looks at him and pities him. Who thinks that they're doing Simon a service, their good deed of the day to make themselves feel adequate, when, really, it just makes him feel like a charity case. People have kind of gotten used to his presence by now, his allure of the poor scholarship boy dying down, but now the staring is happening again. Ever since lunch. Ever since word probably got around and he can feel the stares of everyone.

Fredrika and Stella are the worst, sat in the row next to him and not even trying to hide their looks and whispers. He rolls his eyes just as his phone buzzes in his pocket, waiting until the teacher's turned around to peek down at it. He hates that he feels slightly irritated when he sees Wille's name.

(Wille 1:17 pm)

what happened? u never came back after lunch

He wouldn't respond even if the teacher didn't turn back around, Simon catching him just as he's shoving his phone back down in his pocket. Stella's giggle causes his head to snap over, the three of them making eye contact before he rolls his eyes away again.

Fuck this school.

The day seems to go by as slow as possible, mundane class after class and stares leaving Simon's nerves shot by the time 3:00 rolls around. He's at his locker when his phone vibrating again causes him to jump. He holds back a sigh when he sees its Wille. 

(Wille 3:02 pm)

r we still meeting at the bus?

Simon's annoyed, upset, and feeling especially ready to brood today, so he wants to respond with something snarky.

Why wouldn't they be meeting at the bus today? How else would they get home?

He shakes the thought from his head, texting back a quick, "yeah" before making his way toward the bus stop.

He hopes to catch Sara on the way so he can warn her in advance to mind her business, knowing she'll sense something different with him, between them, in the first millisecond and give him that questioning look; with his luck today, of course he doesn't. Of course, instead, he passes by August and his clan of minions on his way. He ignores their shouts of "sosse" and "non-boarder," hearing something along the lines of his new nickname "Wilhelm's bitch" that makes him clench his jaw to keep from cursing at them.

He keeps his head down, eyes trained on the grass that turns to concrete, before he's lingering at the bus stop. He's so tense, his muscles are twitching. He can feel the anger and irritation building in him and he just really hopes he can keep his emotions in check. He really hopes he doesn't-

"Simon."

Wille breathes his name in a way that usually gives him butterflies but, now, only serves as a reminder of what he did at lunch before. The way he played some fucking savior and told a room full of rich boys who don't give a fuck about his name.

Simon turns to see Wille standing behind him, looking unsure and slightly uncomfortable. The palpable anxiety in his face makes his stomach sink, makes him feel like the biggest asshole in the world for maybe playing a part in it.People had been staring and talking about him all day, that couldn't be easy, but people have been doing it to Simon, too, and not in a way of interest or admiration (as shallow as it may be). 

Simon tries to smile but it's a pathetic attempt.

"Hey."

There's only a few other Hillerska students taking the bus right now, lingering around them seemingly uninterested. Simon wishes everyone else was like them.

Wille returns his smile and the attempt is just as pathetic.

The silence is deafening right now, making Wille seemingly more anxious and Simon more on edge. The blonde opens his mouth to speak, probably to fucking ask if he's okay, before he stops. Simon is grateful, because if those words left his mouth he'd definitely snap.

"How, uh, how was the rest of your day?"

It's an attempt and Simon, in any other instance, would be appreciative. He's feeling cold right now, feeling embarrassed and lesser and stupid for thinking this wouldn't happen.

"Well, I have a new name now," Simon says, "Wilhelm's bitch, if I heard August correctly before."

Anger at first takes over the blonde's face, eyes flaring like he's ready to fight again.

But then Simon's almost accusatory tone seems to sink in, must be the thing that makes him realize Simon's not only mad at the treatment he receives but mad that Wille said something in the first place. Wille's so stunned by the revelation, taking it in and looking at Simon in confusion, that he remains quiet. 

For once, after long moments of silence, he's quiet and Simon's the one to break it. 

"Wille, I know what you were trying to do. And I... I know you meant well," he says, because, God, he doesn't wanna be mean but he has to say this. "But you don't have to speak for me. Or fight my battles. I survived long enough at this school by myself and I don't need you to-"

"I wasn't trying to fight your battles, I just... they were wrong. They were being fucked up and they were-"

"They were talking to me," Simon says, cutting him off firmly, with uncharacteristic power, despite the way his heart is pounding. "They were talking to me and about me. I can deal with the name-calling and the stupid shit they do because none of it fucking matters. I don't care and it doesn't-"

"It does matter, Simon. It's not right," Wille says, intense as ever, shaking his head. He steps closer to Simon and, for the first time, he doesn't like that Wille towers over him. It usually feels safe but now it feels like superiority. It feels like just another thing he has over Simon, as silly as it is. "How am I supposed to just be quiet and keep my mouth shut when they're saying those things and-"

"They're saying those things about me so that's how!" Simon snaps, all the prickling irritation coming to the surface. Making his stomach knot so badly because this was not at all how he imagined the first day going. He didn't expect to be hit with the realization of just how different he and Wille are - they were joking about it this morning but up until a few months ago, he was escorted around by a driver for fucks sake.

“I don't care about the stupid shit they say. None of it matters to me,” Simon continues, “But you don't need to be some savior, it only makes things worse for me. I know they were staring at you all day too, kept coming up to you and trying to, like, be your fucking friend or whatever," he says, because it'd feel wrong if he didn't acknowledge that, "but they only talk to me if it's to talk shit."

"That's exactly my point, Simon! That shouldn't be-"'

"It is!" He yells, ignoring the way Wille's face drops. "That's what it is and it's fine. It's whatever," he says, voice now softer, quieter, because he doesn't ever wanna be the type who can't control his temper. "They will never like me but they already like you, Wille, because you're one of them. You don’t have to do anything and they'd already accept you. Just because you're not an asshole doesn't mean you're not like them."

Because Wille's not like them. He's nothing at all like them. He's gentle and kind and does everything in his power to make sure Simon feels comfortable.

But he's also rich and privileged and can so easily fit in at this school. He still probably has more in common with them than Simon in terms of everything: the way they've lived their lives thus far, the problems they have, the claw foot fucking tubs. 

He can see Wille's hurt, can see it written all over his face and pretty brown eyes. But Simon's hurt too. Simon's upset and angry and thinks he has the right to be. Simon didn't ask for Wille to-

"What's going on here?"

Simon could start manically laughing at his luck today. He knew Sara was meeting them but she couldn't have come at a worst time. When they both look angry, staring at each other with brown eyes full of hurt and confusion. Wille looks like he's about to start running his mouth again and Simon's clenching his jaw so he doesn't scream. 

"Nothing," Simon says, Wille still the speechless one.

The blonde cranes his neck toward the woods surrounding them, scoffing under his breath as he shakes his head. Simon looks over at him but his gaze is too focused on the trees. Not another word is said until the bus comes a few minutes later. Sara tries to speak to her brother by mouthing "what happened?" and "are you guys okay?" but Simon doesn't answer. Pretends to not know what she's saying. He just takes a seat and plays with his own fingers until the bus pulls up. 

He hates that he can't make a comment about Wille successfully using the app. He hates even more that Wille doesn't look his way as he does so, walking down the aisle and plopping in a seat closest to the window. Sara follows behind Simon, her hand pushing him toward the seat next to Wille before she takes the aisle next to him. He shoots her a dirty side eye but the girl is unbothered, per usual. 

She mouths "fix it," before popping in her headphones and promptly ignoring him - or so she wants him to think. Simon can very clearly see her side eyeing them. 

This silence between the two boys was different for two main reasons - they haven't really fought yet and someone always broke it. Even if it was a simple comment or a look, a small smile or sign of acknowledgement, they always broke it. One of them always took pity on the other because they both knew they couldn't take it anymore. 

This time was different, though. Very different. There was such a thick tension in the air, Simon swears you could cut it with a knife.

It seemed worse than the tension that surrounded them the several times they'd almost kissed. When it was so overwhelming and almost buzzing, the curly-haired almost leaning in and pressing his lips against his, accepting whatever consequences there'd be. But at least that tension was exciting, thrilling. That tension made him buzz from his head to the tips of his toes, his mind filling with all the ways he could kiss him and make that familiar blush cross his cheeks. 

This tension made him feel so sick to his stomach. This tension made him feel everything from anger to sadness to guilt and he hated it. He hated it and yet, he couldn't help but feel like everything he said was justified. Like if he didn't say it, he wouldn't have been staying true to himself and his feelings. 

Every time he thinks Wille is gonna speak, side-eyeing him just as horribly as Sara, he doesn't. He looks down for a brief moment when he notices the blonde starts picking at his nails, moving his own gaze back to the seat in front of him before kicking at the boy's foot.

He knows Wille looks over at him, can feel his stare burning into his face, so he mutters a "sorry," as if it were an accident. 

Petty? In a way but he needed to stick to his guns while also making sure Wille doesn't hurt himself. 

The ride feels hours longer than this morning. This morning feels like it was days ago and not just eight hours ago. The bus stops and Sara gets up first, Simon and Wille following behind her in silence.

They walk that way like an odd, tense little row of geese, Sara or Simon occasionally asking the other about school or something at home. Once they get on their block, Sara slows until she's next to Simon.

She gives him a knowing, borderline aggressive stare that causes him to roll his eyes. 

"Stop," he says quietly, only loud enough for her to hear. 

"Then you stop," she retorts. "You're telling me what happened inside after you talk to him." 

The girl turns around and regards Wille who's looking at his house, Erik's SUV in the driveway. He looks up when he feels her gaze and, despite himself, smiles. Sara returns it softly, something panging in her chest.

She really likes Wille. She thinks he's sweet and kind and a little awkward but in a really endearing way. She also thinks he and Simon are good for each other, when they're not being stupid. 

"See you tomorrow, Wille."

"See you, Sara."

Sara walks in and leaves the two boys outside. Simon slowly turns to see Wille looking at him expectantly, like he should be the one to talk first. Something in the boy's eyes is leaving him annoyingly compliant despite everything.

"Are you meeting us tomorrow for the bus?"

He thinks for a moment, Wille's not gonna speak again. That he's gonna be petty and draw out this argument until he shrugs. 

"I don't know," Wille says, "maybe Erik should drive me tomorrow. Since I'm just like August and Henry."

Simon scoffs, shaking his head. What a fucking joke.

He bites down on his lip at first so he doesn't scream something more vulgar than his thoughts. He's sure his eyes make it obvious though, the fire that's lighting under his skin and through his bones burning. If he wants to fucking be like that, so will he. 

"Yeah," Simon scoffs, "maybe he should."

He turns back without another word, without another look on Wille's face because, really, he's dealt with enough bullshit today and he doesn't wanna look at him anymore.

He's just grateful that his parents, mostly his dad, are still at work because he slams the front door closed a little harsher than intended. A loud, frustrated scream type groan escapes his lips before he jumps at seeing Sara on the couch. 

"So," Sara says, not giving him a single fucking second. "What happened?"

~

"Bullshit, Erik! It's fucking bullshit and he just expected me to not say anything? Why the fuck would I not say anything? And then to suggest I'm like them? I strive to be the exact fucking opposite! Doesn't he know that?"

Wille experienced what can only be described as the most intense, debilitating word vomit of his life the second he burst through the door. Granted, Erik knew something was the wrong the moment he got home, although it was kind of hard to miss - the younger threw himself down on the couch and not so discreetly screamed into a pillow.

The older brother watched from his massage chair, a sarcastic, terrified smile on his face. He wasn't sure the younger even noticed him there at first. It was confirmed just a few seconds later when he looked up and stared at his brother in surprise. A few seconds of pregnant silence filled the once loud room.

"So..." Erik finally braves, because, damn, maybe he should get some How to Parent Teens for Dummies books. "School went well I take it?"

Cue the word vomit. The Erik sitting in his chair for almost an hour and a half as Wille talked like he never talked before. The very insane feeling that, before he knew it, Erik was becoming an already very involved older brother turned parent. 

Wille finishes the story right at the snarky parting comment in front of the house that Erik gave him a long, hard look for. 

"Wihelm…” Erik sighs (and if he can say so himself, he thinks he got the chastising parent tone down to a T). Wille looked just as guilty as Erik hoped he would, because there was really no reason for such a petty comment.

They both knew it. 

"It hurt me, Erik," Wille sighed, head falling back into the couch cushion. "I- he knows how much I hate it. How much I try to not- to not be like that."

"I understand that, Wille, and you're not. You don't have a mean bone in your body, unfortunately. You're caring to a terrible fucking fault and it's a great quality to have," Erik says, because his brother can barely hold his own shit together sometimes but has always, always, always wanted to help others. "But, at the same time, you also have to think about it from Simon's perspective, too. Just because you aren't like everyone at Hillerska personality wise doesn't mean you aren't like them."

Wille blinks, staring at his brother in bewilderment. 

"That- that makes no fucking sense."

Erik sighs, rubbing his hand over his face.

"Okay... how about this," Erik reasons, leaning over in his chair. "There are probably more things about our life, our life with mom and dad, that people at Hillerska would understand better than Simon, right?"

Wille ponders the question for a moment. A bath tub that Wille's getting really sick of thinking about and Malin, who he misses dearly, pops into his mind. 

"O-okay, yeah, I guess..."

"And there are some things we learned from living the way we did that Simon probably hasn't, right? I mean, you see how it is here. It's different," Erik continues, Wille nodding his head in agreement. "And that's not to say one is better or worse. They're just... different. So people living where we used to live, or people who can go to Hillerska because their families went or have the money to pay out of pocket, versus people living here are, naturally, gonna be different."

Hearing it from Erik's mouth makes it sound so obvious. Makes Wille wanna nod and say, yeah, okay, he obviously knows this, until he sits back and realizes maybe he didn't - but it's hard not to take personally. It's hard to accept the fact that Simon, for any reason, doesn't want him defending him from people who say terrible things about him.

"It wasn't about you personally, Wille, or maybe it was, I don't know, I'm not Simon," Erik says, fighting back a laugh at his brother's pout. "But I do think a lot of what I said is kind of right. You won't know until you talk to him about it which, I think, for the time being should wait." 

Wille wants to protest, can feel the words right on the tip of his tongue, before Erik's speaking again. 

"Give him the space to think about all of this on his own," Erik suggests. "It's just been him and Sara at that school for months and I have a feeling it hasn't been easy for them." Just the thought makes Wille's stomach sink, Erik catching the frown and sharing a similar expression - he fucking hates how much shit these kids get. "He finally has someone in his corner, someone who cares a lot and blushes 24/7 around him and is so intense, it's actually fucking scary to-" Wille reaches out to kick his brother's leg, a loud laugh leaving the older before he continues. 

"For real, though, it'll probably be different for him now. Having a friend there," Erik says, "Just give him space and let him adjust on his own. You guys will be okay. I'm, like, super smart about this shit."

"Fuck off," Wille smiles, although he's consistently surprised (and so fucking thankful) for how much his brother always helps him. Erik smiles and stands up to ruffle his brother's long hair, making a comment about him needing a haircut. Wille rolls his eyes and tells him to fuck off again before asking what he's making for dinner.

~

Simon never told Sara what happened that night, avoided her and the conversation like the plague, so she still watches Wille and Simon like a hawk on the bus the next morning. Not only the next morning but the mornings that follow, to see that things are still weird. They're not nearly as bad, they're at least talking a little bit, but things are still off. 

She couldn't say for sure what happened between the boys on the first day but she knew something did. It was so horribly and uncomfortably obvious.

Christmas night, she was almost uncomfortable by how cute they were but the day at the bus stop was far worse. The tenseness, the icy, hurt looks back and forth, the way both of them looked like they were ready to either scream or cry, was by far worse than giggling into the other and cuddling. She never thought she'd prefer to see her brother annoyingly love sick again but she did. 

"Erik's been on my ass to get a haircut but I don't know where to-"

"Don't cut your hair."

Sara smirks from her aisle seat, headphones popped in but playing low. Very low. She's not doing it to eavesdrop though, her ears are just sensitive. She just happens to hear them. Also happens to hear her brother's tone that she knows is frantic.

"Why not?" 

Bless Wilhelm's heart, he sounds so scared and confused. Sara wonders if all teenage boys are this dense or just them. 

"Because..." Simon tries, Sara doing her best not to burst out laughing. They have to make up already because this is just ridiculous. "Just because," he eventually huffs lowly.

Sara side-eyes the boys boldly, but sneakily, and perhaps Wilhelm isn't as dense as she thought because he smirks for all of two seconds. 

"Just because?" The blonde asks.

"Just because," her brother replies shortly, though not as short and biting as the first day.

He's coming around, Sara knows that much. He's coming around but it's obvious a discussion between them hasn't happened yet. Because Simon's still a little distant, Wilhelm seems on edge but trying his best, and they haven't not so discreetly held hands or touched each others arms all week. 

Wille bites down on his lip, suppressing a smirk. His gaze meets Sara's and instead of looking annoyed at her for watching them, he smiles softly. She can't pinpoint why or the emotion, can't understand why exactly he's smiling at her like that, but she knows it's kind. She knows there's nothing bad or negative about it. 

She likes Wilhelm, she really does, so she decides in that moment to talk to her brother tonight whether he wants to or not. 

~

Uncharacteristically, when Sara sits down on her brother's bed later that night, a pack of cookies in hand, he welcomes her in with little protest. It might have everything to do with the snacks she's brought in and not the expectant look on her face but she'll take what she can get. They sit against his wall quietly, watching his fish, as they munch on the cookies and try to prepare to speak to the other - Sara knows what she wants to say but wants to give her brother time.

Simon, on the other hand, doesn't know what the fuck to say. He just knows it's time to finally talk to his sister because he's getting sick of her looking at him knowingly all the time. 

He knows he and Wille have been weird since the first day of school. It's obvious in every interaction they have - on the bus, in the hallway, even in their texts - but they're having interactions so it's not like it's all bad. He also knows it's not something that can't be salvaged, they just need to talk about it. It's the elephant in the room, lingering so heavily above their heads like the dark storm cloud of Simon's father, the abuse, Wille's mother, his anxiety.

It's all so heavy and weighing on them and the only thing that was making them feel lighter was each other. But there are differences they weren't acknowledging. There are things about their lives they still haven't said to one another because their relationship is still so new and fresh. And, sure, thinking back, maybe Simon was a little harsh.

He knows Wille isn't like Henry or August, he knows he doesn't purposely try to be a savior, but Simon's embarrassment, the idea of what he was saying about everyone accepting Wille and ignoring Simon is very true. Because now, days later, even after Wille made the scene he did, even after all of Hillerska got used to Wilhelm Berndaotte attending their school, they still liked him.

They're still going out of their way to talk to him and try to befriend him all while ignoring the fact he seems to be friends with Simon.

Usually, at least at Marieburg, if someone hung out with the kid people deemed a 'freak' (in this case, a poor non-boarding socialist), by association, they were a freak too. Simon didn't get why it seemed so different for rich people until he realized it's because the money, the power, the prestige, is everything.

They don't care who Wille hangs out with, they don't even care about how Wilhelm is as a person, as long as it means they have his mommy or daddy's number in their pocket or a close connection to incredibly powerful people in the justice system (because God knows just how important those connections are for the conniving wealthy). 

He thinks it's all bullshit, can see how it's all fake. He thinks he would-

"So," Sara begins, ripping Simon from his thoughts. "Are you ready to talk about what happened between you two?"

Sara doesn't even have to say his name. He knows they both know. He also knows he is ready to talk about it but can't give in to his nosy (albeit helpful) older sister. 

"Between who?" Simon mumbles, cookie in mouth. Sara gives him a blank stare before she flicks his arm softly, Simon rolling his eyes - so much for not giving in immediately. 

He tells her the story from the beginning, with Henry and Walter.

How Wille immediately jumped to his defense before Simon could get a word out himself. He wasn't entirely annoyed then, just a little, because it was only Henry and Walter who were more dumb rich boys than they were mean and power hungry rich boys. Power hungry would be August, the third years. Simon wasn't scared of anyone at Hillerska but he knows he didn't wanna fuck with August purely because he's a headache. 

This isn't news to Sara either, he told her how obnoxious everyone was to him, because the girls do it to her too but in a more girlish way - with fake smiles, conniving looks, and purposeful cold shoulders - but the name-calling. He must've not went into too much detail about the name calling because Sara's stuck on that, just like Wille.

"Wilhelm's right, though, Simon," Sara says, shaking her head because she can't understand her brother; if anyone called her a name like that, he'd go crazy. "They shouldn't talk to you like that."

Simon does something between a groan and a sigh, shaking his head at his sister.

"That's not the point, Sara! They were talking to me, about me, and he just immediately stuck up for me. He didn't even let me say a word to them before they-"

"Would you have?"

Simon's words die in his throat, looking over at his sister. 

"What?"

She looks genuine, curious. Her eyes are always her easiest tell and right now, although she could appear smug, Simon can tell it's sincere.

"Would you have said something in the cafeteria to them? If they were calling you names?"

Simon blinks and really thinks about the question. Thinks until he realizes-

"Well, they only started saying shit because they were interested in Wille. 95% of the time, they usually just ignore me."

Sara nods thoughtfully at his words, almost like she expected that answer.

"Okay... so do you think maybe that's why he said something then? Maybe he felt guilty that he was bringing attention to you both from the start?" Sara asks, continuing before Simon can even speak. "And even then, Simon, you guys are friends. Friends stick up for their friends. Why would he want to hear someone talk badly about you?"

The curly-haired can't help but sigh because that was Wille's main thing too, the main thing that Simon couldn't refute - they are friends and friends stick up for their friends. 

"On top of the fact that..." Sara says again, Simon sighing because, okay, yeah, he gets it. "You guys are obviously more than friends. Of course he's gonna stick up for you when you're basically-"

"Sara, don't start this right now."

Her mouth quirks like she wants to laugh or smile but she resists, knocking into her brother lightly. 

"Just the truth," she replies, Simon rolling his eyes. 

The pensive silence falls over them again. The occasional crunch of a cookie or the soft hum of the fish tank are the only noises in his room, Simon looking over and smirking when Sara crunches particularly loud. She smiles with a mouth full and he feels his heart twinge, because his sister just wants to help, has just been wanting to help, but he's been doing what he does best and brooding silently. Brooding alone. Making the mood uncomfortable all week with her and Wille because he's too scared to talk about it and be a little vulnerable. 

"I was excited that he was gonna go. That I'd finally have someone else there and that it was gonna be him," Simon admits, his confession barely above a whisper. Sara can hear him though, she always can, even when he's not saying anything. "But I didn't really think about... how it'd actually be. How he'd see that shit happens in school, which is all fucking stupid anyway, but then he knows what happens here and it's..."

Sara gets it, more than anyone. Sara can see it causes her brother turmoil and, as the older sibling, she wishes he could do something to make it easier. She feels bad enough that she lets Simon take the brunt of their father's drunken wrath. 

"And it's not your fault. It's not our fault Simon, none of it," Sara says, her voice quiet too now because talking about this hard. They try to avoid this conversation at all costs. "And the stuff at school, too, isn't your fault. And Wilhelm knows that. That's why he wants to help you."

That's the hard part, too. Accepting that help. Accepting the fact that this boy sees him, knows him, and wants to help when Simon doesn't know how to accept help from anyone but himself. 

"He's also falling in love with you so that's probably-"

"Sara!" he whines, pushing himself into his sister who only smiles because he's more lighthearted, less tortured. And while she knows it's mostly because of their conversation, she can't help but wonder if hearing that Wilhelm's falling in love with him might help a little bit too. 

The siblings sit there on the bed, playfully fighting back and forth, before the cookies fall over and make a mess on Simon's blanket. They flick the crumbs on the floor as they grumble back and forth blaming each other, before they plop back down against the wall. They decide to put on a movie since Simon will actually pay attention this time, Sara clicking on the comedy section before asking one final question.

"You're gonna talk to him, then, right?"

Because above all, she wants Simon happy. She likes Wilhelm too but her brother's happiness is the most important thing - she hopes there's never a universe where she forgets that.

"Yeah," Simon nods, scurrying under the blanket and wincing when there's a forgotten crumb. "I'll talk to him, soon."

Because he's still scared to have that conversation, as much as he wants to get it over with and go back to being normal with Wille.

It's weird that he misses him even though he sees him and talks to him everyday. Those conversations are just hard, needing to tell Wille his fears, how he obviously struggles letting people in and that accepting help is hard. 

But Wille's been vulnerable with him. Wille's done everything and anything to make him feel comfortable and safe with him so Simon, as difficult as it is, wants to fix this. Because for whatever they have to work, whatever is flourishing and whatever's gonna eventually come to a head, vulnerability and trust will go a long way. 

~

Simon doesn't plan for it to happen this way but the January night is uncharacteristically warm (not exactly warm but not freezing either), Micke's losing his fucking shit, and he just wants Wille. Not even because of Micke and his screaming, not because he wants to be out of the house, just because he misses the boy next door and he needs to talk to him now.

That should be enough to scare him right there, that he's desperately seeking the comfort of Wille more than anything else in the world right now, but it doesn't. Not at all. His phone is out and going to Wille's messages before his brain can stop him, Simon already lingering by the gate. 

Simon (7:04 pm)

our usual spot?

~

Erik had just tricked Wille into another game of poker when he got the text. Wille was in his seat one second and then flying out the back door the next, giving a grace period of about twenty seconds to throw on his shoes and grab a jacket.

Erik had only looked down for a moment to rearrange the chips and shuffle cards before his brother was gone. The back door closing gave him his answer, a grateful smile crossing his face. 

"Thank you," he whispers to himself, not sure how much longer he could take his sulking, dramatic little brother. "Thank you, God."

Wille made his way outside and couldn't even be pleasantly surprised by the weather, not when Simon was already by the gate and looking toward him the way he was. It felt like forever since they were here, almost seeming nostalgic although it was probably only a month.

Things have been weird between them since the first day. They're talking and still go to the bus and text but it's been different. He's been giving Simon space, like Erik suggested, and didn't push about the conversation he knows they need to have. The conversation he knows they're about to finally have, because the backyard meetings are serious and Simon looks nervous. 

He wants to tell him not to be but the words are stuck in his throat. He can only get out a quiet, soft, "hi," keeping his gaze locked on Simon's. He smiles back in that way he always does, in that way that never fails to make Wille's heart soar. 

"Hi," the curly-haired replies, hands deep in the pockets of his sweatshirt. 

The two boys stare at each other over the fence, so similar to the other times but also different. Because they're not like this, not anymore, and Wille just wishes they could shyly intertwine their hands and smile down at them. Wille wishes people didn't talk shit to him and he wishes that Simon didn't think he has to accept that. 

He doesn't even mean to blurt out the words until, at the same time, they say, "I'm sorry."

Their voices mix and both of them, although with confused expressions, smile. Simon scoffs and shakes his head while Wille chuckles, curling his hands over the fence. 

"Why are you sorry, Simon? You didn't do any-"

"I did," Simon says, his voice quiet, soft. Wille thinks once of his favorite things about Simon might be his voice. "I know you just meant well. And you weren't trying to, like, be my savior or anything," he says, although Wille knows he 100% would if Simon asked him to be; he won't say that, though. "You were just trying to help, I know that, but sometimes it's just..."

Simon licks over his lips, bites down on it like he's scared his voice will quiver and Wille can't stop himself from reaching over. From softly smiling as he slowly, just like that horrible night when Simon was bleeding, brings a hand to Simon's hair. He fixes a stray, unruly curl that stands on the top of his head, that he notices is actually always a little more untamable compared to the others. 

The boy's eyes shut like he can't deal with being touched. Like he can't deal with it because it's exactly what he's wanted and he moves himself closer until he's leant against the fence. His eyes open again when Wille's hand retreats, the blonde helping him finish his sentence. 

"Hard to accept help?"

Simon smiles sadly, barely nods, and then doesn't say anything. Looks down the way he does and Wille just won't allow it because he's not wearing the right type of smile, no blush accompanying it, to make that move okay. The way his hand has been twitching to do all week, he brings it to Simin’s chin and lifts his head softly, a small smile on his face. 

"Simon, I don't know if you realized, but I..." he begins, his voice unrecognizably soft. 

He almost blurts it out now, in this moment. Almost blurts out how much he likes him, how much he really, really likes him and wants him to be happy. Wants to make him happy. Wants to kiss him until their lips are sore because no one in his life has ever made him feel like this.

It’s not the right moment, though, he knows that. Simon's wide eyes are looking at him with the most vulnerable expression he’s ever seen on his face before so he can't risk ruining anything. Or making him uncomfortable.

"I like being there for you. And being with you, all the time," Wille says, trying not to chuckle because this sure sounds a lot like I like you anyway. "I like helping the people I care about and I happen to… really care about you,” he emphasizes, heart squeezing when Simon’s lips quirk.

“I understand why you got mad,” he continues, because he really does now. “And your feelings are completely justified. I'm sorry for overstepping but I’m not sorry for wanting to defend you. For asking now to please let me help you sometimes because I can't take it knowing people treat you badly."

It's a sick sort of timing, a sick sort of fate, that at that moment, Micke screams from inside the house. If Simon's lip quivers, if something in his eyes changes and Wille thinks for a split second tears might build, he doesn't say anything. Wouldn't dream of it.

He just keeps his eyes locked on Simon and prays that this boy gives him a chance. He just needs one chance for Simon to know he will help him, be there for him, care for him in any way he needs. He'll do anything he wants - all he has to do is ask.

Simon swallows and bites down on his lip, gaze looking over Wille's face before, finally, finally, something that could resemble a ghost of a smile appears on his face. 

"Is- is it okay if I invite myself over then?" He laughs, although it's broken and humorless and breaks a part of Wille's heart. 

"I'd actually be offended if you didn't."

Simon smiles and this time when he shyly looks down, Wille allows it. He allows it because that's the right type of smile, the right type of blush, and it makes him smile all the same. 

~

Throughout the night, they became more and more normal. Normal in the sense that the tension, the bad tension, from this week slowly dissipates and what they welcome back is that electricity that seems to sizzle between them - a touch of the hand, their feet intertwined, a hand over the others mouth to quiet their loud laughter, until Wille discovers his new favorite way to exist with Simon. 

In the quiet of his room, red led lights on per usual, but Simon's head resting on his chest as the boy plays with his fingers. It brings a sense of contentment, an overwhelming warmth, that he didn't know he could feel. Just from the weight of this boy on him, coconut wafting in his nose. Simon touches his hand so gently, with a hint of extra care when he gets to his rough, cut up cuticles. 

"By the way," Simon mumbles, Wille looking down at him. The boy is still playing with his fingers, a smirk just barely visible on his face. "You totally stole my line. My inspirational advice, if you will."

A smile pulls at Wille's lips, grateful to hear the light, playful tone back in his voice. 

"Oh?" He hums, voice low in his ear. "And what line would that be?"

If Simon's stomach is wrecked with butterflies from the blonde's voice, he won't say. He picks his head up to rest his chin on his chest, putting his hand underneath for Wille's comfort. 

"Remember when you fought with Erik? We sat in my backyard?"

Wile remembers a lot about that night. He remembers thinking he fucked it all up with Simon when he saw him beating up Erik's trash cans. He remembers being so fucked up and angry but also relishing in this boy's comfort. He remembers all that Simon had said really helped him, that he'd never had someone so earnestly listen to him before; he also remembers when he confessed to him that he talked to Sara about him but that that wasn't the point. 

He wracks his mind for a few seconds, trying to remember what stuck with him when he hears Simon's voice in his head.

"But Erik's here and wants to listen. Erik won't judge you. Erik's your family, Wille, and the good kind. Let him be there for you."

A laugh bubbles out of him and Simon's cute giggle follows, their eyes full of light and crinkled with happiness as they look at each other.

"Holy fuck I kind of did," Wille says, not even realizing in the moment. Simon nods at him with his wide brown eyes and God does Wilhelm need to kiss him right now. "I'm sorry. I didn't even realize. This is kind of embarrassing now."

"I know right," Simon says. "Maybe we should go back to being awkward and petty Mr. since-I'm-just-like-August-and-Henry."

Simon bursts out laughing when Wille's mouth drops, head thrown back as the blonde just stares. He's amused, couldn't not be when Simon's laughing like that, but he's also shocked the boy is already calling him out on that. 

"Please don't speak of my dramatics again!" Wille groans into his hair, unabashedly breathing it in. "Erik already gave me shit for it."

"You told Erik you said that?"

Wille didn't think it was possible but Simon somehow manages to laugh harder. The blonde narrows his eyes before poking him, the curly-haired sobering only to poke him back.

It's a war like all the similar ones they've had in this bed - wriggling and boyish laughter and Wille using his strength against Simon (in the most gentle way possible) - before they somehow end up with Simon on his back, Wille hovering above him, and their hearts beating frantically.

Their eyes find their rightful place on the others face, tracing over each and every line, freckle, acne scar, and mild imperfection that does nothing to take away from the others beauty.

Neither of them have felt like this before. Neither of them have ever experienced such a profound sense of wholeheartedly liking someone. Of feeling like you're on fire when they touch you in the best possible way, feel sparks zip through you and butterflies rack your nervous system in a way that should be scary.

Liking someone this much, to the point where your body reacts so intensely, should be scary. It should feel like the scariest thing in the world but it doesn’t, it’s not. It feels so right. So natural. It feels like the easiest thing in the world despite the chaos around them. 

"Wille," Simon whispers, his eyes boring into his. The shade of brown that's getting darker by the second.

Wilhelm almost fucking loses it at the way he says his name. At the way he looks under him and the way it seems like the moment he's been waiting for is about to happen.

"Simon," Wille whispers back, because he's not sure if Simon was gonna ask him something, something he'll beg him for anyway, or just breathed out the name the way he sometimes does. 

Their breaths grow heavy, eyes hazy. Wille can't stop looking at Simon's lips and Simon can't stop his arms from hooking around the back of Wille's neck. It's just the motivation that Wille needs to lean down, then for Simon to crane his neck up. For both of them to move closer and closer, eyes threatening to close, whimpers of need and want and fucking finally held back, before-

Footsteps.

A knock. 

Then his brother's stupid fucking voice and the door opening. 

"Wille, I found this book that I think I should invest in since I'm a parent now but I-“

Erik knows what he walks in on almost before he even looks up. He can feel it in the room, hear it in the way they scramble, Wille jumping off Simon and tan, skinny arms falling to the side. 

Fuck.

"Oh," Erik says, horrified that, instead of him being interrupted, now he's the one doing the awkward barging in and ruining the fucking moment. How the tables have so tragically turned; he had no idea Simon was even here. "Simon, hey, how are you?" He asks, because what's a little more fucking awkwardness? Too late now anyway. "I see you finally made up, thank God. You don't know how insufferable Wille is without you. I thought he was-"

Wille throws one of his many pillows at his brother, aim suspiciously good and rough. 

"Fuck off Erik! Don't you knock?"

"Ow! Okay, ow, fuck, Wille!" Erik yelps, when more pillows are pelted his way. "I didn't know he was here! I'm leaving!" 

The door slams and the blonde sighs, looking over at Simon who's holding back laughter. Wille groans because they were so close - his stupid brother has terrible timing and a big fucking mouth.

"Insufferable, were you?" Simon teases.

He rolls his eyes and grabs the boy's hand, pulling him back down onto his chest. Simon lands on him with a soft squeak, giggling into him softly but then quickly relaxing. Wille wants to kiss him more than anything, is going to scream at Erik the moment Simon leaves, but he's also struck again by how right this feels. Simon's head rising and falling with his steadying breaths, pounding heart, as they intertwine their fingers and stay up most of the night whispering into Wille's dark room.

Chapter Text

Wille fully expected to hate Thursdays - Simon had choir practice which meant taking a later bus home. He had told the boy (more for his own benefit rather than his) that he wouldn't mind waiting around and doing homework in the library until it was over. Simon took one look at him and scoffed, insisting that that was absolutely not necessary and actually, he'd prefer if he left with Sara so she wasn't alone on the bus. 

That first Thursday, he was actually a little nervous. Not because he didn't like Sara but because he'd never really been alone with her before. He knew that the girl was quieter, only spoke when she had something important or relevant to say. He also knew she was probably quite insightful about him and Simon's relationship, that they were probably as close, or closer, than him and Erik.

He secretly wondered if Simon talked about him. If Sara asked about who he was always texting, where he goes at night and why he comes back at three in the morning on weekends; but Simon's also deeply private, keeps a lot of things to himself so maybe they don't talk about him at all.

They met at the bus stop per usual, just missing Simon, and it was okay. Normal. They talked back and forth about how their days were and how much homework they had. Sara, similar to her brother, was the type of person you could sit in a comfortable silence with. The quiet was usually hard for Wille - his mother loved silence, especially at the dinner table - but it was nice with the Erikssons. 

They were probably only sitting on the bus for 10 minutes when Sara spoke. Not only spoke but made Wille a flustered fucking mess as she did so. 

"You like Simon."

It wasn't a question but a statement. He likes Simon. Undoubtedly, he likes Simon - which is true, of course. He does like Simon. He really likes Simon. But hearing it so boldly, from his crush's sister no less, makes him blush a fierce shade of red. 

"What?"

He looks over to see Sara smirking, probably at his blush. Her eyes aren't mocking, though, they're more of a soft amusement so he doesn't feel too bad. 

"You like Simon."

He doesn't know why he expected anything different from the girl. She says it the same way, with the same look on her face with the same expectation behind her brown eyes - they're a different brown than Simon's. They're darker, harder to read if that's even possible but he knows she said this for a reason. 

The blonde presses his lips together so he doesn't sigh. He has a feeling he's gonna embarrass himself somehow. 

"Y-yeah, of course I do," he begins slowly, carefully, so he doesn't accidentally profess his intense feelings of like for her brother. "We're friends."

If are you fucking kidding me? had a look, Wille thinks Sara has perfected it. He feels his already red face flush even more, hands falling together so he can toy with his fingers nervously. He has to fight back the smile thinking about how Simon does this. How his smaller, warm fingers touch him with such care, with such gentleness, it makes his heart flutter. 

"What?" He mumbles lowly, almost defensively. "We are..." 

He sounds childish even to his own ears. Older siblings, even if they're not your own, just have a way of getting at a person; Wilhelm's gonna go home and yell at Erik just because. They sit in a, now, not so comfortable silence. Wille knows that wasn't Sara's intentions but he can't help but feel a little unnerved now.

His feelings for Simon are obvious enough. They spend a lot of time together and even joke about the friends stuff, because they both know it feels like so much more. But it's also scary to talk about that, scary to go into that next step. Scary to think that, if God forbid it doesn't work out, they might not ever be the same again. Wille thinks he'd rather be friends with Simon for the rest of his life then have him and lose him altogether. 

They're almost to their stop when Sara speaks again. 

"I'm sure you realized but Simon doesn't let people in easily," Sara begins, looking at Wilhelm pointedly, her face, eyes, serious. It would scare Wille if he wasn't already aware that he was getting the 'don't hurt my brother talk,' like he hadn't already vowed to himself that he'd never ever do anything to harm Simon. 

He nods anyway because he can tell this is important to her. Because he knows this is probably Simon's favorite person in the world and she deserves to be heard. 

"He's letting you in, though. I think we both know that," Sara says, because it's no secret. It's right in everyone's faces courtesy of the blushing boys and the way they smile at their phones when they're not together. "I'm just asking, Wilhelm, please don't hurt him. He tends to not show his emotions, puts on a tough front, but he..." She pauses as if not to expose her brother too much, say too much because she knows Simon would be embarrassed and angry by this conversation anyway. "Just, please don't."

There's a silent moment between the two where something just... clicks and they get it. See it. Sara can see this doesn't even have to be said, that Wilhelm, since the moment he's met Simon, had no intentions of harming him. That he knows what they both deal with in their house and just wants to be a safe place for him. Wilhelm can see Sara just knows, must notice that look Erik makes fun of and calls his Simon eyes and feels assured by that.

Her gaze shifts to something softer, warmer, but they're still darker than Simon's. He thinks Simon just must have a unique shade of soft brown only created for him. 

"I won't," Wille promises, shaking his head gently, what he hopes is a reassuring smile on his face. "I can be a little dumb sometimes, but I would never hurt Simon. That’s the last thing I wanna do."

A laugh bubbles out of Sara and Wille can't help but laugh back, the two sharing a knowing look before falling back into a comfortable silence; Simon texted him later that night.

(Simon, 5:13 pm)

how'd the bus go with sara? did u manage without me?

(Wille, 5:13 pm)

barely :( 

(Simon: 5:14 pm)

🙄 k.

(Wille, 5:14 pm)

🥰

no, it was good

i like her :D 

(Simon: 5:15 pm)

what'd u guys talk about? she won't tell me 😡

(Wille: 5:15 pm)

you of course <3

she told me endless embarrassing stories about you 

i can't wait to blackmail

(Simon: 5:16 pm)

oh fuck off

i have no embarrassing stories, no embarrassing moments 😌

calm, cool, and collected all the time 😎

(Wille: 5:18 pm)

... anyway!

are you coming over now :) i haven't seen u in forever 

(Simon: 5:19 pm)

it's been two hours 

(Wille: 5:20 pm)

:(

(Simon: 5:24 pm)

fine

but we're ACTUALLY doing homework this time 

They did do homework that night so now, a week later after Simon's choir practice, Wille's pushing the argument that they can take a break this time.  

Simon looks up from his spot at Wille's desk, because one: he needs to focus in his designated homework spot (next to Wille in bed proved to be way too big a distraction) and two: he's been doing everything in his power to make it more cluttered and personalized; so far, there's some pens, a notebook with a frog on it and a framed photo of one of Simon's fish - he refuses to tell Wille who it is, says he has to figure it out on his own. 

"Wille, homework doesn't work like that," Simon sighs, a bored expression on his face. "We kind of have to do it every night."

Wille flops on his bed upside down, his head at the foot and craned toward the curly-haired. 

"Yeah but what you're doing now isn't due until Monday," Wille whines, the other boy fighting back a smile at his tone. "It's only Thursday. We could be doing literally anything else right now."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

If Simon's voice drops and he cocks his head at Wille purposefully, he won't say. If he does it just so he sees the blonde become visibly flustered, his pale cheeks warming so easily, he won't say. If it's because he's getting really fucking tired of the fact they haven't grabbed each other and kissed yet, he will say it.

If Wille suggested ditching their homework to make out right now, he'd drop it. Wille won't say it, though. Neither will he. They're both nervous and dancing around the fact they've come so close to kissing these days, because they both want it so badly. 

"I- well, I mean, I- we-" Wille stutters, Simon biting back a smile. "Board games!" He blurts out, sitting up at such a rapid speed, Simon's surprised the boy doesn't pass out. "Erik has a lot of board games!"

"Board games?" Simon parrots, eyes narrowing questioningly. Wille looks like he's between screaming out in agony or begging Simon to stop teasing him, choosing to, instead, let out a loud groan. 

"Oh, c'mon, Simon, I'm just tired of homework!"

"We'd literally be done with it by now if you stopped bitching," Simon reasons, only a few questions left for him - Wille probably didn't even start. "I can't do it this weekend either so don't even try it."

That got Wille's attention, if the way he perked up and eyed him was any indication. Simon tried not to laugh at how dreadfully obvious he is; it's one of the reasons he finds the blonde so endearing. 

"Oh? Why not?"

He quirks a playful eyebrow at him.

"Nosy much?" Simon teases, although there’s no bite in his voice; in fact, this is his not so smooth way of initiating the inevitable hang out between them, Rosh, and Ayub - this wasn't so much Simon's idea as it was his friend's, who were fucking outraged when the curly-haired went awol that one Saturday. That Saturday being the night he and Wille made up, the night Micke was losing his shit the way he does and Simon wanted nothing more than to be with his neighbor, who he felt incredibly safe and comfortable with. 

"I'm sorry guys, I know, I know," is the first thing Simon says that following Sunday, standing outside Rosh's house with his two best friends looking extremely unamused. 

He knew he was gonna have a lot of explaining to do once he realized he not only missed their weekly Saturday hang out but hadn't answered the 40+ messages from them. He hadn't meant to ghost them, definitely didn't wanna worry them either, but he'd just been so occupied by his fight with Wille and then Micke's fucking nonsense that it slipped his mind. 

Ayub looked especially upset with him, arms folded over his chest. 

"Ayub," Simon sighed, the boy shaking his head. 

"Saturday. Tradition. Simon!" 

"I know but I had something-"

"Saturday tradition is one thing but then no answer?" Rosh chimes in, "Radio fucking silence? We were worried sick!"

"Literally sick! I had diarrhea!"

Rosh and Simon throw their friend a disturbed look, Rosh because he was at her house all that Saturday and Simon because he knows his friends eating habits and can't be blamed for that - however, he knows it was wrong to just not take five seconds to tell them he had something going on. 

"Anyway," Rosh says, shaking her head with a 'what the fuck' look. Her curious gaze is back on Simon, eyes boring into her friend because she just knows something had to have happened last night; it’s unlike him to not send at least one message. "What happened? Are you okay?"

Simon wants to scoff because of course she knows. 

"Yes, everything's fine."

She quirked a brow and her stare hardened. Ayub scoffed because he didn't believe him either. Simon was grateful to have friends that cared so much but it was also the thing that made being honest with them so difficult. He didn't want them to worry, he really didn't, not when he can take care of himself and has Wille now, too. 

"Can I come in, though?" he asks, standing on the porch while the two linger in the doorway. "I'll explain better when I'm not freezing my balls off."

He explained enough for them to understand - Micke was drunk and yelling, he left the house, texted Wille, and stayed with him until three in the morning. He left out their fight, because it was irrelevant, and he left out just how frequently Micke drank. He told them that he wasn't hurt (which he wasn't, Micke hasn't hit him badly in a few weeks now, ever since the bloody nose), but he still needed to get out.

"No, of course, that makes sense. It's probably the best thing to do," Rosh agrees, the three of them laid out in their usual couch spots.

She has that look she gets when they always talk about his family - the concerned look that manages to not look like pity - and he appreciates it, despite everything. She also wears a certain expression when she asks about Wille, something like curiosity and intrigue because they seem to be putting two and two together that him and the neighbor might know more about each other than they thought. 

"And you feel good at Wille's house? You're safe there?" Rosh asks, looking at Simon for even just a hint of a lie but he's telling his most honest truth when he answers her. 

"Yes."

If his voice didn't sound bad enough, that softer tone he only seems to use around Wille, about Wille, the smile he didn't even feel on his face completely exposes him - and, of course, his friends never let him get away with fucking anything. 

"Oh fuck," Ayub says, always the first to call Simon out verbally; Rosh prefers to silently stare at him until he cracks on his own. "I knew the just friends shit was bull. You like him! You like Wille with a w!" 

"No!" Simon blurts out, his cheeks heating embarrassingly. It's just a natural response: deny, deny, deny because no one can know Simon Eriksson is falling for the rich boy who lives next door. 

"Yes!" Ayub shouts back excitedly, all too happy about seeing his friend squirm. "Aw Simme this is so cute! It was sooooo obvious you guys like each other. Your love sick eyeballs and cute giggles and-"

"If you don't shut up!" Simon whines, swatting at his friend. "You're so embarrassing, Ayub."

"I'm not the one blushing!" he teases, reaching over to tickle his friend's arm. Simon shoves the boy's hand off in the most polite way possible, fighting off a smile. "Tell us, Simon, what is Wille with a w like? And when can we meet him? I need to see you and your crush interact! I don't know if you've ever had a crush before.”

Simon rolls his eyes, catching Rosh watching him.

He can't quite read the expression on her face. It's one he's never seen before and something about it makes him nervous. It makes him think, for a split second, she doesn't approve of Wille or something. 

"What?" He asks, the girl immediately shrugging. 

"Nothing," she says. "I just... Ayub's right, I don't know if we've ever seen you express interest in anyone before. Like, when Marcus tried to get with you-" she begins, Simon scoffing. Marcus was way too much, way too eager and overly interested in a way that should've made him feel wanted and important but just turned him off. " See, exactly! You hated him!" Rosh laughs, remembering Simon being completely uninterested in the older boy. "So, I don't know, I guess I'm wondering what's different abut Wille? I mean, your first impression of him wasn't the greatest."

He can see the genuine interest his friends have - because while they're apparently as nosy as ever, he also knows it's coming from a good place. And he likes talking about Wille, likes the rush of excitement and giddiness it brings him. Of course, he’s not about to confess how he really feels for Wille, because he's not allowing his friends to have that much power, but he does want them to know how much trust and comfort there is as well. T hat Wille's house isn't the safe place but the boy himself.

"He's really sweet," Simon begins, keeping his voice quiet to avoid that soft tone from slipping in. "A little awkward but it's endearing, like Sara says," Simon chuckles. "And, yeah, I don't really know. He's just... easy to be around. I feel calm with him. And comfortable.” 

Even in the midsts of chaos, being with Wille is easy. Even though they come from vastly different worlds, something they saw these past few weeks, they still get each other. Still have such a natural chemistry and connection that Simon can't quite explain. The hours he spends with Wille feel like minutes and he never grows sick of it.  Simon would consider himself an introvert, a little too introspective at times and chooses to isolate himself sometimes in an unhealthy way - but Wille he can be around.

It's Wille he seeks when shit is getting bad.

Wille weaseled his way into Simon's heart and mind so alarmingly fast, he can't help but wonder sometimes if it's just because they're dumb teenagers or if it's really something different.  It feels different, it really does, but he wonders how many teenagers experiencing their first requited crush think the same; then again, he also wonders how many teenagers deal with the shit they do. 

"So what I'm hearing..." Ayub begins, a smile tugging at his lips, "is that he'll be joining us next Saturday then."

"No fucking shot," Simon bites back immediately, the two minute interaction in front of Wille's house more than enough for now. 

"Oh, c'mon! We'll be on our best behavior!" Ayub whines, him and Rosh on the same page for once when she starts nodding. 

"For real, Simme, we will," Rosh agrees, "but you know we need to hang out with him now."

Simon wants to sigh and refuse. He wants to tell his friends it's way too soon, that Wille would feel uncomfortable - but he knows that's a lie. Deep, deep, down, he's kind of been curious about how Wille would fit in with his friends. It's obvious they won't be able to have a little friend group at Hillerska. 

"How 'bout not this Saturday but next? I have a game," Rosh suggests. "He can come to that and then we can do something chill after. Get pizza or something."

Simon was still going back and forth about it until, apparently, this very moment, with Wille looking over at him with curiosity in his pretty brown eyes. 

"Rosh has a game on Saturday, then we're gonna get pizza after or something," he says, the blonde barely able to nod before Simon's speaking again. "And you know... if you were actually doing your homework today, maybe I'd invite you to come..."

Wille slowly blinks at the boy, almost like he thinks he didn’t hear him properly, before a smile pulls at his lips. 

"This is blackmail, Simon, how dare you?" Wille asks, although that smile is spreading across his face.

It makes Simon wanna giggle, makes Simon wanna smile back stupidly and kiss him because he is so cute and obvious. One of Simon's favorite things about Wille, apart from how sweet he is and how secure he makes him feel, is that you can tell exactly what he's feeling. If Wille's feeling happy, he can tell. If he's anxious, he can tell and try to help him immediately. If Wille's sad, he knows something had to have happened, or his mind had gone somewhere, and he can be there for him. 

(Simon doesn't think about why he might like this on a deeper level. Why he might like to know Wille's moods and body language, something he's had to watch and track carefully in his own father all throughout his life).

"Remember when you were gonna blackmail me?” Simon asks. “How’s that turning out for you?"

Wille frowns and sighs dramatically, leaning off his bed precariously to grab his backpack. He hears mumbles of "stupid homework" under his breath, Simon suppressing a laugh as he looks back down at his paper; it's not until he's done (he wonders briefly if the boy was discreetly watching him) when Wille speaks again. 

"Are you really inviting me?"

Simon looks back at Wille and something in his heart tugs. Not only at the boy with messy blonde hair and his equally messy bed, books laid out all over, but the way he says it almost shyly. The way his eyes are twinged with such hope and subdued excitement, Simon can't help but get up from the desk chair and plop down on Wille's bed; the only spot is, conveniently, right next to him against the headboard. 

"Of course I am," Simon smiles softly, his Wille tone very much present. "I'm not making you do your homework for nothing." He really likes that, unlike himself, when Wille smiles shyly, he looks right at him. Doesn't try to hide. He's comfortable enough for Simon to see him like this, vulnerable like this, and the curly-haired just continues to find things he likes about Wille every day. Wille nudges him and Simon nudges him back gently, speaking again. "You know, it was Rosh and Ayub's idea. They wanna hang out with you." 

"Oh?" Wille says, that shy excitement back until something he's more used to, something more mischievous and teasing crosses his face. "So you talk to your friend's about me then?"

A laugh bubbles out of Simon that he can't control, shaking his head at the blonde.

"Is that all you ever fucking hear? That I talk about you to people?" 

"Look, I just..." Wille begins, a mix of mirth and embarrassment dancing in his eyes. That embarrassment, the bashfulness, seems to win over just slightly, his cheeks heating as he attempts to confess anyway, "I like it... that you..."

Seconds pass, just Wille blushing and Simon smirking, before the curly-haired reaches out and pokes his warm cheek. 

"That I what? Talk about you?"

Simon would've giggled if it wasn't for the look on Wille's face. Now, he just kind of wants to hug him.

"Yeah," Wille admits, voice barely above a whisper. "Is that stupid? I don't know," he chuckles, a little bit self-deprecatingly. "I just... I think it's nice you have friends to share stuff with. My 'friends' in Stockholm," he says, air quotes around friends, "weren't really friends but more people I just hung out with. Like, I haven't even talked to them since I moved here, they haven't reached out but neither have I so..."

He shrugs and Simon's amazed by how easily he shares these little facts about himself, insight into Wille's life and what he lived like before. Simon watches him with a soft smile, his heart stuttering when Wille meets his gaze. There's a gleam in his eyes no matter what he talks about, no matter what the mood is like, but it's what makes reading him so easy. His eyes on top of the fact he's just so unabashedly honest with him. 

"Don't worry, though," Wille begins, Simon quirking an eyebrow. "I think I talk to Erik enough about you. He's actually sick of me."

Simon bites back his smile and nods, his hand falling to the mattress and on top of Wille's hand. The hand with long fingers that he's really come to like. Come to play with and touch, almost absentmindedly. He thinks he likes their contrast the most - white to brown, cold to warm, big to small. He likes the feeling he gets when he touches Wille, how it feels like blissful sparks shoot through them and everything just seems right.

"Glad the feeling is mutual then. Would be kind of awkward if it wasn't."

They don't talk about what that feeling is, even though they don't need to. They don't talk about the growing affection, the growing tension, the growing moments of just how often and just how close they come to taking that next step and officially getting away from 'friends' territory - even when it's obvious nothing about them screams friends anyway. Friends would be Ayub and Rosh who, after a comfortable moment of silence and their hands intertwined, disturb the peace in Wille's room. Simon's phone starts vibrating on the desk, the curly-haired's eyes closing. 

"I have a feeling that's them."

"Did they know you were asking me today?"

Simon nods, squeezing Wille's hand gently before pulling away and walking over to the desk; he'd be very upset to know he misses the pout on Wille's face when his touch is gone. 

Ayub (6:24 pm)

simon

simon

simon

simon 

you better have asked wille with a w

if not, im coming to his house 

i know where he lives 😈 

there's only one wille with a w in this town 

Simon chuckles at the messages, shaking his head as he walks over and sits back in his spot on the bed.

"Is it them?" Wille asks, a content little smile on his face. 

Simon nods and shows him his phone, Wille's eyes scanning the screen before he chuckles. It's a genuine one, deep from his chest, and Simon didn't realize until this moment how much he needs him and his friends to get along. 

"Why does he call me that? Is there a different way to spell Wille?"

Simon really, really, really hopes he's able to keep his face neutral right now, sinking his tooth into his lip because no way is he getting into that story - even though he loves how much Wille likes that he talks about him, that one seems particularly embarrassing for him.

"That's just Ayub," Simon says, because that's also the truth, too. "You'll see Saturday. He's... special."

Message after message comes buzzing in and both their eyes fall to it, Ayub's last message making them blush. 

Rosh (6:26 pm)

can u stop fucking spamming 

you're disturbing them and me 

you're always disturbing the peace u psycho 

Ayub (6:27 pm)

wtf r u doing that i'm "disturbing you"

sorry i'm here as the entertainment??

u guys would literally be so boring and lost without me

its actually quite sad

pathetic even

holy shit wait 

do u think they're kissing rn

Simon sighs beside Wille, shaking his head at his fucking friend - he didn't even meet him yet and he's already embarrassing him. 

"He's the worst, I swear to God," Simon grumbles, thumbs moving about to fire off a text when he clicks on his camera. He looks over at Wille for permission who's already fixing his hair, Simon flicking a few strands over his forehead before snapping a picture.

If he did this for, both, Ayub and himself, no one has to know. 

Simon (6:29 pm)

does it look like we're kissing u fucking idiot

Ayub (6:29)

OMFDOGDOGDFSKDSLDA

STFU?????!?

NOT A PICTURE?!?!!??!?

OMG

NO 

NO WAY

IM DEAD RN 

HELLO AGAIN WILLE WITH A W 

IM EXCITED 2 MEET U AGAIN ON SATURDAY 

Simon thinks his friend is good for one thing in this moment: certainly not his sanity but making Wille chuckle the way he does. Making the boy's eyes light up in amusement as he tells Simon through his giggles to tell them both he said hi; Simon does something better and holds out his phone.

"You tell them."

Wille takes it and Simon watches in amusement, in a trance of such soft fondness in his gaze, as they text back and forth. He knows this is probably the dumbest fucking idea he's ever had because God knows what Ayub will say. He hopes his friend will hold back knowing for a 100% fact that Wille's right next to him; no such luck but that's completely on Simon. Especially when the longer Wille holds his phone, the longer he and his friends text back and forth, the blonde is chuckling and smiling and peeks at Simon with a look that makes his stomach swoop. 

"What?" Simon asks warily, finally peeking over to his own phone. 

Wille (6:31 pm)

hi it's wille :) simon gave me his phone 

i'm excited to see u guys again too 🥳

thank you for inviting me btw :D

Ayub (6:32 pm)

WHAT?!?!???!!

Rosh (6:32 pm)

simon gave u his phone???

Ayub (6:32 pm)

oh rosh, this is insane

this is next level INSANE

i fear our friend has found the one at just 16 years old 

Wille (6:32 pm)

lol bc he gave me his phone?

Ayub (6:32 pm)

u don't get it wille with a w

simon never lets people touch his phone 

NEVER

i used to think he was shady until i realized he's just mean :(

but wow ok 

this is crazy

developments are developing 

Wille (6:33 pm)

lol it was only so i could say hi and thank you guys 

Ayub (6:33 pm)

or is it bc u guys are just such good *friends* 😉

actually

tell me, wille with a w

do u wanna kiss all ur friends or just simon 

"This motherfucker!" Simon yelps, snatching his phone out of Wille's hand. The blonde, despite his blush and suppressed laughter, shakes his head at Simon, reaching out to grab him. And that's the moment right there, his eyes falling to Wille's hand wrapped around his wrist, that Simon's positive he's not gonna make it. That if Wille doesn't kiss him in the next 30 seconds, he's gonna lose his fucking mind. 

"Wait," Wille chuckles, his voice soft, eyes mischievous like he knows Simon's losing it over his grasp. "Let me answer."

"Believe me, Wille, we can't humor him," Simon warns, "it's like dealing with an annoying child who feeds off-"

In any other instance, someone snatching his phone out of his hand would've made his temper flare - however, this time, because of Wille, something about him was deranged enough to find it hot. Overwhelming so. He hopes when they finally make out, he'll stop being so ridiculous. It takes the blonde only seconds to reply, a small, almost smug smile on his face as he does so before locking it and politely handing Simon his phone back.

He's looking at Wille suspiciously for only a few seconds but his phone starts vibrating nonstop in his hand. 

"What did you say?"

"Go look and find out," Wille says, Simon swearing the boy winks, winks, at him before getting up with their empty cups while asking if they needed any more snacks. 

Simon shakes his head no as he scrambles to look at his phone, surely about to go into cardiac arrest. He can't take it. His poor little teenaged heart desperate to kiss a pretty blonde boy, whose hand wrapped around his whole wrist, is gonna go into overload. 

Ayub (6:33 pm)

or is it bc u guys are just such good *friends* 😉

actually

tell me, wille with a w

do u wanna kiss all ur friends or just simon 

Wille (6:36 pm)

just simon 💜

Ayub (6:36 pm)

OMDFGDFOGOFD

WILLE WITH A W PLS

THE BUTTERFLIES ARE BUTTERFLYING

SIMON IS SHAKING RN

SCREAMING CRYING SHAKING SHITTING LIKE ME IN ROSH'S BATHROOM WHEN SIMME WASNT ANSWERING

U GUYS R MY NEW POWER COUPLE

LETS CALL U

WILMON

Simon, despite himself, can't stop the smile that spreads across his face. Not only because of his chaotic friend but because of Wille's response, the response that keeps his heart racing and cheeks warm until the boy returns with a similar type of look on his face.

Simon needs to kiss him.

 ~

Ayub has never seen anything quite like it but my God was he enjoying it; the second Wille and Simon pulled up to the football field, he could tell his friend was fucking whipped. He tried his very best to restrain himself, after several warnings from Rosh and Simon himself, but it was getting increasingly difficult.

He didn't only wanna fuck with Simon but also Wille because, somehow, the blonde boy was worse than his friend. The lingering looks that weren't subtle in the slightest, the way their hands seem to find and bump each others while they walk, the airy giggles and chuckles that Ayub would think he was hearing at a middle school sleepover and not from two 16-year-old boys - regardless, the biggest third wheel or not, he loves it. 

He's never in his life seen Simon giddy, didn't think it was possible because he'd been the most jaded, closed off tween he'd ever met.He never thought he'd ever see Simon blush. Never thought he'd hear him speak in a tone he's never heard before but sounded so sweet and soft-spoken - the final straw was his best friend stuttering over his words, Wille's hand having fallen to his knee absentmindedly as he asked,

"Boiled or grilled for you guys?"

Ayub knew for a fact Simon liked his hot dogs boiled. His friend had once been a grilled hot dog enthusiast until he, a foodie and man of supreme taste, showed him the vast error of his ways - now he only gets boiled. No questions asked, no hesitations... unless his scarf-wearing crush was the one asking. 

"I... uh, hm... I think-“ the curly-haired stutters over and over, Ayub smirking until he finally puts his friend out of his misery. 

"Boiled for both of us, please and thank you Wille with a w." 

Wille laughed that deep, genuine laugh he does, shaking his head at Ayub's incessant nickname. 

"Are you ever gonna tell me why you call me that?" Wille whines, hand still resting on Simon's knee. "I still don't get it."

Ayub can't help but notice Simon side-eye him or tense whenever he calls him that, when Wille looks at him and sighs because he "just doesn't understand how Wille could be spelt any other way." The boy may fuck with his friend, embarrass him 9 times out of 10 just because it's so fun now that he has a crush, but he won't expose him about that just yet.

"And you never will Wille with a w." 

His best friend chuckles beside him, in the middle of him and Wille. He sees firsthand how enthralled the boys are with each other, how each time one of them laughs, the other is already smiling - this time is no different. Wille looks over and smiles softly. Smiles in that way where there's light and fondness, where you can see the clear affection shining through someone's eyes as they look at a person they care about. Simon smiles back in the same way and Ayub would feel sick if it wasn't so fucking cute and foreign to witness his best friend like this. 

"I'll be right back," Wille mumbles softly, loud enough for Ayub to hear but still gentle. His thumb runs over Simon's knee before he stands. His best friend looks up with a smile he just can't contain, barely breathing out, "okay," before they're left alone. They're left alone so Ayub starts, in the most masculine way possible, squealing. 

"Holy shit, Simme," the boy begins, his friend looking over still fighting a smile; his attempt is just as lousy as the intenseness of his blush. "You guys are cute as fuck. You actually really like him."

"Stop," the boy whines, knocking his arm into Ayub gently. Everything about it is soft, teasing, playful, and Ayub can't stress how happy it makes him to see his friend like this. He knows that if anyone deserves to feel like this, to look this happy and carefree, it's Simon. 

"You do! You guys like each other, you can legit feel and see the chemistry," Ayub says, "and, like, I thought you were fucking whipped but Wille with a w is so much worse, it's actually-"

"Stop calling him that!" Simon yelps, threatening to swat at him again. "He's gonna catch on."

"Oh please, he's too busy staring at you with a lovesick smile on his face to notice anything."

The boy smiles in his own lovesick way but can't say anything because it seems like he knows it's true. That he knows and is happy to silently acknowledge that the feeling is mutual. 

"Shut up," Simon mutters, looking down at his hands shyly. Ayub can't stop from smacking into him again, and then again, because his little friend having a crush like this is just too much. 

"I'm for real, it's crazy, Simme," Ayub says. "I knew you liked him but you, like, like like him."

"Like like him? Are we seven years old?"

"Oh? Would you prefer I use the other l word? The l-o-v-e word?" 

"Okay don't be fucking insane," Simon bites back, causing Ayub to smile. 

The l-o-v-e word would be nothing short of crazy right now but Ayub's positive, would bet a good amount of money on it, that that word, that feeling, will be in their future. 

"I'm not," the boy says, Simon throwing him a look of skepticism that he ignores. "But hear me now, Simme, the l-o-v-e word is in your and Wille with a w's future. Maybe even near future. You and Wille with a w with be in love and thriving and I'll be the person who-"

"Shut up! He's coming!" 

Wille returns with three boiled hot dogs and his eyes locked on Simon. Simon's no better in his attempts to hide his smile, hide the way his eyes seem to trace every part of the blonde's face as he watches and cheers for Rosh. The girl on the field turns to them every so often and either smiles or waves and if she wasn't already gonna like him, because she'll quickly see how happy he makes Simon, his (mostly) full attention on her and the game would do the trick. 

~

Wille's nervous by nature so he's been waiting for the other shoe to drop all night. Not only drop but somehow impale and cause grave physical harm to him because the night has been going so incredibly well. He thought meeting Ayub and Rosh would be awkward, that they wouldn't fully accept him or there'd be lapses of awkward silence and conversation just wouldn't flow but all of the exact opposites were happening. 

Ayub greeted him like they were best friends since childhood; Rosh, while not as enthusiastic, was just as welcoming and always included Wille in the conversations. It didn't feel like he was tagging along with Simon but was already actively included in the group, explained inside jokes or stories that he didn't understood (although not quite his nickname, Wille with a w, he's still not understanding that one). 

He wasn't sure how Simon would be with physical contact in front of his friends but after he had first bumped their hands while walking alongside Ayub, Wille peeking at the curly-haired for his expression, he saw that he was okay with it. Welcomed it, really, with his chaste reciprocated touches and sweet smiles. He sat next to Simon and across from Rosh at the small but crowded pizzeria, the four of them back in a vigorous debate about-

"Pickles?" Wille asks incredulously, absolutely positive there was no way he heard that right. 

"On pizza!" Ayub confirms, his eyes unwavering, almost scarily so, on him.

The blonde side-eyes Simon who's staring at him with a blank expression, although the mirth in his eyes gives him away. He looks to Rosh who's the same, except she looks a little less amused with the boy beside her. 

"I don't know, man," Wille begins, because he really doesn't wanna get on Ayub's bad side just yet but he's not sure he can condone...

"Wille thinks pineapple on pizza is a crime, you really think he's gonna approve of pick-

"WHAT?!" 

If the place wasn't so crowded and loud, everyone would've stared at the outburst. A few people from the surrounding table take a nosy peek but Wille's too busy whipping his head at Simon to care. 

"Hey! Why are you exposing me!"  

"This is something very important to Ayub," Simon says. “He had to know before this friendship went on any longer.” 

"Which it may not, I fear," Ayub declares dramatically, hand clutching his chest. "You were doing so, so good, Wille. I thought we had a good thing going. I thought we were becoming besties... but I cannot be besties with a pineapple on pizza hater. I have morals."

Wille tries not to burst out laughing, both, at the boy's complete theatrics and Rosh's growing unamused expression.

"Please, give me another chance. I'll try it again," Wille says, although he knows, absolutely knows, he hates it. There will never be a universe where he doesn't. The boy regards him warily, like he's hearing his innermost thoughts of pizza slander. 

"I don't know," Ayub sighs. "I just don't know if I can-"

"Oh? So you'll commit crimes, Wille?" Simon says from beside him, looking between him and Ayub. "That's what you said about it. I have receipts." 

Simon whips out his phone just as Ayub dramatically yelps, "crimes?!" Rosh muttering her pleas, her upmost genuine, begging pleas for Ayub to shut the fuck up. Wille snaps his head over to Simon's who's eyes are full of teasing, a lightness in them that makes him so stupidly happy, it's almost too much for his chest to bear. 

"Stop it, Simon!" Wille whines, snatching the boy's phone out of his hand. He holds it hostage in the other, stretching it away from Simon who's reach is substantially shorter. That only makes the blonde start to laugh, for Simon to be the one whining now as Wille mocks him. "I'll give it back if you stop exposing me."

"You're the one lying," Simon bites back, poking him in a feeble attempt to distract him. "You'll never like pineapples on pizza! You told me yourself."

"Maybe I'll like it now," Wille says, when all he really wants to confess is that if eating disgusting fruit on pizza is what it takes for the people in Simon's life to approve of him, he will do it without question. "People's tastes can change!"

Simon throws him a doubtful look, pretty brown eyes narrowed with a growing smirk, and that distracts Wille for all of two seconds before the curly-haired is snatching his phone back. He has a smug look of victory on his face, Wille rolling his eyes and poking him back. 

They both seem to be aware of the eyes watching them at the same time, their heads turning to Rosh and Ayub like they've been caught; they weren't even doing anything but it just feels like they'd be doing something they shouldn't in front of others. Wille knows it must be bad when Rosh is smirking at them too. 

"What?" Simon asks, defensiveness in his tone. Wille bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn't start smiling. 

"Oh, nothing," Rosh says, her tone uncharacteristically light and airy, almost mocking. Simon narrows his eyes at her, not believing her for a second before she speaks again. "It's just that... if we ever did that to your phone, you'd-"

"Fucking kill us! Gouge our eyes out with your baby-sized hands and-"

"They are not baby-sized, Ayub!" 

The boy stares blankly, pointedly, Rosh snorts, and even Wille from beside him covers his own laugh with his hand. Simon looks to the blonde in outrage first, met with a measly shrug, before he looks to his friends.

"Okay you know what, fuck all of you, that's mean," Simon says, pushing his chair away from the table. "I'm going to the bathroom."

"To wash your baby hands," Ayub says, Simon looking over at him and flipping him off; his friend only smirks. "Baby middle finger."

Simon throws him a dirty look, that Ayub meets with a smile, before looking over at Wille. His voice drops just a little, so only Wille can really make out the words. 

"Will you be okay if I leave you here with them?"

Something about Simon asking causes his heart to soar, because he knows he could get anxious and being around new people is hard. He can just feel how soft and pathetic his own smile is now. 

"I think I'll manage," he says just as quietly, eyes peering up into Simon's. "Thank you."

The moment Simon's gone, a silence falls over the table and while it's not uncomfortable, Wille knows what's about to happen; he'd gotten his practice with Sara on the bus. It makes him happy to know that so many people care enough about Simon to give him this talk. He's even happier he can assure him that he never plans on hurting him.

"So Wille," Ayub begins and it's the most serious he's seen the boy since meeting him. "You know what talk we have to have, don't you?"

He smiles because he's not used to people being so direct and he likes it. He's used to passive aggressive phoniness. He's used to having problems shoved under the rug, throwing on a suit and smiling even though ten minutes prior, he'd passed out from panic or vomited all over the bathroom. 

"Yes," Wille says. "It's probably the same one I had with Sara a few weeks ago."

That seems to get Rosh's attention, the girl straightening. "Oh? What'd she say?"

Wille bites the inside of his cheek before relying most of the conversation - Sara telling him that Simon doesn't let people in a lot but seems to be letting him in, that he puts up a tough front but please don't hurt him. 

"I assured her that I wouldn't," Wille says, "and I'll tell you guys the same thing. I really like Simon. A lot. I think he's like..." the best person I've ever met, the most beautiful person I've ever seen, someone who I'm liking more and more each day. "I've never met anyone like him," he continues, their watchful eyes on him. "And I never wanna hurt him. Ever. I don't plan on doing anything that could harm him. I just wanna be there for him, in any way that he lets me."

He wants to mention that he also knows Simon and Sara have been through enough and that he'd help in any way he can in that regard as well - but it feels wrong to talk about that without him. He knows his friends probably know about his household, they're best friends after all, but he doesn't know how much he's shared. How much he wants them to know - and it's not Wille's place to expose that. 

Ayub's trying not to smile but Rosh is harder to read, a little bit harsher, and Wille finds himself wanting to prove himself to her the most. He can see, feel, the intense protectiveness radiating off of her and it's in that moment he decides he really, really likes her. 

"No one ever plans on hurting someone they care about, sometimes it just happens," Rosh says, her gaze searching over Wille for something - hesitance, defensiveness, submission, he's not really sure - before she continues. "But... I can tell you really like Simon. And he really likes you too. I don't know if we've ever seen him this happy."

Wille smiles and he knows it's too big. He knows he should try to play it cool so Simon's friend don't think he's a whipped fucking loser but he just can't help himself. He likes hearing, more than anything, that Simon seems happier since he's met him. 

"So, whatever you're doing, Wille, keep it up," Ayub says, holding his fist out in the middle of the table. "Keep Simon smiling and giggling like a little fucking nerd and maybe I'll look past your horrible taste in pizza."

Wille chuckles and his cheeks heat despite himself, fist bumping Ayub back. 

"Deal."

A look, a quick fleeting feeling, passes between the three of them where they all realize they have one common interest: making sure Simon's happy and safe. It's a mutual feeling, a mutual sense of protectiveness and loyalty and understanding that they all know they're on the same side - then, as if nothing heavy and poignant had briefly passed through them, the pizza debate starts up again. 

"You know, Ayub," Rosh begins, "you really can't be the person who decides to look past terrible pizza tastes when you literally like..."

Wille smells the coconut and citrus before he sees him, turning around to see Simon walking up behind him. He leans his head back and peeks at the boy upside down, his smile just as pretty from this angle. 

"Hi."

"Hi," Simon chuckles, plopping back down in his seat. "Did you survive without me?"

Rosh and Ayub debating back and forth fills the table, the two boys wearing matching smirks. 

"Barely," Wille teases, knocking his foot under the table. Simon rolls his eyes but knocks his foot with his, their feet smacking back and forth playfully, teasingly, until, like magnets, their hands dropped between the seats and their fingers intertwine. 

"Maybe if you weren't such a hater, you'd see that-"

"Are we doing movie night tonight?" Simon asks, his friends head snapping over at him.

"We could," Rosh says, "you know my basement's always free."

"Wille with a w should choose!" 

Three heads turn to him and he smiles shyly, well aware of the friend's movie tradition; he can't help but feel excited that, even if just for a night, he's included. 

"Who's turn is it to choose? I don't want to skip over anyo-"

"It's Simme's turn but don't worry, he won't mind giving it up for his boy-"

"It's mine but it's fine, Wille, you can pick," he says sweetly, throwing a not very sweet look at Ayub. "As long as it's not-"

"Let's do a scary one then," Wille says, a knowing smirk as he looks at the boy beside him. "Simon loves scary movies."

"Wille," Simon whines, the two teens across the table smirking.

Becuase Rosh and Ayub have known that, since this tradition started, scary movies were banned because of Simon. But they also used to believe that Simon would never blush, never giggle, never let anyone touch his phone so something tells them, they'll be watching a scary movie later tonight.

~

The lights were off, the four teens were squished on the couch, and In the Tall Grass was causing Simon to jump and scream ridiculously. It was much to the amusement of Rosh and Ayub, who cackled every time it happened, and much to the pleasure of Wille. He didn't enjoy that the boy was scared but he did enjoy that he jumped further and further into him the more spooked he got, until he was almost completely on top of him and had his head on his chest. 

Rosh insisted - only this time since he was the guest of honor (Wille was so happy because then that meant maybe there'd be a next time) - that he gets the chaise part of the couch. Everyone knew this secretly meant Simon did too, since obviously the boy plopped down right next to him, but they accepted it. They'd made fun of them enough tonight for them to get this as a reward; it's not feeling all that good now, though, not for Simon who was dreading this fucking movie more than anything. 

"This is your fault," Simon whispers to Wille, his head resting on his shoulder, turned up to talk quietly in his ear. "You did this on purpose."

He could see Wille's smirk even from this angle, the boy's blonde hair hanging in his face messily. It gets so easily tangled when he lays down, sometimes Simon will absentmindedly brush through the knots. 

"Oh? And what would I get out of that exactly?" 

His words are teasing and low and makes Simon's stomach swoop - but before Simon's whipped, he's vengeful, knows his power, and begins to pull away from Wille. It could be considered a risky plan, because he needs Wille's comfort in the dark right now, but he has a feeling it won't back fire.

It doesn't, of course. Wille grabs him before he can go anywhere, a smile in his voice as he mumbles that he was just kidding. Simon scoffs but cuddles further into the boy regardless, curling under their shared blanket. 

Simon can say without a doubt that today was a good day. Probably his most favorite day in a really long time. He knew Rosh and Ayub would welcome Wille with open arms, knew Wille was just as excited, if not more, to meet them, but he didn't expect it to go as well as it did. He expected some drama, a drunk dad or a bad call from Sara, but all he got was happiness. A day full of happiness and fun and a night full of some slight terror that quickly melted away to a familiar feeling of warmth. Of comfort. Of butterflies zipping through his stomach and an ever present need to look up, move his face just the few inches needed, and kiss Wille right on the lips.

He thinks everything will feel even better when, if, that happens. 

Simon wasn't tired before this, he was too high-strung over the movie, over the possibility that today was going too well so something bad was gonna happen, but now, he feels himself relaxing into Wille more than usual. He just feels so warm, so safe. He feels his eyes suddenly get so heavy with sleep, the need to just rest them like his mother says after work, that he closes them for a moment. 

Everyone in this room knows, besides Wille, that Simon can never fall asleep. Not easily, anyway. Rosh and Ayub have fallen asleep countless times during these movie nights, sometimes pass out for hours when it's a marathon, but Simon never does. Not once. The only time he falls asleep at Rosh's is if he's staying over and exhaustion takes over his body at four in the morning.

It's something the three friends have acknowledged, something that keeps them from trying their very best not to let their heavy eyes take over. They never ever expect Simon to fall asleep so they know, always, that he'll be up. 

Wille looks down as he feels the weight on his chest get heavier, smiling softly when he's met with Simon's sleeping face. The boy looks so peaceful, so beautiful, against Wille's blue sweater that he feels his heart soar in his chest. He moves slowly to pull the blanket more securely around them, doing everything in his power to not disturb him.

He feels himself relax when the blankets are set and Simon's still asleep, his cheek pressed against his chest and his hand resting by his shoulder. He doesn't know how long he watches him, something addictive about the rise and fall of his breathing, until he hears Ayub from the other side of the couch.

"Yo, Simme, it's your turn to-"

"Sh!" 

Wille doesn't think twice about shushing the boy, not considering just how rude it is until it's done. Rosh and Ayub's heads snap over in confusion, about to ask why he's so intensely into this terrible movie, when their eyes fall to their friend. They don't say anything for a few seconds, like they're shocked at the sight before them; uncharacteristically, Rosh breaks the silence when she looks over at Ayub who, also uncharacteristically, seems to have gone mute. 

"No fucking way," the girl chuckles, a sound of disbelief like this is the final straw.

Rosh and Ayub just continue to stare, look from Simon's sleeping figure to Wille, before Ayub shakes his head. 

"I don't know, man, maybe you're, like, a fucking wizard or something," Ayub says, before a lightbulb seems to go off in his head. "Oh, my god. Wille with a w the wizard. This is crazy."

Wille wishes he could snap a picture of the unamused looks Rosh throws at her friend sometimes, a laugh bubbling in his throat. 

"What do you mean?" The blonde asks, humor in his tone. 

He doesn't know what he expects but it's certainly not the profound look Rosh gives him in the dark. 

"Nothing, it's just..." She seems to go back and forth about whether or not to share this with him, regarding him and his prolonged silence before sighing. "He usually has a lot of trouble sleeping. Never fucking falls asleep even when he stays the night.”

Everything about her tone, the look that crosses her and Ayub's face, makes it obvious to Wille why. He almost uncontrollably tightens his hold on the boy, looking down at him. He's definitely sleeping, with the gentle rise and fall of his chest and his warm breath permeating through Wille's shirt. He doesn't know what to say, how to respond, but he knows he feels a ball of emotion clog his throat - if not from the knowledge that this boy is so traumatized in his own house, he can't sleep but that Rosh and Ayub are looking at him like they know for a fact they can trust him now. 

"I didn't know that."

Because Simon never seems tired. He knows he's usually up late, from their nights that they used to spend outside before Wille was in school, but there was never any indication he could've been exhausted from sleepless nights. 

"I'm not surprised," Rosh says. "We didn't either until Sara told us."

Another wave of emotion comes over Wille, another dreadful feeling and need to protect, because how much does this boy sleeping on his chest go through that he keeps to himself? How much does he insist he can handle on his own?

"We try not to push him," Ayub says, soft concern in the boy's quiet voice. "But we're also worried a lot. Any time he's home, it's just..."

Wille gets it. He does. He lives right next door and he's fucking terrified every time he thinks about what Simon's dealing with. 

"I get it," Wille whispers quietly, because he still feels weird talking about this but he also wants to assure the two beside him. "But I'm there and so is my brother. Most of the time when... when something's going on, Simon will text me or I'll text him," he says, which is the honest truth. It's been happening even before the numbers, Wille, peeping behavior or not, always wanted to rush right outside. "You don't have to worry," Wille says gently, reassuringly. "I'll always make sure he's okay."

It's sweet but also heartbreaking that a teenaged boy is assuring other teenagers about their friend's safety. That they're all even in a spot where this has to happen.  Rosh is the first to smile at him, a soft, grateful smile that tugs at something in Wille's chest. 

"Thank you Wille for that, really," Rosh says, Ayub joining in with a nod. He stretches his arm to bump the blonde's shoulder gently, careful not to touch his sleeping friend. 

"For real, bro, you're good for him," Ayub says, before he takes another look down at Simon and chuckles. "It's weird seeing him sleep. Usually, it's me passed the fuck out."

"Yeah, and snoring," Rosh sneers.

Wille bites back a smile and looks back down at Simon, using his free hand to push back a few unruly curls. He's never felt anything like this before - the fierce protective and content feeling at seeing this boy sleeping on him - but he likes it. Really likes it. He hopes, especially if Simon doesn't sleep often, that they find themselves in this position again.

~

Simon slept for an hour and woke to, much to his dismay, another horror movie. He couldn't find it in himself to care when he was surrounded by warmth and the smell of lavender. He could tell Wille knew he was awake, he'd tightened his hold on him and mumbled a playful, "good morning," that was only met with Simon's tired groan. He buried his head further into the bizarrely soft blue sweater, hoping Wille's laughter was loud enough to drown out his inhales. 

It took another twenty minutes for his friends to realize he was awake, laying there contently curled into Wille before, of course, Ayub spoke.

"Well, well, well, look who decided to join us," Ayub says, Simon's groan muffled. "Convenient how you fall asleep when it's your turn to get the drinks."

Simon peeks his head over to see Ayub's glass is still empty. 

"Did you really wait for me to wake up?" He snaps. "You could've gotten it yourself."

"And get up from this comfortable couch? Not a fucking chance."

Ayub knew Simon woke up grouchy sometimes, usually from not getting enough sleep, so he was purposely pushing his buttons right now; it was, unfortunately, working. 

"I'm comfortable, too."

He watches as Ayub takes in the view - Wille against the arm of the couch, sprawled out on the chaise, with Simon on his chest covered by the blanket from the waist up - and smirks. 

"Oh yeah, I bet you are," his friend says, a challenging look in both of their eyes. It takes a few seconds but Ayub seems to take pity on Simon, giving him "a grace period of ten minutes, Simme, but then I really need a refill."

Simon rolls his eyes but makes no attempts in moving, Wille smiling against his head. 

"What are you smiling at?" Simon grumbles, looking up to meet brown eyes.

"Nothing," Wille insists, his gaze wandering his face and, as Ayub would say, the butterflies are butterflying.

Simon swallows the dry patch in his throat, looking from Wille's eyes to his lips and he really doesn't know how much longer he can put this kiss off. He'd do it right now, questionable breath and an audience aside if said audience weren't his ball-busting friends. 

"I'll help when you're ready Simme," Rosh says, Simon turning to look at her. He knows the moment their eyes meet she wants to talk with him. He gives himself fifteen minutes before, regretfully, pulling himself away from Wille with a sigh. 

"I'll be right back," Simon says. "Don't move."

Wille chuckles, reaching out to fix his crumpled shirt. 

"Wasn't planning on it."

Rosh gives him absolutely no time; the second they're upstairs and refilling cups, she's running her mouth. 

"I'd appreciate it if you were more honest with us," she says, and Simon's stomach immediately drops, looking over and relaxing almost immediately when she sees her playful expression. "We keep calling Wille with a w a crush," Rosh continues, Simon sighing, "not you too,'" as she waves him off. "We keep calling Wille with a w a crush when you're legit in love with him."

"Can you please not become Ayub, I can't handle two of him," Simon grumbles, grabbing the bottles of soda from the fridge. "He said the same l-o-v-e word." 

"L-o-v-e word? You mean love?"

"I mean l-o-v-e," he says, "and you two are insane for even saying that shit right now."

Because it's not a question of if teenagers can love - Simon knows, not even thinks but knows, they're capable - but a matter of how long he and Wille have known each other. They met a mere four months ago, learned about each other rather slowly in a way that Simon was comfortable with - they haven't even kissed for fucks sake.

"Okay maybe not l-o-v-e," Rosh agrees before her expression becomes more solemn. "But I mean c'mon, Simon, you can't not have noticed you legit fell asleep on him."

Simon did notice but truthfully, isn't surprised; it's a little scary to him but he's still not surprised. He knows he feels safe with Wille, he knew the moment his eyes were feeling heavy that he was gonna fall asleep. He's with his friends, with Wille, in a quiet house away from the one that torments him. He knew that he wouldn't wanna be in his most vulnerable state anywhere else, with anyone else, and maybe that's the part that, yes, is scaring the shit out of him also. 

"I know," Simon says softly, quietly.

Rosh smiles that soft smile she possesses, saves for special occasions like this one because she has the tough love, straight up friend down to a t but also has this sweet side to her. 

"I'm happy for you, Simme," she says honestly. "I was concerned for, like, two seconds because I could see how much you like him but Jesus Christ, he might like you more. It's insane how he looks at you." She doesn't say that the l-o-v-e word for Wille is, without a doubt, present. She's not sure Simon is ready to hear that right now. Simon caps the soda after pouring it and looks down with a shy smile, shaking his head as he opens the fridge.

"Stop," he whines, feeling his face grow warm - damn this new blushing habit of his. 

"I'm serious," Rosh giggles, taking two of the cups from the counter. "I'm lowkey a little fucking jealous."

"Why?" Simon asks, the two making their way back to the basement. "Aren't you and Yasmina good?"

Rosh scoffs at the mention of her on-again off-again fling. "Yeah, for five fucking seconds. Then she'll switch up on me. I swear to God, sometimes, I don't understand why she..." 

Simon swears he listens the rest of the time in the kitchen and down the stairs but once he and Rosh are back in the basement, he can't help but overhear Ayub and Wille's conversation; he likes how they talk like they've known each other for years instead of, formally meeting, less than 24 hours ago. 

"Have you met them yet?"

Simon wonders who they could possibly be talking about, like Ayub and Wille have any other mutual friends or acquaintances besides himself. 

"No, just pictures," Wille says. "Simon gave me one of Olle. It's on my desk."

Simon freezes, teeth sinking into his bottom lip so he doesn't smile. No way are they sitting there talking about his fucking fish. 

"What? Why just Olle? That's blatant favoritism!" Ayub exclaims passionately, like most of his absurd concerns. "And he's so full of shit, by the way, with his claims that he can tell the difference. How would he even know?"

Simon's eyes narrow, feeling defensive and ready to rip into his best friend who he's talked to extensively about this before his blonde boy speaks. Speaks and makes him, for the briefest of delusional seconds, puts some thought into the l-o-v-e word after all. 

"Olle has a black dot under his eye," Wille says, his voice soft without a hint of teasing or mocking. "Oski and Felle are harder to tell but one of Oski's eyes is the slightest bit uneven."

Simon doesn't have to see his best friend's face to know he's smirking. To know he's looking at him with mirth in his eyes because "no fucking way," the boy cackles, whacking Wille's shoulder. "No wonder he likes you so much! You feed into his delusions!"

Wille chuckles deeply, that genuine chuckle that Simon always longs to hear, and shakes his head. 

"I'm serious! There's a difference!” Wille insists. “I haven’t told him yet but I see it now. Actually saw it pretty quickly.” 

"No, no fucking shot. You're just as insane as him. No wonder you two are totally-"

"We come with three drinks and three drinks only," Rosh interrupts, throwing a knowing smirk at Simon before turning to Ayub. "Guess who's not getting one?"

"Rosh!" Ayub exclaims, snatching a cup of coke from her hand. "That is no way to talk to Wille with a w the wizard! He's the guest of honor."

"I wasn't talking about Wille," she says blankly right as Simon shakes his head, still reeling from Wille's comments about his fish (what an absurd thing to be the final kicker for Simon needing to kiss him tonight) but also confused because "wizard?" 

Ayub looks at him again with a challenging look, with an obvious little smirk all over his face, it makes Simon narrow his eyes. 

"You just had to be there, Simme," Ayub says. "You were too busy sleeping."

"Sorry I was tired," he spits back sarcastically, plopping back down next to Wille on the couch. "Isn't it super rude when someone just falls asleep during a movie?"

"It's only rude when they wake up as cranky as you."

Simon only scoffs before taking his rightful place on Wille, feeling content again when the blonde tightens his hold on him. 

"Welcome back," Wille mumbles with a smile, Simon peeking up at him. 

"Thank you," he says quietly, cranky to smiling softly, almost shyly, in two seconds. "I'm sorry. I won't fall asleep on you again."

"It's okay if you do," Wille mumbles, swearing he hears something like "more than okay," under his breath.

It makes him smile even more, even shyer, hiding his face in Wille's chest and feeling his stomach jump in the best possible way when the boy tightens his hold on him. Simon doesn't fall asleep again but he stays in Wille's arms the rest of the night.

~

The walk from Rosh's to Simon's usually felt long but couldn't be more than 20 minutes; tonight, with Wille beside him and Simon's (not so) newfound need to kiss him, it somehow seemed, both, dreadfully long and far too short. 

They had finally left his friend's house around midnight, when Simon's eyes started getting heavy again but he knew he couldn't leave Sara by herself over night without a warning. The thought briefly slipped into his mind, how nice it would be to fall asleep and wake up next to Wille, wake up and already be at his friend's house, but it was only fleeting.

Then, reality set in the way it always does: harshly, with a sobering slap in the face. The reality of his household he won't ever be able to run away from, its permanently engrained in him with affects that will probably last for the rest of his life - but the reality of him and Wille has only gotten sweeter, better.

Their reality, that was so bleak weeks ago, has turned into something he always secretly longed for but didn't think was possible. Their reality was that things were good, things were really good, and feelings were reciprocated. Wille's hand slipped into his right outside Rosh's house and they hadn't let go since. They can blame the cold, the frigid January weather, but they also know this is what they want to do. Their walk is silent for a few minutes, both lost in their thoughts (the thoughts that are very much the same) before Wille speaks.

"I had really fun today."

Simon smiles, looking over at the boy.

"Yeah?" 

Wille looks down and nods, the smile on his face that never fails to make Simon feel warm all over even when it's freezing. 

"Yeah," Wille says. "Your friends are really fucking great, too. You're lucky to have them."

The curly-haired nods because as much banter as they have, as annoying and harsh and petty they can be, it's from a place of immense love. He knows Rosh and Ayub, even though they're childhood friends, will be his friends for life. 

"I am," Simon nods, his voice low, soft. "They really like you too," he adds because that's the upmost truth. They liked him before, were intrigued by him, but they really, really like him now. 

"I was hoping so," Wille giggles before he knocks his arm with his. "You almost ruined it announcing my opinion on pineapple pizza, though."

Simon chuckles and if he leans into Wille, it's completely purposeful. His warmth felt nice, yes, but he's craving his comfort extra tonight. Has been feeling uncharacteristically clingy after he woke up on his chest and thought about how much he finally needs them to go to that next step. Even though it's scary, even though it's absolutely terrifying and puts him in a position to be more vulnerable, he thinks it could be worth it. 

He trusts Wille.

He likes Wille. 

He feels safe with Wille and that's the most important thing for a person like Simon.

"He had to know," the curly-haired mumbles, smiling when Wille hums lowly. 

It's crazy to Simon that, no matter what, no matter who he's with or how he's feeling, the moment he turns onto his block, his body tenses up. It's an uncontrollable reaction, something he doesn't even realize he's doing until someone either calls him out or he wonders why he feels so fucking weird. Wille, unsurprisingly, notices immediately, stops them in their tracks and looks over him. Like he's carefully assessing him for injuries, discomfort, any sign to explain why he's suddenly like this.

Simon knows something fucked up is happening inside him when the most foreign feeling of tears building behind his eyes starts happening. He blinks and blinks and shakes his head until it's gone, still allowing Wille to gently caress his hand. 

"Are you okay?" The blonde asks.

The mood can get so somber so fast. They can have the best day ever, they did have the best day ever, and just the thought of a fucking house can ruin him. Simon bites the inside of his cheek as he nods silently, eyes unwavering as he looks up at Wille. Looks up and somehow, some way, hopes to portray what he's thinking about all day.

Kiss me, just once. Kiss me like you said you want to. Kiss me like we've both been waiting for.

Wille sees it, he knows he does, because then the air changes around them. Filled with something thick, something buzzing and electric but not visible. Simon can feel it humming through his body and he thinks Wille does too.

"Simon," Wille mumbles, just a mutter of his name that sounds like so many different things: a plea, a warning, a question. Simon nods because if it's any of the above, the answer is yes.

Yes please, do it any way, yes kiss me already.

Wille licks over his lips and swallows, Simon's eyes following his Adams apple, before he looks back up at Simon. Slight disappointment floods through him when the boy speaks again but his eyes are still hazy, lips are still parted. 

"I- I wanted to ask you something," Wille begins, their hands still connected, hanging between their bodies that are just mere inches from touching. "It might not be a good time because we're about to go inside but I-"

"Wille," Simon says, because now is so not time for his cute stammering and stuttering. 

"And if you don't wanna talk about it, I get it, I respect that," he continues, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Simon's a minute away from combusting. "But I haven't been able to stop thinking about it and I'm scared that-"

"Wille," Simon says, voice louder, a little harsher, but the boy doesn't get it. Doesn't hear him. Doesn't feel the way their bodies are moving closer and closer, their body heat  mingling. 

"I know it's not my place, that- that could be something that has multiple reasons but it just scares me and I can't help but feel concerned and like I have to-"

"Kiss me."

The wind howls like it has so many nights. The moon shines down brightly and accompanies them in the lonely, desolate street. The sky has been witness to most of their stages - strangers to acquaintances to tentative conversations and shy, unsure smiles - and Simon can't help but find it slightly poetic that they'll be kissing the same way they met: outside, freezing, brain muddled with racing thoughts but still intensely curious about the other. 

Wille just stares and Simon would smile if he wasn't feeling so out of sorts right now. If it wasn't so-

"Simon," Wille breathes again and the tone of his voice wrecks him. Completely wrecks him. Almost wrecks him as bad as his hand wrapping around his wrist. This is only one thing and it's a warning. A full fledged warning that the curly-haired can't imagine is needed right now. He doesn't need any warnings, he just needs him to kiss him.

"Wille, if you don't kiss me right now, I'm gonna-"

Simon was talking one minute, about to rip into Wille because, Jesus Christ, they've waited long enough, and then the next, Wille was bent down and kissing him like he'd been waiting for this moment his entire life. 

Chapter Text

Wille doesn't know much about kissing, hadn't really kissed anyone apart from a few silly pecks during spin the bottle in middle school, but he knows that kissing Simon feels like a league of its own. 

The technique surely wasn't the greatest, they were inexperienced after all and it even felt messy and uncoordinated to them, but the feelings it evoked, how it felt to be kissing each other, continues to be unmatched. The way they’ll melt into each others bodies perfectly, fitting like puzzle pieces when Simon wraps his arms around his neck and Wille pulls him in gently by the hips. The warmth and excitement and sheer terror that floods through them at every moment of the kiss is distinct, each moment amazing in their own way.

The beginning before their lips meet, all coy smiles and questioning eyes. Then the act of their lips parting against the other with hums of pleasure slipping through, hums of getting used to the euphoric sensation of their mouths colliding because, sometimes, getting the motions down can be kind of weird if they really start to think about it. Wille thinks his favorite part is ending the kiss, not because it's over but because, somehow, it feels more intimate than the actual act.

They either pull back for air before diving back in or everything turns slow and calm, their foreheads pressed together. Their breathing will be labored, heavy and heaving, but it calms together until they're breathing the same beats. Wille's cheeks will almost always be flushed and Simon will giggle, caressing the warm skin with his finger that Wille will catch and bring to his lips; Simon almost died the first time the blonde brought his hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckle. 

And then that night of their first kiss, the night that so thankfully started all of this, couldn't have been more perfect. Although they were eager, although they were waiting for what felt like ever for that moment, the kiss was slow. They still gripped at each other in the freezing cold like they'd fall apart if they didn't, there was still a desperation and eagerness to it because they were just feeling so much, but it was also sweet.

There was no rush, no tongue, nothing to suggest they were kissing just because they were two horny teenagers who wanted to get off. They were kissing because they wanted this for so long, wanted to show their feelings and overwhelming affection for the other. They craved that physical intimacy, the realization hit Simon like a truck when he fell asleep on the boy and woke up only wanting him even more.  

And if they thought they already weren't getting sick of each other, just spending day after day together hanging out in Wille's room or at Hillerska, they quickly realized how much better it could be when they're making out until their lips are sore. 

"Wille," Simon mumbles against his mouth, the blonde about to pull back before Simon whines, tugging at the hair tickling the nape of his neck.

It felt like just yesterday when Simon was first in Wille's room and his teenaged brain had jumped the gun - pictured him and Simon slowly, gently kissing before it escalated the way those things do. Pictured the boy on his lap and his weight under him in the most pleasurable way possible; he couldn't have imagined that weeks later, in the quiet of his room, tv on to drown out the heavy breathing and smacking lips, that it'd become a reality. 

The best reality that's hit him so far in the form of bruised lips, hickeys low on his neck, and an uncomfortable, throbbing ache in his lower half that he'll put up with until they're both ready to do something about it - if it was sooner rather than later, though, he wouldn't mind. Not with the way Simon's writhing in his lap, the blankets wrinkled around them as he mutters “Wille,” again.” 

Wille always loves how he says his name. He loves it even more when he says it like that.

The blonde pulls back and the sight before him is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen - ruffled curls, pink swollen lips from his mouth, an overall hazy, lustful look in Simon's soft brown eyes that will never fail to light a fire in his veins. 

"You good?" Wille mumbles, slightly breathless, because he will always check in with Simon. Always make sure, before anything and everything else, that he’s okay.

A noise escapes the back of the boy’s throat and Wille begs his body to behave. Begs it to not twitch or make any sudden movements that might make Simon uncomfortable, even though he's been rocking in his lap for the past 25 minutes. 

"We're... we're supposed to be doing homework," he gets out in between breaths, although the desire in his eyes would suggest he wants to do anything but homework. He knows it and Wille knows it. Wille’s so confident in that fact he's willing to taunt and tease him and risk his petty wrath. 

"Yeah?" Wille hums, his hands tightening on his hips. He purposely pulls him closer, smirking when the curly-haired inhales sharply. "Then get up,” he whispers. “Do homework."

Simon blinks, staring blankly at Wille in a way that makes the boy's smirk widen. It should make Simon feel vengeful, be just as teasing and stubborn back, but, fuck, does he like kissing Wille too much. Like the feeling of being on top of him and taking what he wants, which is just Wille, while the blonde is so obviously attracted to him too - but he also can't be completely weak. 

That’s just not who Simon Eriksson is, refuses to be even in the face of making out with his crush; his crush who, although putting on this cocky, confident facade, begins to scramble when he goes to move off him.

"Wait," Wille whines, hands tightening on him; that was quick. "I was kidding. Please don't make us do it."

It takes everything in Simon not to smirk right in his face, biting down on his lip as he steadies himself on the boy's lap. 

"Oh? You were the one telling me to get up," Simon says, mocking the boy's voice. "Maybe you should-"

The blonde's quick to flip them over, Simon’s surprised yelp cutting off his own snarky response. His back bounces off the soft mattress, Wille hovering above him so his weight doesn't crush him. His breathing (curse his hormonal teenaged body) threatens to pick up again, just from the sheer power and quickness in Wille's movements. In his messy blonde hair that's completely Simon's doing from running his fingers through the soft, long strands and tugging.

His lips are red and bruised and he just can't believe how much fun kissing can be. How wrecked they both look just from doing that all night. 

"I take it back," Wille mumbles lowly, his voice causing a storm of flurries in Simon's stomach. 

"Okay but I don't," Simon says, even though he'd never meant it in the first place - he can only weakly attempt to be a scholar. Can try even though he hooks his arms back around Wille's neck and licks over his own puffy, sore lips. 

"You don't?“ Wille hums, gaze falling to his mouth. “You’d really rather do homework than..."

"Than make out with you?" Simon finishes, a bright smile, his most genuine smile that's coming from a buzzing happiness deep within, on his face. "That's presumptuous, Wille."

"But is it wrong?" The blonde asks, bending down with a raised brow so his words, his breath, waft over his face; it'd be gross if less than thirty seconds ago, they weren't tonguing each other. 

Simon's gaze searches over Wille's face, takes in the beauty of him being wrecked and pretty and his. There’s something possessive Simon didn't realize he was capable of feeling, didn't realize until he started kissing a boy and only wanted them to kiss each other because it probably wouldn't feel this good with anyone else. He hopes that Wille feels the same, thinks he might if Rosh and Ayub's observations are right, but it seems way too soon for a discussion like that. 

"No," Simon breathes, although rolling his eyes. "I guess it's not."

Wille smiles and bends back down to take his mouth. Simon's arms tighten around his neck, meeting his lips with the same amount of fervor.

Wille's intense, he noticed that fairly quickly after meeting the boy, and he kisses the same way. Kisses him like it's the only thing he wants to do, like that's his only concern in the world. They have a lot to be concerned about but not in Wille's room, not like this, not when they're so connected and in tune with each other in every way. Not when Simon's slipping his tongue in Wille's mouth and swallowing his groans of pleasure.

Simon gasps when he feels Wille's leg slip between his, something harsher than air or the fabric of Wille's sweatpants pressing against the bulge in his. He knows Wille's about to pull back to ask if he's okay but he's more than okay, craves more, pulls him tighter around the shoulders and barely stops himself from grinding his hips into the boy’s leg. 

He feels pathetic, ridiculous, even, that he has to hold himself back from practically humping him when last week he was too scared to kiss him. His brain is just consumed by the pleasure, consumed by feelings, consumed by the hormones zipping through his hot body and Simon thinks his shirt needs to come off now. He pulls back and smiles when Wille does too almost immediately, his watchful brown eyes the strangest but most reassuring mix of lust and concern. 

"Is- is this okay?" Wille asks breathlessly, leg still slotted between his thighs.

It should feel almost embarrassing, Wille knowing he's hard right now, but Simon felt the same thing when he was sitting on his lap. Felt it and was spurred on to grind against him, just a little bit. Simon nods, biting down on his bottom lip before getting brave enough to slide his hands off Wille shoulders and to the end of his own shirt. His eyes are questioning, head cocked, as if he's silently asking the blonde - Wille's oblivious though, as he knows, so he just keeps smiling down softly at him, admiring him in a way that makes Simon blush.

That look and him needing to verbally express what he wants now.

"Is it okay if I..."

Simon still can't quite get the words out, because it's new and he's never done something like this before, but then Wille gets it. Sees his eyes and his hands at the end of his shirt and responds almost excitedly, albeit awkwardly. 

"Oh- oh, yeah, of course," Wille stammers out, before he leans back a little. "I can- I can take mine off, too, if you want..."

Simon can't stop the giggle that leaves him as he takes off his shirt, nodding at Wille who's looking at him expectantly, like he's really about to say no to that. 

"Yes," Simon chuckles, Wille's nervous expression quickly dissipating at the other boy's growing smirk. At the mirth in his eyes and Wille swears Simon's the most beautiful person on this planet.

He wants to know, in the most innocent, pure way, what he'd look like in his bed in the morning sunlight. With the soft, golden hues of the sun painting his even softer, even more golden skin because then surely, 16 or not, knowing him for almost five months or not, he'd realize he's fallen in love. 

For now, though, they have his red led lights and the dark, late-January sky peeking through his curtains. They have their naked upper bodies touching and sparks that are ten times more powerful shooting through them at the contact. They have the knowledge that, with each passing day, they're getting more and more comfortable with each other.

They're getting more comfortable but they're also trusting each other more. Allowing themselves to fall deeper into the scary journey of bearing your soul, your body, to someone and-

"While sex is a natural part of life and development, it's important that it's talked about in a healthy, constructive way," they hear a voice from outside the closed door say, the two boys quickly pulling apart. "Make sure your teen is comfortable and aware of the facts about sex, such as sexually transmitted diseases, the importance of consent, unplanned pregnan- uh, nevermind... protection-"

"Erik!" Wille screams, a mortified Simon hiding his face in his hands below him. "Shut the fuck up and get away from my door!" 

"Healthy and constructive, Wille!" Erik yelps back, although his voice is sounding farther away (but not far enough, Mars wouldn't be far enough at this moment in time). "Your tv isn't as loud as you think!" 

"Fuck! Off! Erik!" 

He doesn't hear it but he just knows Erik laughs under his breath, footsteps padding away until Wille and Simon are left alone, tv on, breaths slowing, and the mood quickly fizzling out. Simon's hands are away from his face and tracing Wille's pale shoulders, the blonde looking down at him before groaning. With his arms holding him up, he buries his face in Simon's neck. He smells so good, with hints of coconut and citrus but something also so distinctly Simon, Wille can't help but find it addictive. 

"I swear to you I could fucking kill him," Wille mumbles into his skin, the words tickling Simon gently. 

The curly-haired bites back a smile because even though he's beyond embarrassed, he also can't help but find the brothers kind of funny.

"You wouldn't wanna do that," Simon says, hands traveling back up his shoulders, to his hair. He has a thing for it, the long blonde locks, he hopes Wille doesn't notice although how couldn't he? 

"You're right, I wouldn't," Wille mutters petulantly, in a way that always makes Simon's lips quirk. "But he's still annoying."

He pulls back and Simon loses the battle against smiling, everything about the moment, the way Wille's looking at him, the new, foreign feelings of their bodies pressed together, too much. It's too much in the best way and Simon can't believe at several points in meeting Wille that he thought it'd be better to resist this. 

"He's just trying to educate us on accidentally pregnancies," Simon teases, bursting out laughing at not only the older man's words but the way Wille's face crumbles. 

"Stop," Wille groans, rolling off Simon and plopping down next to him. 

The bed bounces underneath them, their arms touching in the dark warmth of Wille's room. They lay there relishing in the moment, in the calm, in the way things are getting more serious, more heavy, and they're excited for the next chance (hopefully soon) to explore it. 

"Should we actually do homework now?" Wille asks, breaking the silence; it's unusual for Wille to ever suggest doing homework, is almost always Simon, so he knows they boy must've delayed an important assignment. 

"Probably," Simon groans with a pout, Wille taking one look at him and leaning down to place a peck on his lips. Chaste, sweet, quick, like kissing casually was something they always do. 

It makes Simon blush, makes him hide his smile in Wille's arm and his heart jumps when he feels lips press into the top of his curls. 

"Let's go," Wille says, because he knows if they lay here any longer, if Simon touches him in the slightest, most chaste way, they'll be repeating the merciful act of french kissing and dry humping. 

~

Two hours later, a shocking amount of work done, and about 20 kisses in between, Wille was walking Simon to his door hand in hand. Just like the first night they hung out, Simon insisted Wille didn't have to walk him out and watch him go in to which the blonde just ignored him, again. They passed a smirking Erik on the couch, a playful, "good evening, boys," leaving the older man. Simon tried to keep his voice from quivering as he said hi and then bye, Wille flipping his brother off behind his back; Erik, like the mature 22-year-old he is, sticks his tongue out in response. 

The two boys linger by the door, hands toying at each other as they drag out this goodbye. 

"See you tomorrow then?" Wille asks quietly, eyes tracing every perfect line, perfect feature, of Simon's face; he doesn't understand how he can have not one flaw or if he'll ever get used to it. 

(Simon smiles and he can confirm here that, no, he won't).

"Tomorrow," he nods.

A few seconds pass, Simon's hand on the door ready to brave the cold. There's a weird tension in the air, something unsure passing between the two teens, like they're waiting for something to happen, before Wille seems to say fuck it.

He leans down and presses the 21st chaste kiss to Simon's mouth. It takes everything in him not to laugh when he pulls back and sees a blush on the boy's face, a happy smile tugging at his lips before his eyes widen and he side-eyes the couch where Erik's watching trashy reality tv. Wille rolls his eyes as if to say he's oblivious - Simon doesn't tell him it seems to run in the family. 

They share one last lingering look before Wille opens the door, the frigid winter air a stark contrast to the warm house. Simon sucks in a breath to brave the cold before telling Wille, "goodnight," a soft tone that makes the blonde smile before he says, "goodnight, Erik!" a little louder.

"Goodnight, Simon, see you tomorrow, I'm sure," Erik says, an embarrassed laugh leaving him before he looks back at Wille.

"I'll text you," the blonde says, regretfully letting go of Simon's hand. "Now hurry so I can go in."

"I literally told you you don't have to..." Simon begins to grumble, Wille pushing him gently on his lower back. The curly-haired rolls his eyes but Wille catches the way he hides his smile, watching in amusement as Simon speed walks down his stairs and over to his house. Once Simon's in his house, a cute little wave before he disappears, Wille slams the door and turns to stare at his brother accusingly; the man is already speaking before Wille can start cursing. 

"Well, little brother, that was a very sweet, very smooth, endearing-"

"Fuck you!" Wille yells, stomping over to throw himself down on the couch. "Why, Erik? Why do you have to ruin my life? Do you get some sort of sick pleasure out of it? Putting me in humiliating situations?" The blonde drones on. "Were you put on this very Earth to do that?"

"Oh, I ruined your life because I cock blocked you?" Erik spits back, wanting to laugh at the drama but trying to remember parent, parent, parent. He's a single parent to a teen now, even has a book to prove it, and he's trying his best. "You're under my roof, Wille, your life ruiner's, in case you forgot. And I think it'd be negligent if I didn't give some form of a safe sex talk with you when I heard the noises I was hearing and-"

"We weren't having sex! We were just... kissing... without our shirts on," Wille says, not sure why he includes that part; his face probably rivals a tomato when Erik smirks. "And if you wanted to have that talk," Wille coutinues so his brother (or he himself) can't embarrass him further, "then it didn't have to be when Simon was literally in my room! That was so embarrassing, you totally ruined the-"

"If you tell me I ruined the mood and prevented you from kissing without pants on too, I'm gonna scream, Wille."

The brothers have a stare down - Wille flopped out on the couch and Erik sitting up in his chair, the picture of grace - before the younger groans again. He throws a spare pillow over his head dramatically, his curses and woes muffled. Erik just rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to the tv to give the boy some time. More has to be said, they both know that, but he'll spare him for a few silent moments. 

A similar type of silence can be found in the house next door, although it's much more tense. Much more melancholy and like a house made of the most precious glass; if they don't walk quietly enough, cautious enough, it'll crack and hell will break loose. Simon walks down the hallway, his parents door closed but Sara's, surprisingly, open. He peeks his head in nosily to see her in bed, scrolling on her phone; he knocks before she can accuse him of spying.

"Oh, hey," she says, sitting up with a small smile. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I tried to be quiet," he says, walking into her room and closing the door. He makes his way over to her bed, sitting on the edge. He can feel her nosy gaze almost immediately, searching over him like she just knows something happened. Like she knows he spent the last however many blissful hours making out and blushing and feeling so delusionally happy; it could also be from the smile he can't wipe off his face. 

"Were you next door?"

Is the sky blue? 

"Yeah," Simon mutters, catching Sara's smirk and rolling his eyes. "What?"

"I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to."

Even the night of their first kiss, Sara knew something happened the minute she saw Simon. She'd never seen her brother so happy before, never knew his perfect skin was capable of looking so flushed. It only took a few pointed looks and her confident, "I know something happened," for him to confess into the quiet of his room that he and Wille finally kissed. That it was the best first kiss of his life and he can now admit that yes, he may have a slight (massive) crush on the neighbor. 

"Did you sleep with him?" She blurts out, Simon covering his face in embarrassment for the second time tonight. 

"Sara!" He whisper yells, swatting at her gently. "What the hell! We only just kissed last week." She shrugs as if that really matters, questioning eyes on him. "No, I didn't sleep with him," he says, knocking their arms together. "We only kissed. A lot."

"Yeah, I can tell," she points out dryly, if his puffy red lips and messy curls are any indication of that. 

Simon rolls his eyes and flops down on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. His mind plays over the night, the week, he's spent with Wille and it all seems surreal. Like this is only their brief period of happiness before something bad happens. He doesn't wanna think that way, he wants to live like this and enjoy their time together always, but it's hard not to - especially when he likes him so much that it scares him.

"I'm happy you have him," Sara says suddenly, her honesty one of the things he loves most about his sister. "A boyfriend looks good on you. You seem really happy."

The words feel right, they make him feel warm all over, but-

"He's not my boyfriend," Simon mumbles and just the words make his heart drop a little. "We haven't had any kind of talk like that. I- It feels too soon, I think."

With Sara's honesty comes her inability to mask her emotions, especially when a statement is especially absurd. 

"I think he's wanted to be your boyfriend since Christmas," she says, because seeing someone look at her brother the way Wille does, the way he did that Christmas night and every night afterward, most nights before that probably, made her equal parts bitter and ecstatic. Simon deserved it, she knows he did, but it also made her long for something like that. She'd watched it flourish from the very beginning, when her brother was scared and jaded and didn't wanna let the awkward blonde in. 

But Wille, very clearly, worked himself into Simon's heart that he'd kept so carefully guarded and protected. 

"Sara, stop," her younger brother whines, because apparently he can make out with the boy for hours but can't hear how much he's pined for him. 

"I'm serious. It was so obvious." 

He's heard this from the people who he not only loves and cherishes the most in this world but have many reasons to be wary of Wille. His friends and family don't want him hurt any more than he is, any more because they know what he's been through and how it makes him so hesitant to so many different aspects in his life - love, relationships, alcohol, big social gatherings. But Wille has proved time and time again he just wants to be there for Simon. Make him feel happy and safe and admired and-

"He needs to take you on a date."

"A date?"

"A date?" Wille yelps, Erik nodding like he'd told him something not completely terrifying - Wille's never been on a date before, what does one even do on a date?

"Wilhelm, c'mon," Erik sighs, his role as parent to brother to wing man all over the place tonight. "Must I share my wisdom with you about everything?"

"Yes! Literally yes," Wille says. "You're my older brother so have more older brother experiences that you have to share. Where do you usually take your dates?"

"Well, I've been a single father to a bratty teenager for the past five months so I haven't really..." Wille reaches out to kick the man, a deep chuckle leaving him. "Okay, I mean I usually just do something like dinner but that's kind of boring for you young people," Erik says. "How about a fun outdoor activity?"

"Like what?" Wille asks blankly, already hating this; he wants to spend time with Simon obviously but just the idea of a date sounds daunting. "It's almost February, Erik."

"Okay and there's this thing called a jacket, Wille," Erik says, taking a few seconds to ponder before he blurts out, "What about, like, ice skating or something? That's festive and fun and you can hold each other which is so romantic and sweet and endearing like that little kiss you shared if you don't crack your heads open."

Wille only ignores his brother's snide comment because he fears he's a genius. When it's not too freezing or raining out, they've taken a liking to eating lunch out by the lake at Hillerska. They don’t necessarily avoid the cafeteria, no one has really bothered them badly since that first day of school, but they prefer to not be there with all the wandering eyes and obvious whispers.

They found solace at the lake, found that they were able to just be together there, eat their food and laugh and play footsie as they lay stretched out on the cold grass. He won't tell Erik all of that, though. 

"That's... actually a good idea," Wille says, Erik laughing as he shakes his head because "actually?" the older blonde asks incredulously. "If you just listened to me more, little brother, you'd see that I'm usually always right."

Wille rolls his eyes, about to get up to go in his room and text Simon when Erik makes a noise of protest. 

"Ah, ah, not so fast Wille," he says. "We're not done here."

"Erik if you're about to give me the sex talk again, I'm gonna fucking-"

"Believe me, it's the last thing I wanna do. This is so much worse for me," Erik continues, because never in his life did he think he'd have to do this; he was a teen himself not that long ago, getting the very same talk from his dad who walked in on him and his first girlfriend clumsily fondling each other under the covers. "But all I want to say is,” Erik begins, “that whatever you want to do or plan on doing, you're gonna do it anyway and I'd rather know you're in a safe place, doing things safely.” 

Because it’s a stupid and naive thing to think that teenagers won’t find a way to do what they want.

"That being said, I don't want to know anything. I don't want to hear anything. You're not just gonna be laying around this house all day and night having sex while I'm-"

"Erik, what the fuck!" Wille whines, feeling close to tears. This is horrible. This is so so horrible. This is just as horrible for Erik and he wants to get it over with, make sure all his points are made so this can end.

"Protection, Wille. I don't know if mom or dad ever gave you the talk like they gave me but do you know-"

"That condoms exist? That they protect against STDs and pregnancy?" Wille snaps sarcastically, just wanting to go hide in his room now. "Yes! I do know that! And I know where to get condoms and I'll buy them myself when they are needed... which is NOT now because we are NOT having sex."

Silence passes between the brothers, Wille's face burning and Erik, despite this equally embarrassing conversation for them both, smirking. 

"I know," Erik finally says. "You're only kissing without shirts on but things can quickly-"

"Goodbye!" Wille says, jumping up from the couch. "Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, fuck you! This was the worst day of my life."

"Oh? Was it?" Erik yells after Wille, who's quickly stomping down the hall. "Even though you just ventured into the world of kissing without shirts-"

The door slamming shut causes Erik to burst out laughing, the obnoxious sound penetrating even through the walls of Wille's room. 

"That was terrible," Wille mumbles to himself, quickly searching for his phone. 

"That was terrible!" Simon yelps, recalling his first and only date if he can even consider it one.

He'd dragged Ayub along to a karaoke date initiated by the Marieburg boy Marcus; Simon should've known then he wasn't gonna like him when he all but begged his best friend to accompany him.

"I vowed to never go on another date after that."

Simon loves singing, it's probably his favorite thing to do in the world, but not when he's forced. Not when he's pulled up against his will in front of audience by an older boy who towers over him. It was meant to be fun and Simon went up with a smile, but that was moment where Simon had begged Marcus "no, no, no," and he hadn't listened. He hadn't listened weeks later when he told him he didn't feel the same way either. It was only after he'd completely ghosted him and Rosh had to tell him to, essentially, fuck off that the boy seemed to get it through his thick fucking skull. 

"Okay but you didn't like Marcus at all," Sara says. "You like Wille. Things will be different with him."

Simon knows his sister is right because everything seems to be different with Wille. A really good kind of different and that's why he likes being around him so much. Going on a date sounds terrible but hanging out with Wille? That could never sound terrible.

"Maybe," Simon says, because he doesn't wanna sound too eager. 

Sara rolls her eyes, seeing right through him. She opens her mouth to make a comment when Simon's phone vibrates in his pocket. He smiles that Wille smile when he looks down at the screen.

(Wille 9:42 pm)  

i just had the worst interaction of my life with erik

pls distract me 😣

A chuckle leaves him, fingers quickly typing a response.

(Simon 9:42 pm)  

was he sharing more useful information about preventing pregnancy?

(Wille 9:42 pm)  

LITERALLY YES 

Simon can't stop himself from full on laughing, booming through Sara's room. His sister scoffs and throws herself back down on her bed, kicking him off. 

"I'm not dealing with your giggling, go be annoyingly in love in your own room."

She doesn't care if she sounds bitter - anyone would be in the face of Simon and Wilhelm. Her brother throws her a look, narrowing his eyes. 

"I'm not in love."

Sara just stares blankly, silently, until Simon feels his face heat and he mutters, "just shut up," missing the way she smirks as he turns around to leave. He makes his way into his room quietly, closing the door before throwing himself down on his bed. His phone vibrates again just as he goes to respond. 

(Wille 9:44 pm)  

i actually wanted to ask you something 

(Simon 9:44 pm)  

no, we cannot get pregnant, wille :/ 

(Wille 9:45 pm)  

LMFAO fuck u 😭 

NOT what i was gonna ask! 

The three typing dots appear and then disappear, the cycle following for a whopping two minutes as Simon watches with a faint smile.

He wonders what Wille's trying to type, if he's nervous about something or just doesn't know how to word it; Simon decides to take pity on him, slightly, because the thought of him feeling nervous to ask him anything makes his heart twist. 

(Simon 9:47 pm)  

what is it 💜

He's sure it's nothing bad, how could it when they've been apart for less than 30 minutes, but he still gets up and nervously paces his room. He keeps his eyes on his phone as he changes and gets ready for bed, nearly flying to his phone when, finally, he responds.

(Wille 9:55 pm)  

ok idk why im so nervous to ask u this but i was just thinking maybe like this weekend you'd wanna do something :) 

erik told me about somewhere we could go ice skating 

i thought that'd be fun 😊

we totally don't have to if you don't want to bc its been cold out 

but yeah 

as a date 😊 maybe on friday?

Simon, for a brief second, thinks that Wille somehow heard his and Sara's conversation; he goes as far as to make sure he didn't accidentally butt dial him. Once he sees that that wasn't the case, that Wille's bumbling display of asking him on a date was completely of his own volition, he feels that stupid, embarrassing but oh so familiar giddy feeling building in him.

It's crazy how his body just immediately responds, how his heart starts pounding and he feels warm. He'd love if Wille asked him in person, just to see how awkward and cute he'd be as he did it, but it feels too mean to say right now especially after it took him almost ten minutes to text. 

(Simon 9:56 pm)  

i'd love to wille, that sounds fun 💜

i've only been a few times tho and i'm really bad lol 

(Wille 9:57 pm)  

lol don't worry me too

we can do it together 🥰

It felt like they should've run out of things to talk about by now, that they'd be getting sick of each other, but they text through the night until they both pass out on their phones.

They wake up, get ready for school, and meet at the bus stop with Sara who watches them with equal parts disgust and admiration. They're not the type to exclude, though, especially not Simon to his sister, so they make sure to carry a conversation they all can follow. Sara talks when she feels necessary. She also smirks as she watches the two boys bicker back and forth, their hands smacking lightly before, like always, they eventually intertwine and stay clasped in the middle of their bodies.

~

Simon doesn't think he and Wille really act like a couple at school but, apparently, the rest of the student body do. He noticed the stares and whispers in the beginning of the week but figured it was just the normal:

"What’s Wilhelm Bernadotte doing with the poor non-boarder?"

"Does Wilhelm just feel bad for him?"

"Is there something more going on between them?"

That last assumption made Simon roll his eyes, because of course a gay guy couldn't possibly just be friends with another guy. But by Thursday, he saw it might be less about him being openly gay and more about how he and Wille act around each other. He didn't realize it, didn't think twice about it because they just act normal, like they usually do.

Talk normal. Laugh normal. They keep their normal distance from each other (which can't really be called distance at all) and act as they do outside of school. Minus the new kissing. They silently agreed to keep that to their moments alone in Wille's room or at the lake during lunch.

It was when he was leaving the brief meeting with the choir about today's practice, on his way to meet Wille at their lunch spot, when he was stopped by Felice and Maddie. Truthfully, he wasn't sure how to feel about them. They were fairly nice to him, made him feel included and even acknowledged his presence - they even called him his name, Simon, which was a shocking factor at this school - but Sara had told him that she really wants to be friends with them and while they haven't outright rejected or belittled her, they haven't exactly been welcoming either. 

"Hey, Simon!"

The curly-haired turns to see the two girls coming toward him, a questioning look on his face. Maybe they have a question about the song. Something about their slightly eager stride has him thinking otherwise. 

"Hi," he says, hoping not to sound too standoffish. "What's up?"

They don't really talk like this, casually. They talk when there's something to talk about but they don't exactly go out of their way for each other. 

"Nothing. How do you think the song is going so far?" 

Simon doesn't like to think the worst in people, he really doesn't, but he just wishes they were honest; Felice is nice, she's trying, but it's obvious that they didn't approach him for his opinion. 

"Good so far," Simon says, because it's the truth. "I think it fits everyone well."

"Yeah, I think so too," Felice says, "I think it's cool that we-"

"Is there something going on between you and Wilhelm?"

"Maddie!" Felice groans.

Simon's not sure he's ever been more grateful for the girl's tactless American-ness until this very moment. He doesn't need to answer her, it's nobody's business, but at least she's not being phony about it.

"Oh, c'mon Felice, he knew we were up to something," the girl says off-handedly, and very accurately may he add. "We only ask... because Stella and Fredrika always see you guys being super cute outside during lunch."

Simon sighs because that doesn't surprise him in the slightest - he swears Stella and Fredrika manage to get their ears and eyes everywhere. 

"Do they?" he asks, an almost mocking tone in his voice.

"Yeah, totally, like super cute," Maddie says, giddy and excited. "We kind of noticed too because you guys look at each other so sweetly but they said you two were-"

"Maddie," Felice says again, harsher, side-eyeing the girl hard.

She looks at her friend like she wants to start whining but must see something in her gaze that scares her and backs down; Felice looks back to Simon and looks genuinely apologetic, he'll give her that. 

"I'm sorry, Simon, we shouldn't have said anything," Felice says, shaking her head. "We just... we know how people are here so we wanted to-"

"Confirm the gossip?" The boy can't help but blurt out, a smirk on his lips. Maddie almost nods like she's admitting to it while the other girl looks a tad embarrassed.

”It's okay, Felice, I get it," Simon says, because he likes Felice, likes the choir, and wants to keep his relationships here decent; that doesn't mean he's gonna let people blatantly gossip about him or Wille either. "But people here really just need to mind their own business and-"

His phone vibrates in his hand and he just knows its Wille. Confirms it when he sees his name, slides open the message and can't stop the fondness from slipping into his eyes. 

(Wille 12:07 pm)  

where r u :( 

the water is cold today 

He's about to type back a response when he remembers the two girls before him. They're staring at him and the look on his face like it only seems to be confirming their suspicions. He briefly wonders if the whole school will know by the end of lunch.

"It's whatever, I gotta go," Simon says. "See you later at practice."

"Simon, wait-" Felice says before the boy's walking off outside and texting a clingy Wille back. 

(Simon 12:09 pm)  

is me being there somehow gonna make it not cold 🤨

(Wille 12:10 pm)  

exactly 😌

(Simon 12:10 pm)  

🙄 be there in 5

Five minutes later and he's next to Wille eating his lunch. They sit side by side the way they usually do, legs spread in front of them as they play a lazy game of footsy. Wille smirks when Simon starts it, peeking over with a mouth full of sandwich. He looks so cute and ridiculous that Simon can't help but giggle, throwing his head back in laughter.

Wille's eyes trace over his face: the sharp cut of his jaw, the perfect slope of his nose, the way his skin glows under the bright winter sun. He didn't think it was possible for anything like this to happen to him. That he'd really get to experience this feeling, the feeling he’s longed for, the feeling he longed to receive, but especially with a person like Simon.

Simon's resilient and strong but also the most thoughtful, kind, beautiful person Wille's ever met. It makes him sad knowing all the stuff he deals with at home. Makes him sad that he wants to have more of a conversation about that, about how it all affects him like what Rosh and Ayub mentioned about his sleeping schedule, but there just never seems to be a good time. 

It'll be a tough conversation, a conversation he knows the boy will resist, but Wille can't help but feel so concerned about him all the time. Almost as much as he thinks about the good things - the banter, the kissing, the touches - he thinks about the bad, thinks about how much he truly worries about him.

Simon's laughter dies down before a content, almost contemplative look crosses over him. He presses more into Wille's side as he munches on his fruit, shoulder pressing into his elbow. The blonde is broader than him and everything about it makes his body hum. His body is drawn to him, full of warmth and pleasure just from his touch, but Simon's mind is occupied by Felice and Maddie's comments. About the fact that Hillerska's interested in them and bringing it up to Wille, while funny and outrageous, could potentially mean defining what they have.

Simon knows he wants Wille, felt that completely unrecognizable possessiveness zip through him a few days ago, and he knows the feeling may be mutual but that changes stuff. Makes everything official, real, and a part of that scares Simon; it excites him, too, makes him feel so fucking happy and giddy but it's also scary. It's scary to have that conversation because it already had taken them months to kiss, to acknowledge that physical want and need - the wait was worth it but sometimes, Simon wonders how much time they really have left with each other.

How much time until Wille's mom does something, because he can't imagine she's just never gonna look for him, or how much time until his father does something and fucks him up badly. Fucks him up to the point of Simon losing it, closing himself off completely and Wille seeing he isn't worth it. They both seem to be lost in their thoughts, sitting together and enjoying the silence until Simon feels Wille move slightly, reaching over to confidently, unabashedly hold his hand. As if it’s the most natural thing in the world, as if they’d been doing it forever, as if Simon was his to hold in public. 

Simon looks over and smiles at him, because he can't not. Wille speaks quietly, softly, his eyes a honey brown under the cast of the afternoon sun.

"I'm excited for tomorrow," he confesses, words for only them two. 

Every thought Simon had, at least temporarily, goes away. He tucks it back in the little locked box with all of his other problems: the problems from his dad, the problems with him accepting help because he takes care of everyone, the problems that come from having the weight of the world on your shoulders at just 16. The problems that feel lighter when he’s with a rich blonde boy who has some problems too but looks at him like he’s perfect. Simon's not perfect, not even close, but he could try to pretend he is for Wille. He thinks he's slowly realizing he'd do anything for him.

"Me too," Simon confesses back, his words just as low, just as whispered, filled with as much admiration and excitement as the boy staring over at him. 

They're excited for tomorrow, excited for their first date, and excited enough to pretend there aren't thoughts and concerns plaguing every inch of their mind. They don't go away when their eyes meet, when their lips touch, but the voices fade considerably and that's all they both need. 

~

It took thirty minutes for Wille to conclude that the only good thing about ice skating was never letting go of Simon's hand; everything else about it, quite literally everything else, was death-defying. He almost had a heart attack in the first ten seconds when, brave as ever, Simon glided out on the ice and almost toppled over. Wille gathered all the balance, strength, and ability he didn't possess in the world as he quickly slid out and grabbed the boy by the waist. They both teetered and tottered, Wille gasping as Simon's melodious giggle echoed through the biting winter air. 

"It's okay, Wille," Simon had chuckled, although his hand snaked down and immediately grasped his. Their fingers intertwined, neither boy wearing gloves like they should be, and they hadn't let go since. 

The rink was shockingly crowded given the weather, a seemingly very common date idea, but it was still fun. The best fun they've had in a while. They didn't crack their heads open, luckily, but they did fall a few times. Simon fell to his knees before Wille could catch him and Will barrelled into the side like a bull in a china shop. 

They never stopped laughing, though. They laughed as much as they held hands and blushed, not to be confused with wind burn. There was a lightness to them that they haven't felt before; any hesitance or nerves about a first date had melted away the moment they said hi to each other outside their houses. 

Because being together was easy, everything about them was easy - it was everything else that was complicated. 

They were hardly able to stand the frigid cold anymore, fingertips and noses red, but Simon had pouted at Wille for one more stop before going back to Wille's house. It was understood that's where they were going, nothing had to be said, but the blonde still teased him on their walk through a once again desolate Bjärstad.

It reminded Wille so much of that first night all those months ago, when the air was warmer, less charged, but he was anxious beyond belief and felt safe with a handsome boy who was virtually a stranger. It reminded him of their walk even more when suddenly, he became very aware of their familiar surroundings. He looks over at Simon with a smirk, hands swinging between them. 

"Are my drinks not cutting it anymore?" Wille asks, the flickering 24-hour sign in the distance. 

Simon rolls his eyes, a smirk tugging at his red, slightly chapped lips. 

"It's for the memories, Wille, of course your drinks are better."

Simon's not even lying. Wille's drinks were better. He didn't know if it was the brand or the way he prepared it, he just loved Wille's hot chocolate; it could also have something to do with the fact the boy prepared it specifically for him but that's neither here nor there. 

Wille gets his tea and Simon gets hot chocolate. They buy an array of snacks for the movie they're gonna 'watch' later and the blonde even texts Erik to see if he wanted anything. 

"Erik said he'd order pizza if you want," Wille says. "No pineapples but don't tell Ayub."

Simon chuckles into his hot drink, telling him pizza is more than fine with him.

Dinner should've been more awkward, given Erik's recent talk with Wille and his horrifying, albeit funny, warning through the door the other day but it wasn’t. The complete opposite, actually. At first, Erik seemed reluctant to sit with them at the table, about to eat in his chair like the old man he's becoming, before, uncharacteristically, Simon opened up about how fun the ice skating place was. 

"Yeah, Wille said you knew of the place." 

Erik smirked and side-eyed his brother who had a mouth full of pizza.

"Knew of the place, did I?" Erik mutters, Wille kicking him under the table.

Erik chuckled and nodded before they fell into easy, fun, shockingly not embarrassing conversation; Erik's last words, more so looks, before departing back into the living room could be the only mildly embarrassing part.

"You guys gonna hang out here for the rest of the night then?"

Wille was apprehensive in his response, looking at Erik warily. 

"I don't want to know anything. I don't want to hear anything. You're not just gonna be laying around this house all day and night having sex while I'm-"

"Yes," Wille says carefully, slowly, willing his brother's voice out of his fucking head. "Probably just gonna watch a movie or something. We got snacks at the store."

Erik eyes him like there's some sort of double meaning, a barely visible smirk attempting to take over his face. Wille finds himself holding back a scream.

"Only snacks,” the blonde says through gritted teeth.

Simon looks between the two brothers in slight confusion, deciding in the end maybe he doesn't wanna know.

"Only snacks, got it," Erik says, mirth in his eyes as he looks between the two boys. "Well, enjoy your snacks and movie. I'll be out here, in my chair, like the hag father I'm becoming."

"Maybe you should think about, I don't know, getting a girlfriend or something."

"In this economy?" Erik bites back, "while I'm raising a bratty teenager to be a productive member of society?"

Wille rolls his eyes and Simon laughs, because he can't help but love the banter between the two brothers, before the older man is gone. Gives Wille one last stern look that can only be read as behave; Simon doesn't say anything until they're in Wille's room, his door closed. 

"What was that look Erik gave you?" Simon asks, arms full of unopened snacks. "Did it have something to do with your horrible conversation the other day?"

Wille shudders just thinking about it, like it hadn't just been haunting him during dinner. 

"Yes," Wille says, shivers, really, throwing himself down on the bed. Simon places the snacks on the desk before stalking over, standing before Wille with a smirk on his lips. 

"What was it about?" Simon dares to ask. "Besides, you know, pregnancy prevention."

Wille scoffs, eyes rolling to the ceiling before back at Simon. A pout forms on his lips as he holds his hand out. 

"Please don't make me relive it," Wille whines softly, wiggling his fingers. "Come here."

"Tell me first," Simon says, because this boy is cute, disgustingly so, and he wants to crawl into bed with him so badly right now but he needs some willpower. 

"Simon," Wille whines, the curly-haired rolling his eyes.

He takes one step forward, legs pressing into the side of the bed. Wille reaches further, taking Simon's sweater in his hand and pulling. The boy lands awkwardly with a puff of air, body half-on, half-off the mattress and Wille's side. Simon can't help but look over Wille's face, most of the redness gone and replaced with his usual pale glow. 

He's so pretty Simon could scream. Could just bury his face in his neck, in his chest, and will himself to stay there forever. That feeling, that charge in the air that's so electrifying and overwhelming in the best way possible, is quickly making a comeback. Between Wille's eyes and parted lips, his hands moving to his body. Between Simon's roaming eyes and the pounding of his heart, how close he is to just being able to shimmy over and straddle the blonde's lap like he belongs there.

"Tell me," Simon repeats, voice breathy, barely above a whispers. "Then I'm all yours."

It was meant to be playful, flirty, but it comes out so ragged, so sultry and low, that he sees the moment Wille's eyes darken. Simon almost yelps when, suddenly, he's pulled by the waist and on top of the boy. 

"Condoms," Wille says, Simon's eyes widening because, at first, he thinks he's asking for one. It doesn't matter that he's straddling the boy, that he was in this very position once before and grinding over his growing hardness purposefully, he blushes. Blushes because, while he's flattered, while it's somewhere his mind went too, he doesn't think he's ready to- "He asked me about condoms," Wille continues, "if I knew what there... purpose was and where I could buy them," the blonde says, eyes unwavering as the words leave him.

His eyes are dark, yes, full of lust in a way that Simon revels in, but his words are also clear and concise. He's telling Simon what he asked to hear, even though a blush creeps up on his face and he seems to get a little shy.

"But I told him that we didn't need those yet,” Wille continues. “That we weren't even having sex and just kissing. I told him that, when we were both ready, I know where to get them," Wille says and although he's slightly embarrassed, his pretty brown eyes never leave Simon's. "Then I told him he made it the worst day of my life."

Simon chuckles because he can see the conversation playing out his mind. He could see how flustered Wille probably was, how teasing and carefree Erik was. He knew that while the discussion was probably fucking terrible, objectively, it was something important to have; his parents had never necessarily given him a talk, he just learned what he had to in school. 

Wille's hold loosens on Simon the slightest bit, his thumb slowly starting to caress his hip. 

"I was telling him the truth, though," Wille says, his eyes holding something new, something softer, a delicate type of look that makes Simon's heart pull. "We don't have to do anything until we're both ready. I don't care if we just kiss forever, I like kissing you, and I only wanna do things you feel okay with, so if that's-"

Simon can't take it anymore, the way his heart is beating and that overwhelming feeling of warmth explodes in him, he's bending down to get his mouth on Wille's. The boy, although surprised, responds immediately, lips slotting against the other the way they do - Wille's lip just slightly preferring Simon's bottom and Simon's the blonde's upper. And it's hard to say, maybe they really are just that in sync, who smiles into the kiss first but they're both smiling and kissing and giggling, pulling back to meet each others gazes that are soft and full of pure elation. 

"I like kissing you too," Simon whispers, even in the low tone his voice just a little teasing. "And I also only wanna do whatever feels right for you so we can just take this all one step at time," the boy says, bodies slotted into each other comfortably. "There's no rush."

It goes against everything he was thinking earlier today. That he doesn't know how much longer they'll have this calmness, this ease, this feeling of falling that's equal parts surreal and perfect - but, in these moments, tucked away safely in Wille's warm room that gets more and more personalized, more and more lived in every day, it feels okay. It feels like they have all the time in the world to just be with each other and it might just be the best thing they've ever felt.

Wille looks at him fondly, with that soft smile, with those honey-like eyes, and presses a quick chaste kiss to his lips. 

"You're right," he mumbles, the hand not on his waist caressing his soft cheek slowly, with the upmost attention and care. "There's no rush."

There's no rush so they kiss slowly, lazily. Simon stays on top of the boy until his neck hurts from the position and they flip over. No matter the position, no matter the flails of limbs and clumsy bumps with muffled giggles, they keep kissing. They kiss until their lips hurt, until their lungs burn for air, until they're positive that, no matter what, no matter how long they do this, they'll never get tired of this and it'll never be like this with anyone else. 

~

Wille's not sure what time it is but he knows it's late. They made out for so fucking long it probably wasn't until 10:00 they started to search for a movie; the blonde fought for another scary one, begged Simon in every way he could, before the other eventually won with his threat to leave the moment anything horror was put on. 

Wille thought it was ironic how hard the boy had fought for the current movie - something animated with a family-friendly plot - only to quickly fall asleep on his chest. 

It filled him with such happiness again, a calm content feeling mixed with something fiercely protective. It almost felt primal - seeing the person you care for vulnerable enough to sleep on you. But that happiness fizzled out, as it usually does, and was replaced with something more melancholy. That protectiveness stayed, maybe even amplified, as he thought about Rosh and Ayub's words: "He usually has a lot of trouble sleeping. Never fucking falls asleep even when he stays the night.

He thinks about the worry that covered his friend's faces as they uttered those words, how much it wracked Wille's own stomach with nerves. Wille looks down at the boy sleeping soundly tonight, curled into his shirt as he's tucked under the blanket. His soft hair just barely tickles his chin, the expression on his face so sweet and at peace.

Wille has to bite back the emotion that floods through him, tears threatening to prick his eyes because this boy has been through so much and it hits him in moments like this. He needs to know if he sleeps at home. If he ever feels safe enough to let his guard down and rest or if he just passes out because his body is forcing him to. There are no signs of exhaustion on his face, no bags under his beautiful eyes or any bleary look.

He's perfect, always, and Wille feels a sickening twist in his gut that he's learned to hide it so well. 

Wille's no stranger to insomnia or just passing out because his body's shutting down - it was happening almost every night six months ago - but he was never scared of his home. He hates it, yes, he hates how his mother treats him and he hates the way she makes him feel. He was scared of the way his thoughts were turning, how he was feeling ready to hurt himself just to get a break from her icy looks and the silent tension, but he was never scared of getting abused, scared for other people in his household, in a way that kept him up at night.

Wille knows he shouldn't compare, because they're both going through things they shouldn't be, but his heart hurts for Simon. His heart hurts for Sara. His heart hurts for Linda and how no one seems to be doing anything to help them, including him. He's trying to help Simon, though, wants to keep him close and safe constantly, and he wants to ask him about this when he wakes up.

He would keep Simon here all day and night if he could. Make sure himself that Simon was getting 8-10 hours of sleep every night and woke up feeling like his best self.Because that's what the boy deserves. That's what they all deserve. If he could, if they weren't so young and people weren't convinced teenagers were just silly little beings who didn't know what love was, he'd try to-

Simon mutters something under his breath, into Wille's chest, and the blonde looks down. Tightens his hold on him and smiles ever so slightly as he watches the boy stir underneath him. He groans tiredly, eyes shut, body stretching, before they pop open and Wille's met with that beautiful shade of brown only possessed by Simon. 

"Hi," Wille says softly, whispering into the darkness of his room.

A different movie started to play when the other finished, casting the room in muted colors. Wille had stopped watching the moment Simon fell asleep, choosing to watch him instead; it might've been considered creepy if Wille didn't just want to ensure the boy was okay, really safe in front of him and breathing evenly. Simon smiles tiredly, pressing his warm body closer to Wille's. 

"Hi."

Wille's eyes roam over Simon's face, watching as the boy slowly wakes. There's that cute, sleepy look to him and Wille thinks this might be his favorite version of Simon. It's also a version only he gets to see. 

"Sorry for falling asleep on you again," the curly-haired says, although not sounding very apologetic, a smile pulling at his lips. "I guess you're just comfortable."

Wille bites back a smile, lips ghosting over his curls as he pulls him just a little closer.

"It's okay, I don't mind," Wille says and even he can hear the soft affection in his own tone. "I like watching you sleep."

He doesn't think about how the words sound until Simon's chuckling, a blush on the blonde's cheeks.

"Okay, Edward Cullen," the boy teases beside him, reaching up to peck his flushed skin. "You know, I thought I felt someone watching me. I think that's why I woke up."

His words are quiet, humming, and if Wille didn't know any better, he'd think the boy could fall asleep again despite his snarky words. 

"Oh, you didn't wake up from your own drooling? Or snoring?"

"I don't snore or drool," Simon whines, looking up at him with chin on his chest; even in his sleepy state, he can sense the shift that comes. It was barely anything, barely a change in Wille's expression or eyes, but he catches it. It scares him for a split second until he reminds himself that this is Wille and he wouldn't ever say or do anything he's not comfortable with.

"Simon," Wille finally says, speaking his name like a prayer. "I wanna ask you something, if that's okay."

In his mind, like some sort of vision or flashback, he's back to the night of their first kiss. Hearing the words he wasn't registering at the time because he just wanted to kiss the pretty blonde so bad but can now hear the broken up words playing back in his head. 

"I- I wanted to ask you something," Wille begins, their hands still connected, hanging between their bodies that are just mere inches from touching."It might not be a good time because- because we're about to go inside.  And if you don't wanna talk about it, I get it, I respect that but I haven't been able to stop thinking about it.”

The words, although sweet and reassuring and not at all pushing, still make him wanna close back up. Still make him roll off Wille and sit up with his legs crossed, back against the wall. Wille's face falls ever so slightly as he rolls onto his side, head held up by his hand. 

"I'll never force you to talk about anything, Simon," Wille assures gently, wanting to touch him but thinking better of it since Simon moved himself away. "You know that, right?"

Simon could cry at his tone; usually, people speaking so softly to him like this makes him feel annoyed. Makes him feel broken and weak and like they're pitying him - but this is different. He shouldn't be surprised. Wille's tone is tugging at his heart and makes him wanna, for the first time in his life, completely break down and cry. 

Accept comfort. Accept affection. Accept the fact that someone wants to and can take care of him, too. He can't quite accept it yet, though, still feeling that resistance deep within him, that fear, so he nods. Does everything in his power to look at Wille, because his eyes are full of such a soft fondness, before he breaks and looks down at his hands. 

The blonde sighs and he feels like a piece of shit. He feels like Wille is slowly seeing (as if he didn't already know) just how fucked up he is. 

They sit in silence for a few moments, Simon playing with his hands, wishing they were Wille's, before the boy speaks his name. Simon swallows the lump forming in his throat, stomach twisting painfully. He wishes he was still asleep in Wille's arms, encapsulated in warmth and lavender. 

"Simon," Wille says again, still soft but firmer, more serious.

He doesn't know how to go about it, doesn't want to throw his friends under the bus but also wants to be completely honest. Simon, after a few seconds, finally looks up and the look on his face breaks Wille's heart. He looks sad. And scared. He looks like he's doing everything not to break down and Wille wishes, even though he never wants to see Simon cry, that he'd let himself.

"That night we hung out with Ayub and Rosh," he begins, Simon's expression changing like he already knows where this is going. "They mentioned that you don't really sleep a lot. That you have a lot of trouble falling asleep at home but also really anywhere," Wille says, repeating the gist of the conversation. "I know it's, really, none of my business but if you're not sleeping, Simon... I'm concerned about you."

Simon feels a mix of emotions. He hates that his first instinct is to get defensive, to tell Wille that he's right, it is none of his business and he doesn't wanna talk about it anymore. But Wille's eyes, his voice, his care, the way Simon was just passed out on him for hours and he let him sleep because he knew this, makes the boy wanna confess everything to him.

Pour his heart out and tell him how much, how long, he's been suffering. He's tired every day, all the time, and sometimes he doesn't understand how he's still functioning. Tears burn the back of his eyes and he doesn't even feel his nail digging into his knuckle - the knuckle that his father busted with a beer bottle. The knuckle that Wille once covered with a ridiculous dinosaur band-aid; the reminder makes him wanna laugh but he fears he may cry.

It feels like every fiber of his being is burning with the need to, succumb to all the emotional repression that people don't realize is so fucking exhausting and has been eating at him for years. He only shakes his head silently, meets Wille's gaze because he just can't. Not yet.

Wille's face drops again, eyes clouding over with concern, fear, and Simon will do anything (but talk apparently) to make it go away; Wille's not sure if he's shaking his head because he doesn't wanna say anything or because he's not okay and both scenarios gut him.

The blonde looks down to see Simon's nail digging harshly into his skin, a habit he knows is in himself as well. He takes his hand without thinking, without a second thought. Simon's lip just barely quivers before he bites down on it and Wille sighs, caressing his thumb softly, gently, with the upmost care he can possess. 

He's shocked but doesn't pull away, would never ever pull away, when suddenly, Simon's back in his lap and his head is buried in his neck.

Simon doesn't say anything, doesn't cry or speak or make any kind of noise, but neither does Wille. He wraps his arms around the boy's waist and secures him to his body, just barely rocking them back and forth. They sit there in silence, breathing and rocking and relishing in the comfort, in the fact that while nothing's being said, this seems to be enough for now. For the next how ever many seconds, minutes, maybe even hours, before Simon pulls back and dares to open his mouth. 

"It's true, I don't sleep a lot," he whispers, croaks out uncomfortably. It's not a confession of any kind, it's not insight to how his life is, but it's a slight admission. One that lets Wille in just a little and that makes him feel happy because Rosh and Ayub had to hear it from Sara. "I- I try to but it's hard because I'm..." 

Scared. He's scared. He's scared something's gonna happen to his mom or Sara. Is scared he's gonna wake up to their screams or his dad's hands around his neck. He's scared of a lot of things but he's not scared with Wille and that scares him too. 

Wille searches for something to say, doesn't know what to say besides that he's welcome to sleep here with him, whenever he wants, but he knows that's not the real solution. He knows the real problem still isn't addressed and that makes all of this so much harder.  

"I'm here for you, Simon," Wille says, because that's the most honest truth he can give him. The most helpful, reassuring thing he thinks he can say. "Me and Erik and Rosh and Ayub, we're all here for you if you need anything,” he continues. “If you ever wanna stay here one night, Sara can come too, your mom could even come, the couch is big enough," Wille smiles, squeezing his sides comfortingly and feeling his heart become a little less sad when Simon's lips quirk. "We just want you safe."

Safe. Everyone just wants Simon safe but he feels safe with them. Has people he can feel that with and, sometimes, it feels like enough. It can trick him into thinking his home life isn't that unmanageable because, unlike a lot of people, he does have a place, multiple places, he can escape to. 

"I feel safe with you," Simon whispers.

He doesn't mean for the words to slip out but they do and he doesn't even care. He already knew this, everyone in his life seemed to, but maybe Wille didn't realize and he wants him to know. Wille smiles in a way that makes Simon wanna kiss him, touch him, lay on him until he falls asleep again because he never gets as good a rest as he does next this boy, if even for a measly hour. 

He hums happily against Wille’s lips when the blonde leans in to kiss him, Simon feeling desperate. His hands cup his face, fingers splayed out against his cheeks as their lips part, tongues collide, and everything feels right again. Everything is like it should be because, even though everything else is fucking terrible and gonna fall apart soon, they’re at least kissing. They’re at least together.

They pull back for air and rest their foreheads against the other, a smile pulling at Wille's lips as he whispers, "I feel safe with you too."

Simon smiles because that's all he wants to hear. Because he's happy he can give something to Wille too, even though he can't quite bear his soul completely - he knows when that time does come, is probably rapidly approaching as he knows it, Wille will completely hold his broken, bleeding heart in his hands. 

Simon sleeps over that night. He texts Sara first to see if that'd be alright and sends back a rolling eyes emoji, telling him he had woken her up and to not text him again unless he was dying. He chuckles and shows Wille the text, the boy holding back his excitement as he pulls Simon back onto his chest.

They're cuddled into each other, legs tangled, Wille's head resting atop curls, before they fall into dreamless slumbers. 

~

It only made sense that, with Wilhelm's luck, the happiest month of his life was also the shortest. February flew by in a flash of long kisses and fumbling hands, pink cheeks and sleepovers. They haven't had many heavy nights like the one where Wille asked about Simon's sleeping but, now that he noticed, he could tell maybe the boy was getting some more rest now.

Maybe it was because every Friday, he stayed over. That day was quickly becoming Wille's favorite. That and Saturdays, of course, because he was now officially a part of Simon, Rosh and Ayub's weekend hang outs - tonight, they were enduring Ayub's movies and menu of pizza that was strictly pineapples and cheese. 

Wille endured it because he was ridiculously happy, Simon curled under his arm as he threw his head back in laughter at something Rosh said.  Her comments toward Ayub are nothing short of genius and he swears he never stops laughing when those two get into a bad fit of bickering. His phone rang when it was uncharacteristically silent in the basement, Simon looking over curiously while Ayub groaned. 

"Wille with a w! How fucking rude! Do you have no theater etiquette?" 

"We're not in a theater," Simon says with a roll of his eyes, Rosh joining in with a snarky, "You talk about theater etiquette although you never shut the fuck up?"

Wille giggles as he throws a soft, amused look at Simon, his apologies quickly ringing through the air.

"I'm sorry, Ayub, I thought I put it on vibrate."

He takes his phone out of his pocket, eyes narrowing at the unknown number. It looks vaguely familiar but he can't quite place it, deciding whether or not to answer when it stops.

In the few seconds it takes him to look over the number, shrug, and put his phone on silent, they start calling again; despite everything telling him not to answer, that he should just wait for them to leave a voicemail, he lifts the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

A few beats pass, the other end of the phone complete silent, before the voice on the end of the phone makes him go into shock. His heart starts pounding, his breathing becomes labored, and Simon, from beside him, immediately knows something's wrong. 

The blonde can't even hear Simon's soft, concerned, "Wille?" too distracted, too terrified, too frozen in fear and growing panic at the contrasting icy voice on the phone saying his name. His other name. The name he hates being called now because he can only hear it her voice, in the disappointment it always seems to hold. He hears, even after months apart, it’s still very much present.

"Wilhelm."

Chapter Text

Wille was seven the first time he stopped speaking. Erik distinctly remembers, because it was a few days after his 13th birthday. His parents were convinced the child had damaged his throat in some way, with a piece of food or an injury in school he just couldn't recall, but Erik knew better. Erik was only a kid, barely a teen himself in the midsts of puberty and juvenile angst, but he knew exactly what the problem was. He always had, could see his little brother had an anxious soul just as easily as he could see his light blonde hair and pale little cheeks. 

Secretly, Erik used to wonder if Wille was born that way, a genetic predisposition that he wouldn't be able to help, or if he would've been spared altogether had he been born into a different family, a different life. Had he been birthed by a different mother because, since that same age of 13, maybe even younger, the older boy always saw that she was the problem. 

He could never understand why she picked apart Wilhelm the way she did - why she never seemed to nurture him the same way she did him, why if he cried or sought her out (which was often), she'd hand him over to Malin or one of the housekeepers. They weren't that many years apart, his mother hadn't aged too much or become weak and weary, there just seemed to be an unexplainable change in her that Erik couldn't fathom. 

Because since the moment he met his little brother in the hospital room, he had loved him. Wille was the most lovable person he'd ever met and he always has been; he's not even a biased older brother in saying that because he didn't even want a sibling, he remembers that well. His dad had explained the concept to him when his mom first became pregnant and he thought about it for a few moments before politely declining with "no thank you."

His father had laughed, his mother smiling slightly, and then day by day, month by month, he secretly prepared to be a big brother. One look at the small infant with peach fuzz hair nine months later, who looked identical to him as a newborn, and Erik vowed then and there to always protect him. He didn't expect in the years to come, he'd be protecting him from their own mother.

He didn't expect that she'd beat him down so badly, put such pressure on him as the eldest son, the heir to take over, the person every one at the firm is looking up to, that he'd have to leave. Not only leave and start a new life completely on his own but leave the little brother he vowed to protect. The little brother who, only moments ago, burst through the door with Simon.

Erik was in the kitchen making himself dinner when he heard the door fly open, peeking his head around the archway.

"Wille? I wasn't expecting you back so soon,” he called out. “I only made enough for me and before you ask, no, I'm not-"

One look at the boys and he knew something was gravely wrong. He forgot about the stir fry on the oven, like it wasn’t a fire hazard, and rushed over, Simon looking just as frazzled, just as pale, just as terrified as Wille. The smaller boy had his arm around him, basically holding him up, and was looking at Erik like he was begging, praying, he'd have some answers. Answers to what, Erik still didn't know, but fuck, if he wouldn't try to find out. They left the house just a few hours ago and were as happy as ever, cheeks pink with ridiculously sweet, loving smiles on their faces. 

"What happened?" 

He waits for Wille to burst out his answer in a tizzy of some kind - anger, sadness, annoyance, outrage - because his brother's always been intense and emotional. Almost always thinks before he speaks and makes it known, rather abruptly, what the problem is. But the moment he doesn't, the moment he just stares at Erik with wide, teary eyes and shakes his head as he gnaws at his finger, Erik knows. Knew it like he did nine years ago the first time this happened and he didn't hear his little brother's voice for almost a month; knew it when it happened two other times throughout their life time and what (or rather, who) the trigger was all three times. 

He looks to Simon who's still staring at him helplessly, holding his brother up like it's his life's purpose. Like Wille's gonna completely crumble, maybe he will, if he lets go. Erik had been positive months ago that Simon and Wille would be good for each other, saw it from a mile away, but he really sees it in this moment. Wishes he could really take it in and thank Simon as he watches the boy squeeze Wille’s arm, mumbling something he can’t quite hear but successfully gets Wille to bring his chewed up finger away from his mouth.

Erik blinks and then realizes the boys are waiting for him to speak. He directs his words at Wille because he learned that even when the boy couldn't talk, was just too anxious and sinking too low, he was always listening. Maybe that was part of the problem back then, too.

"Did Kris... mama do something?"

Simon looks at him like he's shocked. Wille's lip quivers and he cowers into the curly-haired, who's stare almost seemed to harden on Erik, still shaking his head. 

"Did she call you too?" 

If Simon means to sound accusatory, Erik isn't sure but he wouldn't care regardless. Not with how terrified and confused the two younger boys look. And now with the implication of his words - did she call you too? - meaning, “Mama called you, Wille? What'd she say?" 

He knows he won't answer, not yet at least. He tries to keep the urgency out of his tone because, even though Erik knows he's an adult, that his mom can't do anything to him, he still wanted this life without her. He still wanted to make sure his brother was okay, that he could keep his promise to not make him go back even though he technically can't, and he’s very clearly not okay.

Wille doesn't answer so Erik looks to Simon, the boy watching him with an expression he can't quite read. It reminds him of those earlier months when he first moved here, when Simon was wary of him and didn't know what to make of a former Hillerska alumni moving in next door. 

"Do you know, Simon? Did he tell you anything?"

He doesn't like talking about Wille like he's not here but he also needs something. 

Simon thinks back to the moment less than an hour ago. It's crazy how so much could change, how things could go from almost perfect to fucking terrible, in just a few moments. It was crazy how even though Simon had a sense of impending doom, he's still scared shitless. Scared because Wille hasn't spoken a word to him, scared that Erik knew their mom had been involved without an utter of her name, and scared that the boy trembling beside him might have to go back to a place where he's clearly in trouble. 

"Hello?"

Simon side-eyes Ayub to stop him from protesting against Wille answering his phone, choosing to throw a piece of popcorn at the boy in his honor. He snorts under his breath when his friend attempts to throw it back at him and misses, sticking his tongue out. Ayub shoots him the middle finger and Rosh watches the interaction with a mostly unamused expression, the hint of a smirk that always seems to be present giving her away. 

It's when he's about to throw the popcorn back at Ayub and start war when he feels Wille tense beside him. When he can hear his breathing start to labor, exhales quick and short, and it immediately brings him back to their outdoor hang outs in the very beginning. When Wille escaped outside into the front yard that night, shrunk as small and low as he could into the corner of the porch. 

He looks over to see Wille staring blankly ahead, phone to his ear as his other hand shakes. 

"Wille?" He asks softly, concern laced in his tone.

He ignores Ayub and Rosh beside him, ignores the movie, ignores everything but Wille shaking and scared beside him. He places his hand on his arm and Wille doesn't react, like his touch was just air breezing by. 

"Wille?" Simon repeats, because if he's learned one thing about Wille during these past few months, it's that physical touch is the most sure way to get a response from him. He seeks it, craves it, as much as he gives it and him not reacting even in the slightest is just scaring him more. Ayub and Rosh also seem to get a sense that something's wrong, peeking their heads over curiously.

He doesn't meet either of their gazes until Rosh pokes him, Simon looking back only to shrug. Both of their faces fall and if it's because Simon doesn't know what's wrong or because he looks deathly concerned, he's not sure. He just knows he needs to know what's going on right now.

He looks back at the boy beside him to see him still staring, still silent, still so visibly shaken, but his phone gone. It's laying face up and lit, Simon only seeing a series of numbers; he briefly considers that it's a stranger but how would a stranger get him this frazzled?

Simon touches his arm again, pulling him closer, and begging him quietly, sweetly, softly, to "Wille, please look at me." It's one of those things - the softness, the gentleness, the begging - that finally, slowly, encourages the blonde to move. He looks over his shoulder and meets Simon's gaze, eyes wide and fearful. Tears are building behind the pools of honey brown and just the thought makes Simon stomach tighten with discomfort. 

"I'm here, Wille," he says quietly, just for the two of them to hear. "Who-who is it? What happened?"

Wille shakes his head, like he can't believe it, like he doesn't wanna answer. But Simon pulls him in closer, gently runs his fingers through his long hair and meets the boy's wet eyes with an expression he's hoping proves how much Simon cares. 

Wille can't speak, though. He feels like he's seven again and being berated after his mom was told he's "unfocused and lazy" in school. He feels 11 after his mom watched with her own eyes as he experienced his first panic attack and then left him alone in his room to "breathe properly." He feels 15 after not being able to eat or keep down food for a week, his mom threatening she was going to institutionalize him if he didn't "stop acting ridiculous." 

He's 16 now and the happiest he's ever been. Happier than he ever thought he could be and yet, one call, one person, one icily spoken voice saying his name, is enough to send him reeling back into the anxious mess he was when he came here to Bjärstad. 

"All he said was that- was that it was your mom," Simon confesses, holding Wille just a little tighter as he says so. "Then he didn't say anything else. He hasn't said anything since."

He ended the call in silence. He stayed in Rosh's basement for the few moments afterward in silence. He and Simon, although wrapped in each other, made the entire walk home in silence. Silence between them was usually always comfortable, it wasn't foreign to them in the slightest, but it felt so sickeningly eerie right now. Simon didn't know what to say but also felt like, given Wille's state, it was better he didn't say anything. 

Erik seems to take the information in with stride, nodding before he looks at Wille; Wille may tower over Simon but Erik towers over both of them, dwarfing the younger brother into someone Simon's not used to seeing.  Erik smiles down at Wille gently, the strangest mix of fondness and almost playfulness that Simon's shocked to see. Simon has an affinity for dark humor but in the moment seems crazy even to him; he knows that's how the two boys are, though. 

"I don't think I have my finger puppets anymore, Wille, so you'll have to deal with these bad boys," Erik says, wiggling his hands playfully. Simon almost wants to hug Erik when the slightest hint of a smirk tugs at the boy's lips. "You got a number for me yet?"

Simon's brows pull together, because he can't help but feel curious, but wouldn't dare speak up. He only sees, and feels, Wille shake his head beside him.

"Alright," Erik says. "I'm gonna add more to the stir fry so we can all eat. I'll knock when it's ready, yeah?" 

Simon smiles gratefully, nodding his head before slipping his hand down into Wille's. Erik's elated, but not surprised, when his brother takes Simon's hand and they make their way down the hall into his room; the older man's also not surprised when, only twenty minutes later, his cell phone gets a call from an unknown number. 

~

Simon's not entirely sure what to do, or how to proceed with his unofficial boyfriend not speaking, so he tries to act like nothing's wrong. In most cases, he feels like that's usually the worst thing to do, something he quite often does and knows is a bad trait of his, but this, something so incredibly delicate but also something Erik seemed familiar with - his brother just going silent - seems different. 

Erik's familiarity, his calm, cool and collectedness on top of the playful hint he saw in his eyes, actually made him feel a little more at ease. It still scares him shitless, still makes a part of him want to cry because how terrorized does a person have to be to be scared silent, but he wanted to relish in the fact he still had Wille beside him. Even if he wasn't speaking, he was with him and that was enough. 

"So," Simon finally says, the two of them laid out on Wille's bed. "A continuation of Ayub's movie or last minute homework?"

Simon wants to pat himself on the back like Erik for making Wille's lips quirk, the boy turning on his tv without a second thought. The curly-haired smiles, even rolls his eyes, as he settles himself under the blanket, their usual spots against the headboard. The blonde is still sitting fiddling with the remote as Simon places himself dead in the center, capturing Wille's body between his shorter legs; they're just able to grasp his hips, the movie lighting up the screen as Wille turns his head back questioningly. 

Simon smiles sweetly, innocently, and just about melts when Wille meets him with the same one. Because even though he's going through something, even though he's scared and shaking and looks ready to throw up, he still assures Simon with that sweet smile. 

"C'mere," Simon mumbles, patting his chest. 

He doesn't even have to tell Wille twice, the blonde shimmying until his back is pressed to Simon's front. His legs are huddled between his while his head rests right below his collarbone. Simon smiles at the position, at the feeling of holding Wille, at the way his arms are wrapped loosely around the boy's stomach and Wille places his own over them. 

It's achingly quiet and calm; it'd be tranquil, even, if the two boys didn't know why there were no voices apart from the two actors bickering on screen. The weight of Wille on top of him grounds Simon in a way he needs right now because if he starts thinking about it again, the fear in Wille's voice, in his eyes, when he uttered the word "It was my mama," he'll start to panic too. 

He doesn't need to panic when Wille needs him. When there's something so clearly wrong and while he got a hint of the problems between him and his mom during that night outside, he didn't know it was enough to elicit this reaction; maybe he should've figured that, though, since the boy ran away from home. 

"She just fucking hates me, and I don't know why," he recalls Wille saying in the crisp autumn air. "I don't know what I ever did besides exist but I can't go back there. I can't... I can't fucking go back there."

Simon believed him then, even knowing Wille the little he did, and he believes him now. Not only believes him but finds himself willing to fight a battle that isn't his, like he isn't fighting enough of his own shit, to make sure he doesn't go back there. He feels Wille's arms tighten on him, hand grasping his arm almost to the point of pain, before his breathing starts to pick up again; both of them being lost in thought clearly wasn't good for both of them.

Simon cranes his neck to look at Wille's face and feels his heart drop at the sight of tears. They're not only in his eyes but streaming down his face silently, like he's mastered the art of making sure no one hears his pain.

"Wille," Simon says softly, the quiver just barely held back in his own voice. 

The blonde just shakes his head, jaw clenching like he's trying not to sob or scream, before he turns in Simon's hold. Their arms fall apart before Wille's face is in his chest, wet tears soaking the material of his t-shirt.

Simon bites down on his lip as he brings a hand to Wille's hair, running his fingers through the strands soothingly. He finds that for the first few seconds, he can't say anything. Doesn't know what to say because he can't promise Wille anything, even though he desperately wants to.

He could say he'll be okay but will he if he's forced to go back?

He could say it'll all work out but that's fucking bullshit and something people say when they're grasping at straws.

He could say he's sorry which is the most honest truth but will it help? Will it change the circumstances? Will it help Wille get the courage to speak again and not make him feel that debilitatingly anxious?

He doesn't know what to say so he says what Wille's told him time and time again that comforted him. 

"I know I don't fully know what's wrong or if I can even do anything to help," Simon begins quietly, because they can only act like things are normal until it's obvious they're very much not. "But I'm here for you, Wille. I like you so much, care about you in a way I didn't think was possible," Simon confesses, words he's never said before and never thought he'd say aloud but feel right. "I like you so much and I'm here for you. I'm sorry things are so shitty but whatever you need, whatever makes you feel better, I'm here."

His tears don't lessen but they don't get harder, he doesn't start sobbing, and Simon thinks that might be a good sign. Wille grips at him tighter and Simon is forever enthralled by the boy's ability to hold him closely, so securely, but also somehow it be the most gentle touch he's ever received in his life. Wille holds him like he'll fall apart if he doesn't have him. Like, out of all the things, as long as he's here like he said, he'll be okay. Simon's lips ghost over dark blonde strands before he replaces them with his fingers.

Wille cries into his chest until it seems like every single tear leaves his body and he slumps against him. He knows the boy isn't asleep yet but is positive he will be soon. He can feel him getting progressively heavier, calmer, into his body and Simon uses his other hand to gently rub up and down his back.

It would've lulled him to sleep too if he wasn't so concerned, if he didn't just want to make sure the boy on top of him fell into a dreamless, calm slumber where he could forget about all of this for a moment. Wille hums against him a few times and each time, Simon hums back, "I'm here." He couldn't say how long it happened for - ten minutes or 30 - but he knows he barely gets out his final, "I'm here," before Wille's asleep and breathing evenly against him. 

~

He doesn't remember falling asleep but knows he must when he wakes to the quiet sound of Wille's bedroom door opening. Erik's leant against the doorway watching them, raises his hand with an almost awkward wave that would've made Simon laugh under any other circumstances. 

Simon's lips quirk as he nods his head, Erik quietly approaching them. This should feel awkward and far too intimate - Wille's older brother seeing them cuddle in bed - but Simon can't find it in himself to care. Not when Wille's still sleeping soundly against him, head on his chest with an arm sprawled out across his stomach.

"Hey," Erik says, voice barely above a whisper.

There's a small, almost sad smile on the man's face as he observes his younger brother between Simon's legs. He's sleeping soundly against him, cheeks tear-stained and hair messy from Simon's gentle ministrations. 

"Hi," Simon says, voice just as quiet, just as soft. "I'm sorry. I don't remember falling asleep."

"It's okay, I figured you guys needed it," Erik says, looking over Wille one more time before meeting Simon's sleepy gaze. "Was he okay?"

Simon shrugs to the best of his ability but the look on his face tells Erik all he needs to know. The look on Wille's sleeping face is enough too, how he looks distressed and drained even while unconscious. How he's clinging to the boy under him like he was the only thing that lulled him to sleep; usually, that type of co-dependency would alarm Erik but right now, he's secretly grateful for it. 

"It's a little after ten," Erik continues. "Are you hungry?" 

Simon's about to protest, even though he's fucking starving, when his stomach growls and sets his cheeks aflame. Erik bites back a smirk, the answer echoing throughout the room. 

"Well, your stomach has spoken for you," the older man teases, Simon trying to humor him with a smile.

It's a lousy attempt, they both know it, but he tries because Erik's letting him stay, offering him food, and regarding the boys with such care and patience, he feels bad for ever thinking the man had any idea about their mother trying to contact Wille.

Simon wants to get up, he knows he needs food, but his body is unwilling to move. Not from Wille's weight but his own accord, because he doesn't want Wille to wake up and be alone. He doesn't want Wille to wake up and think that he left him; Erik, as observant as ever, seems to pick up on that.

"He'll be okay. We'll be right out there," Erik says gently, eyes traveling from his brother to him. "You need to eat."

Simon knows, unfortunately, that he's right so he nods, a pleased smile lighting up Erik's face. 

"Good," he says. "I'll give you a few minutes. Come out when you've untangled yourself from him."

Simon smiles softly, a bit more genuine this time, and nods, before he's alone again in Wille's room. He's surrounded by the sound of his calm, even breathing, the heavy yet comforting pressure of Wille on top of him and looking the strangest mix of at ease and sad.

His tear-stained face makes Simon's heart ache, makes him hold the blonde just a little tighter because none of this is fair. 

He doesn't understand why adults have kids if they're not gonna care for them in every way - not only financially, not only enough that's considered necessary by loosely-followed, horribly regulated laws, but emotionally. Why bring kids into this world if you're just gonna hurt them, scare them? Why have kids if you're not gonna make sure you're doing everything in your power to protect and nurture them?

Simon can't for the life of him understand it. Not for himself, not for his sister, and certainly not for Wille who's so scared of his mom, he cried himself to sleep after not uttering a word. 

It takes five minutes to convince himself to even consider getting up and another five to actually do it. He slowly works his way out from under Wille, first moving his legs so the blonde's fall to the side, before carefully maneuvering his head off him and onto the pillows beside him. He stirs and whines in his sleep, Simon stiffening as his peeks at him; it only takes a few seconds before he's rolling over, cuddling into the bunched up blanket with a final groan.

Simon smiles softly, admiring the sleeping boy for a few more moments before finally joining Erik. 

He finds the older man at the table, a plate of rice, chicken, and vegetables in front of him. Simon's stomach growls merely at the sight, making his way over and taking a seat. He barely gets out a "hi," and "thank you," before he's shoveling food into his mouth. It'd be grotesque and horribly ill-mannered of him under any other circumstances, if the man before him wasn't so intimately aware of what he's been going through for the past five hours. 

Erik doesn't speak until Simon pushes his plate away, that oddly comforting smirk crossing the man's face. 

"How was it?" Erik begins. "I hope you didn't just like it because you were famished."

Simon smirks, biting back a comment about it being surprisingly well-seasoned. 

"No, it was good, thank you," Simon says, laughing slightly. "I really was hungry, though." 

He really was hungry so he could only imagine how starving Wille will be when he wakes. He can't help but wonder if he's gonna sleep through the night or wake in a panic soon. If he's gonna feel scared that Simon left him or if his mom is coming or-

"Do you think he's gonna sleep through the night?"

Simon thought he was anything if not tactful and yet, he blurts out the question and brings up the lingering topic of Wille within ten minutes. He knows that's all he and Erik really have in common, what else would they talk about besides Wille, unless they brought up Simon's tumultuous household, but he wishes he had done it a little less frantically. 

That sad smile crosses Erik's face again as he takes Simon's plate wordlessly and makes his way over to the sink, only speaking after he rinses it off and puts them in the dishwasher. 

"He might," Erik says.

His mouth opens like he's gonna say something again before he thinks better of it, making his way back to the chair in front of Simon. He can feel the younger boy's watchful gaze on him. And Erik trusts Simon, he wants Simon to know some of these things about Wille, but he also believes it's Wille's place to disclose some things. 

"This has happened before," Erik begins, Simon's eyes widening - he wasn't expecting for Erik to tell him anything but, fuck, does he really want to know something. He can't help but feel curious about the boy he is falling for likes. "The first time was when he was seven. I don't know exactly what happened but our mom yelled at him after a meeting with his teacher, like probably the worst she's ever yelled at him, and he didn't speak for almost a month."

Simon knows he feels rage, it's suppressed toward his father almost every day of his life - but right now, the rage and sadness he feels is insurmountable.

He thinks of a little 7-year-old Wille shaking in fear toward the one person who's supposed to love him and make him feel safe. He thinks of this little boy being so scared, so confused by the anxiety wracking his little body and mind, the only thing he can think to do it completely shut down. 

"Then when once he was 11 and then again last year but it was only for a few days," Erik says, everything he feels inside about it - all the anger and pain - reflecting on Simon's face. He knew he approved of Simon but tonight, he's really seeing just how much he really does. "And honestly my parents were so fucking useless about it, they thought he hurt his throat by eating or something, so it was just me and Malin trying to figure out how to handle it."

Simon nods his head, remembering Malin as their driver, because how could he forget something so absurd as to them having a driver, but he feels grateful toward her now.

"When he was little, I made the finger puppets so he could tell me, like, what he was feeling or needed," Erik recalls with a smile. It feels weird to think fondly about a memory like that but it made him so happy finally being able to communicate with Wille after a few days. "But by the time he was a little older, he just... wanted someone there. Just sitting there quietly with him and being there, almost acting like nothing was different."

Simon nods, breathing a sigh of relief because that's what he had tried to do; it was easy, too, since he just wants to be there for him anyway.

"Okay, I think that's what I did," Simon chuckles out humorlessly, a soft smile lighting up Erik's face. The boy hesitates to speak for a moment, not sure if he wants to ask, before he realizes he has to. "Were, um, were all those other times... did they have something to do with your mom?"

Erik's smile is quick to fall, Simon's stomach knotting in fear that he's crossed a line before the blonde is nodding.

"Yeah," Erik says. "I don't know the specifics, because he never really wanted to talk about it after and I wouldn't push him, but... yeah. It was all her. They've never really gotten along."

Simon nods, his hand falling to his lap. He plays with his fingers nervously, in the way he does with Wille's, and it's ridiculous to feel like he misses the boy even though he's down the hall and he'd just been with him all night. The unfamiliar feeling of tears burning the back of his eyes overcomes him, the thought of Wille being gone, hours away in a place he feels unsafe, enough to finally be the thing to break him.

He hears Wille's voice in his head again -"She just fucking hates me, and I don't know why. I don't know what I ever did besides exist but I can't go back there. I can't... I can't fucking go back there - and looks at the man carefully regarding him.

"He really doesn't wanna go back there, Erik."

His voice is breathy, shaky and barely above a whisper. He looks up just as Erik's face seems to crumble, a hand running through his short blonde hair. 

"I know he doesn't, believe me, I know," Erik says, voice just as quiet. "But I don't know what else I can do." 

The voice that called him just a few hours ago rings over in his head, threats that probably wouldn't be so empty and an icy, mocking tone he hasn't heard in months. 

"He's still underage and he's her son," Erik continues. "Even though he came here, it could still be considered kidnapping."

"Yeah but only if she said something to the authorities," Simon says, blurts out really, his voice less shaky and low. "He's- he's enrolled in school and your house is safe. Safer than where he fucking came from, apparently. And it doesn't look good that he was not only able to run away but then remained missing for almost five months."

Erik nods because he has a point, they both know it, but Erik also knows it wouldn't matter, that his mother is far more powerful and influential than him - the run away heir. Something worse than Wille running away could've happen and it still wouldn't matter, not with his parents pull and connections. 

"I know, you're right," Erik says, "but it's not that simple, unfortunately."

"How is it not that simple?!" Simon yells, not meaning to raise his voice but- "He doesn't feel safe. Isn't that what matters?"

Erik staring back at him makes him realize how loud he got, that he could potentially alert Wille and the last thing he needs to wake to is yelling. His cheeks flush as he looks back down at his hands, mumbling a half-hearted apology. He's sorry for yelling, yes, but he's not sorry for saying the truth. Erik knows it's the truth too.

"It should," Erik agrees, the safety of his brother since the moment he was born becoming his top priority, "but, sometimes, things are complicated. Even when they shouldn't be."

Simon scoffs and if he tries to hold it back, along with the roll of his eyes, it's a feeble attempt. 

"Yeah, I would know," the boy mutters, his words mocking but anyone able to hear the underlying emotions - hurt, tiredness, pain, defeat.

It hurts Erik just as much as it did the second he met the family next door and got a horrible feeling at what he saw: a jumpy mother who still, by the grace of some higher being, wore a warm smile, a boy with a healing black eye, and a girl who looked at him with the most distrustful look in her eye.

"That doesn't mean it's right," Simon finishes, his gaze back on Erik. "Why is everything fucked up and so unfair?"

Erik wishes he could say something, anything, to comfort the boy. Assure this teenager that the world, usually, isn't so bad and they just happened to be surrounded by so much tragedy - but he finds himself unable to do so.

"I don't know," is all Erik can offer. 

Because he feels guilty about Wille, he feels guilty about the Erikssons, and he feels guilty about being the adult these kids are looking to when he still feels like a confused teenager himself. 

The two aren't sure how long they sit in silence but they know that, even though it's heavy, it's not unbearable. They don't hear any noise coming from Wille's room but Erik's mostly concerned about hearing screams. He doesn't know if Wille told Simon about his nightmares or not, he thinks maybe because the boys seem close, but he didn't wanna share that if he hadn't. He didn't wanna share with Simon, before Wilhelm, about the call with their mother either and that, besides her threats about this being a kidnapping and that she should've called him when her son showed up, she said she expects to hear from the boy tomorrow.

Erik doesn't think that'll be happening. Erik does know that he's gonna have to research and concoct some type of plan to help Wille, though, and also fully understand why his brother ran away. He knows about the nightmares, knows that he felt he had no choice and that their relationship was strained, but also can't help but wonder if there was more. He needs to know everything if he has any shot of allowing Wille to stay here, legally - or, at least, blackmailing their mother in some way. 

Erik looks to the clock to see it's just past 11, gaze moving to the tired boy staring blankly in front of him. 

"Look Simon, no matter what happens these next few days, I'm gonna see what I can do, okay?" Erik begins, the boy seemingly perking up at his words. "I don't know how much time I'll have, and for this to work I'm gonna need time, but of course I don't want Wille going ho- back with Kristina, if he doesn't feel safe there."

"And he doesn't," Simon croaks, Erik nodding his head. Maybe Simon knows more than him.

"Okay," Erik says, trying to reassure him with a sad, broken smile of his own. "I'm gonna do my best."

The teenager smiles back, a small but for once genuine one, because if he knows one thing, it's that Wille loves Erik and Erik loves Wille. They seem to have the stereotypical brother relationship full of teasing and banter but there's also a very obvious feeling of love and fierce protection; he thinks part of the reason may be similar to his and Sara's.

"I know," Simon says, before a restless sort of feeling suddenly overcomes him. He turns his head toward to hallway, a feeling to go down the hall, peek his head in Wille's red-tinted room and make sure's okay overcoming him - Erik seems to catch on if the knowing smirk on his face is anything to go by.

He's a little scared of the older man's sixth sense (or mere observation skills, who's to say?).

"Go check on him," Erik says, resisting his growing smirk. Simon flushes pink but gets up with a nod, taking two steps toward Wille's room before turning back around.

"Thank you for dinner, by the way. It was good."

Erik's chuckle booms through the empty kitchen.

"Thank you. You should tell Wille that. He says I'm a terrible cook. Lack seasoning or something."

Simon chuckles before making his way to Wille. To the room and over to his bed to see the boy still sleeping but flipped over. His expression is one of slight discomfort, brows pulled together and the slightest hint of a frown on his face. He's cuddled into the blanket like he would be to Simon's body, blonde hair tickling his neck as he breathes evenly against him.

It makes Simon wanna desperately take its place, huddle his way under the comforter until he's able to hold Wille back and lull him back to sleep if he stirs - but it's almost midnight on the weekend and his mom is home tonight, he wouldn't be able to rest comfortably; he also trusts Wille to text him if he needs him or maybe he'll even text him first. 

He crouches down to gently trace the lines of Wille's face, his touch feather light to not wake him. He can't stand to see him look unsettled even in his sleep, to not be able to escape these feelings even when he's unconscious; it's supposed to be the only time a person's able to. He waits until Wille's face is calmer, until Simon feels comfortable enough inside to leave the boy's side and go face his own demons next door; if he had known Wille would wake just two hours later, he doesn't think he would've. 

~

Wille could feel the hunger even in his dream. His stomach felt like it was turning in on itself, an unusual acknowledgement of the churning, the growling, the need for food or else his body will shut down; when he was conscious, this wasn't a phenomenon he was used to. 

It didn't matter how many times he said it, or how problematic it was: when he was anxious, he couldn't eat. It always felt like he had just eaten a healthy, fulfilling meal and eating would be nothing short of gluttonous when, really, it was the exact opposite. Because last year, Wille didn't eat for six days before his mom, courtesy of Malin and the housekeeper's word, called him out. 

"I'm not hungry, mama," he repeats for the tenth time, under the covers of his bed and mumbling into his damp pillow. His mom had been looming in the doorway for the past five minutes, repeating the same sentence over and over - "Why aren't you eating, Wilhelm?" 

Not "Are you feeling sick?" or "Are you okay?" or "Is there something else wrong?" all of which he could answer truthfully. All of which would be better questions for why he couldn't even stomach the idea of food.  He knew the moment she stepped in his room and closed the door that something bad was gonna happen; it took all of ten seconds for her to be over to his bed and ripping the covers off him, the boy only laying there in boxers and dried tears. 

"Mama, what the hell are you-"

"No, Wilhelm, what the hell are you doing?" she spits, her voice, her eyes, like venom. "Malin had to tell me you weren't eating. Do you see how that reflects on me, on our family? You seem mentally ill, Wilhelm, you have to get yourself together."

She spits the word mentally ill like it's a slur, something bad, something frowned upon. He wants to laugh because the three cases their firm take every year pro bono usually pertain to the defendant suffering from some sort of mental illness. 

"I don't feel good, mama, I- I told you I've been feeling anxious. I-"

"What could you possibly have to feel anxious about, do you hear yourself?" It sounds like she was told she'd have to move to Mars. Or that the sky was pink. 

Tears burn the back of his eyes. He doesn't know how he even has any left.

"Is the life I provide you as your mother not good enough? I don't see how it could be any better, Wilhelm, you have everything you could ever need." Except a loving mother, one who likes him. 

"I know I do, I'm not saying my life is bad," the boy says, voice surprisingly firm through the shakiness. "I'm just saying to you that something doesn't feel- feel right with me. And I don't know why but it makes me anxious. I- I feel like I can't breathe sometimes and then I throw up so I don't wanna eat. I don't even feel hungry, either, because I'm so-"

"Please, this is ridiculous," his mom groans, her voice bored and tired of this conversation already. "If you need to be institutionalized, just say so. I don't know what I can do for you."

He wants her to leave so he can cry. He wants to scream and sob and shake his own mother to please just listen to him. He wants to have one wish in this world and it's, instead of begging for his mother to love him, for him and Erik to run away and live together.

He tells her nevermind as he bites back his tears, pulling his blanket up from the floor and burying himself in it. He turns to face the wall when she says his name, a few minutes of silence lingering before she finally leaves. 

He doesn't eat for two more days, until Erik drags him out of the house and that gnawing feeling in his stomach finally subsides. 

Despite his mother in his head, he doesn't wake with a scream.It's more of a pained groan followed by the growl of his stomach, a feeling so painful he's not sure how he went over a week without food that year.

His room is pitch black, apart from his led lights, and he's alone. He knows that much, can feel his loneliness as much as the hunger plaguing him. He finds his phone right beside him to read its 2:12 am and he has three messages from Simon sent two hours ago. 

(Simon 12:09 am)

hi sorry i had to leave for the night :(

text me if u wake up and can't fall back asleep 💜

ps: if u do wake up and ur hungry, have erik's stir fry :D actually really good and surprisingly well-seasoned 😉

Wille smiles despite himself. He resists the violent urge to text Simon back, wanting nothing more than to hear from him right now but also not wanting to risk waking him; he also needs to eat before he passes out. He makes his way through the dark house, lighting up each step with his phone. He opens the fridge to see the left overs right in the front, quietly taking them out and setting them on a plate; in hopes to not wake Erik, he stops the microwave one minute before the beep. 

Five minutes later and his face stuffed with chicken and rice, he sees his efforts were useless. The light flickers on and Wille looks up, cheeks full, to see his brother standing in the doorway with a small, sleepy smile on his face.  

"Good morning," he says playfully, sleep in his voice. Wille rolls his eyes because even out of a slumber, his brother is chipper and annoying; even so, he waves because Simon was right and this food is pretty delicious. 

Erik takes a seat beside him and Wille doesn't even care that he creepily lingers. If he felt like using his voice, he'd tell him to fuck off and get his own but he doesn't so they sit in silence. Wille eats while Erik watches before the younger is done and cleans off his plate. He makes his way back to his seat, expecting Erik's gonna wanna talk about this, just to see his older brother standing up looking ready to go back to sleep. 

"You good now? I'm tired."

Wille blinks and then blinks again, staring at the blonde like he has five heads. The taller man only smirks, ruffling his brother's messy hair before turning toward their respective bedrooms. 

"Goodnight, Wille."

Wille expects to lay awake that night, tortured by the memory of his mother, her voice in his head, the impending doom of possibly needing to go back there soon - but, like his mind can't bear it, like he can't even fucking fathom that right now, the second his head hits the pillow, he passes out and sleeps for ten hours. 

~

Simon doesn't hear Wille's voice for four days; he also doesn't have him by his side in school but it's made up for when he goes to his house right after and stays there well into the evening. 

It was funny how nothing about their routine (apart from the making out and talking parts) is different. It reminds Simon of the time before their first kiss, when they'd spend their nights doing homework, watching tv, and just basking in each other's presence. The curly-haired is also, both, astounded and impressed by how, even without his verbal whining, it's completely apparent that Wille detests doing the work Simon's been writing down for him. 

It will usually go like this: Simon will show up, insist they do homework, deal with Wille stomping around his room and trying to distract him, Simon finally guilting Wille (either with his face or soft pleas) to sit down and do something - but the second Simon puts away all of his books, it's a wrap for Wille. Simon learned after the first day that nothing, not even him, can get Wille to do the work alone so he accepts defeat; it has everything to do with that fact alone and not that, for the remainder of the night, they get to cuddle in Wille's bed and binge watch a series.

Simon smiles into Wille's hair, the blonde's head on his chest, as his shoulders move from silent laughter. His hand finds its rightful place in the long, slightly knotted strands, their legs intertwined as Wille plays with the hem of his purple sweatshirt.

A part of Simon was scared that in Wille's coping, the boy wouldn't seek him out as much. That he'd maybe wanna digest completely by himself - alone and silent in body, spirit and mind. He wouldn't blame him at all. He couldn't. He'd miss hanging out with him, for sure, and he misses talking to him, but he also sees this is an obvious pattern from the emotional and psychological abuse from his mother. 

If Simon thinks about it long enough, he feels a genuine, scary type of rage consume him and, although the effects and facts aren't gonna change, he tries not to think about it and only focus on Wille beside him. 

"This show is bad, Wille," Simon says, smiling when the boy looks up with an unamused expression; it truly is but it's making him laugh so, unfortunately, Simon happily endures it for the rest of the night. 

With so much of him focused on Wille this week, what feels like every fiber of his being completely consumed by his concern for the blonde, it's easy for him to put off his own shit. Easy to forget that each time he's come home this week, his dad's been drunk in his chair and mouthing off to no one. Sara's in her room, his mom's on night shifts this week, and Simon sneaks through the door around 9:30 each night. 

Tonight is no different except he's muttering to himself in the kitchen, some nonsense about no one being around to cook him food and he's stuck doing everything in the house. Simon scoffs under his breath and rolls his eyes, quickly making his way to Sara's room. He knocks once so she knows it's him before peeking his head in, finding her at her desk doing homework. 

"Hey," he says softly, closing and locking the door behind him just in case. Her eyes follow the movement and she looks suspicious but doesn't comment on it. 

"Hi," is all she responds, looking back down at her paper. He's comforted by the fact that if Sara wanted him to leave so she could work in private, she'd tell him - but she doesn't so he sits on her bed, scrolls on his phone and waits until she's done because he really needs to talk to his sister right now. 

Almost 20 minutes go by before she turns in her desk chair, just able to sense her watchful gaze on him. 

"How are you?" Sara asks. "Is he okay? Still not talking?"

Simon was conflicted whether or not to tell Sara about Wilhelm. On one side, it had felt wrong because it was something so intensely personal, a rather delicate problem that he was dealing with - but on the other hand, Sara knew something was wrong. She not only knew something was wrong but Simon had just felt so much about it - immense anger, sadness, guilt - that he thinks he would've gone crazy if he didn't talk to her about it. And he knows Sara would never tell anyone.

Simon shakes his head, a small frown on his face before the familiar sound of banging pots and pans, followed by slurred cursing, makes the two siblings jump. They should be used to it, it's been a particularly rough few weeks in terms of his outbursts, but it never seems to get any less scary - there also hasn't been many physical incidents so, really, things should feel like they've been going fairly well. 

But they have each other, the door is locked, and their mom is safe at work so they do their best to tune him out; they still wait a few minutes, frozen in a tense silence, before the loud noises subside and hopefully, he's passed out into his bowl of whatever. Certainly not a bowl of stir fry made with obvious love and enough for a village.

Sara looks at him with a sad smile. Simon thinks older siblings must all somehow perfect that look. 

"So... Wille?" Sara continues, their father's rage gone, forgotten, but never really. 

"I think he's getting there?" Simon begins, wishing he could say more.

He's with the boy every day, attached to him like a third arm, and yet, can't say for sure. He didn't tell Sara he has a history with this, because he wanted to tell her as little as possible out of respect, but Erik said the past two times, it was only a few days.

"It's just- it's all fucking bullshit," Sara watches her brother declare, anger in his tone like she's never heard.

She's heard rage directed at their father but this is a different type of hurt. Of protectiveness. The difference between protecting your sister and mother is different than protecting a fragile boy you're falling in love with. His face, while always annoyingly beautiful and tanned, looks slightly exhausted too. Like all of this, on top of their own shit, is taking a toll on him that he won't admit. Sara doesn't even wanna voice her concerns because Simon will definitely snap at her and it's not often that her brother actually chooses to open up like this. 

"Like, I don't understand how he can be, technically, a missing child for MONTHS and then she just- just gets custody back like it's fucking nothing? On top of the fact he came to Erik's for a reason. How is that fair? Or right?"

What that reason is Sara doesn't know. She'd never ask. But Sara does know, probably more than the average teenager, average person, that things are definitely not always right or fair.

"I just wish I could help him more," Simon says, his voice lower, almost breaking, and Sara feels her heart pang with hurt. "I don't know what else to say or do besides-"

"Simon, just you being there is enough. That's all he wants," Sara says softly, shaking her head in disbelief. She doesn't know how he doesn't see that. "You don't push him or make him talk about things he doesn't want to talk about. You just spend time with him, a lot of time, and that's the best thing. That's what Wille wants. I think he's wanted that since the second you guys met."

Simon sighs, looking at his sister half parts grateful, because she always knows what to say, but also annoyed because she just always knows what to say. She looks at him with a growing smirk, like she can read his mind. 

"Are you sighing because I'm right?"

"Shut up," Simon grumbles, poking the mattress beneath his hands. His eyes are starting to burn with exhaustion, he feels it quickly setting in.

He hadn't slept that much last night and he hasn't been able to fall asleep with Wille, because not being up and present with him would feel incredibly wrong. He also feels nervous about tomorrow, not going to Wille's right after school and leaving him alone for longer. 

"I don't think I should go to choir practice tomorrow."

Sara was gonna bite her tongue, she really was, but she just can't when he hears that. She knows Wille needs help, she feels bad for him, but Simon can't take on the boy's problems like their his own either.

"Don't be ridiculous, you still have to do things for yourself," Sara says, like what he's suggesting is truly utter nonsense. "Wille will be fine. He has Erik."

Simon knows he has Erik. He knows Erik knows way more about the situation than him, probably deals with it in a healthier and more constructive way given his experience with Wille and age, but being away from Wille also scares him now. Makes him feel almost sick to his stomach because, like so many times in his life, he's waiting for the worst to come. Waiting for them to be ripped apart and for Wille to be forced back to Stockholm.

And this isn't even just an irrational feeling of impending doom, the threat became very real when, on what was supposed to be one of their many fun Saturday nights, Wille's mom decided she had to ruin his life again.

~

Erik's preparing a late breakfast of pancakes and fruit when he almost shatters the plate at the sound of a voice. His brother's sleepy, deep, scratchy voice. A voice he wasn't sure when he'd hear again but was so fucking grateful to.

"Good morning."

Erik jumps from his spot at the counter, placing the plate down before whipping around toward the voice and over to Wille; the shorter blonde can't even get out another word before he's enveloped in a hug, nose buried in Erik's shirt that smells of laundry, lavender, and syrup.

Tears immediately prick the younger's eyes before, like so many fucking times this week, he just starts crying. It's nowhere near as tortured as it was that first night, he's not sobbing and losing air and about to collapse, but he's still staining the cotton with wetness that Erik couldn't give less of a fuck about. Erik's hand gently runs through Wille's hair and while everything about it is different than Simon's - the hand size, the strokes, the way he doesn't gently untangle his knots - he greatly welcomes it. It comforts him in a way that's so familiar but also not, because a member of his family probably hasn't stroked his hair lovingly since he was a baby.

"Glad to hear you again, little brother," Erik mumbles, talking through the lump in his throat. "The house has been quiet without you telling me to go fuck myself."

Wille pulls back, looks at Erik with tears in his eyes, and then a laugh bubbles out of his throat. It's short and chortled and sounded a little painful but it's a laugh; it's the best sound this house has heard since Saturday. 

It takes the morning over several cups of tea and three and a half rounds of pancakes for Wille and Erik to really talk. They take breaks when needed, Wille getting choked up and giving himself a minute, Erik needing to stand because hearing about Wille's mental state before he came to Bjärstad makes him so fucking sad and guilty, but they finally talk. 

It's a painful, raw, and honest conversation that maybe should've been discussed way sooner when Wille showed up frantically in the middle of the night with a terrified look in his eye. Regardless, the conversation happened and regardless, the brothers, both with tears in their eyes, know they have each others backs no matter what.

No matter how Kristina is gonna try to pit them against each other and change the narrative the way she always attempts to do. 

"Wille, I know we talked about this a lot," Erik says, wet eyes rimmed red. "But I really am sorry I had to leave you there with her. We talked about it, yeah, but... I should've been absolutely sure you wouldn't have been harmed."

Because, no, technically Kristina didn't physically harm him but the thought that what she says to him, how she treats him, how she disregards him and can't even fucking see him and his struggles, was enough to almost make him hurt himself is making Erik wanna throw up his breakfast ten times over. He doesn't think he'll be able to get Wille's softly-spoken confession out of his head for the rest of his life. 

"It's not your fault, Erik," Wille says, voice still slightly raw as he shakes his head. He winces as he thinks back to their fight all those months ago, when in a fit of a rage, Wille threw his brother's brave act of leaving their toxic family back in his face. Kristina had done that, put those thoughts and doubts into his head, and he'll never let it happen again. "I would've probably still felt like that even if you were around because she just- she hates me. I don't even understand why she'd call me now and act like she wants me back ho- back there when she doesn't even like me."

Power. Control. Superiority. All of the things their heinous mother thrives off of, even if it's over a 16-year-old boy who's always just wanted love from her.

"I-I don't wanna go back," Wille continues, his voice breaking, chest quickly getting tight with anxiety. "I really, really don't wanna go back but I know that I..."

That he might have to. That he has no choice. That if their mother wants him home, he'll be home by the end of the week. The very thought makes Wille wanna run away again with his brother and a curly-haired boy by his side. 

"And I would never, ever, make you go back," Erik says, gently touching his shoulder from beside him. "I don't want you to go back knowing what you just told me. I don't even know if I can let you. She might need to have me arrested." Wille smiles even though nothing about it is funny or untrue. "I don't know how serious her threats are but you know how she is." 

"It's your fault Erik's gone! That he left and you'll never see him again."

"You drove away Erik and now we're all gonna suffer."

"He doesn't love you."

"What could you possibly have to feel anxious about, do you hear yourself?"

"Is the life I provide you as your mother not good enough? I don't see how it could be any better, Wilhelm, you have everything you could ever need."

"If you need to be institutionalized, just say so. I don't know what I can do for you."

"Yeah," Wille breathes out, shaking his mother's cold, biting voice from his head. "I do."

They both know, they're both haunted by it, and they both dealt with it long enough so, after the tears are gone, they try to enjoy the day.

Erik took off from work the moment Wille spoke so they walk around the Bjärstad shops, get lunch at the pizzeria (where Wille shares Ayub's pizza and pickles idea that he supports) and do three grueling rounds of bowling because "you're a fucking cheater, Erik!" "You're just a sore loser, Wille!" It was everything Wille needed and more and, although he still feels like anxious and scared and ready to cry at any moment, he feels slightly lighter and he's grateful for that. He's grateful for his brother, he's grateful for this small little normal town, and he's grateful for Simon who he texts the second they get back home.

It takes him a few minutes to formulate the message, because even though Simon has been fucking amazing, couldn't have been more perfect and normal for Wille during his distressing time, he feels slightly awkward. He feels like he just creeped on the boy next door and got caught staring. 

(Wille, 4:24 pm)

hi, sorry i know you're at choir 

you can just text me back when you're out 

i wanted to ask if i could walk you home from the bus today 💜 

He doesn't expect Simon to answer yet so he's shocked when only a minute later, his phone's vibrating.

(Simon, 4:25 pm)

hi wille, of course you can 💜

but only if by home you mean your house 😊 

Wille can't stop the giggle that leaves him, can't stop the smile he knows is stupid from crossing his pink, warm face. 

(Wille, 4:25 pm)

yes that may be what i mean 😊

(Simon, 4:25 pm)

good 😘

i can probably make the 4:37 bus if i run lol so u can meet me there at 5 

😊

(Wille, 4:26 pm)

and if you don't make it?

do you just expect me to wait around for you?

(Simon, 4:26 pm)

would you not? 

Wille smiles, able to see Simon's (rightfully) smug face in his mind right now. 

(Wille, 4:27 pm)

of course i would 💜 

you deserve way more than that after dealing with me this week

Simon types, briefly stops, and then starts typing again. 

(Simon, 4:29 pm)

i'll see you at 5

can't wait to see u ❤️

It should feel childish and ridiculous and embarrassing given the fact they just saw each other last night - but Wille's feeling overwhelmed with emotion by how much he needs Simon in front of him right now. So overwhelmed, he almost feels tempted enough to write three words that might be crazy, might be too soon, might not be the right time given what they've gone through, but he knows for a fact that's what he's feeling. 

He doesn't write it, because he wants it to be the right time, not after the intensity of the day, the week, but he knows in this moment, has known for a while, that that's how he feels about Simon Eriksson. 

(Wille, 4:30 pm)

can't wait to see u too ❤️

Erik's walking back into the living room with his laptop in hand when a knowing smirk crosses his face. Wille looks over at him when he sits down with a content sigh.

"What?" 

"Nothing," Erik says. "It's just nice seeing and hearing that the Simon smile and the Simon eyes and the Simon giggle are back and-"

Pillows are flying again in the living room and Erik can't even feel a little bit mad when it whacks him right in the face.

~

Simon didn't realize how badly he was being physiologically affected by Wille's sadness until he felt it all melt away reading his playful text. It's not like he and Wille hadn't texted this week, they texted as frequently as they normally did for the most part, but these were different. These were familiar.  These were more like his Wille not being scared silent and shaking in fear. 

That wasn't to say all was forgotten, obviously, they still had a lot to talk about, but Wille was feeling better and that's all that mattered. Wille was joking and sending emojis and so cutely and awkwardly offering to walk him home from the bus, Simon hasn't stopped smiling since he got the texts and ran out of choir practice like Hillerska was on fire.

The bus ride home felt 12 hours long opposed to less than thirty minutes, Simon up and out of his seat before the vehicle could even stop. The familiar surroundings of the bus stop kicked him into gear but nothing struck him like the sight of blonde hair, lanky limbs and a soft, ridiculously cute smile that almost made him fucking run. 

After normal school hours, there were usually other Marieburg kids getting off the same bus as him but since it was later, it was only him and a few adults. No one nosy or curious enough to stare at the two boys who meet each other like magnets, Simon smiling and Wille staring at him like he's everything good in this world. 

Simon's finally about to say hi when he's pulled into the tightest, most comforting hug he's ever felt in his lifetime.

It's probably the only thing that would've gotten rid of the last bits of anxiety and anger swarming in him, the backpack he was holding plopping to the floor as he hugs Wille back just as tightly, just as warmly, just as gratefully because he's still there and his mom can't get to him yet. Simon buries his face in Wille's neck, breathing him in, and Wille does the same before pressing his lips to the soft, delicate skin. It's a barely there peck but Simon feels it, knows it's real because he hears him mumble "Thank you," only a few seconds after. 

The curly-haired doesn't pull away immediately, because he thinks he might cry and hugging Wille feels too good. When he finally manages to take his face out of his neck, arms still wrapped around him, Wille's eyes are glinted over with tears and it makes Simon's lips pull into a frown. 

"Wille," he whispers, because never does this boy have to thank him for simply being there for him. He wanted to, more than he could really comprehend. The blonde shakes his head as if he knows what he's about to say, bringing his hands up to move that usual pesky stray curl.

"I'm serious, Simon, thank you," Wille says, speaking through the lump in his throat. "I know that must've been scary, and-and kind of weird but thank you for-"

"Nothing about it was weird," the boy says, not wanting to cut him off but unable to let him think even for a second that was the word he'd use to describe it. He could think of 500 other words besides weird. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Wille swallows down what will only be the beginning balls of emotion lodged in his trachea.

He could say so many things to this boy right now - his most recent revelation, that he's probably only okay this quickly because of him, that even though he's so fucking scared, knowing he has him is making all of this somewhat bearable - but only finds himself croaking out, "I am."

It's not the complete truth but also not a complete lie. He's talking, he feels slightly clear-headed about everything, and he's planning on opening up to Simon not because he thinks he has to but because he wants to.

He wants Simon to know every part of him, know the truth about why he's here and why they met in the first place. He wants Simon to know not that he saved him, because Wille knows it's not that easy, but that he made what could've been a slightly lonely, bothersome-on-Erik existence here become some of the best parts of his life so far. 

Simon smiles as he tightens his hold before letting go to take his hand. He runs his fingers over his knuckles gently, sweetly, and Wille immediately grasps his hand like it's his lifeline; he also quickly picks up the backpack in his other that Simon had dropped.  The shorter boy narrows his eyes accusingly, about to try and take the backpack before he thinks better of it. 

Wille smiles like he's won. A part of him thinks, in a way, at least for now, he has.

They spend the next few hours the way they always do with homework, tv, and banter but this time, thank fucking God, they kiss again. They're quick, chaste, sweet little pecks but it's kissing regardless and Wille missed it so much. It's obvious in the way their bodies melt into each other, the way they hum against the others lips, the way it just feels so right to be this close, they both could almost forget about the elephant in the room that always seems to find its way to them. 

Wille doesn't necessarily put the conversation off, because he knows he wants to have it, but it's also not something he wants to just blurt out.

He knows that he and Simon always just find the right time, the right stretch of quiet and thoughtfulness, to have their serious conversations. It's usually just a look, a touch, a change in the air that should feel scary or too sudden but just always seems to work for them.

The sun had long since set, they ate dinner in Wille's room (Erik ordered takeout because "breakfast had wiped him out") and the two boys are now huddled into one another against the headboard. Wille drops down a little to make himself shorter, much to Simon's feigned embarrassment, to rest his head on his shoulder. Their feet are tangled together, the blonde's legs flexed up to reach the curly-haired, and Wille's arm rests over Simon's, their hands seemingly permanently intertwined. 

Wille could've almost fallen asleep with the way Simon was dragging his nails up and down the boy's arm with his other hand, his movements gentle and slow. He could've fallen asleep if he didn't feel the anxiety building back in him, if he didn't now just notice how much his movements were keeping it suppressed.

Simon seems to realize right as Wille does, though, peeking over to see his eyes unfocused. 

"Wille?" He calls out softly, knocking their feet together gently. The blonde immediately looks at him, feeling comforted by the smile on his face. "Are you okay?" Simon asks.

Wille nods and it's not a lie, not really. Wille then allows himself to think for a moment and changes his mind. Partially. He doesn't know. 

"I don't know."

He doesn't realize the words leave him until he hears his own voice. His eyes move back to Simon who's watching him so fucking softly, with such care and fondness in his eyes, that  lump in his throat is back and growing rapidly.

"That's okay, talk to me," Simon urges gently, comforting him with a smile, with his hand pausing on his arm while his thumb takes over the slow movements. "Whatever you wanna tell me, you can. I'm here for you."

He's here for him. He's been here for him. He was here for him months ago and he's still here this week, quite possibly one of the most traumatizing weeks of his sad life. 

"I... I don't know where to start." 

Because he wants to tell Simon everything. He wants him to know everything. He wants to bear his soul in the most honest way he can even though he thinks all his shit might be the final thing to scare this beautiful boy away.

One look at him and he thinks that won't happen. Because while Wille's a mess and intense and a storm of unkempt emotion, Simon's beautiful and is, somehow, always able to see passed that; Simon's thumb never falters in its attempts to soothe him. 

"Wherever feels right," Simon mumbles, pressing his head against his. 

They breathe together until the beats are nearly identical. And then, just like at the dinner table this morning, Wille tells a second person. 

"It was weird," he begins and Simon bites back the urge to cut him off already because nothing Wille feels is weird. "Nothing that bad really triggered me in the first place. Maybe I had had... thoughts like that before and I just hadn't realized it but my mom was just- talking to me like she normally did. She was yelling at me for something about school, I think, I can't even remember exactly, but, just, the way she speaks, like there's venom in her voice... I guess I just really realized how much she didn't like me."

Simon holds him tighter as he speaks, as tears build behind his eyes at the mere thought of Wille thinking he's unloved. Of Wille thinking thoughts that he hasn't specified yet but Simon thinks, really fucking hopes not but can't help but think, are gonna make him that much more devastated and angry at Kristina. 

He's probably squeezing him to the point of pain but Wille doesn't say anything so he doesn't let go.

"The..." Wille swallows and Simon closes his hand around the blonde's, offering a gentle, silent squeeze of support. Wille lets out a shaky breath before speaking again. "The thoughts came pretty quickly after that. I kept trying to push them away but they- they just kept coming back. And, like, images, of me hurting myself. Of how easy life would be after. I wanted them to stop, Simon, I did, but they wouldn't. They- they just kept coming and then my brain started planning it out and it scared me."

Simon swallows back a sob as he looks over at Wille and sees tears in his eyes. Wetness blurs his own vision at the sight, at the pain and waver in Wille's voice. 

"I knew my parents wouldn't be home on this one night so I thought about doing it then. But then I started thinking it wouldn't even matter. They wouldn't care. It felt like no one would've cared."

"They would've Wille," Simon breaks, his voice croaking as he wipes at a stray that falls down the boy's face. "Everyone who knows you would've. Everyone would've-" Knowing Wille now, Simon can't even think about a world without him. He hadn't even known him six months ago and now, he can't picture his life without him. "I'm so happy you came here, Wille," he blurts out. I'm so happy you're still here. "It must've been so scary, having those thoughts and being alone... but I'm so happy you came here."

Wille smiles softly, looking down at Simon and feeling his heart soar. It hurts a little too, because his beautiful brown eyes are teary and full of pain, but they're also looking at him with such a soft, reassuring glint, he can't help but lean down and kiss him. 

The kiss is their most intense since last week but still tame. It's wet and messy and desperate but also so slow and sweet and loving, it makes their tears a mix of sadness and happiness. They pull back and lean their foreheads against the other, breaths heaving and ragged until they slow. They match each others in a way that makes them feel so ridiculously connected, they both think Ayub's silly text from weeks ago just might be the truth: i fear our friend has found the one at just 16 years old 

It should scare both of them, make them feel incredibly naive and juvenile like most of the adults in their life would suggest - but they don't care. They know they're all wrong. They wonder if adults have ever felt like this with someone when they were young and willed it away just from that fear of looking young and dumb and in love. 

Simon pulls away first to look at Wille, taking both of his hands in his. 

"Do you have those thoughts anymore?"

Wille immediately shakes his head. 

"No. The second I left they were gone," Wille says. "I don't even think they were that serious but... but they were enough. They were enough to scare me."

Simon nods his head because yeah, of course. That makes sense. He's never had thoughts like that before, at least not any longer than an intrusive thought he shakes away, but he has to imagine it's the scariest thing in the world to truly consider ending your life. 

"If you ever have them again," Simon continues, "please tell someone. Me or Erik or someone at school, anyone, Wille, please. Please."

Wille nods back because Erik had told him the same thing. He squeezes his hands just a little tighter, bringing one up to press a kiss to his knuckle. 

"I will," the blonde mumbles against his skin. "I promise."

The boys sit criss-crossed in front of each other, just holding each other in the tentative silence. Their eyes are a little red, everything feels so devastatingly heavy like it always does, but they're also happy to be together. There's so much shit they have to deal with but going through it together makes it, at least, a tiny bit bearable. 

"There's something else," Wille mumbles, Simon eyeing him curiously. "My mom talked to Erik the other day and she's demanding I speak to her by tomorrow."

Simon bites back all the rage and anger and blatant (deserved) disrespect that threatens to shoot out of his mouth right now. He puts his focus on Wille, on the vulnerable expression on his face and the look of slight fear, nervousness, in his eye. 

"I was hoping you could be here," he says quietly, his hand just a little sweaty in his but Simon would never dream of saying anything. Would never dream of taking it away right now or ever. His heart pangs and a smile immediately lights up his face; if things were different, he'd make a joke that he'd probably be here anyway.

"Of course, Wille," Simon says, leaning in to peck his warm cheek. "You don't even have to ask."

He doesn't have to ask because he'll be here as long as he needs him. For as long as they have left together. It's with that heartbreaking sentiment - them possibly not having that much time left together - that Simon decides then and there he won't be leaving Wille's side. He couldn't even if he wanted to because Wille holds him through the night, through the tears that come back because if Wille thinks about it, he gets so fucking scared.

Through the tears fading and their lips meeting until they're fumbling under the covers, all hands and spit and gentle touches, as they swallow each others soft moans and become positive those three little words are true.

~

They aim to make the call on Friday at 5:00. It doesn't happen until close to 8:00 because Erik and Simon, together, force Wille to get down a few spoon fulls of soup. He's not happy about it, resists it with dirty looks to Erik and sad, pathetic ones to Simon, but he does get it down. His anxiety comes in strong bouts, nausea mixed with shaky hands and labored, heaving breathing.

But nothing works at making him feel better, not even his hand rubbing at his chest, than Erik and Simon do. They sat around the living room and talked him through it. Erik promises that he's trying to come up with some type of plan that will hold legally. Simon holds his hand and whispers that he's here for him. That he's strong. That no matter what happens, he'll always have him.

It's with that that Wille makes the call, hands shaky, breaths even shakier, before his voice makes something in him snap. "Stay calm," Erik had warned, but he didn't account for just how upset his mom can make him.

The dial tone is on speaker, Erik and Simon silent, before her voice rings through the house. Erik never wished to hear it between these walls. 

"Hello?"

"Please don't make me go back."

Simon frowns, Erik bites down on his lip, and Wille shakes his head as if she could see him.

"Wilhelm," his mother sighs.

The disappointment in her tone zips right through him, although he shouldn't be surprised. His mother could never not think of him as a disappointment.

"I'm serious, mama, please," Wille begs, tears already burning the back of his eyes. "I- I like being here with Erik. I've missed him. And I'm in school. I'm doing good."

"I know," she says, voice as prim and proper as ever. "I've been in contact with Anette." 

"Okay," Wille blurts out, because that should be a good thing. A positive thing. The headmistress probably told her how he hasn't drawn any attention to himself, hasn't gotten in trouble once, and does all his homework because Simon forces him to. "So you see that I'm-"

"You are still my child, Wilhelm," his mom says, the boy's stomach churning with anxiety; he already feels defeated. "I am still your parent and you're expected to live with me. How will it look if you-"

"I've already been gone for months!" he screams, Simon jumping beside him. Wille turns his head and winces, taking Simon's hand as an apology. Simon just shakes his head, squeezing it back in response. "I- I've already been living here for almost six months," he says, trying to remain more calm. "My school is here and my friends and Erik and my boyfriend-"

The word just slips out and no one can even register what he says, not even Simon who looks at Wille wide-eyed, before Kristina is talking.

"Your home and life is here. You were merely just visiting and-"

She falls silent as she seems to really register what he said, the last word - boyfriend - probably stunning her silent. Wille, nor Erik, knows her opinions on the LGBT+ community but he can't imagine, given her silence, that it's anything good. He also never uttered a word about his sexuality or feelings for boys to her before. The stretch of silence is long, uncomfortable, the three boys in the living room looking at each other in anticipation, before the woman sighs.

"Wilhelm," she begins.

Him and Erik look at each other because they know from her tone, she's about to destroy him in the most even-keeled, professional tone. Like a doctor telling someone's loved one they're dead.

"I don't know what you've been doing there under your brother's care," she begins, Erik rolling his eyes, "but I was trying to give you enough time to... think about and process whatever you had to think about and then come back home on your own. That was clearly my mistake."

Wille goes to open his mouth in protest, say that he's happy here and doesn't wanna come back, that he was suicidal and she had no idea, before Kristina continues. 

"Your life is here. Your home is here. You can't just run away and miss months of school without expecting consequences."

"I'm in school now!"

"You only started in January," she says firmly, harshly. "You left in October. What were you doing for those two months? Meeting this boyfriend of yours?"

Simon knows homophobia when he sees it, hears it, and the way this woman mockingly bites out the word boyfriend is all he needs to hear to know how she feels. He wishes she could see the way he intertwines his fingers with Wille's and rests his leg against his at her response. Wille meets him with a small, grateful look, looking down at their hands. 

"I understand we don't always see eye to eye, Wilhelm, I won't deny that," Kristina acknowledges and the two Bernadotte boys think a section of Hell has frozen over somewhere. "But that doesn't mean you can do whatever you want. You're sixteen and under my care. I am responsible for you."

"You don't want to be, though, you and dad just ignore me," Wille bites back. "You don't even like me, mama. You don't know anything about me. You didn't even know that I was thinking about-"

He can't say the words to her. He easily said them to Erik and Simon because he feels safe with them, he knows they care, but his mom? She might just laugh in his face. That much is obvious in her response. 

"You don't talk to me so who's fault is that?" She asks. "I'm not a mind reader, Wilhelm. How am I supposed to know something if you refuse to speak to me?"

He does talk to her. He always talks to her. He's told her so so so many times about his problems, his anxiety, him missing Erik and struggling with life in general, and she brushes it off. Each and every time. She either blames him or tells him she's too busy. 

"I do talk to you," he mumbles, because this conversation is becoming pointless. They both know that. 

"No, you don't. You babble incoherently and expect me to make sense of it." 

Erik can't help but scoff because, Jesus Christ, she's so fucking immature. The way she talks to her own child whose pain is overwhelming palpable in their voice is the most ludicrous thing he's ever heard; it's in the following moments of silence, and the two teenagers wide-eyed looks to him, that he realizes Kristina has heard him. 

"Wilhelm," Kristina says, her voice scarily steady. "Do you have me on speaker?"

A few beats pass, a lie right on his lips, before he answers, "Yes. I'm with Erik and Si- my boyfriend." 

He doesn't even want her knowing Simon's name. He also likes saying that - my boyfriend. 

Concerned looks are being thrown around the room, Erik to Wille, Wille to Simon, Simon to Wille, because just her cold presence through the phone is frightening. They don't know what she's about to say, what she's about to do, if she's already outside and prepared to drag Wille out by his hair. Another short sigh leaves her mouth before she speaks. 

"This conversation is not over, Wilhelm. We'll be talking more about this soon," she says and while a part of him is grateful the conversation is over, it's still all too up in the air for him to feel okay. "Next time I call you, I expect us to be alone."

Erik shakes his head because no fucking way is that happening. 

"Okay," Wille gets out, throat tight, his anxiety about to bubble over because holy shit he did it. He talked to her. He'll have to talk to her again but it's over now. 

"Goodbye, Wilhelm."

"Bye."

The phone call ends, Wille breaths a sigh of relief, and then his last bout of tears wrack through his body. 

Chapter Text

Since Linda was a little girl, she always tried her best. She remembers barely being able to multiply but taking care of her brothers and sisters like a well-seasoned mother. She tried to shield the younger ones from the reality of what their life was: lower class, full of sibling love but with parents who neglected them. Linda didn't think it was necessarily their intent looking back as an adult - they were always working, always stressed, always trying to stay happy in the little free time they had because parents were people too - but there were many nights she went to bed cold, hungry, and exhausted from being a full time elementary student and caretaker. 

She vowed then, when life still seemed hopeful and she believed she could do anything she puts her mind to, that when she had kids, because she'd always dreamed of being a mother, they would never have to deal with the things she had. They would never be hungry. They would never be cold in the winter. They would never have the type of bond she and her siblings had from being neglected and living through a difficult household together. 

Linda met Micke when she was eighteen and he was sober. She fell in love almost instantly with the man. He was kind, yes, and attractive, yes, but she won't lie and say she didn't also see some sense of stability with him. He had a job, a home, came from what seemed like a decent family and she was craving to get out of hers. She didn't know how heavily addiction ran through his bloodline. She didn't know just how quickly addiction could spiral; if she had, maybe the choices she made would've been different. 

It was shortly after she had Sara when she started to realize that the vow she made, the vow she kept reminding herself of throughout her nine months of pregnancy, might be broken. She thought it might possibly happen if stayed with Micke but she knew, without a doubt, it would be broken if she left; they'd all be cold, hungry and living on the street.

But it was just stress, everyone had said. The time after having a baby is usually stressful for a couple and Linda didn't wanna fault him, her husband, for that because it was stressful for her too. Then Simon was born and the two siblings were toddlers together. They were just babies but they knew to be quiet and good for mommy because if they weren't, daddy would get mad. They didn't like when daddy yelled and they especially didn't like when daddy started hurting mommy. 

Linda tried to leave one night after she found her two kids huddled in Sara's bed together, her older girl reading a story to Simon who was cuddled into her.

"Mommy," Simon had said, speaking quietly to her in Spanish. Micke didn't know much Spanish and they were all eternally grateful for that on nights when they whispered like this. "Why does daddy hit you? You say it's not nice to hit."

Her eyes filled with tears before she cried with her kids, packed them each a bag, and left the house.

It only took her a few hours to return, when reality set in and she realized she could in no way support herself and two little kids. Simon and Sara trailed behind like they wanted to be anywhere else but home because they knew what their dad was gonna do. Linda knew too so she locked them in Sara's room, kissed both of their cheeks, and promised herself that one day, one day, she swears she'll be able to leave. 

11 years later and they're in the same situation. 11 years later and she feels so beat down, useless, and like the world's worst mother. Her kids never go hungry and never grow cold but she can see, even though they try to hide it from her, that they're scared. Probably just as scared, or more, than her. She knows they've learned to take care of themselves, they've all learned to live with the ticking time bomb that is her husband, that is their father, but she feels such immense, eternal guilt that they had to learn at all.

Especially Simon who protects her and his sister so fiercely. She can only hope that, one day, someone can protect him - clearly, she has already failed in that regard but she still tries everyday.

Linda always tries her best; on a night like tonight, with Micke raging and as drunk as ever, it's not enough. But Sara's in her room and Simon's out so it doesn't matter. As long as her kids are alright - it's the least she could do to try and be a good mother. 

~

It was probably naive to think, just because exactly two weeks had gone by without another call from Kristina, that things were okay. Wille knew it, Simon knew it, even Erik knew it but it comforted them in a blissfully ignorant way that kept them all happy - Wille and Simon got to stay together and Erik knew that his brother was safe.

When it came down to it now, that was all that matters. 

The tornado and heartache that was Kristina put a lot of things in perspective not just for Wille, for how much he wants to stay in Bjärstad and can't return to Stockholm, but for the two others as well. Erik's trying not to let guilt and sorrow overcome him at the six months he was away from his brother. The six months he now knows Wille was truly, honestly suffering and their mother's harsh treatment had somehow gotten worse. 

He can't wallow, though, because that will do Wille no good. It was now Erik's turn to plan, plan, plan because Wille had reunited them and now it was his turn to keep them together; Simon was also doing everything in his power to do the very same thing, although it's not like his homophobic, abusive mother could split them apart in the same way. 

Going through that with Wille, experiencing and helping him through something that made him so vulnerable, only showed him how much he really cared for the boy. It felt like something beyond caring, something beyond like, something he never thought in a million years he'd not only be able to feel and have reciprocated but admit to himself; he also never thought someone calling him his boyfriend would make him so disgustingly, embarrassingly, sick with happiness. 

It felt like the wrong time to bring it up, only hours after the emotional phone call with his mom, but Simon couldn't help it.

It had just affected him so deeply, so profoundly, that when he was able to process the words - "My school is here and my friends and Erik and my boyfriend," "Yes, I'm with Erik and Si- my boyfriend - the sleepy, mumbled statement just left his mouth. 

"Wille," Simon mutters into Wille's dark room, his head resting on the boy's arm.

The blonde hums lowly beside him, only looking over when Simon mumbles his name again, chin resting on his bicep; Wille's smile softens when he notices his favorite pair of eyes, his favorite shade of brown, staring at him. 

"Hi."

"Hi," Simon chuckles softly, their eyes wandering the others face shamelessly just because they can. Just because they're alone and just because they're really wrapped up in each other and experiencing that mutual feeling of more-than-like buzzing through their bodies. 

"Are you okay?" Wille asks quietly.

It'll never fail to make Simon's heart ache in the best way by how often this boy checks in with him. Even when he's the one suffering the after effects of some serious emotional turmoil, he's still asking Simon if he's okay. Still looking at him like if Simon says no, he'll do anything in his power to fix it. 

"Yes, yes, more than okay," Simon smiles, leaning up to peck Wille's cheek. His skin warms under the red glow of his room; Simon's only about to make it worse. "I... I just..." He doesn't wanna blurt it out but he's also so annoyingly excited about it, he just wants to- "you called me your boyfriend before," he finally mumbles, Wille watching him carefully. 

Anyone could hear the suppressed excitement and endearment in his tone but, much to his horror, Wille's face drops ever so slightly and then he springs up. Simon topples to the side but he catches himself at the last second, looking up to see Wille's hands running through his long hair. He can't stand to see him anxious but especially about this, especially about something that made him so happy and giddy. 

"Wille," Simon says softly, reaching up to touch his shoulder. "It's okay."

Wille takes a few seconds before braving to look at the boy, taking in Simon's soft expression and even softer smile, before his face finally lifts with a half-embarrassed, half-relieved smile. Simon lets his quiet chuckle ring through the dark room when Wille groans, head dropping down into his purple-sweatshirt covered stomach. The curly-haired bites back an even louder laugh, probably bordering on a fucking giggle as his hands fall to Wille's hair. 

"On what planet do you think I'd be upset that you r eferred to me as your boyfriend?" Simon teases, the blonde pulling back with an immediate defense. 

"I don't know! We never talked about it but I assumed we were," Wille says, "well, not assumed, because that'd be presumptuous, but I wanted us to be. It felt like we were but I didn't-"

Simon interrupted his boyfriend with a kiss, because while he loves the way he rambles, he loves his mouth on him even more - except, of course, when they're doing homework.

Wille felt victorious when he finally convinced his boyfriend to do homework on the bed with him - the desk was too far away for his liking and he couldn't properly admire or touch Simon in the way he wanted - but, now, he was seeing just how stubborn Simon could really be. It didn't matter what he did, what he said, in what ways his hands massaged the smaller boy's shoulders or how many kisses he trailed on his neck, Simon would lean into him for a moment, get Wille more excited than him, and then whisper "let me fucking finish my work," before promptly ignoring him.

It happened almost every time and Wille always whined pathetically, Simon biting back a smirk. Tonight was no different. Tonight, Wille lay star fished on the bottom of his bed while Simon sits cross-legged, finishing his final assignment. The curly-haired occasionally peeks up at his boyfriend with a smirk, the blonde either staring at the ceiling or watching tv in a daze; this time, he was blankly staring up at the ceiling. 

"Are you not gonna do anything today?" Simon hums lowly, his eyes back down on his math paper. He doesn't even need to see the boy to know he rolls his eyes, a groan leaving him. 

"You're doing work not due for another two weeks," Wille whines. "It's been, like, an hour! I'm soooo bored."

"That's because the marking period ends soon Wille," Simon explains slowly, almost teasingly, like he's speaking to a child. "I wanna make sure I get all my last minute assignments in."

"Last minute assignments? You don't miss anything!" Wille proclaims, because he would know. He watches Simon do his homework every single day. "You couldn't possibly miss anything. You're the most studious person I know."

"And you're the most unstudious person I know," Simon teases, uncrossing a leg to tap Wille's hip. "I should tell Erik you're a bad influence on me."

"Please," Wille scoffs. "Erik almost failed every year at Hillerska." 

Simon is surprised that somehow, somewhere in the house, Erik doesn't hear his brother's accusations and come stomping down the hall to defend himself. The boy just rolls his eyes and fights a smirk, almost not wanting to finish the last two questions because then he's gonna give in to Wille's constant whining - but he also really wants to kiss him finally. 

"I think you're slandering him."

"Why would I slander my brother?" Simon raises a brow, causing Wille to backtrack. "Why would I lie to my boyfriend?" 

Simon bites back a smile, shaking his head, because they both seem to know how much that word affects them, but still, it's-

"Not gonna work, boyfriend," Simon bites back. "I only have two questions left."

"Sounds like something you can finish tomorrow," Wille says, neck craned toward Simon.

The boy looks up and realizes quickly it was a grave mistake, with the others hair hanging in his face just waiting to be touched, brown eyes observing him with all the softness and desire in the world, and that challenging aura to him that Simon, despite himself, falls victim to every time. 

Because Simon's strong and stubborn, yes, but he's also a horny teenager in love for the first time. He also has a boyfriend who looks at him like he's everything perfect and beautiful in this world and it's crazy to be able to see that about yourself in another person's eyes. It makes him feel good, makes him feel warm and loved and safe but also so vehemently desired, he doesn't know how he could ever resist. 

"You would think that."

It's an attempt to be snarky but they both hear that's all it is - an attempt - because Simon's voice is breathy, his hold on the pen slips, and his resolve is quickly withering away. Wille smirks as he seems to notice, sitting up to shimmy next to Simon. 

"I think a lot of things," Wille hums, the words, or more so the way he says it, deep and low, making Simon's stomach flip. "Of a lot more interesting, fun things."

Simon licks over his lips, pressing them together so he doesn't smile. 

"Yeah? What do you consider interesting and fun?"

Wille's back to the mattress, Simon straddling his waist, and their tongues in the others mouth. Simon's books quickly get pushed to the floor as he makes his rightful way on top of Wille, their sense of urgency, the way their lips collide and mesh and swallow the others moans, completely overwhelming them. It heats their bodies in a way that's unmatched, the electricity that's seemed to have been there since day one exploding the moment they touch and scorching them from the inside out. 

They haven't gone further than messy hand jobs and dry humping under the covers but the act of slowly shedding clothes, shirts to pants to boxers, feels comfortable. Wille's breath hitches when Simon slips his hand down his exposed torso and over the bulge in his underwear, the whine of his name affecting Simon like nothing he's ever heard. 

He wants to hear it louder, more desperate. He wants to hear it while Wille's tugging at his curls the way he does sometimes and makes Simon's dick twitch. He wants to hear it while Wille's in his mouth, sucking and licking and moaning against his boyfriend's cock until he's-

He blanks momentarily when Wille flips him on his back, all the speed and power that makes something like a half-moan, half-surprised yelp escape him.

His eyes meet Wille's and he thinks he could come just from the look alone - eyes blown out and dark, cheeks and chest flushed a pretty pink, and a swollen mouth that Simon just wants to hear groan his name again and again. He thinks he can come again, five seconds later, when Wille asks if he can suck him off. 

"I might be bad, because I've never done it before obviously," Wille says, although nothing about that is really obvious, they haven't talked about their past experiences before; the possessive part of Simon that bleeds through sometimes is reveling in the fact that that's the case, though. "But... I really want to," he breathes out, nothing but desire in his voice. "I really fucking want to, if you're okay with that."

Simon would laugh if he wasn't so hard because no less than three seconds ago was he thinking about shoving this boy's dick down his own throat. 

"I am more than okay with that," Simon says, almost chuckling. "Only if you want to."

Wille wants to, he wants to so bad, even though he doesn't really know what to do at all, so he just goes for it. He kisses every inch of Simon's body, hands rubbing up and down his sides like he's trying to memorize every crevice of his slim, tanned body free of imperfections, before he realizes just how much he likes sucking dick. 

It might have everything to do with Simon's pleasure: the sounds he makes, the way he grips Wille's hair, the way he completely gives himself over to him until he's boneless and humming with pleasure beside him; even then, though, he still gets Wille off with his hand and it, embarrassingly but expectantly, only takes a few strokes. 

They fall into each other's bodies afterward, Simon's head on top of Wille's racing chest. Their breathing slows as they lay quietly under the covers, sheets slightly sticky with sweat. Neither care, not even a little. Not when they're this close, this comfortable, and connected in a way that should feel too intense for people their age. 

"So..." Wille finally mutters, his breath tickling Simon's skin. "How was it? For my first time and all..." 

Simon snorts, rolling closer into Wille's chest. It's ridiculous to feel shy while being naked next to someone, while your most intimate parts were just so close to them, but Simon does. He's more deliriously happy than embarrassed so he pulls back to smile playfully at Wille.

"What do you think?" Simon teases, poking Wille in the stomach.

Wille laughs, blushes, but still manages to look a little unsure. The expression makes Simon's smile soften, the uncontrollable urge to lean in and kiss his pink cheek.

"It was good, Wille," Simon reassures, nodding his head maybe a little too eagerly. "Really good. I'd return the favor if I wasn't so tired." 

Instead of laughing or smiling, Wille just shakes his head. 

"No. I don't want you to do that to just return a favor," Wille says quietly, holding Simon gently, caressing his skin like he’s the most precious, soft thing this Earth has to offer him. "I want you to do it because you want to."

Simon laughs but his heart warms because no one is better than his boyfriend. No one is more thoughtful or sweet or kind or pure. 

"I was thinking about how much I wanted to do it before you took my idea," Simon admits, Wille's eyes widening. "Three more seconds and it would've been you making a fucking mess all over my-"

"Simon!" 

A loud chuckle leaves his mouth at the blonde's embarrassment, boyish laughs turning sweeter, lighter, quieter, when Wille pulls Simon on top of him, wraps his arms around his waist, and keeps him there hostage long enough for the boy to fall asleep. 

~

Simon slept the best he had at Wille's for almost five hours so right now, close to two in the morning, he can't sleep. Wille had whined and begged for him to just stay over because "you're already here and we're comfortable," which was true, but his mom was home tonight which meant he couldn't no matter how badly he wanted to.

Much to his pleasant surprise (although, really, he should've known it was a red flag) his dad wasn't home. If his dad wasn't home, he was one of two places - work or the bar. Friday night always meant the bar. The only good thing about that is he usually got out all of his aggression and stupid, drunken nonsense there, all the yelling and fights with other drunks of his caliber causing him to stumble in and pass right out in his chair. 

The key word there is usually. Simon learned from a very young age that his dad is unpredictable. There's no rhyme or reason for his behavior, no pattern that can be followed except for the cycle of abuse he's mastered like a psychology textbook. 

Simon was on his phone scrolling through his and Wille's messages when he heard the door open.

He hears everything in this house, not only because the walls are thin but because he always has to listen out for something. The first few minutes are normal - footsteps, clattering in the kitchen, a bump from when he trips over the coffee table, the soft hum of the tv - but then, like a shift in the air breezes through the vents and into Simon's room, he knows hell is gonna break loose. 

He thinks that's what's so scary about his house - how fast it could go from 'calm' to bad. He hears the bang, then his mom's yelp, then his own feet stomping on the floor as he runs into the living room and sees red. Micke's looming over Linda who's on the floor and crawling back against the couch, trying to shush him from her spot below him. Her eyes catch Simon's with only the glow of the tv and faint kitchen light.

"Simon, go back to bed. It's okay," his mom says shakily, the soft, reassuring smile she tries to wear only looking terrified. Only making Simon shake his head, stand his ground, and look to his own father like he wants him dead. 

"What are you doing?" Simon asks pointedly, eyes only on Micke.

It's just the challenge the older man needs apparently, his 16-year-old son who just wants his mom safe, advancing on Simon like a predator to prey. Linda shouts out something that Simon can't quite make out, too focused on the man barreling toward him with rage in his eyes. He just needs Sara to wake up and take their mom to her room. 

"This is none of your fucking business, kid," Micke spits, the stench of alcohol heavy on his breath. Simon scoffs, lips pulling into a sarcastic smile that only seems to enrage the man more. "Is something funny?"

He asks, Simon looking to see his mom on the floor watching with wide eyes of terror. She looks unharmed for the most part - no bruises, no blood, no clutching onto a part of her body that he's hit - so he knows the one way he can make sure she stays unharmed. 

"The opposite actually," Simon bites back, pushing his father away from him. It gets the disgusting stench out of his nose but also pisses the man off, his eyes burning. "You're pathetic, Micke." 

Simon doesn't remember the last time he's called this man papa to his face. He also doesn't remember much of what happens after he says that. 

He hears his mom yelling through clogged ears before her voice becomes muffled, Sara's low voice ushering her away. He hears, more than he feels, his body being thrown into the wall and his father's slurred insults and mumblings at him. He knows the fight isn't too long, because Micke grows weak and tired from his drunken stupor, but it was enough for Simon to crawl back into bed later and already feel the ache of bruises marking his skin.

Tears burn his eyes because laying on his back hurts, laying on his side hurts, everything just hurts and he hates that this happens. He hates that no less than 30 minutes ago he was fine, happy, giggling at his messages like the silly teenaged boy he is and now he's fighting back tears because tomorrow, his body will be covered in black and blues. 

He's barely able to sleep, barely able to move once he wakes the next morning, and Sara peeks her head in around 10:30 with a sad look in her eye. The siblings don't say anything, she doesn't yell at him and he doesn't cry to her, but she does sit beside him in bed and offer him that same, silent comfort she always has. The same comfort when he was five and she was six and they thought for sure, in a few years, they wouldn't be dealing with this anymore.

~

Wille doesn't know if it's just some left over anxiety caused by his mama or if he's getting the sense that something's wrong with Simon.

Ayub had cancelled their weekly hang out on Saturday because "i have a fucking fever and don't wanna infect you guys :( unless i'm worth it :)" - they all love the boy, truly, but weren't gonna risk getting sick for him either. Wille had texted Simon privately almost right after asking if he wanted to come over; the boy had taken an hour to respond but agreed. 

The night was typical for them, lazing around Wille's room and eating with Erik, but Simon had seemed quieter. Quieter but also clinging to Wille in a way that seemed atypical, like how he gets when he's tired or about to fall asleep. Erik had noticed too at dinner, looking between the two boys before staring at his brother questioningly. Wille just shrugged the shoulder not occupied by Simon, the boy's arm over his as he picked at his food. 

'Do you not like it?" Wille asks quietly, although Erik, the chef, is right across from them. "We can order something for you."

Simon looks over at him in embarrassment, immediately shaking his head. 

"No- no, I'm sorry," Simon says, eyes moving to Erik who's watching him with a hint of concern. "I'm sorry, it's good, I swear," he says. "I'm just... I'm not really hungry."

"It's okay, Simon," Erik insists, Wille's hand falling to Simon's knee. The boy tenses ever so slightly before relaxing back into Wille. "We can heat it up for you later or order something."

He forced down a few more bites before they made their way back into Wille's room. Simon all but collapsed on the bed the moment they opened the door, Wille walking over slowly, carefully, as if not to alarm Simon in his own bed. The curly-haired looks over at Wille with an expression he can't quite read and tonight, it unnerves him. 

"Hi," Wille says, a small smile tugging at Simon's lips. It doesn't completely meet his eyes but he smiles and it's something. 

"Hey." 

A few seconds of silence pass, then Wille sits down on his bed. Simon is curled up, arms over his legs protectively as he just watches Wille watch him.

"Are you okay?" Wille whispers, hands reaching out to touch his curls. "I feel like something's wrong."

The boy doesn't flinch or tense like before so the blonde thinks maybe it was just a fluke, his heart twisting when Simon closes his eyes at the gentle touch. He only shakes his head silently, only opening his eyes a few seconds later to ask, "Can you just lay with me?"

Wille will never not give his boyfriend what he wants but especially when it's a request like that, spoken so softly. When the look in his chocolate brown eyes is so vulnerable and almost wet, it makes Wille's heart ache; he's not crying, not even close, but they're glossed over with something that demands Wille protect him.

Wille holds Simon to his chest all night in the quiet darkness of his room. They watch a marathon of movies and after the third, things almost seem normal. Almost seem okay. Simon looks up at him in that way he does, eyes traveling over his face before down to his lips. Wille licks over them and then they're meeting in the middle, mouths soft as they collide against the other. 

They're long, deep, sweet pecks with no rush or sense of urgency. It's more loving. Kissing just because it comforts them and doesn't have to mean anything more.

Simon's half-on, half-off Wille's body with his neck craned uncomfortably so, gently, the blonde touches his waist to move him on top of him. He's done this dozens of times before, has touched nearly every part of Simon's body and always handles him with the upmost care.  But this time, the moment Wille puts his hands on his waist, Simon tenses. Wille can feel every single muscle in Simon freeze, like he'd been caught red-handed; even his lips pause on his, breathing harshly against his mouth.

The blonde immediately drops his hands and pulls back, the look on Simon's face making his heart pang with hurt. He looks sad and scared but also almost embarrassed for having stopped them and Wille never ever wants Simon to feel any of those things with him. 

"I'm sorry," Simon whispers, speaking again before Wille can stop him. "I know I kissed you first but I... I don't really feel like-"

"Simon, no," Wille says, shaking his head. The boy's eyes widen for a moment, almost in fear. "You don't have to ever apologize for... not wanting to do stuff. It doesn't matter if you kissed me first or not, okay?"

Simon bites the inside of his cheek, tears filling his eyes as he nods. Wille's lips can't help but fall into a frown because ever since he saw his boyfriend, even when they were texting, he just felt like something's wrong.  He knows Simon will tell him when he's ready, that he knows Wille's here for him, but his heart can't help but ache tonight looking at him. 

"Are you sure you're okay, baby?" Wille asks gently, his hand slowly reaching up to untangle a curl.

The pet name just slips out, they'd never called each other anything like that before and it feels weird on Wile's tongue but it also feels right.

Simon bites down on his bottom lip because he knows it's about to tremble, swallowing the harsh ball of emotion clogged in his throat. He feels terrible, like he's about to cry, and Wille calling him baby almost makes him lose it.  He can only nod, because it doesn't feel as bad as verbally lying to his boyfriend, before leaning his head back on Wille's chest.

He wraps his arm around his stomach and clings to him like he needs him to breathe; maybe tonight, a part of him does for some reason and that's okay.  Wille will always be there for him when he needs. 

He was there for him that night, the next night, and all the nights that followed.

Anything that Simon wants from him, anything that Simon does or doesn't wanna do, will always be okay with Wille - what isn't okay is if the boy is suffering in silence and not letting Wille support him the way he wants to, needs to, the way he just helped him during one of the worst weeks of his life.

Wille doesn't know what happened but he knows something had to have because every day and night since that Saturday has been the same - Simon's quiet, clingy, but then nearly cringing away from him his touch; it would've probably hurt Wille's feelings if Simon wasn't consistently reaching out to him the way he was. 

He didn't know what to make of this new behavior. If he was just feeling a little more vulnerable because their relationship was advancing in every way or if it was something more. Wille's asked, keeps asking to the point of annoyance if Simon's okay, and his boyfriend always nods and presses a peck to his lips. 

Wille won't push, because he doesn't like to be pushed about things and he knows Simon doesn't either, but he also wants to make sure Simon's safe and okay. He can't even begin to let his mind wander to the possibilities of it being something in his house, the image of Simon with a bloody, swollen nose permanently engrained into his mind; it'd be foolish, though, to not fully consider that. 

And the more Wille does, the worse he feels about not asking Simon about it. About watching him walk through the front door of his house every night where he knows something might be happening. Where he knows things have happened because it haunts Wille's memories and Simon's beautiful eyes when he's lost in thought; he has that look right now on the bus, a sleepy, early morning gleam with something so distinctly far away. 

Wille's right beside him, their hands are intertwined, but he's felt disconnected from his boyfriend all week. Sara can tell too, if the way she continually side-eyes her brother means anything. Wille catches her gaze and her lips quirk but she shakes her head; whether it's because she doesn't know what's wrong with Simon or doesn't wanna be the one to tell him, he's not sure. 

Wille squeezes Simon's hand in his, almost as if to ground him and it seems to only work because Simon looks to him expectantly, like he thinks something's wrong with him. Wille only meets his gaze with a smile, bringing his knuckles up to his mouth in a gentle kiss. Despite himself, the curly-haired blushes and shakes his head. 

"How do you just do romantic shit like that in public?" Simon mumbles, Wille not able to hold back his chuckle. 

"Because I like you."

Simon is forever impressed, mesmerized, really, by the way Wille can always make him feel better no matter what. Even when his bruised body is aching and he feels such immense guilt from keeping this from Wille, from flinching every time he touches him because the pain is too much, he makes him happy. He doesn't only take his mind off the pain, off the misery of his life and how fucked up it all is, but he makes him feel safe. 

He knows nothing bad will happen when he's Wille because the boy will make sure of it. He knows he's safe in his house, even though danger lurks right next door, because Erik and Wille have created such a space that's somehow, both, calm and inviting but also endearingly chaotic. 

Simon bites down on his lip but it doesn't stop a smile from spreading across his face, from a dusting of soft pink to flush across his cheeks. 

"I like you, too."

He likes him too so telling him he's in pain is hard. Showing him the bruises would be even worse. Knowing that he's been keeping all of this a secret, even though his boyfriend has told him time and time again he's there for him, makes him feel terrible. Makes him feel like he's using him for comfort because being held by Wille, being close to Wille, is the only thing in the world that makes him feel safe, but then he keeps stuff from him. 

It's hard, heavy stuff that Wille already knows a little about but Wille's stuff was no less heavy and he opened up to him. 

Simon feels a lump in his throat grow as his eyes trace over Wille's soft, sweet face and the expression he wears so openly. He cares for him, he can see that, he cares for him and wants him to talk about things that upset him. Wille catches it, because of course he does, and his smile somehow softens his face even more. He kisses Simon chastely on the cheek, pulling back with a soft giggle when he sees Simon's blush. The curly-haired boy rolls his eyes, hiding his head in Wille's shoulder shyly. Lips ghost over his curls and, for a few minutes, everything feels okay. 

But things feel okay until they're not.

Simon and Wille were outside for lunch per usual, Simon sitting against a tree and Wille between his legs. The pressure of blonde strands and broad shoulders against his chest was comforting, even though his bruised back was pressed against the bark of the tree; the pain was bearable only because of Wille.

He also couldn't keep awkwardly moving or wincing because he knew his ever observant boyfriend would notice. 

Five minutes before the lunch hour was ending and Wille, after pressing an upside down kiss to Simon's jaw, rose to his feet. He looked down at Simon who was trying his best to smile at him, leaning his hand down at his boyfriend. Somewhere between lifting his arm and being hoisted up, the twinge of pain in his back sliced through him like a steak knife.

Tears sprung to his eyes and a loud yelp escaped him, Wille immediately assessing the smaller boy. His eyes are full of fear thinking he had hurt him, his hands falling off him. 

"What happened?" Wille asks, eyes frantically searching over him. "Did I hurt you?"

He doesn't know how he possibly could, he always makes it a point to be gentle with him. There will never be an instance where he's not. Simon hisses through his teeth, two deep exhales before he can assure, "No, no. I'm okay. I must've just moved weird." 

Wille doesn't believe him, they both know that. Not when he says it and not as they're walking and Simon's still wincing and walking awkwardly in pain. Wille stops and squeezes Simon's hand for him to do the same, Simon swallowing the tears before he stops moving.

He knows, he knows, he knows. Simon doesn't know how but he knows that his boyfriend knows. He knows that he's lying. He knows that he-

"Simon," Wille says quietly, thumb rubbing over his hand gently. It should work to calm him, should make the anxiety bubbling in his chest ease, but it doesn't. It just makes him feel worse somehow, more guilty. He looks to the floor and his heart breaks when Wille, even quieter this time, breathes out his name again. He doesn't say it a third time moments later but, slowly, brings his hand to his chin and lifts his head. His face drops when he sees the unshed tears, his thumb tracing over the curve of his jaw.

"Please talk to me."

The request, the borderline begging, is barely above a whisper and thick with emotion. Wille sounds close to tears himself, like the boy hasn't cried enough, and Simon wishes he could for a moment, be someone else that Wille deserves.

"I know something's wrong, Simon, and I've been trying to give you space to come to me on your own," Wille continues, sweet, honey-brown eyes looking him over. "But, please, Simon. Just talk to me. I know I can't help with everything but I can try. I just wanna be there for you."

Simon hates that his first instinct is to lie. Smile at Wille brokenly and shake his head. He wants to tell him but he can't. He can't get the words out. He doesn't know why he just can't-

"You're in pain," Wille tries, leaving no room for protest. Simon swallows the lump again, hoping just once he'll swallow it down, maybe even choke on it or throw it up, and then it'll be gone. "You cringe every time I touch you."

"No, I don't." 

The words are meant to be defiant and defensive but they only sound weak, watery. They only sound like he's trying to convince himself and Wille that nothing's wrong even though it's very obvious something is; Wille doesn't answer because they both know it's true. The two boys stand there in silence, Wille waiting and Simon scared. They know they're gonna be late to class and that it's probably not the time to have this conversation but that, finally, Simon's behavior has at least been acknowledged. 

"We're gonna be late," Simon finally mutters, breaking the silence. 

Wille sighs, looking over his boyfriend who's the picture of defeat and he just can't not reach down to hold his hand. He hates that it seems to shock Simon, that even though they're in the midsts of a mild disagreement, he still seeks him out. 

"Okay. Let's go."

They part ways for the afternoon and usually, wouldn't meet back up until Simon's choir practice. Wille is in his last class debating if he wants to hang around and wait when his phone vibrates with a text from his boyfriend. 

(Simon 2:16 pm)

hey i'm not gonna go to practice today so i'll meet you and sara at the bus

(Wille 2:16 pm)

ok sounds good 

With the teacher's back to them, Wille watches as the three typing dots come up, then disappear, then return a few seconds later and a message comes through. 

(Simon 2:18 pm)

is it still okay if i come over? 

(Wille 2:18 pm)

always 💜

Simon's quiet while they wait for the bus. He's quiet on the ride over, his head resting on Wille's shoulder and Sara's gaze on him nosily. He's quiet as they make their way into Wille's house, Erik acknowledging them as he worked from his laptop; the man can still tell something's not quite right with Simon but one look at Wille and he knows he'll be there for him.

It's the first night probably ever that Simon opens his homework and Wille doesn't give him shit; in fact, Wille pulls out his own work alongside Simon and starts diligently working quietly. Under any other circumstance, the curly-haired would never believe it. He'd make teasing remark after teasing remark and do absolutely nothing to hide the smirk on his face. 

Right now, though, it's exactly what he needs. He thinks his boyfriend somehow knows this. It's something to turn off his brain and distract him from yet another heavy conversation in this room where there's such a mix of memories - happy ones, like they're first hang out, kissing and kissing and more kissing, the general presence of being together in the most simple, pure way but also the sad ones, like each and every miserable conversation they had to have because there's so much sorrow in their young lives. 

Wille remembers the first time he saw Simon and thought he looked sad.

He remembers relating to that sadness, to that need to escape, and it being the first thing that drew him to the neighbor who ended up being the most beautiful boy he'd ever seen, ever had the pleasure of meeting and then falling in love with. 

That realization doesn't scare him anymore. He knows he loves him, would do anything for him - even endure the hour and a half of homework that they sit in mostly silence doing.

Erik knocks on the door as they're on their last assignments, the taller man peeking his head in once Wille says he can come in. The older man looks at the two boys in shock, about to make a snarky remark before deciding better of it; he can even feel the slight tenseness in the room.

"Just wanted to see what you guys wanted to do for dinner."

Wille looks to Simon who looks back at him and shrugs. 

"I don't know," Simon says. "I'm not really hungry."

"You still have to eat," Both brothers say at the same time. In that same soft, caring, quiet tone that causes Simon, seemingly out of nowhere (but not really), to completely crumble.

It's horrifying and embarrassing and the second he realizes it's happening, he wishes he could stop it. But he's been trapped in his head, distracting himself with mundane work, and Wille and Erik just care so much. 

They're going through their own shit, they have so much on their own plates and with their own family, and yet, they care for Simon. They welcome him over everyday. They care if he eats and they care that he seems sad and out of it. 

Wille touches Simon's arm gently, his fingers running up and down the boy's arm because he catches the moment his boyfriend's face falls. The pen rolls out of his hand and onto the bed, Simon's hand covers his face, and before anyone in the room knows what's happening, the boy starts crying.

Not a quiet, muffled cry but that loud, guttural, aching type sob deep from someone's chest where you can just hear all of their pain. Pain that's been suppressed for so long, pain so deep once you acknowledge it, you just can't stop crying. 

Erik stands there for a few seconds, watching his brother's eyes widen, before Simon shakes his head and turns into Wille's arm. He hides his face and tries to suppress his sobs but it does little.

Erik's never heard cries like that before and the fact that it's coming from a kid, his neighbor, his little brother's boyfriend, breaks his heart.

Wille takes the boy in his arms like it's the easiest, most natural thing he's ever done and Erik sees then that the boy had almost been expecting this breakdown. It doesn't make it any less sad, though, he can also see that in Wille's eyes.

He's proud of his brother always but especially in this instance - the way he handles Simon with such care, with a gentleness he didn't know a teenage boy could possess but sees is full of such genuine love and endearment. 

He tries to meet Wille's gaze in solidarity but his little brother's attention is completely focused on Simon. He quietly leaves the room and hopes that after the younger gets all of this out, no more tragedy plagues either boy.

~

Wille doesn't know how long Simon cries but he knows the whole time, he has to fight back his own tears. Other people crying, whether they be happy or sad tears, has always made him get choked up but this is like nothing he's ever experienced before.

He's never heard cries like this and especially has never seen Simon cry in all the time he's known him; his eyes have only barely been teary, like he'd never allow himself to let them fall.

They're streaming down his pretty face now and all over Wille's shirt.

He didn't wanna touch Simon so he waited until the boy climbed in his lap to cry into the crook of his neck. His skin was wet with salty tears but he hardly noticed, wouldn't even care if he did. His arms were slowly running up and down his boyfriend's arms, because every time he touched his back or waist this week, he'd stiffen. 

Wille just let him cry because from the horrifying, painful, heartbreaking sound of it, it sounds like Simon needed it.

His lips pressed into his hair every so often, mumbling sweet nothings that just feel right to say. That leave his mouth in a soft tone barely above a whisper and ghosts over the boy's ear.

Simon would feel absolutely humiliated by this display if it weren't for the fact that he was with Wille, who he's never felt more safe with, and he was just so fucking exhausted.

He was tired of feeling this way all week. He was tired of living in his house and walking on eggshells. He was tired of the hatred he felt for his own father and the suppressed anger he sometimes felt toward his mom even though she's just as much a victim as him. He was tired of lying to Wille because he's the only thing keeping him from completely fucking spiraling. 

He wants to apologize. To just tell his boyfriend over and over again that he's sorry for crying and he's sorry for lying and he's sorry they both have to deal with so much drama - but he can't speak. Not yet. It's like some type of dam has broken inside him and he just can't stop crying. 

"It's okay, I'm here," Wille mumbles in his ear.

His hands running up and down his arms, his words of reassurance that only comfort him the more he talks, his even breaths pressed against his heaving chest, ground him in a way he's only ever found music to do.

He clings closer to Wille, moving his head down to his chest because he feels the puddle of his own tears against the boy's neck. Wille takes the opportunity to move them slightly, leaning his back against the headboard and Simon securing himself on his lap. Wille's arms haven't moved lower than his forearms, expertly avoiding his back, and the realization only makes him cry harder.

Simon doesn't know if he believes in soulmates, because the idea seems fantastical to him, but in this moment, he believes Wille is his in every sense of the word. He thinks it now at sixteen when he could be seen as silly and naive but he knows, if he has it his way, he'll think that for the rest of his life.

Even if somewhere down the line they grow apart or break up or never see each other again because his mom is something from hell, he'll always believe that. That he'll never love anyone the way he loved his neighbor, the way his neighbor loved him, when he was sixteen.

Simon's crying continues until, finally, his breathing evens, his eyes are sore, and his chest physically hurts from the heaving.

Wille's mumbling softly against his curls, coconut wafting in his nose, and the noise brings enough comfort to Simon for him to eventually pull back. 

He looks at Wille whose eyes are teary but full of love. Simon's lip quivers when he notices, reaching out to touch Wille's cheek like he's really checking if he's here.

If he's real. If he didn't actually cry himself into a coma and his mind is picturing Wille because he's that terrified. 

Wille brings his hand up slowly to cover Simon's, their skin touching - pale to brown, cold to warm, big to small - and his chest warming at how right it feels, how much the simple touch comforts him. 

Simon doesn't know what to say, just wants to keep looking at and touching Wille and lean against his damp chest and sleep it all away, but knows it's time. He trusts Wille, he knows Wille, he loves Wille, so he wants him to know the truth. 

"Saturday night," he begins shakily, "my dad came home at two in the morning and him and my mom started..." 

Simon tells him about that night, what he can remember of it, and then delves into everything before.

Before Wille came, before they moved to Bjärstad, before he even knew what the relationship was like between his parents and thought them fighting and mom crying was a normal thing.

Thought treating your dad like he was a ticking time bomb and being locked in a room with your sister and snacks was normal weekend nights. 

"Sometimes, I feel like it wasn't actually that bad because he never hit us as kids," Simon shares, not once letting go of Wille's hand. "It only started when I was older, and I started to protect my mom. She- she's always gotten the worst of it. It's just not fair, Wille."

Wille wants to cry.

He wants to cry for his boyfriend who's been through so much, for Linda who always tries her best, for Sara who's barely a year older than Simon but has only known to protect her little brother. 

"It's not, baby, and I'm so sorry," Wille says, that pet name slipping out again and the two boys barely even notice. "But... but you can't put yourself in danger like that, Simon. You can't purposely egg your- Micke on because he could really hurt you."

Wille couldn't stop the tears from falling when Simon turned over and picked up his shirt. Black and blues covered the boy's beautiful, slim back and it took everything, absolutely everything, in Wille to suppress his anger and not call the police right then and there.

He wants to, is still thinking about it, but he knows how delicate those cases are and how, like Erik said, it could only make things harder for Simon and his mom. But it feels wrong, so fucking wrong and disgusting and sick, to look at his boyfriend's back, hear what he's been telling him for the past hour, and not do anything. 

"He hurts my mama, Wille, what am I supposed to do? Just let it happen?" Simon asks. "I can't fucking do that."

"I know, Simon, but Jesus Christ, your back. You're in pain," Wille croaks, his throat tight with emotion at just the thought.

He doesn't know how he's gonna willingly let Simon go back there tonight. How he's gonna sleep knowing Sara's there too even though Simon told him Micke's never hit her before - only scared her and threw stuff.

”How is no one able to help?” Wille asks, “the police or a lawyer? There has to be something, Simon, you guys can't-"

"My mom's scared. She's always been scared," Simon says, the fear in his mother's eyes just as obvious as the love in Wille's. "That time when I was little, we were only gone for a few hours. And it was harder then, yeah, because we didn't have money and me and Sara were babies. But now... so much time has passed and it's just so hard for her to...“

He seems to choke on his words, voice getting tight. Wille squeezes his hand and kisses his curls, silently comforts Simon in the best way he knows how until the boy's able to speak again. 

"Sara told me the most dangerous time for a... for a domestic abuse victim is when they leave," Simon says, "And it takes at least seven times before they're finally about to do that. It's, like, this fucked up, dangerous cycle that only gets more complicated when kids are involved. And every time the police did come, they obviously didn't see our bruises and no one would dare say anything but especially my mom."

He could be secretly mad, yes, and he could secretly wish they had left when he was five and braved being homeless and hungry, but he'll never not say his mom is also the strongest person he knows.

That he's so immensely loved by her and if leaving was easy, she would've for them. 

"I know I make things way more difficult for her by defending her and making him mad at me," Simon says, "but I need to. I can't not. I can't sit in my room and know what's happening and just..." 

His throat closes up again as he lets out a shaky sigh. Wille nods against his boyfriend because he knows. He gets it.

If he could relate the situation to his own household, and their parents were hurting Erik, he'd do exactly the same thing as Simon.

The curly-haired sighs again, his head on Wille's shoulder and his hand over his chest as he tries to slowly match the boy's breathing. 

Wille makes it a point to take long, deep inhales, his ministrations back to Simon's hair. 

The situation is still terrible, he still thinks more help needs to be provided and all of them being in the house is wrong, but he's happy that Simon told him.

That there's a very clear sense of relief that's come over his boyfriend after he finally cried it all out and shared with him the dark secrets and memories that plague his beautiful mind.

The boys sit in silence as they hold each other the way they do, the way that will always make them feel better despite the shit going on around them. 

"Is your mom working tonight?" Wille dares to ask. Simon cranes his neck up at him, head still resting on his shoulder. 

"Yeah."

Wille would never ask Simon to stay over and abandon his mom and sister - he knows he wouldn't anyway - but he also doesn't know how he's supposed to let Simon out if his sight tonight, watch him walk into a house where he knows there's eminent danger. 

"And Sara's good in her room?" 

Simon nods against him again, mumbling that she always locks her door. Wille lets the silence linger for a few seconds, choosing his words carefully, before speaking. 

"You don't have to say yes because I understand if you don't want to," the boy begins, "but... but I'd really like if you thought about spending the night tonight. I don't know how I'm gonna function knowing you're in that house with him, Simon."

He won't sleep, he'll panic, and his mind will go to places that will cause him to throw up. He doesn't tell Simon that, of course, but he knows himself well enough. 

Simon's eyes are glinted over with sadness, almost pity, and the boy reaches out to push a strand of hair behind his ear. 

"I told you that after this happens, he won't hit me for a while."

He hasn't been harmed this badly since the bloody nose incident back in December, a personal record for Micke that he doesn't acknowledge to his boyfriend. 

Wille gives him a look that any other time would make him laugh. 

"That doesn't comfort me the way you think it does," Wille whispers, a lump in his throat as he shakes his head. He licks over his lips, braving himself to speak again. "I-I understand if you don't want to. But just for tonight... I need you here. Please."

It might seem selfish, maybe it is, but he knows the Eriksson ladies are safe and Simon's the only one with bruises all over him.

Simon just looks at him quietly for a few seconds before, finally, his lips quirk. He leans in and surprises Wille with a welcomed kiss, their mouths parting for a split second before Simon pulls back. 

"Okay," he agrees with a whisper. "I'll stay with you."

Wille feels the rest of the tension coiled in him dissipate the moment Simon says that. 

"Okay, good," Wille says, a smile breaking through and, finally, for the first time today, the first time this week, he feels lighter. "Thank you."

"Thank you for the slumber party," Simon says, the slightest hint of teasing slipping back into the boy. "Do you think Erik will mind?"

"Erik will have no choice."

The mention of Erik seems to remind both of the boy's (and their bodies) that they haven't eaten dinner yet, their stomachs growling in the quiet room.

Wille smiles and Simon giggles before they both decide to venture out into the kitchen; Simon's slightly embarrassed to see the older boy after his sudden display of water works. 

Erik's cleaning up the kitchen when the two boys walk in holding hands, the older man turning around and smiling when he notices there's no more tears and only hesitant smiles. 

"Hi."

A few beats of silence, Simon slightly hiding behind Wille because embarrassing, before the younger Bernadotte speaks. 

"We're hungry."

Erik snorts without missing a beat, rolling his eyes as he makes his way to the fridge. He pulls out a box of pizza and a big bottle of soda. 

"I was prepared for this," Erik says, "since, you know, I'm a parent now."

Wille rolls his eyes, Simon giggles, and the three of them make their way over to the kitchen table. Things, miraculously, don't feel awkward and it's easy for Erik to tell that things seem to be back to normal.

Simon's his regular self although still touching Wille at all times (but Wille's also looking at the boy with a new intensity of his Simon eyes) and the older man realizes in this moment, he's watched these two kids fall in love before his very eyes. 

A love that's palpable, real, but also nauseating for him because how the fuck is he this bitter at young love when he's still young himself? 

Simon throws his head back in laughter at something Wille says. Erik doesn't quite catch it in his resentment, but he's never been more relieved to hear this type of happy, giddiness in his home. Erik also can't help but feel so incredibly relieved when Simon opens the pizza box and takes a third slice. 

"Is it okay if Simon stays over tonight?"

Erik's surprised not by the way Wille blurts out the question but that he even asked him at all; still, Erik has to play it up because of his self-proclaimed parent role no less than twenty minutes ago. 

"On a school night?" Erik asks, and everyone can hear the teasing in his voice. 

"Like you care about that," Wille scoffs, Simon smiling before he chimes in - or, more so, exposes Wille.

"Yeah," Simon says. “Wille told me you almost failed every year at Hillerska. I said it was slander, though."

Erik gapes at the two boys like he's horrified, although what they're saying is very true. 

"It was slander, thank you, Simon," Erik says, reaching over to flick Wille gently. "What the fuck, Wille."

"You literally told me every time you came home! And I wanted you to fail out because, for some reason, I really wished you were..."

The boys bicker well into the night, Simon like a bobblehead bouncing his head back and forth before he and Wille help clean up and get ready for bed. Erik, on his way to his own room, tells Simon that he's more than welcome to stay over anytime he wants. 

There's a giddiness in both the boys as they climb back into Wille's bed, even though they spend nearly every day in this same spot.

In the same changing positions of big spoon, little spoon before they settle in the typical: Wille on his back, because he likes leaning against the headboard to watch tv, and Simon on his chest because he loves to sprawl out like that's his rightful place before, almost always, falling asleep. 

Simon fights the urge, because he wants to stay up and talk to Wille more, thank him for everything and maybe even confess the four letter word that's been bouncing around in his head all night, before he loses.

Wille looks down when he hears a quiet snore, a smile lighting up his face at Simon fast asleep, breathing softly against his pajama shirt with his arm wrapped around his stomach. 

Wille kisses the top of his head, the most intense feeling of calm contentment falling over him.

Because the boy he loves is here, the boy he loves is safe, and even though he's unconscious, he lets the confession slip out because he just needs to put it out in the universe. 

Wille loves Simon, Simon loves Wille, and no matter what happens, those facts will never change. 

Chapter Text

Wille rejoiced when the marking period ended. It was the first time, seemingly ever, that he and Simon didn't go back to his house after school just to do homework for hours on end; it was clear to Simon that his boyfriend was overtly smug about this fact. 

Both of them were sitting in the living room because, much to their surprise, Erik wasn't home. The older man had texted Wille that he was out running errands and he'd be back around five with take out. He gave two strict instructions: no burning down the house and no making out on the couch - so far, they'd only been successful at one.

Simon didn't even think his boyfriend deserved the heated make out session they were having right now, because he was way too happy about their lack of work, but he's weak and can never resist. Wille had hovered over his boyfriend as Simon poked and pinched at him, telling him to "wipe that smirk off your fucking face, Wille," to which the blonde just chuckled and whined "kiss me."

He didn't yet, of course, only narrowed his eyes playfully so Wille pushed his boyfriend back on the couch and made Simon's breath catch in his throat. He'll never get used to how much he likes when Wille does that, how it almost immediately stirs desire in his lower stomach and renders him unable to do anything but kiss him.

"Not fair," Simon mutters when he pulls back for air, eyes wide with lust, chest heaving.

Wille smirks, although he looks no better.

The blonde cocks his head playfully, mirth in his eyes that hasn't left since the night Simon completely bared his soul to him. After that night, his bruises started to heal, he felt lighter than ever before and he and Wille went back to being deliriously happy.  Simon found it hard to believe he could actually be this happy all the time. It just didn't seem real or possible. He'd lived in fear, almost on auto pilot, for so long that it was strange to feel this good.

To wake up and smile because he has the type of boyfriend who sends him good morning texts every day.

Who kisses him goodnight because they don't go a day without seeing each other and being neighbors is just so incredibly convenient.

To know without a doubt he has someone he loves and who loves him back; they hadn’t said it to each other yet but they both just know.

"What do you mean not fair?" Wille mumbles with a smile. Simon narrows his eyes at him, poking him again gently. 

"You know what I mean," Simon grumbles, because Wille is very much aware of how much Simon likes when he does that. Uses his strength, pushes him back and kisses him hard on the mouth because they both know the bottom line of everything is trust.

Simon trusts Wille, Wille trusts Simon, and this type of stuff is easy when those feelings are there; still, Simon's boyfriend lives to embarrass him, lives to see the blush on his cheeks that was never even a fucking thing until he met Wille. 

"I'm not sure I do," Wille says, his finger trailing over Simon's lip; he’d have half the mind to bite it if Wille's eyes didn't darken at his own ministrations.

That seems to happen a lot, Simon thinks with a smirk, Wille trying to tease him but then getting worked up because Simon will just lay there watching him, doing everything to hide his amusement because it's very clear who actually runs shit here. 

Simon knows it and Wille knows it but they'll both play along.

Wille's eyes follow the way his fingers swipe over Simon's soft, lower lip, his boyfriend's brown, heavy-lidded gaze simply watching.

The blonde’s hand then grips the boy's chin and he pulls him up, pulls him closer, and their lips collide again. Their kisses are all teeth and tongue, hot ragged breaths wafting against the other. 

Simon moans in Wille's mouth when his knee falls between his legs and Wille's mind blanks, all the blood in his body seemingly rushing to his dick, when Simon pushes him to the side and straddles him.

He's leant against the couch cushions, Simon wriggling on top of him as he trails his mouth down his neck. He places slow, soft, wet kisses to the blonde's sensitive, blotchy skin before he feels the scrape of teeth. 

"Oh fuck," Wille mumbles lowly, feeling his boyfriend's smile against his neck. 

He can't say anything about Simon's teasing, about his cockiness, about the way he unabashedly covers him with hickeys and grinds against him.

He just leans his head back so it's easier for Simon, puts his hands on his hips and guides him so they both can feel just how hard and aching they are. 

It does the trick in spurring his boyfriend on even more, the intensity in which he marks his neck (something they both have expressed interest in) making Wille pant under him.

His sweatpants are uncomfortably tight, hardness straining against the material, and he needs them both in his bed right now. 

"Simon, baby, let's go to my-"

Simon doesn't wanna hear it, doesn't wanna move, so he crashes his mouth back down to Wille's.

There will almost never be anything that'll stop the blonde from kissing his boyfriend back; even though he, the tease he is, starts slipping his hand into Wille's pants right there on the living room couch. 

"Simon," Wille pulls back to mumble warningly, nothing but teasing and deviance in the boy's gaze. 

"What?" He asks innocently, like his hand isn't in Wille's pants and teasing at his pre-cum stained boxers. 

"Let's go to my room."

The lowly spoken way he says it makes Simon's stomach swoop but he's nothing if not insufferable. 

"Why? No one's here."

"If I get come on the couch, Erik will kill me."

"I think we can find a way around that," Simon hums, a smirk on his face as he attempts to slide himself down Wille's lap before another surprised yelp leaves him.

Wille lifts him like he weighs nothing, Simon wrapping his legs around him on instinct, before he stumbles into his room, kicks the door close, and throws Simon on the bed. 

A blissful, boneless hour later and they're back on the couch.

Simon can't get the image, the feeling, of Wille lifting him effortlessly out of his mind; it makes him 90% horny but also 10% concerned because, "there's just no reason to man handle me," Simon grumbles on the couch, Wille's head in his lap. "What if you dropped me?"

"I would never drop you," Wille says, with as much confidence as he can for being as relaxed and sated as he is; Simon's hands gently running through his hair only make his eyes that much more heavy but, still, he'd never drop Simon.

Simon giggles at the sleepy boy below him, leaning down to peck him on the forehead. Wille pouts and opens his eyes, puckering his lips in a way that causes the curly-haired to scoff. 

He bends down to kiss him anyway, of course. Smiles into the kiss when Wille hums contently and brings an arm to the back of his neck to deepen it - like they hadn't just come out of his room fifteen minutes ago.

It only gets a little sloppy, Simon tracing Wille's mouth with his tongue when they hear the front door opening.

They pull apart at the intrusion but it's too late: Erik’s standing there with bags of food and a judgmental look.

His stare only continues as the boys smile innocently and wave, the older man finally moving as he rolls his eyes and kicks the door shut. 

"I see my rules went unfollowed, per usual," Erik says blankly, walking toward the kitchen.

Wille gets up with a groan, pecking Simon's cheek on the way before dragging him behind him and his brother; they look like a trail of little unamused geese.

"What do you mean?” Wille scoffs, “the house is still standing."

"Oh yeah and what about my couch?" Erik asks, taking one look at his brother's neck before he shakes his head. "You know what, no. I don't even want to know," the older man says, placing the boxes of Chinese take out down before looking at the two teens. 

”Anyway, I have some news of my own to share. Sit."

Wille and Simon plop down at the table, passing out the utensils and food as they watch him expectantly. 

"Oh? What is it?" Wille asks, the curly-haired beside him just as intrigued.

The blonde dumps out his chicken and rice and Simon's quick to snatch a piece, Wille narrowing his eyes although there’s not a hint heat or anger behind them. 

"Okay, okay, not to brag but..." Erik finally begins, the boys looking back to him. He pauses for a dramatic silence, Simon giggling and Wille rolling his eyes, before he confesses, "I have a date tomorrow."

"Oh my god," Simon says excitedly while Wille just scoffs in disbelief. 

"What?" The youngest brother asks, almost mockingly. "When? Where? How?" 

"How?" Erik asks, scandalized. "Because I'm a strapping young man even though you think I'm actually a 50-year-old father."

"No," Wille denies, Simon biting back a laugh. "I just... it's shocking. You haven't had a girlfriend in forever."

"That doesn't mean I've never talked to women, young sweet Wilhelm," Erik says, patting his romantic little brother's shoulder. The younger seems to catch his drift, lip curling in disgust. 

"Okay ew!” Wille shakes his head before his nosy questions continue. "Did you meet her today?"

"Yes," Erik says, "at the grocery store."

A few beats of silence, Wille and Simon looking at each other, before the younger blonde is speaking again. 

"You met at the grocery store?"

Erik can hear nothing but judgement in his brother's tone, looking at the boy incredulously - can he not do anything right according to teenagers?

"Yes, we met at the grocery store," he confirms. "Why is that weird?" 

Wille just shrugs, shoveling chicken into his mouth. 

"It's not weird, per say," Wille says, "it's just..." The more he thinks about it, the more he thinks about Erik flirting with someone in the produce section. "Okay, yeah, no," the boy continues, "it's a little weird." 

"Hmm, okay, let me get this right," Erik says, pointing his fork between the two boys.

"You, Wille, are sitting here telling me that that's weird when your first impression to Simon," he says, fork toward the smiling curly-haired now, "was that you were a window peeking stalker. Which one is more weird? Actually, which one's a crime? Being a peeping Tom-"

"Peeping Wille," Simon interjects, a loud laugh just barely suppressed. 

Erik nods his head affirmatively, fork moving about. 

”Right, yes, being a peeping Wille or chatting it up about fruit and then, slyly, smoothly, asking if she'd like to perhaps-"

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Wille whines, Simon uncontrollably shaking with laughter beside him.

Wille doesn't find it nearly as amusing, his pink cheeks can say as much, but he does love to see that glint of happiness in his boyfriend's eye.

“Did it really matter, though?" The blonde grumbles, gently touching Simon's foot with his under the table. "He's my boyfriend now. Something worked."

"Yeah, but it wasn't your spying. I can tell you that much," Simon says, snaking his hand in Wille's. His boyfriend peeks over at him and they share small, sweet, extremely obvious smiles.

"Remember when he saluted you with a scouts honor?" 

If Wille wasn't holding Simon's hand, he would've reached over the table and whacked his brother in the arm.

Simon can't help the loud laugh that bubbles out of him this time, not only because he does remember that very vividly but because Erik also knew that happened; he briefly wonders if he saw it with his own eyes or if, for whatever reason, Wille told his brother that. 

"Erik, shut up," the younger whines, although there's some hint of a happy smirk pulling at the boy's lips. Erik has a sinking suspicion it's because of the boy giggling next to him. 

They eat and make fun of each other and never stop laughing throughout dinner. Erik also tells them that his date is his age, named Elsa and going to school to be a nurse; the older man never thought in all his years that he'd be divulging this information to two teenaged boys in a little small town house he owned. 

He also would've never suspected, after Simon asked what he was gonna wear, that he'd spend his Friday night being demanded to do a 'fashion show' for his brother and his boyfriend.

Erik didn't have the heart to tell them he's not sure their the best judges of fashion - because Simon wears the same flannels every day and Wille dresses like an old man sometimes - but he spent the night with them until, admittedly, his best first date outfit was chosen. 

Wille and Simon finally snuck back into Wille's room after spending, in Wille's opinion, far too many hours with Erik; he loves his brother, he really does, but he's also finding that he has a difficult time sharing Simon. 

"Oh? Possessive much?" Simon teases, poking his boyfriend's stomach, like he doesn't have thoughts like that about him daily. Wille flushes a pretty pink under his room's red glow.

"Not like that," Wille whines, because possessive is such a scary word that he'd never want to be associated with him as a boyfriend.

Protective, clingy, and sappy, borderline whipped? Yes. But not possessive.

He pulls Simon closer to him, burying his face in the boy's chest; Simon once told him how cute it is how he sometimes resembles a sleepy cat.

"I just lo- like you."

He knows it's only a matter of time before he lets it slip. It's funny how there's no sense of panic behind that - an accidental love confession - because he's just that positive in it.

He's positive Simon already knows he loves him, it'd be almost unbelievable if he didn't realize already. He doesn't know if Simon loves him back, he can only hope that he does, but he doesn't wanna tell the boy in hopes that he'll say it back. 

He'll eventually confess his love for Simon because he wants him, needs him, to know that he's loved.

That he deserves to be loved and he's actually the easiest person to love. He loves him so he'll never hurt him. He loves him so he'll always make sure he feels safe.

He loves him so when he looks up and sees the pink flush on his cheeks and that teasing smile, even though it's almost always directed at him, he'll never get tired of seeing it. 

"I just lo- like you too, Wille." 

There's a knowing look in his eye that makes the blonde's heart start to pound just a little faster. It's a little teasing but also soft, makes Wille press a kiss to the boy's lips and place his head back on his chest.

He runs his hand up and down the boy's arm, always slow and gentle in his movements because Simon deserves to be touched in a way where it feels like he's being savored. 

They both know in that moment how the other feels. That love is very much the word, like can't be used anymore, and certainly not just friend.

They lay in silence until it goes without saying that Simon's staying over. They've started to have sleepovers on the nights Linda works; those are the nights Wille sleeps the most soundly.

Not only because Simon's next to him but because he knows he's safe.

~ 

"Wait, wait, wait, wait," Ayub says, words flying out a mile a minute. "They met at the grocery store?" 

Ayub typically doesn't allow lateness but Simon and Wille had a very, very real reason for showing up almost an hour past the meeting time - the very real reason being Erik's last minute fashion crisis. 

"You guys don't think this looks better with the darkness of my jea-"

"No!" 

Wille and Simon were incessant in their pleas with the older man to not change his outfit. The floral shirt he wanted to wear was truly heinous; neither of the boys could even fathom why Erik had bought it in the first place. 

"Are you sure?" The older man asks. "I wasn't gonna say anything but you two aren't exactly the best dressed kids around-"

"I hope you're not gonna talk shit about us when you're seriously considering that shirt," Wille bites back, Simon pressing his amused lips together. "You say you don't wanna be a 50-year-old dad but you're dressing like you just got divorced."

Simon loses the battle, pressing his face into Wille's arm in an attempt to muffle his laughter; it's not enough because Erik throws him a dirty look, Simon raising his hands in defense.

"I'm sorry," Simon says, sounding truly apologetic. "Wille's being harsh... but also a little truthful. The sweater really does look better, Erik."

Never when Simon first met the new neighbor almost a year ago did he think he'd be giving him fashion advice and dating his brother. 

Erik lets out an uncharacteristically flustered groan, never having felt this uncomfortable by the idea of dating.

It had been so easy for him back in Stockholm. He kept his circle relatively small but would always meet girls through mutual friends or around familiar clubs and bars.

It never happened so organically like it did with Elsa. It all just felt so adult-like and strange to him, going through it without friends or his date not being his best friend's cousin's roommate. 

Wille seemed to notice his brother's slight discomfort was actually very real. Something more than deciding between sweaters or formal, apparently super fucking ugly, shirts. 

"Erik," Wille says, and to be comforted by his younger brother feels, both, very sweet but also reversed. "It'll be okay. You guys will have fun."

Simon smiles softly at his boyfriend's words, nodding his head in agreement. 

"Wille's right," Simon says, "it might be scary at first but then once the nerves wear off, it'll be easy. She's probably just as nervous, too. Everyone's nervous on their first date."

Erik can see the two boys exchange a look, like they're reminiscing about their ice skating date that was totally his idea, before looking at Erik with sweet, reassuring smiles.

A part of him feels slightly embarrassed that his little brother and his boyfriend are the ones giving him this support right now, a pep talk of sorts, but he's also grateful and it truly warms his heart.

"Thank you, you little love birds. I appreciate you guys helping me," Erik says, because it's his job to always poke fun and embarrass them. "But I really do think the floral shirt is the way to-"

"No!" 

"You don't understand how hideous this shirt was, Ayub, he had to be stopped."

"Okay no offense, Simme, because you're my best friend," the boy begins, about to undoubtedly be offensive, "but are you really the best judge of fashion?" 

Rosh's booming, mocking laughter could be heard from the stairs as she descends with snacks. Simon looks back from his spot under Wille's arm, flipping her off before moving to Ayub. 

"Fuck you both!" Simon whines, hiding his face in the crook of his boyfriend's neck. "They are so mean to me." 

Wille chuckles against his brown, coconut-scented curls, pressing a soft kiss into them. 

"It's okay," Wille mumbles affectionately. "I love your flannels."

"And 2012 graphic t-shirts," Ayub chimes in dryly, Wille more than grateful that Simon can't see the way he bites back a smile. "That's how we know Wille's gotta be in lo-"

"Wille, is your neck okay?" 

Rosh is quick to cut her friend off, giving him a pointed look that Simon appreciates more than anything.

He catches her gaze and shoots her a soft, grateful smile - because even though he and Wille are just beating around the bush until they drop the l word, Rosh looking out for him in every way will never not make him feel so eternally thankful. 

His sweet, innocent, endearingly oblivious boyfriend touches his neck beside him, brows pulled together in confusion.

"Yes- yes I think so?" Wille says, Simon half-amused, half-embarrassed; Rosh saved him but at the cost of calling out multiple dark purple hickeys he had given. "Why? Is there something wrong with it?"

"Uh, not particularly although it does look like someone tried to-"

"Fucking devour you! What the hell, Simon," Ayub shouts, chastising his friend with a gentle swat of the arm. "Are you some feral animal? Are you trying to eat my third best friend Wille with a w? Because that's not okay with me."

"Fuck off," Simon spits, curling himself back into the chuckling, pink-faced blonde. "Don't be bitter." 

"Why would I be bitter? Because I'm not getting laid three times a day? What would I-" Ayub begins, Rosh's face twisting in disgust as Simon scoffs, "it's not three times a day!" "...EVER have to be bitter about?"

Wille can feel how red in the face he is but he can't stop himself from shaking with laughter.

The three best friends continue to bicker back and forth, Ayub trying to get him to chime in with slander against Simon that he will absolutely never participate in; the boy quickly realizes that and rolls his eyes, swatting at Simon again because, "not fair! He's completely on your side."

"As he should," Simon says smugly, Rosh shaking her head as she puts on her movie choices for the night. "He's my boyfriend."

"He's my third best friend," Ayub says, like that ranking is so much better. "And I only ever speak facts. Surely he has to agree that you can sometimes be-"

"We're already getting a late start," Rosh says, successfully cutting them off with her voice and the dimming of the lights. "Shut up."

And shut up they do... for about two minutes because, much to Wille's surprise and Simon's horror, the girl picked a new scary movie that just came out. 

"Rosh are you fucking kidding me?" Simon whines, "I thought we agreed that scary movies are-"

"What does it matter when you have Wille beside you?" Rosh asks mockingly, although there's a subtle hint of affection in her tone.

She loves how happy Simon's been these past few weeks, past few months, really.

Everyone would be stupid to not know why that's been, to not know it's from the love-struck blonde sitting at the end of her couch, holding onto Simon like the large man wielding a knife on tv is a very real threat. 

Simon doesn't say anything because he simply can't, curling into Wille and shimmying down to rest his head on his chest. 

"And that doesn't mean you can make out, either," Ayub bites from his spot on the floor. "Some of us are chronically and pathetically-"

Simon throws the spare pillow and hits his friend in the face. That would usually start chaos but, fearing Rosh's wrath, it goes ignored. The basement is relatively calm for a few hours,  chatter and debates per usual but no bursts of any extreme emotion which is always a good sign with this group.

Simon hasn't left his spot next to Wille but has worked his way between his legs, the boy's smaller body nuzzled against his while his head rests on his chest. 

Being like this in front of others should feel weird, it would've embarrassed the fuck out of Simon back in the fall but it doesn't now.

He feels comforted and warm and happy to be able to be like this with Wille in front of his friends. The friends he knows will never judge him, who he knows are overwhelmingly happy for him because he catches their gazes and soft smiles. 

Ayub even forms a discrete heart with his hands when he peaks back at them which causes the boy to chuckle. 

Wille feels Simon's body move with laughter against him, squeezing him just a little with the arms that are wrapped loosely around his stomach. 

"What?" Wille mumbles in his ear, breath wafting over Simon's skin. The boy leans back into him, curls tickling his neck, as he cranes his head back to catch Wille's gaze. He can make out the soft honey-brown even in the darkness of Rosh's house. 

"Nothing," Simon says.

His gaze travels over Wille's face - his eyes, the faint smile, the messy long waves he's getting withdrawals from not running his fingers through - and he feels something heavy, something so comfortingly warm like his chest is gonna burst into flames.

It should feel scary, fucking terrifying, to feel this but it only makes him happy. So happy he doesn't even consider, for once, the possibility that this feeling won't last. 

He's so happy he's convincing himself they're gonna be okay.

They'll always be okay because it's more than like, more than friends, more than a crush he once didn't even wanna accept when Sara accused him with a smirk. 

The blonde's lost in his gaze as a soft smile appears on his face, his hand reaching up to run through his messy hair. 

"Wille."

It's the same breathless way he spoke the night he asked him to kiss him. Wille's eyes narrow ever so slightly, hearing the slight change in the boy's voice; it's a good change but a change nonetheless. 

"Yeah?" 

Their eyes search the others, drop down to mouths that fit perfectly together.

The air is buzzing and charged with something thick, something warm, something so distinctly Wille and Simon, Simon and Wille, they don't know how they resisted each other as much as they did in the beginning. 

Simon opens his mouth to speak, words caught for only a second, before-

"Guys," Ayub says, "Can we have a slumber party? There's no way I can go home tonight after watching this shit, Rosh."

Wille smirks as his boyfriend sighs, annoyance morphing his pretty face. The blonde leans in to kiss him once on the lips before pulling back, hardly able to resist going back in when Simon's still pouting. 

"It's okay," Wille says quietly, "we can talk later." 

"Not if we're having a slumber party," he grumbles, before sitting up to look at his two friends. "Do you guys want to?" He asks louder, looking between Rosh and Ayub. "We haven't in a while."

Wille's also never stayed over for a sleepover yet; the night is spent the same way but they do try to make it cozier on the floor with piles of blankets and pillows. 

"That's cool with me," Rosh says, "I'm not a little bitch who's scared but yeah, you guys can totally stay over-"

"Why do you have to say that, huh? Why do you have to be so rude?" Ayub whines.

Rosh rolls her eyes before looking over at Wille. 

"We usually just sleep on the floor but as the guest of honor for your first sleepover, you can get the couch if you want."

Wille smiles and shakes his head, insisting that the floor is fine but "I don't have any stuff, though."

"We can walk back and get it," Simon suggests, "I need my toothbrush, too. My spare one here fell into the toilet somehow."

Ayub suddenly finds great interest in the movie that's scared him enough to rally a sleepover; once it ends, and the boy requests a light-hearted comedy, Wille and Simon decide to walk to their homes before it gets too late. 

The sun is setting and their hands are intertwined as they walk in a comfortable silence. Simon watches their hands swing in between them, the way their footsteps match up just a little too satisfying to him.

A car passes and, like he was some kind of prince charming in another life, Wille moves Simon on the other side of him, farthest away from the street. Simon ignores the butterflies that rip through his stomach - because he'd always secretly yearned for someone to know the sidewalk rule for him - and narrows his eyes at Wille. 

He moves himself back to the street side, shaking his head at his boyfriend who only rolls his eyes and squeezes his hand tighter.

The sun creates a glow around Simon that paints him more beautiful than usual: skin golden, brown eyes shining, and so insanely flawless, Wille can't help but wonder how he managed to make this boy his. 

The need to protect and cherish him is like nothing he's ever felt before. It makes something warm and fluttery build in the middle of his chest, pulling the boy closer to him so he can gently kiss his temple.

Their walk to the house doesn't feel nearly as long with the warm weather, the two boys standing in front of their houses; Simon doesn't see Micke's car either which is usually a good sign. 

"I'll be quick so I can come meet you when I'm done," Simon says, pressing up on his toes to peck Wille's lips.

The blonde smiles against them and deepens it, pulling his boyfriend in to him and teasing his tongue over his bottom lip. Simon smirks and does the same, slipping his into Wille's mouth.

Making out right on their block probably isn't their brightest idea but, in the moment, they can't find it in themselves to care. 

Wille pulls back before he becomes truly indecent in public, resting his forehead against Simon's. The curly-haired can see the mirth in his boyfriend's eyes, the growing lust and look of desire that makes his stomach swoop.

"Do you think we have time to..."

Simon smirks, biting down on his lip so he doesn't smile too big. 

"I think we can make time, if we pack quickly."

That was all the motivation the two boys needed to fly into their respective homes and pack a bag. Wille has never had a sleepover before so, truthfully, he felt a little lost right now.

He knew he'd need clothes to sleep in and his toothbrush - but what about blankets? Pillows? He can't walk the streets of Bjärstad with his queen-sized comforter but it may also seem rude to assume Rosh would lend him one. 

Once he's done running through his room and the bathroom, throwing what he knows he needs in a backpack, he peeks through Erik's room and then the living room for a smaller blanket.

He can easily stuff that in his bag and then he won't risk looking like a rude house guest who'd never slept out before; he can also always use Simon as a pillow, although the boy will probably whine because he always prefers to be the one to lay out across him.

Not that Wille will ever, ever complain. 

He's doing a once over in his room again when he hears a knock at the front door, calling out "it's open!"

He and the boy just talked about this less than five minutes ago, why would he be knocking?

His boyfriend must've heard him though because he hears footsteps a few seconds later entering the house, expecting Simon to come through his bedroom door at any minute. 

His bag is packed, throw blanket included, as he makes his way to the living room. 

"Are you ignoring me, Simon?" Wille whines, pacing down the hallway. Why didn't you come into my-"

He freezes just as he gets into the living room, every fiber of his being, every lanky bone in his body, stiffening at the sight before him. The person before him.

He can smell that scent he was once so familiar with - the sterile scent of those white Stockholm walls and strong perfume - and it almost immediately sends him into a panic.

It's mixing with the lavender, with everything good and warm and homey, and it feels wrong.

So wrong.

His mother's standing before him, all poised and cold, with even colder eyes that take in Erik's home.

It's slightly messy because they'd all run out in a hurry before, blankets strewn about and a few lingering cups and paper plates on the coffee table. It looks lived in, looks like people actually spend their time here and enjoy it, and he knows his mother dislikes that more than anything. 

Wille can't even talk, can't even breathe.

He's looking at his mother like she's a figment of his imagination, one of his nightmares. He hopes for a moment that's all this is, that he fell asleep at Ayub's - but he knows that's not the case.

Because not even his most intense, horrifying, haunting nightmares have been able to capture the feeling his mother elicits when she's standing right in front of him.

When her eyes meet his, she observes him with an unreadable expression and her pursed mouth finally manages to open.

"Hello, Wilhelm."

~

When his house was empty, and Sara wasn't in her room, Simon was worried until he passed the kitchen again and saw the note she'd left for their mother.

She had gone to the stables with Felice and might be spending the night at Hillerska. A smile lights up Simon's face and, somehow, he manages to feel even happier tonight.

He'd known Sara and Felice were finally getting closer, that the girls stopped being standoffish and fake toward her, so it makes him so happy to know they're hanging out not just in school. That, now, Sara's also able to be out of their house and away from the drama that is their father. 

Simon rushes around his room, desperate to get his hands back on Wille, and goes through the familiar routine of packing his night bag. He drops a few pellets in for Olle, Oski, and Felle, smiling slightly as he sees Oski swim over with his funny eye, before zipping into the bathroom and through the house.

He checks to make sure everything made it into his backpack as he walks through his grass and over to Wille's.

He misses the luxury black car parked across the street.

They both missed it when they turned on the block and made out in front of their houses less than ten minutes ago.

He misses the tall blonde woman standing outside the car and watching him curiously, his back to her as he basically skips up Erik's porch. 

There's a warm feeling of happiness buzzing through him, overwhelmed by his love for Wille and the need to tell him right here, right now. Scream it from the rooftops. Kiss his boyfriend until their lips are sore, grip his hair until it's properly tousled the way he likes it, and then finally getting to whisper against his lips that he-

"What are you doing here?"

He hears Wille's words but isn't as confused by them as he is the shaky tone of his voice.

The front door is open so he only sees Wille standing by the hallway, seemingly alone, but staring into the living room like he's watching a ghost. He's seen his boyfriend anxious far too many times for his liking, has come intimately aware with each and every warning sign, and every single one is present now. 

His wide, flickering eyes. His heaving chest, trying to suck in every last bit of air and stay calm. His hand snaking up to rub at his sternum and try to alleviate the pressure Simon wishes he could take away.

"Did you think I'd never come get my son?"

He hears the icy, feminine voice and feels himself stiffen in the doorway. Wille hasn't seen him yet, too stuck on staring at who he now knows is his mother - but Kristina hasn't called him since that day almost a month ago.

Not one single call or warning to either him or Erik so why the fuck would she just show up here unannounced?

Simon can only stand in the doorway shell-shocked - and if he's this surprised by the appearance of Wille's mother, he can only fucking imagine how his boyfriend is feeling right now.

He scrambles to get his phone out as Wille just shakes his head and stares, rubs at his chest and looks ahead like he's really, really trying to figure out if she's actually in front of him right now; Simon wishes he could grab him and tell him he's sorry that it's real. 

That his mother's really in front of him right now but he's ready to run away with him if he says the word; that's the first time his thoughts make him feel like he's just a stupid, juvenile teenager in love. 

Simon's fingers move frantically across his phone, beyond grateful he and Erik had exchanged numbers during the week Wille wasn't speaking. 

(Simon 7:47 pm)

hi erik, it's simon

i'm sorry for bothering you but your mom is here right now in your living room

wille's freaking out 

so am i tbh

wtf is she doing here, she never called him???

Simon feels his own panic begin to surface but he's trying so desperately to push it down. Keep himself under control and level-headed for Wille, who's looking more and more ready to crumble. Who's trying so hard to speak, it makes Simon's eyes prick with tears. 

"I-" Wille chokes out, his voice breathy and wet. "You never called me. You- you said you were gonna call me."

"I didn't want you planning anything," his mother responds, her voice far too composed.

Far too calm, cool and collected for someone who's been reunited with her missing son after six months.

”I've been in contact with Anette and she told me the marking period ended yesterday. I made the decision to give you until then but informed her you'll be transferring back to Stockholm for the remainder of the school year."

Wille starts panicking right as Simon's phone rings.

The blonde's teary, blurred gaze meets his in the doorway and Simon could cry at the slight relief he sees rush through him when he notices his presence. Simon bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn't sob, answering Erik's call with a shaky hand.

"Hello?"

He knows Kristina must hear him, must've heard his phone ring but she doesn't make herself known. Judging from the way Wille's caving in on himself, struggling to breathe, she's probably staring right at him.

"Simon? What's going on?" Erik sounds just as frantic as him.

"I-I don't know," Simon says. He's never heard himself sound so young, so unsure. "I just- I came over because we were supposed to go back to Rosh and Ayub's but the door was open," the curly-haired recounts, trying but quickly losing the battle in keeping himself calm. "I saw Wille just... standing there staring but then I heard him say something and a woman responded and I think it's-"

"Simon, you have to try to stay calm, okay? Thank you for calling me, that was good," Erik says, movement in the background. "I'm gonna be there in fifteen minutes. Please, you and Wille, try to stay calm, okay? It'll be fine."

It'll be fine, the older man says, but how could it? How really could it?

She's gonna take him back and make him leave. She already changed his fucking school. She's gonna force him back to Stockholm where he was miserable and scared and lonely and thinking about-

"She's gonna make him leave, Erik," Simon whimpers out, voice barely above a whisper because he can't breathe. He's trying but he can't. He needs to for Wille but he can't. "She's- she's gonna take him. She already told Hillerska he's leaving. He can't go back there, Erik, you know he-"

"Simon, it's okay. You have to breathe," Erik says, his voice soft and calming. "You and Wille need to breathe until I get there. Help each other. Take him into his room or outside and it'll all be okay. I'm gonna be there soon. Really, really soon, okay? Tell Wille for me."

Simon nods although Erik can't see him. He stands there and takes a few deep breaths, willing his body to just calm down for now. Breathe and keep his shit together for now until he and Wille can deal with this together like Erik said.

Breathe together. Help each other. Escape the living room with what he knows will be Kristina's hateful gaze. 

"Simon? Are you there?" Erik asks. 

Simon swallows the last bit of anxiety trapped in his throat, exhaling shakily. 

"Y-yes, I'm still here. I'm okay," Simon says, "I'm gonna get Wille now. We can go to my house. No one's home." They both know what he's really saying - my dad's not home. 

"Okay, that's good. I'll see you later," Erik says, a few lingering silent seconds before he tries to reassure the younger; the boy briefly wonders if he's saying it for his own benefit too. "Everything will be fine, Simon."

It doesn't feel like anything could possibly be fine. Not when things were just so perfect and now, like always, they're quickly falling apart.

Simon will never not be horrified by how fast things can turn to shit. 

The boy hangs up, takes another deep breath, and catches Wille's gaze as he takes a hesitant step into the house. The blonde's face seems to crumble the moment he sees Simon approach, his teary eyes shifting from him to the other side of the room where Kristina must be standing.

Simon doesn't care, doesn't give a single fuck, he's not scared of her. He's only scared of what she does to Wille, how she makes him feel, and even that mostly elicits pure, unadulterated anger. 

"I called Erik," Simon says, doing everything in his power to keep his composure, keep his calm gaze on Wille. "He'll be here soon."

Wille's breaths are shaky and ragged but he still manages to nod. Still seeks out Simon despite his mother standing a few feet away and reaches out to pull him closer.

His hand clutches onto his sweatshirt, balling it tightly in his fist like it's keeping him from falling off a mountain. Simon, used to staring, can feel the penetrative gaze on them.

Can feel the tension in the air grow higher, more intense, thicken with all things hateful and mocking as this mother stares at her estranged son.

Simon searches Wille's gaze and is grateful he can still see him in there, passed the anxiety and terror from his mother. He still sees the loving gleam that's been dancing behind his boyfriend's honey-brown eyes and, for a brief moment, things don't seem as bleak. 

"We can go to my house," he says, low enough for only Wille to hear. "No one's there."

Wille understands the warning just as clear as Erik, gaze shifting back to his mom, then back to Simon, before he nods his head.

Simon takes the hand clutching onto his sweatshirt, intertwining their fingers and making moves to the front door when she finally speaks. 

Her tone is just as cold as he expected. 

"Where do you think you're going?"

It's the first time Simon looks over at her and he couldn't control his facial expression even if he tried.

He can't hide the hate and judgment and disgust as he looks at her, feeling anger rip through him as he's about to tell her it's none of her business when Wille speaks. 

"Simon's," the blonde says, tightening his hold on his hand. "Erik will be here soon. You- you can talk to him."

"And why would I do that?" Kristina asks, perfectly plucked eyebrow raising. "I'm here to take you home, Wilhelm."

"You can't do that," Simon blurts out, not able to stop the words from leaving him. "He doesn't wanna go."

Kristina's gaze shifts from her son to Simon and, even though he still doesn't fear her, he can't say he doesn't feel slightly taken aback by how harsh and cold her gaze is. He thought all mothers looked like his: nothing but love in their gazes twinged with hints of guilt and sorrow.

A heavy silence hangs in the room, Wille's hand gripping his to the point of pain and Simon unwilling to back down.

"Simon, is it?" The woman finally says, his name sounding strange from her mouth; she knows nothing about him and yet, she says it with sure pure distaste.

The boy just nods, Kristina's lips pursing before she speaks again. "Well, Simon, this is a private family matter so I think it'd be best if-"

"He's staying with me," Wille says, pulling Simon so he's closer, slightly behind him. There's still anxiety shaking in his voice but he's also more harsh, more stern and powerful in his defense of Simon. "We're going to his house and you can wait until Erik's here."

Kristina seems shocked by her son's outburst, lips pursed. 

"Since when do you make the rules around here? In case you forgot, you're still the child."

"Since I ran away six months ago and you're just deciding to see where I am now," Wille snaps, Kristina rolling her eyes like his words are nonsense and not completely justified. 

"I knew you'd be with your brother, Wilhelm, let's not be dramatic now."

"You wouldn't care either way. You probably loved that I was gone."

It's scary how calm Kristina is.

How even when her eyes slightly narrow, how there's the smallest twitches of irritation that cross her face, you can see she's always in control of every reaction, every word, that leaves her.

"I loved that you were gone?" She repeats, her gaze unwavering. "Then why would I have tracked down Erik? Tracked down your number to call you? Why would I have made Malin drive me all the way here if I preferred that you were gone, Wilhelm?"

Simon hates the way she says his name. How she always ends it with a bite and how disappointment and irritation always lingers heavily behind it.

Wille doesn't say anything, finds that he can't. He only scoffs and shakes his head, like he can't stand to have his mom's words confuse him anymore than her presence here in Erik's house does. 

"We're going to Simon's," Wille says again, voice nearly just as biting as hers. "Erik will be here soon. You can talk to him."

"You're not going anywhere, Wilhelm, I don't need to speak to your brother," she says, her tone harsh, words final. "I only need you to pack and get ready to leave. Enough is enough."

"I'm not leaving." 

His voice is low, scarily low and quiet, and leaves no room for protest.

Simon swallows the nervous lump that's quickly starting to form in his throat, his hand sweaty and shaking in Wille's. 

"Yes you are. It's already been decided."

"By who?" He screams, Simon jumping beside him.

He knows Wille's starting to spiral when he doesn't notice, when he drops Simon's hand so he can take a step closer to his mother.

"Only you! You decided!” Wille continues. “I didn't decide anything, mom, and it's my life! You can't just drag me away from Erik! You didn't even call me like you said you would!"

"And this is exactly why," she sighs, like he's the problematic one here. "You're irrational, Wilhelm. I knew you'd try to-"

"You- you tricked me, like you always do!" Wille shouts, tears clouding his vision, his voice shaking and wet. "You made it seem like we were gonna talk about it but instead, you just show up and try to force me to leave!" 

"I won't be doing any forcing but you will be leaving, one way or another."

"What the fuck does that even mean?" Wille laughs out manically, "that literally sounds like you forcing me! Or threatening me! I don't wanna fucking go back to Stockholm, mom! Tell Hillerska I'm staying. I'm not going back."

Kristina stays quiet this time. Her lips pursed, eyes boring into Wille, and her demeanor so cold and stiff, Simon's convinced she's not a real person.

There's no way.

He doesn't understand how she can stand to see and hear her son begging with tears in his eyes. Do nothing to comfort the son she birthed, the son she raised and the son she chose to have and just escalate the situation with her icy looks.

Simon doesn't have to see his boyfriend's face to know tears are streaming down his cheeks. He’s all too unfortunately acquainted with the sniffles and shaky breaths leaving him.

"Tell them, mom," Wille's voice breaks, his boyfriend's eyes filling with tears at his desperation. "Tell them I'm staying."

Kristina just continues standing there staring, all poised in her expensive looking pantsuit and cold eyes. Her gaze shifts to one of silent disapproval, like he's a child asking for a candy bar before dinner. 

"I'm staying mom. Please."

Simon blinks back the tears attempting to break through his eyes.

He thought Wille being scared silent by her was the worst thing he'd ever see but this - him begging with her, pleading with her, crying to her - is breaking him.

He mumbles his name softly, moving next to him. Wille doesn't acknowledge him but he also doesn't move away, his eyes locked on his mother. 

Tears are clouding his boyfriend's eyes, running down his cheek that he wipes at viciously. Like he doesn't want his mom to see him cry. 

The woman still doesn't say anything, her face void of any emotion, any sympathy. She just seems to watch completely uninterested and it makes Wille more upset. Makes him see just how serious she is - that whether he likes it or not, he'll be out of Bjärstad tonight. 

Simon feels a tear escape when Wille starts crying, tears of frustration, sobs of aching sadness and despair surrounding Erik's living room.

Simon mumbles Wille's name again only for the boy to hear, his hand grabbing ahold of his sweater.

He doesn't try to pull him out of the house, not yet, but he also needs to remind his boyfriend that he's here; when Wille doesn't pull away, and moves closer to him, Simon relaxes ever so slightly.

"Please, mom, please. I won't ask for anything ever again," Wille cries, Simon swallowing down his own sob. "Just let me stay here with Erik. I don't wanna go back, please let me-"

"Enough, Wilhelm."

"No! I'm not going back there!" Wille screams, his hand not in Simon's reaching up to rub at his chest. "I-I can't, mama, please... just for once in your fucking life, listen to me."

"I am listening," she says, because she thinks her being silent is listening even though it's almost more dismissive than if she said anything. "But it's just not possible. You've been gone long enough, now it's time for you to-"

"You didn't even care!" Wille screams back, "you didn't even see or care about how fucking miserable I was there! You didn't even know that I was thinking about-"

"Enough!" 

Her shrill feminine voice booms through the house at the same time Erik's front door flies open and bangs against the wall; both noises combined cause the two boys to jump, Simon clutching onto Simon and Wille's head snapping toward the door.

His knees almost buckle under him when he sees Erik's frantic figure in the entryway, his eyes first falling to his brother and Simon before moving to their mother who's standing there.

She lost composure when she yelled at Wille but now, in the face of her eldest son who left nearly a year ago, she's back to her facade - poised, stiff, and aloof to all the chaos she's creating.

An uncomfortably tense silence hangs in the living room, the Bernadotte brothers staring at their mother while Simon's gaze bounces back and forth between them.

He's never seen Erik look so wrecked before, never seen the cold, hard expression he's wearing as he looks at his mother; he's the first to break the silence, standing between her and Wille like a barrier. 

"What are you doing here?" 

Kristina's eye twitches slightly; Simon thinks it's the first movement from her that's uncontrollable, something she couldn't hide because seeing the son that left, and had no intentions of speaking to her ever again, is probably incredibly difficult for a person like her. 

"I'm here to get my son," she says, her voice clipped. "Do you typically let him and this boy stay here alone?"

Erik rolls his eyes, Simon and Wille both wanting to jump to his defense because this was quite literally the first time Erik has ever gone out since they started talking. 

"They're not little kids, Kristina. Wille's almost 17."

"And yet, you think it's appropriate that they're together unsupervised?" Kristina asks, her head cocked mockingly. 

Erik's gaze moves to Wille and Simon who are watching with dried tears.

The way the two boys are clutching onto each other, trying to contain their obvious anxiety and fear, makes his heart sink into his stomach.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

"Not that it matters anymore," the woman begins, three pairs of eyes falling to her, "because I'll be taking him back tonight." 

Simon and Wille squeeze the others hand at the same time, the curly-haired overcome with nausea as Wille lets out a whimper-like sob, shaking his head. 

"Please, Erik, she can't," Wille begs, Erik's face crumbling at Wille's frantic, broken voice. "Please, please. I can't go back there. You know I can't. I don't want to-"

"Your brother has no say in this, Wilhelm, enough!" Kristina spits, her voice sharp and full of blatant irritation. "Stop acting like your life back home is so terrible. Me and your father give you everything you could possibly-"

"You don't even want me there!" Wille cries, his hand tight in Simon's. "You hate me, you always have! You blamed me for Erik leaving and then you made me feel crazy for how I feel and-"

"I make you feel crazy because you act crazy, Wilhelm, what else am I supposed to-"

"Don't speak to him like that."

Erik steals the words from Simon's mouth and his words hang heavy in the air.

Kristina looks at him in a way no mother should look at their son - with such hateful disdain and annoyance - but the older man doesn't seem to care in the slightest.

Not when Wille's behind him with tears in his eyes, begging to not be forced back to a place he's scared to live in.

"This is none of your business, Eri-"

"You show up to my house, uninvited, causing problems like you always do," the man bites back, his voice unrecognizable. "It's completely my business."

Kristina doesn't speak because she knows he's right; it takes everything in Simon not to smirk in her fucking face.

Erik looks back to the two boys, Wille's anxiety-ridden face, teary eyes staring helplessly at him. 

"Why don't you two go to Simon's?" Erik suggests quietly, cutting off Kristina when she tries to tell Wille he's not going anywhere. "They'll be close by," Erik snaps, "everyone needs a minute to calm down."

That's all Simon needs to hear to tighten his hold on Wille's hand, throw a thankful look toward Erik, and drag his boyfriend out of the house.

~

Under normal circumstances, Wille would've loved the chance to explore Simon's room. Be welcomed into his boyfriend's space that, much like his backyard, is sacred to him.

He would've felt so giddy having their places swapped - Wille taking in Simon's cluttered desk, his art covered walls, the fish tank where he'd pretend not to notice all of the differences between Olle, Oski, and Felle. 

It all would've felt so different if everything wasn’t falling apart at the seams.

Their time together they both know is now possibly numbered, the threat of Wille being torn away from Bjärstad becoming so very real, they could taste it.

Taste it in the remnants of their salty tears that lingers on their lips, Simon doing everything in his power not to cry because he knows if he starts, he'll never stop.

He'll never stop crying and he won't be able to comfort Wille the way he needs to right now; he can barely even do that as he tries to hold his shit together. 

The comfort they're giving each other right now is very mutual, laying on Simon's small bed in silence. They're not used to a bed this size and now it's too late to discover this is all they need.

It only makes cuddling and clinging to each other that much easier, that much more necessary. They're both laying on their sides, heads sharing a pillow as they breathe in each other's soft, ragged breaths. 

Wille's eyes are red and puffy but he's, thankfully, stopped crying. He's been able to breathe and their hands never disconnected as they rest between them. 

"Erik's gonna talk to her," Simon says quietly, breaking the silence.

If this boy is confident in anything besides his love for Wille, it's the love Erik also has for him. He knows his little brother doesn't wanna go back, can't go back.

He's been planning for weeks to somehow convince Kristina to let Wille stay here; granted, they had no idea the woman was gonna show up but still, he probably has had something in mind. 

"Your brother's been planning, Wille, and he loves you," Simon continues, the hand not tangled in Wille's reaching out to gently stroke his tear-stained cheek. "We need you to stay here. You can't go back."

"There doesn't seem to be any convincing her," Wille dares to admit aloud, voice barely above a whisper; if he speaks any louder, he fears he's gonna start sobbing and completely lose it again.

She's just as cold as she's always been.

Him running away did absolutely nothing to change the way she treats him and he's scared to go back now. He was scared in the first place, has always been scared of the way his mother dismisses him so easily, but now it's worse - now, he's terrified.

Now that he knows what it's like to be so fiercely loved and happy and listened to, he's not sure he's gonna survive going back to how his empty, sad life was before. 

"I'm scared, Simon," Wille says, the boy's heart dropping at the words, how his honey-brown eyes reflect it. "She's gonna force me back, I know she is. She's never cared about what I want, ever. She probably wants me to go back even more now, just because she knows how much I wanna stay here."

Simon swallows the lump in his throat.

He wishes he could say something to Wille to convince him that that's not the case but he can't. They both know that.

Simon doesn't hate many people - only the man he calls his father - but he can also now say with certainty that he hates Kristina Bernadotte too.

He'd hate anyone who causes Wille to look the way he does right now, with eyes full of such profound sadness and fear, he can't stop from tightening his hold on his hand.

From scooting closer until every inch of their bodies are pressed together, because the comfort of them touching is the best thing they could have right now. 

"I don't wanna leave Erik," Wille whispers.

It's those words right there, no truer words he's ever spoken, that cause his tears to surface again. For his face to crumble, breaths shaky, and for him to pull Simon into him protectively, desperately, wantingly.

"I- I don't wanna leave you, Simon. How am I supposed to never see you?"

How is he supposed to go about his mornings and nights without smiling with him, holding him, laughing with him?

How is he supposed to sleep not kissing him goodnight?

How is he supposed to function and be okay with the fact that Simon goes home every night to an abusive, drunk father who hurts him enough to cause bruises and blood?

"I can't leave you," he says, his breaths picking up. “I- I can't be okay knowing you're here and I'm- I'm there. I'm so happy here with you. And Erik. And Rosh and Ayub and Sara," Wille continues, as he's gasping in air, trying to catch his breath but it's just so hard with his mind spiraling. 

”How am I supposed to do it? How- how are we supposed to-"

”We will be fine, Wille," Simon says, cutting the boy off to place both hands on his face. He traces the faint freckles on his wet cheeks, gently running his thumbs over his boyfriend's skin. "You don't have to worry about anything like that. We will always be okay," Simon promises, shaking his head.

They only have to worry about Wille being okay, Wille feeling safe, Wille remembering he's loved and there are people here who need him to be strong.

"But... but if you do have to go back..." Simon whispers, because it's something he can't even fathom. "Are you gonna be okay?"

Wille's confession of suicidal thoughts and loneliness plague Simon's mind like a nightmare.

The blonde can see the hurt in his boyfriend's eyes as he asks the question everyone’s thinking, the overwhelming concern and affection that makes Wille wanna tell him yes, but he thinks that may be a lie.

He thinks going back is gonna be the hardest thing he's ever had to deal with, after experiencing the happiest months of his life. 

"I don't know," he breathes out. 

It's the most honest answer he can give.

It's also the most heartbreaking because, after a few seconds, Simon's face falls, tears build in his eyes and he collapses against Wille’s shoulder as cries wrack through his body.

The blonde's throat clogs at the sound of his boyfriend crying, because there’s nothing more painful, and silent tears start streaming down his cheeks.

He buries his face in Simon's curls, inhaling the boy's scent like its oxygen, like he needs it to breathe. 

He doesn't know how long they cry but he knows they hold onto each other the entire time.

They press wet, messy, salty kisses to the other once the crying subsides and neither boy knew kissing could feel so sad. So final.

They didn't know just how in tune their hearts were until it felt like both were breaking, bleeding, and the only way to temporary numb it was by their lips meeting.

They pull back with puffy, wet mouths and both find that they're crying again; they'd laugh at it, what messes they were, if it wasn't so fucking sad. 

"I love you," Wille whispers, because he'd been wanting to tell Simon for weeks and this might be his last chance to in person.

Simon can barely make out Wille's face through his tears but he can hear the boy perfectly, can hear the words he'd been desperate to say, desperate to hear, but would take back the chance to if it meant the past hour didn't happen.

If them being torn apart is the only time they get to say I love you, hear it from the other, Simon will hold onto that chance forever and just love Wille quietly. Just be sure of their love and that those feelings are mutual.

Because they don't need to hear it, don't need to say it, they already knew; but if this is also his last chance to say it in person, at least for a while, he’s going to.

"I love you," Simon whispers back

Their smiles are sad, lips quivering, and they're holding onto each other with their last bits of hope that, somehow, someway, this won't be the last time. 

~

Erik's never sat in such an uncomfortable silence in his life. 

He and his mom were sat at the kitchen table for close to thirty minutes before Kristina decided to speak; Erik hadn't offered her a drink or something to eat the way he does every single guest who walks through his door - because she wasn't a guest but an intruder. 

"So," she finally begins and just from her tone, Erik knows his mother's about to say something off-putting. "Your home is... quaint. You don't consider this a downgrade?" 

Erik can only scoff.

"Living alone where I'm happy opposed to under your roof? Not even a little bit."

Her lips quirk into a smirk of sorts, rolling her eyes away to take in the small, cluttered kitchen.

It's nothing like the one at the house in Stockholm, with a personal chef and two housekeepers, but it's something. It's his. He's able to cook with Wille and start water fights when he teases him about his crush. 

"I don't know why you boys act like I'm such a terrible mother," Kristina says.

Erik turns to the woman and is struck by how stern she looks. How in her eyes, it's clear she genuinely doesn't understand why she's made them so unhappy.

"Me and your father have done everything to provide for you," she continues. "Everything you could ever need: money, connections, the best schools and extracurriculars, we gave to you," she says, Erik's jaw clenching because she really just doesn't get it. "You boys were born into a life of immense privilege and wealth and yet, you-"

"What about love, mom? What about you showing us you care about how we're feeling, how we're doing in school, asking about what we want to do in and with our lives?" Erik asks.

It's a sob story as cliché as it gets - rich kids feeling unloved by their wealthy parents who just throw money and cars at them - but in their life, it was very real.

In Wille's life, it was even more real because Erik didn't seek out Kristina as much.

Erik was able to quickly come to terms with his lack of parental love, Erik was a rebellious teen who partied and drank and did drugs at Hillerska to deal with it. 

But Wille? He's always been sensitive. Always felt deeper.

Wille's always craved the love Erik stopped wishing for when he realized his mom's need for success, need for money and need to be looked at as the most powerful attorney in the country, outweighed her desire to be a loving mother; as far as he was concerned, they were only birthed to keep the family business going. 

"I wanted Wille to be the one to tell you because it will explain why he doesn't wanna go back to Stockholm," Erik begins, not able to use the word home because his home in Bjärstad was always Wille's, even before he showed up on his doorstep.

"But... he was in such a bad place mentally. Like, really, really bad, mom, and you had no idea. You didn't recognize the signs at all," Erik says, fully placing the blame on her because it can't be on anyone else - not even him, although he feels guilty. "You told him he was the reason I left, that I didn't love him when you know very fucking well that I left because you were-"

"I was trying to help you, my eldest son," Kristina says, and while her voice isn't raised, it's louder and shrill. "I was preparing you for success since you were a child, preparing great things for you and you just-"

"I didn't want it. I told you that," Erik cuts her off, calm and collected because they had this conversation one hundred times; if she had it her way, they'd have it one hundred more. "But we're not talking about me. We're talking about Wille."

She seems to have to suppress her eyes from rolling, the area under her eyes twitching and Erik has to bite back a scoff. 

"There's nothing to talk about. I'm taking him home with me."

"Did you not hear what I said before?" Erik snaps, "he wasn't happy there. He was doing fucking terrible mentally. He was thinking about..."

The words are trapped in Erik's throat, suddenly what feels like a thousand pounds on his chest. He wants to tell her, he has to, but nothing will change.

Nothing will ever change because Kristina only likes power, success, and, in her eyes, Wille is nothing. In her eyes, Wille isn't capable of success, is too anxious and crazy to be seen as powerful, so she uses her own against him.

"Thinking about what, Erik?" Kristina asks, her tone mocking in just those few words. "I talk to Wilhelm. I try to talk to Wilhelm but he never makes sense. He just goes on and on. I told him if he needed to be institutionalized, he could-"

"He doesn't need to be locked away, he needs a fucking mother!" 

Erik can count on one hand how many times he's raised his voice. He's naturally a calm, easy-going person.

He became even more calm and subdued when he realized it helped his anxious little brother - but his fucking mother, the way she treats Wille and disregards him, will never fail to make him angry. 

"He needs you to be there for him, Kristina, and actually listen to him. Not disregard him, not twist his words, not make him think he's crazy but listen to him! He's right when he says you don't care, you never fucking have!"

Erik knows he's snapping, knows he's losing it and knows this isn't gonna at all convince her to let Wille stay - but it's shit she needs to hear. It's a wake up call, a very humbling reminder that he hopes will somehow melt the ice block around her heart.

"If you just listened to him, you'd understand. If you just gave him five fucking seconds, you'd see that he's-"

"I don't know who you think you are, Erik, lecturing me about how to be a parent, but I've heard enough," she says, promptly standing up from the table. The chairs slightly squeak underneath her. "I'm gonna call him back here to pack and then we'll be out of your hair within the hour so I suggest you-"

"Let him stay here," Erik blurts out from his seat, staring at the woman's retreating back.

“I'll take care of him, completely, the way I have been. No support from you will be needed. You don't have to formally sign your rights away but we can come to this mutual agreement together. He's happy here, mom, he's so fucking happy," Erik says, emotion clogged in his throat because he doesn't think he's ever seen him this happy. 

”Don't ruin this for him just because you can. You're- you're not proving anything by dragging him back to Stockholm."

A long enough silence hangs in the room that Erik thinks, for a brief moment, he got through to her. She keeps her back to him but her head's down, seemingly staring at her high heels.

A tense quietness overcomes his home as he just waits and prays, despite no longer being a practicing Catholic. He can only hear the faint sound of the clock ticking in the kitchen, before her shoes clonk on the floor and she turns around. 

All that hope and optimism deflates the moment he sees her face: cold eyes, pursed red lips, and a demeanor so callous, Erik feels his stomach twinge painfully. 

"I'm taking him back home," Kristina says, her word final. "And if you try to stop me, I will call the police. You know very well you were obligated to call me the second he showed up here and you didn't. You let him stay here for months."

"You let him stay here for months!" Erik erupts in a loud shout, pushing his chair back as he stands up. 

”He was missing for months and you didn't do fucking anything! Not a call, not a text, not fucking anything and now suddenly I'd be the one considered a kidnapper?" Erik continues because it's all just so fucking wrong.

“How about you for being a shitty, neglectful parent who didn't know her own child was suicidal and drove the other one away? Maybe I should be the one calling the police on you."

In hind sight, it was wrong of him to blurt out Wille's business like that but it doesn't make it any less true.

Doesn't make her threats of calling the authorities on Erik any less insane when she's the one at fault ten times over; she doesn't seem to think so, if the smug look on her face is anything to go by. 

"Call them," she warns, with all the power and authority she knows she has, not even commenting on his statement about Wille. "See how that works out for you."

In Bjärstad, Erik's no one. He's just seems like one of the many working and middle class citizens living a quiet life.

Everywhere, Kristina's one of the most powerful and connected women in the country; even if she were to get in any sort of trouble, it'd be swept under the rug quicker than Erik could present any circumstantial evidence he's gathered. 

The mother and son know this so neither of them say anything, not yet, not until Kristina's had enough and is deeming this conversation officially over. 

"Call Wilhelm back and tell him he has an hour. If he's not packed and ready, you can start getting your story ready for the police."

Erik scoffs and bites back a curse, a string of many, many curses. He waits until his mom is gone, front door slamming shut, to lose it.

He plops back down at the kitchen table, buries his head in his hands, and prays Wille and Simon understand that he did all he can for now. 

~

Helping Wille pack was sad. 

Seeing the teary-eyed look on the two teenaged boys while they did it attached at the hip was even sadder.

But what almost broke Erik, in the middle of it all, was when they were almost all done - the room back to his guest room and not Wille's room - was his brother taking one look at him, getting up from Simon's side on the bed, and crying into his chest. 

They were broken, deep sobs with such genuine hurt and sadness, it made everyone in the room immediately start crying too. Erik's own teary eyes fell to Simon who sat on the bed, his head in his hands, tugging at his curls.

He knew the boy was suppressing himself the best he could. Simon's strength was admirable, Erik didn't know how he was so strong for being so young, but it also scared him how much the boy kept in. 

Wille's sobs, Simon's complete defeat, only made Erik feel ten times more guilty.

The boys walked in nearly 45 minutes ago, took one look at Erik in the kitchen, and just knew. He recounted the conversation to them - most of it - and finished it with her threatening to call the police. 

"I'm sorry, Wille," Erik had whispered into the kitchen, the two boys collapsed into one another across from him.

"I'm sorry, Wille," he mumbles again now into the boy's hair, his arms around his smaller, seemingly so fragile little brother.

It feels like they're 7 and 13 again, a little boy crying into his brother's arms because he's too anxious to speak. Too overwhelmed and confused and sad because he longs for love but only gets yelled at, berated, and told to stop. 

”I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he continues to mumble lowly, a harsh lump in his throat. 

The more he apologizes, the more Wille seems to cry so he stays quiet. Just presses his lips into his brother's hair, tightens his arms around him and promises him that, as fast as he can, he's gonna figure this out. 

"You can call me. You can always call me, okay?" Erik reminds him, pulling back to wipe at his face. "And I can visit Stockholm. There are hotels," Erik says, because his mother can't arrest him for visiting a fucking city. "I'll even bring Simon, if Linda says it's okay."

Wille's eyes fill with tears again, because he just seemed to remember he's also leaving him. Simon lets out a quiet, barely audible cry of his own because his mom never got to meet his boyfriend.

Erik can't seem to say anything good right now, because he's just as fucking lost as them, so he tells them they have ten minutes before Wille has to leave. He only closes the door half-way but makes sure to give them their privacy.

Gives them the space to hold each other for what's the quickest ten minutes of their lives. When they're not staring at each other with teary eyes, wiping at the others wet cheeks and begging the other to "please stop crying," they're hugging each other to the point of pain. 

"It'll be okay. We'll be okay," Simon whispers, "but, please, Wille, please call or text me whenever you need. I don't care what time it is or what I'm doing, please don't shut me out."

He won't be able to handle it, he knows that much. It's gonna be hard enough knowing he's there with her. 

Wille nods his head, pressing a long, lingering kiss to Simon's forehead before pulling him tightly against him. They mutter I love you's back and forth until the term seems to lose meaning.

Until it almost becomes a game, a hint of amusement somehow sprouting in their teary eyes, and they giggle wetly. It's gross and sad and it feels like they're both being dramatic fucking messes but they don't care.

"Erik's gonna think of something," Simon says, "I know he is."

Wille can't bear to get his hopes up right now, his heart and mind already far too fragile so he only nods. They stand there in Wille's room that no longer feels like his, the blonde not able to take down his red led lights. 

"Erik is probably gonna offer and I know you're gonna wanna say no," Wille whispers quietly, "but I hope, if you ever need, that you stay here. You've spent just as much time in this room as me."

Kissing, laughing, giggling, talking. Whispering sweet nothings and tearfully confessing their trauma. Suppressing moans and fumbling under the covers like the hormonal teenagers they are.

Wille is everywhere in this room, even the way it is now, and while that's comforting for Simon, it also fucking hurts. 

"It's not gonna be the same," Simon croaks, his voice wavering.

He's almost selfish for a moment, almost breaks Wille's heart one last time and tells him he doesn't want him to go. To please not go, that they could run away, that they could hide out at Rosh and Ayub's (who he's yet to inform of this news) - but he doesn't, he can't.

They both already know, the same way they knew of their love before they had to tell each other and get torn apart. 

"I know," Wille whispers, talking through the lump in his throat. "But you'll be safe. And we can call. And text. And video chat."

They both know it's not the same, not even close, but it's all they have.

All they have for now until Wille's able to come back, because he will be coming back even if Simon has to help Erik blackmail their stupid mom. 

"Okay," Simon whispers, tears stinging his eyes. He can feel the huge ball of emotional turmoil sitting in his chest waiting to be released; the moment he's alone, it will be. 

"Okay," Wille whispers back, a sad smile pulling at his lips before he leans in and captures Simon's mouth. 

They couldn't kiss more messily if they tried. Messy in the way their lips slot together and devour the others mouth but also somehow slow and sweet because they're savoring it.

They never wanna pull away. They never wanna stop.

They can’t have this feeling go away - the others lips and tongue and grazing teeth - because that means, only mere minutes later, they'll be apart.

Wille will be in the car with Malin and his mom and Simon will be in his backyard, alone.

It'll all feel wrong because the weather is too warm, his house is too quiet, and there won't be an awkward blonde boy peering over the fence with steaming drinks and pink cheeks. 

Simon's eyes are full of tears when they pull back and Wille shakes his head, pressing a kiss to each wet cheek.

"Please don't cry," he begs softly, watery eyes twinged with hurt. "I won't be able to leave."

"You just gave me every reason to keep crying," Simon bites back. 

Wille laughs but its humorless.

Simon does his best to smile but it's pathetic, not even close to meeting his eyes.

Erik can feel the sadness and turmoil in Wille's room as he approaches, waiting a few seconds before knocking softly. The boys are still holding each other as both their heads snap toward him, a small, sad smile on his face. 

"It's time," Erik says softly, miserably, "unless you wanna see me dragged out of my house in handcuffs." Wille and Simon's faces somehow crumble even more, the blonde shaking his head as he takes his boyfriend's hand. "Sorry," Erik mumbles, "too soon."

"No shit," Wille grumbles wetly, Erik's lips quirking as they all slowly, but unfortunately surely, walk toward the living room.

Simon's footsteps grow noticeably smaller the closer they get until he stops, the older man turning around to see Wille hugging him tightly. Their eyes meet and Erik seriously considers being jailed for kidnapping at the sight.

It only takes a few moments for Simon to pull back and wipe at his eyes, softly mumbling an apology that the Bernadotte brothers promptly shake their heads at.

Simon and Erik can't bear to walk Wille to the car, to be in front of Kristina more than they already were today, so the painful goodbyes are done in the living room.

Enough tears have been shed that there's only tight hugs, sad sorrowful gazes, and mumbles of I love you.

Wille promises he'll text Simon during the drive. Erik says he'll see Wille soon. Simon watches the brothers hug goodbye for what's the second time in their lives and then he clings onto Wille because he hopes that when he returns, he'll never have to do this again.

"I love you," he mumbles into the blonde's neck, trying to memorize his scent, the feel of his hair beneath his fingertips. 

"I love you," Wille whispers back, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend's curls. He knows if he gets even a whiff of coconut in Stockholm, that'll be the first thing he breaks down into tears over.

Erik watches from the door as Wille, with his suitcase in one hand and phone clutched in the other, walks out to their mother's car.

Erik knows he's terrified, knows this is the last thing he wants to do, but he finds himself immensely proud that he doesn't seem scared. He walks with his head high and only turns to wave goodbye to him and Simon watching with heavy hearts. 

When the car's gone, Simon wordlessly walks toward the couch and plops down. Erik would've thought he collapsed from the sound of it if he didn't watch him out of fear that that's what was gonna happen.

The older man waits a few seconds before joining Simon, sitting down on his loveseat. A heavy, long silence hangs between them for God knows how long before Simon, with an unexpected question, breaks it. 

"How was your date?"

Erik's still wearing the sweater he and Wille helped him pick out. He can't help but chuckle a little.

"It was really good. We had fun," the man says, managing a smile as he remembers his earlier half of the night. "And you were right, it was easy after the nerves wore off. Apparently, her little sister thought it was weird we met at the grocery store too."

Simon's surprised when he's able to manage a laugh. It doesn't meet his eyes or make him feel any less shitty but he chuckles because it's funny. And it is just the slightest bit weird but to each their own. 

"That's good," Simon says, before, naturally, he has to brood because he's a defeated teenage boy who's boyfriend was just taken from him. "I'm sorry it went to shit."

"It was mostly done anyway," Erik assures softly, shaking his head. "We were just finishing dessert and talking. She didn't seem too unfamiliar with family drama, either, so who knows, I might've found the one."

She told him to text him once everything was good because when Simon had called, it looked like he saw a fucking ghost; he supposes he did, twenty minutes later in his living room. 

Simon hums thoughtfully, nodding. The way he's curled in on himself protectively makes Erik frown. The boy's smaller, tanned hands are folded into one another, fingers toying together the way he's seen him do to Wille one too many times at the dinner table.

They think they're slick, that no one can see the blatant comforting touches or obvious loving looks they throw at one another. That Erik doesn't know they're very clearly playing footsy at the table because they can't keep their hands off each other for five seconds. 

He doesn't allow himself to think about how hard tonight will be for them, their first night apart.

He can't think about how both boys have suffered so much but they were happy together. Genuinely in love. Erik was concerned they were too dependent on each other, that the attachment was unhealthy and they were together too often, but now, he can see just how much they meant to each other.

That being together made all the other shit go away, even if just for a moment. He knows Simon still has to deal with shit now. He knows nothing he can do will help the same way Wille does but he can at least try. 

"By the way, Simon, just because Wille's gone doesn't mean you can't still come here if you need to... get away for a little bit. Sara and your mom, too, are always welcome."

It's an invitation he'd extended before, when he saw a battered wife and terrified children, and would never be rescinded; especially not, now, when Simon had grown comfortable enough to walk through the front door and help himself to drinks in the fridge.

"You're more acquainted with my guest room than me so, until Wille's back, because he will be back," Erik says, face teasing but his words not, not even a little bit, "it's all yours. Whenever you need."

Simon looks at the older man with tears threatening to build, a wet laugh bubbling out of his mouth. 

"Wille said you would offer this before," Simon says in disbelief. "Did he tell you to?"

A few beats of silence, a guilty expression, then, "yes. But I was going to anyway!"

Simon laughs for the second time since he saw Wille standing in the doorway horrified and it feels good. It's also weird, to laugh when you feel so sad and you know you're about to spend the night crying - but it's also nice, while it lasts. 

"Well, thank you. I appreciate it," Simon says, although he knows, tonight, as much as he wants to inhale Wille's scent and pretend he's next to him, he needs to go home.

Needs to cry and break down in the comfort of his own fucked up backyard haunted by memories. 

”I'll probably go home tonight, though."

Erik nods because he figured - but as long as his brother's boyfriend knows he's welcome anytime. That he's been waiting for his family to, one day, accept the help he hopes to provide them.

Erik needs all the help he can get now too, though, wondering how the fuck he's gonna get Wille back home and away from Kristina. 

~

Sara wanted to stay over but Manor House was too hot, too stuffy, and way too loud.

It's ironic because her house is also too loud, and far more dangerous, but she'd grown so used to that chaos, other types, normal types, seem too much.

Felice understood and offered to Uber her but Sara insisted she was fine - there was one more bus before the morning and spring nights were her favorite. 

The bus was mostly empty apart from a few people resting their eyes; Sara never understood why her mom would say that when, nine times out of ten, she'd end up falling asleep on the couch.

The walk home was calm and quiet in the best type of way, exactly what she needed to de-stress from the loud, feminine chatter and blaring music. She liked Felice and Maddie, even the other girls, but she really wasn't used to that stuff either.  

It was barely 10:00 but all the lights in Erik's house were off, which she thought was strange at first - usually, she could see the red glow from Wille's room from her porch.

She then remembered it's Saturday and that, on Saturdays, Rosh, Ayub and Simon always hang out. Where Simon is, Wille is, so that explains the lights being off.

Sara makes her way inside and is happy to find it's similar to the outdoors - cool, comfortable, and quiet.

Her mom's probably been home for a few hours now and if Micke's not passed out in the living room, he's still probably out. She finds solace in the fact she doesn't have to board up her room yet. 

She's only in her room for a few seconds when a figure catches her eye outside. She freezes in fear for a moment, taking a careful look, before she realizes two unusual things: it's Simon and he's alone.

She knocks on her window in warning and the boy's head snaps up - call it older sister intuition or her 20/20 vision, she knows the moment she sees her brother, something's very wrong.

When she's outside less than a minute later, plopping down next to her brother on the back ledge, she can't even get a word out before he collapses against her sobbing.

Chapter Text

Being back in Stockholm felt just as wrong as Wille knew it would.

He went through what seemed like every stage of grief as he watched the small town pass him by through the car window.

He’d experienced denial right there in Erik’s living room: begging and pleading and crying to his mom, who he knew wouldn't change her mind but was so desperate to convince anyway, because the thought of going back made him feel like he was gonna die.

He felt sadness and acceptance, acceptance only out of despair and defeat, in Simon’s room. What should've been a fun, exciting milestone in their relationship turned bitter as he held his boyfriend close.

Looked in his beautiful teary eyes and knew he had to tell him that he loved him, because that was the only thing he was sure of in that moment.

It had given him the slightest bit of strength to walk out and pretend he wasn’t scared. Pretend he didn't feel just as scared as when he first knocked on Erik's door that cool October night.

Pretend he wasn’t fucking terrified because the last thing he wanted to do was go back to being so sad, so lonely, so empty in a way he didn’t even completely realize until, suddenly, he was so full of happiness and love. 

He couldn’t get Erik’s look of guilt out of his head, the way he kept mumbling that he was sorry even though Wille knows, in the face of their mother, against their mother, there’s not much they can do.

But Simon’s cries haunt him like nothing else, not even that biting voice from his nightmares - the sound of his boyfriend’s cries muffled in his chest, how small he felt against him as his body collapsed atop his, how when Wille pulled back and looked in those brown, teary eyes, he swore he was about to beg him not to leave him.

And if he had done that, he thinks they both know Wille would've completely shattered.

That’s when the anger came, sat in the car with Bjärstad, Erik, Simon, long behind. The anger that came and never left, not even days later.

The anger that was just as palpable as the tension in the car that night when his mother barely spared him a glance, didn’t utter a word. 

When they got back into the city, Wille wondered if the air always felt so thick and polluted. 

If it always made it extra hard for him to breathe and if the streets in his neighborhood had always looked so immaculate and picturesque, like it was some fucking twilight zone.

His room was nothing like he left it, not a thing out of place.

The night he left, clothes were strewn across his floor, his desk was a mess of tangled wires, and his bed was unmade in its usual fashion; now, it was immaculate and nothing felt right, familiar.

It was too big, too monochrome, too cold. It wasn't drenched in a hue of red and he couldn't hear Erik's tv through the thin walls.

The night he left, he was running into the unknown, running away from home, and yet, returning was so much worse. Because he knew how this would play out, he's always known.

He'll be back to being lonely, back to being unhappy, he'll brood and be ignored and continue to be the main source of his parents disappointment. 

The only new components now are Simon, because he can still text and dream of him, pretend he's beside him, and anger - deep-seated, true, unabashed anger. He wasn't used to feeling that, only anxiety and terror, and he can't imagine anything good will come from it. 

Not for him, sure, but also for Kristina, and that’s enough for him. As long as he can make Kristina feel just as stressed, horrified, and irritated as him.

As long as he can make her regret ripping him away from the only life he was happy living, then he really doesn't care what happens anymore. 

~

It felt like his boyfriend was gone for months. Simon was convinced, as he laid in bed and stared at the wall, that spring bled into summer, then fall and Wille had been gone for months - it'll be a week in two days time and Simon is miserable.

Beyond miserable.

Simon doesn't think he's ever coped so badly in his life and that's saying a lot, considering his upbringing. 

He couldn't tear himself out of bed until Thursday, missing three days of school in exchange for sleeping because he'd been up video chatting Wille until the wee hours of the morning.

"We have to be up for school in..." Simon's eyes travel to the corner of his phone, a humbling 4:52 in the corner, "three hours. Or are you still refusing to go?"

"I'm not going," Wille says, because he hadn't gone since he returned and has no plans to.

He hasn't spoken a word to his mother since that evening in Erik's living room and while it makes Simon smirk, he wonders just how long Kristina will put up with that behavior. 

”She keeps trying to get me to go, get me to talk to her, but I won't,” Wille continues, “I don't care."

Simon's eyes burn with exhaustion but his need to see Wille, hear him, stay up and talk to him, just seems to win over every time. 

"I know, it's not fair," Simon mumbles sleepily, cuddled cozily under his blanket. "It's not even like you could have a conversation if you wanted to. She doesn't listen."

"Exactly. It's just pointless," Wille sighs, before his eyes really take in the curly-haired boy on the screen. His heart warms but also pangs with hurt, with longing, because its only been mere days and yet, it feels so much longer since he's held him. "I miss you."

They say it every day, every night, what feels like every hour; if anyone else heard how often these two boys said that to each other, they'd probably consider it extremely unhealthy. 

"I miss you too, Wille," Simon mumbles, not able to help the tired smile on his face. "I love you."

"I love you," Wille says, because they also say that a lot too, more than he's ever said that to anyone in his life, and it seems to be his only source of happiness these days in this room. "I wish I was there with you."

"Me too," Simon mumbles quietly, an uncharacteristic lump forming in his throat; he can't believe he has any tears left in his body after how much he cried with Sara on Saturday night. "I miss your bed, but it's not the same without you. Nothing is." 

Nothing is the same without Wille which is why he couldn't bring himself to go to school.

Not until his mother started to (finally) get increasingly concerned and asked if he needed to go to the doctor; when he answered no, she gave him a look, he didn't say anything, and she quietly begged him with those guilty, tired eyes to, please, go to school tomorrow. 

The second he and Sara get off the bus, he wishes he hadn't.

He only planned on going because he didn't wanna miss choir practice again but he didn't account for just how much of his boyfriend lingered everywhere - not just in his mind or on their block or in his sad, dead backyard.

He was in the path they took together every morning, where they went from clumsy, bumping hands to fully intertwined.

He was in the classroom where the seat beside him was now empty, no lingering looks or a pesky, flirty foot hitting his own under the table.

He was in the hallways where they would linger because they, dramatic as always, couldn't stand to be apart for the short time they would be until lunch.

Lunch was the hardest.

Lunch made him wanna cry.

Lunch used to be his favorite time of the day, because even when they were going through shit, he and Wille would escape to the lake and just be together.

Wille would rest his head in his lap or lean against the tree with Simon between his legs.

They would sit in silence as they ate and it was just the de-stressor Simon needed - sitting quietly with his boyfriend, chastely touching - to deal with the rest of his day without Wille. 

Because, without fail, Simon always passed the third years on the way to his last class.

It used to be something he was keenly aware of that first month here, with their mocking laughter and stares, always the stares, because he was poor and that was so funny; but then when he had Wille, it stopped.

They still looked nosily but it was nowhere near as obvious, nowhere near as disgusted and smug, like they thought they had some sort of power over the younger boy. 

Now, Simon was back to being alone.

He was alone, sad, and uncharacteristically vulnerable which is something he didn't have the privilege of being at school.

Not when he needs to protect himself so fiercely, not when there's a target on his back just because of the family he was born into; he thought it was funny how that same fact, just simply being born into the 'right' family, was what made August feel so powerful.

What made him think it was okay to see Simon walking in the hallway alone, saunter up to him with Vincent and Nils trailing behind, and throw a casual, heavy arm around his shoulder.

August towers over him and it makes the boy jump, makes nerves and anger seep into his veins. 

"So, non-res, what gives?" August begins, cocky and sarcastic and all things joking. "Wilhelm finally stop taking pity on you?"

When Simon doesn't answer and tries to shove the older boy off him, he only tightens his grasp. 

"I heard he's back in Stockholm."

There’s nothing but the buzz of students chatter and the scurry of feet around them. Simon tries to shake him off rougher, more purposefully, and he really doesn't give a single fuck if he hurts August in the process.

The boy's heavy arm falls off him but at the cost of his hand grabbing him, stopping him in his tracks. Simon's head snaps toward him and he can just feel the anger and annoyance burning in his eyes. 

It only gets worse when August's mocking voice keeps speaking, because he never fucking knows when to shut up.

"Ah, back to not speaking then, huh?" August taunts, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Not so tough now without your little boyfriend, are you? We knew that was the only reason you were bold enough to act the way you were, like you were better than us."

"I wasn't acting like that," Simon bites back. He doesn't know why he says it, he doesn't wanna give this asshole the time of day, but he's only getting more annoyed. More angry.

"Oh no?" August laughs, "I'm pretty sure you were."

"You definitely were," Vincent says, Simon's eyes rolling because while August is obnoxious, Vincent is somehow worse. "You look like a lost puppy now, without him."

"I'm trying to get to class but you're in my fucking way."

Simon hears the slightest, teasing hint of "ooooh," come from Nils before he pushes his way through August, shooting the trio one last dirty look before making his way into the classroom that's, thankfully, a few doors down. 

Even if he wanted to pay attention in class for the next forty minutes, he couldn't.

Not with how angry and on edge he was, not with how his mind was wandering and not while he possessed such an unnerved feeling that he knew only Wille could fix.

He takes out his phone rather boldly and it's a stroke of luck he doesn't get caught by the teacher; he can't help but text his boyfriend even though he knows there's a chance he's still sleeping. 

(Simon 1:19 pm)

hi <3

im bored in school :( mama made me go today 

His leg bounces throughout class, he doesn't learn a fucking thing, and Wille never texts him back.

He makes his way to choir where he only continues to brood.

Where all his festering emotions only grow darker because singing is supposed to help, it's one of his only outlets, and yet, he's just feeling so angry and hopeless.

He hates that he came today, where reminders of Wille are still everywhere. He hates that he's feeling like this and he hates that people keep fucking staring. 

He hates that everyone can sense something's off, because he's off-key and barely singing, but doesn't say a word to him - not until he goes to leave and he hears Felice call his name softly.

He turns and the expression on his face must be heinous, because Maddie looks guilty and Felice's expression drops ever so slightly. 

"Hey," Felice bravely tries, because he knows his aura must be nasty right now; he also knows Maddie's probably just dying to fucking cleanse it all away. 

"Hi," he mutters, trying for a small smile - just because he's miserable doesn't mean he needs to be a complete dick. 

A few moments of awkward, tense silence linger between them. Some people shuffle around them nosily while others just walk straight past, Simon staring at them blankly before, unsurprisingly, Maddie speaks up. 

"We're sorry about Wilhelm," the American says, Simon not able to hold back his humorless snort. "Everyone's saying his mom sent him back to Stockholm."

"Maddie..." Felice sighs, side-eyeing the girl harshly before she looks to Simon.

Her gaze softens and he appreciates when he sees that it's genuine. It makes him feel slightly less cold and frigid inside. 

”We really are sorry, though, Simon,” the girl says gently, "that sucks. Are you- are you doing okay?"

He almost missed a week of school, he got less than three hours of sleep last night (first from talking to Wille and then from not being able to fall asleep) and he's been on the verge of a breakdown all day - so, no, he knows he certainly isn’t and must not look it either.

"I'm fine." 

Maddie looks like she wants to call him out on his bullshit - he almost wishes she did so he could have a reason for snapping. Felice looks at her before she can and, not so discretely, shakes her head.

The girl's lips then fall into a frown, voice dropping so the lingering nosy bodies don't hear.

"Well, it’s okay if you're not," Felice says softly and he briefly wonders if Sara's been venting to her about him or he really just looks that miserable. "Long-distance can work but it's also hard. You guys were, like, attached at the hip."

Long distance can work and he knows he and Wille will make sure it does, they love each other, but the days already feel so fucking long. He already feels ready to break without him, like he can’t go on.

"Yeah," is all Simon can bear to say; if he tries to say more, he thinks he might start screaming. 

He doesn't really know why Felice is asking him, offering him support. They were only ever friendly because of choir.

His phone buzzes and, just as frantically as always, he whips it out and feels a lightness in his chest at the sight of Wille's name; Felice and Maddie share a look because, for a brief second, life floats back into Simon's tired, brown eyes and his lips pull into a relieved smile. 

Simon slides open his phone to see Wille's words that never fail to make his heart soar.

(Wille 4:36 pm)

hi baby 💜

i'm sorry u had to go :( was it okay?

call me on your way to the bus <3

Simon's smile fades when he realizes its the first Thursday in months he won't be going directly to Wille's afterward; he swallows down the lump in his throat, body bouncing to move out the door and make the call when Felice speaks up again.

"If you ever wanna hang out after school or maybe even at lunch, you know where to find us," the girl says softly, kindly. They always sit outside by the tables when it’s nice. "We'd love if you joined."

Simon would typically be wary of the invite but today, he secretly finds himself grateful; he's not about to rejoice and immediately agree, either, but he can appreciate a pity invite when he sees one. 

"Thanks Felice," Simon says, the girl nodding silently, the curly-haired assessing her for maybe a moment too long, before he says his goodbyes and is out the door with his phone to his ear; Wille answers after the third ring. 

"Hi," he hears his boyfriend's slightly sleepy, deep voice say. Simon laughs for the first time today. 

"Hi lazy," Simon teases, a smile pulling at his lips. "You realize it's almost 5:00, right?"

The sound of Wille’s groan only causes his smile to widen. 

"Oh c’mon, I didn't go to bed 'til 7 this morning,” Wille whines, Simon rolling his eyes.

"I know, your text could've woken me up," the boy bites back, walking down the path and trying to not think about how Wille should be here whining next to him, their hands intertwined and bodies bumping playfully.

He wants to say more, a teasing comment of some sort, but his throat suddenly feels tight. 

"I'm sorry," Wille mumbles softly, which only makes his throat feel tighter, a lump quickly forming. He misses him. "How was it today?” Wille asks, in that concerned, frantic way he always does. “Everything went good? Are you okay?"

He knows the real question is going unsaid. That the concerns which caused their fight on the first day are still very much present in Wille's mind - there was a target on his boyfriend's back and now, he's alone again with that.

Simon remembers that altercation, and then them making up and processing that week, was the one where he really started to realize just how much he was starting to feel for Wille. How Wille could truly always make him feel better, no matter what. 

"I like being there for you. And being with you, all the time. I like helping the people I care about and I happen to… really care about you. I understand why you got mad and your feelings are completely justified," he had said. “I'm sorry for overstepping but I’m not sorry for wanting to defend you, Simon. For asking now to please let me help you sometimes because I can't take it knowing people treat you badly."

Simon's eyes burn thinking back to that night.

His dad was screaming and he was so close to losing it but he'd wanted Wille more. Wille always just had, has, a way of making him feel better. 

"Yeah," Simon says quietly, looking down at his shuffling feet because he always needed to hide his face when he lied to his boyfriend. "It was fine."

He doesn't have to know what August said, that Vincent insulted him, that Nils laughed at him. He didn't have to know that Felice and Maddie were looking at him like they thought he was falling apart. That they felt bad enough to invite him to lunch.

Silence falls between them, only shuffling in the background of Wille's bedroom and Simon's quiet footsteps and singing birds. 

"Really?" Wille asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Simon swears even through the phone it gives him goosebumps, that the wind brushing past his neck is his boyfriend's warm breath ghosting over his skin. He wishes so desperately that it was. 

"Yes, Wille, really," Simon mutters, repressing the urge to sigh. His boyfriend already has so much shit going on, he doesn't need to make it worse by telling him about silly drama at school. "How 'bout you?" he asks, "how are you doing?"

They already check in everyday, it’s not like anything could have possibly changed, but hopefully it’ll distract him.

"The same," Wille mumbles, disdain in his voice. "I'm still not talking to her, I'm still not going to school, and I still miss you," he whines, Simon smiling sadly despite everything.

(Wille doesn't tell him that he can't bring himself to eat. That when the housekeepers bring him food, because he doesn't allow Kristina in, he'll pick at whatever's on the plate but can barely get it down because his stomach is in such knots).

"I just- I can't get over how fucked up it is, that this is our lives now," Wille continues, hurt and anger laced in his voice. "Like, she really just came and dragged me back even though I told her I'm fucking miserable here. Why would she think I'm gonna do anything she asks of me?"

Simon nods as he leans against the tree, eyes heavy with exhaustion. He drops his backpack beside him.

"I know, it really is unfair," Simon says, because for the fucking life of him, that's all he can think or say about the situation. "But Erik's trying. Erik's gonna help in a way where he won't get in trouble and you can actually stay. For good this time."

He's trying to be hopeful, stay hopeful, for Wille.

Simon thoroughly believes in the older Bernadotte brother but, at this point in time, he can't help but feel so defeated inside about everything. He's not only sad and depressed but also fucking angry.

He's so tired of being angry about everything in his life. 

"And what if he can't?" Wille dares to utter, because it's a very real concern - wondering just how much Erik can do against their mother. "What if I- what if I'm stuck here? What if I can never go back there? What then?"

"You'll be 17 soon," Simon points out, a funny realization when they discovered that their birthdays are only two weeks apart. "And then once you're 18 next year, she can't do anything. You can go anywhere and do anything you want and none of her stupid fucking threats will be able to work," the boy continues, not able to keep the venom out of his voice.

His stomach churns when he thinks about how, while a year isn't terribly long, it could feel like centuries if Wille's in a place where he doesn't feel safe.

"But I also know that a year's a long time," Simon acknowledges, his voice low so hopefully it doesn't start quivering. "Do you think- do you think if the worst case scenario happens, and you have to stay there... you'd be okay?"

There's a long, pregnant silence that the longer it stretches, the more sick Simon feels.

He knows it isn't necessarily a bad thing, Wille's just truly pondering the heavy question, but the thought of Wille being somewhere for that long and not being okay makes him wanna, both, cry and punch something. 

"I mean, I guess I'd have to be," Wille finally says.

Simon's not sure how he feels about that answer but before he can say anything, his boyfriend's speaking again.

"I wouldn't have any other choice now but to stay here and it'd be fucking hard. Really hard," Wille acknowledges, because his mother has never made anything easy and his dad might as well be a piece of furniture. "But... worst case scenario? I'd have to be okay. If I only had to stay here for a year, and I still had you and Erik to talk to... I think I'd be okay."

Simon stays quiet now because he wishes Wille's words soothed him in any way but they don't.

It will be hard, Wille's been through this before, and, yet, he was so not okay.

Simon saw firsthand many times what his mother does to him, how he lost the ability to speak from her. How he crumbled in her presence and she didn't have the slightest hint of love or sympathy in her eyes. 

“And I- I know that's kind of me, like, asking or assuming you'll still be my boyfriend in a year," Wille says, Simon's stomach knotting because he doesn't think he likes where Wille's going with this.

"And maybe this conversation will be pointless because Erik will be able to get me back home soon but if..." he sighs, as if he's trying to get whatever words are caught in his throat out. "We don't know how this long distance will be or work," he begins to say, Simon immediately cutting him off with a shake of the head. 

"What?"

It feels like his heart has already dropped into his stomach. He can feel panic quickly overcoming his body, the tears he's been holding back all day threatening to leak from his eyes. 

"I know you didn't sign up for this when we started dating," Wille says, "and it- it could be a lot, long distance, it'll be hard not having each other everyday so if it ever gets too much for you, I want you to be honest," he continues, although his voice is quiet and strained, like he's fighting off pain. "I don't want you to feel like you have to stay with me just so I could feel okay here and-"

"What the fuck are you saying? Why are you doing this right now?"

Simon's voice breaks and this is so not the time or place for this conversation.

He's fortunate that the bus stop is nearly empty and not many other students take it at this time but he still doesn't wanna be hysterical crying in public. 

"Simon, I'm not saying that we should-"

"Why are you saying anything like this right now, Wille?" Simon snaps, and his voice sounds far more hurt and scared than angry. Anyone could hear that.

"I- I love you and you love me. I miss you so fucking much and being away from you right now... it's hard enough," the curly-haired says, the pained words just blurting out of him.

It's hard enough so he can't have his selfless, sweet, oblivious fucking boyfriend doing this to him right now.

"Why would you think I don't wanna be together just because you're there?” Simon asks, in vehement disbelief. “I want you, Wille. I told you we'd make it work."

Miles away, in the darkness of his too big, too cold, too monochrome room, Wille's eyes burn as he thinks back to that last night in Simon's room; it feels like it was so fucking long ago but his heart bleeds like it just happened. 

"I can't leave you," he says, his breaths picking up. “I- I can't be okay knowing you're here and I'm- I'm there. I'm so happy here with you. And Erik. And Rosh and Ayub and Sara. H ow am I supposed to do it? How- how are we supposed to-"

”We will be fine, Wille," Simon says, cutting the boy off to place both hands on his face. He traces the faint freckles on his wet cheeks, gently running his thumbs over his boyfriend's skin. "You don't have to worry about anything like that. We will always be okay," Simon promises.

He can still feel his boyfriend's gentle, warm touch on his face.

The way he handled him with such care, looked at him with such love, and made him feel so warm despite the way his mother came in like a storm and ruined his fucking life.

It's not taking much for him to cry these days, although a lot of the tears have been ones of frustration, but the second he utters those words and he hears Simon's shaky, broken voice, his face is wet. 

"I know," Wille mumbles, picking at the side of his bloody, burning thumb, voice wet and wobbly. "I- I just wanted to make sure. I didn't want you to feel, like, forced or anything..."

Simon must be able to hear that he's crying because he hears the boy sigh. Silence hangs between them on the phone and Wille can hear the crunching of leaves under Simon's feet. 

"You're only about to force me to come to Stockholm and hide in your room forever," Simon grumbles, Wille chuckling wetly because, "please do. I won't tell anyone."

It's, both, crazy and comforting to Wille how even when they're this far apart, only over the phone, they hear the others breathing and match it. Simon takes in a deep breath and Wille does the same. Wille holds it for just a split second longer before Simon exhales.

If both of them close their eyes and just pretend, it can almost seem like they're cuddled together in Wille's room, curled under the covers in the strangely soothing red hue. 

"For real, though, Wille, we're in this together," Simon says, and his soft voice is so serious, it makes Wille smile despite his tears. "Please don't say shit like that again."

"I'm sorry," the blonde says, tightly huddled under the blanket. "I won't."

A few beats of silence, the sound of the bus coming to a stop through the phone before- "unless it really will get you to come here. My bed is way too big for one person.”

Simon scoffs, anxiety still buzzing through him at thinking Wille was just about to break up with him. 

"Maybe you should get a Stockholm boyfriend then," Simon suggests dryly, just the idea making Wille scoff. 

"That's not even funny."

Simon's chuckle is low but it's a chuckle and for that, Wille is grateful. Wille only wants to hear Simon laugh for the rest of his life.

"My bus is here but I'll text you."

"Okay," Wille says, "I love you."

He can hear the smile in Simon's voice as he says it back, his own slowly fading when the call ends and he's throwing himself back on his bed.

The room is quiet, the rest of his house is even quieter, and then his stomach growling echoes throughout the room.

He'd been doing everything in his power to avoid his mother but he's not sure he can do it anymore; the housekeepers probably came by with his breakfast and lunch that he'd slept through.

He pads through the house quietly. It brings him nothing but disdain now when he really notices how large it is. How it's so obnoxiously clean, it doesn't even look lived in.

Erik's house was a home, with clutter and signs of life. There's no reason his family of three would need a home this size. 

Wille's uncharacteristically nimble in his attempts to heat up the sandwich the housekeeper left labeled for him in the fridge. He grabs a few bottles of water so he can hoard them for the next two days and carefully starts making his way back to his room.

It's weird but not unusual for him to feel like an intruder in what's supposed to be his home. He had done it even before leaving, just to not be any more of a nuisance, but now it's purely out of avoidance.

He's not sure if his mom is even home, he couldn't care less about his dad, but hopefully if he's quick and quiet enough, he can prevent the awkward silence and irritation entirely. 

Of course, like most things in his life, what he wishes doesn't happen; he's just rounding the stairs when he almost collides straight into his mother. 

She's standing tall, in her normal work pantsuit, with that typical scornful look on her face; if she's shocked to see him out of his room, she doesn't make it obvious. Wille just tries to push passed her, act like she's invisible like she's done to him his whole life, but she doesn't allow it. 

"Wilhelm."

The blonde just gives her a look, searching for regret or kindness he'll never see, before making his way around her. 

"Wilhelm," she sighs again and it only makes him wanna be defiant. He's so used to being scared of her that feeling like this, feeling angry and out for some type of revenge, is strangely thrilling. It feels good to ignore her, good to walk past her like she's nothing but a speck of dust. 

"This is getting ridiculous," Kristina calls out after him, her voice booming up the stairs. "You'll have to speak to me eventually."

No he won't. Not if he can help it.

He'll gladly go the year never speaking to her again if it means the moment he turns eighteen, he could follow in Erik's footsteps with at least some of his sanity and never look back.

~

A part of Erik expected to never hear from Elsa again.

Their date had gone well, really well. Everything was so surprisingly easy and natural once the nerves wore off - but then his sudden, slightly dramatic exit had left him feeling concerned.

He knew it wasn't a great first impression to hint at having some type of baggage - not Wille, never Wille, but a ridiculous mother who starts drama like it's her favorite past time - and that's exactly what he'd done. 

"Simon, it's okay. You have to breathe," Erik says, trying to keep the frantic boy on the phone calm. "You and Wille need to breathe until I get there. Help each other. Take him into his room or outside and it'll all be okay. I'm gonna be there soon. Really, really soon, okay? Tell Wille for me."

He probably should've excused himself at that moment but he just completely froze.

It was hard enough to try and process what Simon was saying and calm him down, let alone remember his date was in front of him and witnessing his worst nightmare come true.

His gaze shifted to Elsa, all long, auburn waves and the most unique shade of blue eyes he'd ever seen, who just smiled at him assuringly. 

He mouthed "I'm sorry" and the girl just shook her head, eyes furrowed like his apology was absurd. 

"Okay, that's good. I'll see you later," Erik responds to Simon, his own body wracked with anxiety but the constant reminder he needs to stay strong for them. in the forefront of his mind. " Everything will be fine, Simon."

He hung up and immediately began fumbling. Fixing his sweater haphazardly as it suddenly grew uncomfortably hot, threw down more than enough cash to cover the bill because he'd planned on doing that from the start, looking at the woman before him who seemed to know something serious and dire was happening.  

"Is everything okay?" Elsa asks.

Erik was thinking all night how much he's liked her voice, how melodic it could sound but then also came through with rasp; it does little to comfort him now, unfortunately. 

"Yes, yeah, I'm so sorry, Elsa," Erik stammers. He's not used to stammering or stuttering. He's the calm one. He's the cool one. He always has to stay good under pressure because that's what he's always been trained to do. "That was my little brother's boyfriend and- and something came up. I've been having such a good time but I have to go, I don't know what-"

"No, no it's okay, I understand," she says, something extremely calming about her tone. "I had a good time, too. I hope everything works out."

"T-thanks, yeah, me too," Erik chuckles out humorlessly, all the panic and adrenaline crashing through him. He knows he needs to jump out of his seat and run to his car but he feels stuck. "I... can you text me when you get home? I hate to leave like this."

The small smile that lights up her face does something to him he cannot even comprehend right now.

"I understand, Erik, really, it's okay," she says, shaking her head. "I'll text you." Something about his expression must give away his doubts because her face softens, her foot tapping his the way they'd been playfully doing all night under the table. "I promise."

That Saturday night, she kept her promise and he felt something he hasn't in a while.

His first six months here was undoubtedly lonely but he had welcomed it. It was exactly what he needed to heal and start his life over.

Having anyone in his life would've been difficult but, once Wille came, he realized just how lonely he really was. How mundane and almost sad his days had been. 

A single date with Elsa showed him how nice it was to talk to someone like that: to laugh, to catch someone's flirty smile, a bump of footsie, and reciprocate it back because it was exciting and fun. 

He and Elsa continued to text back and forth during what's been one of the hardest weeks of Erik's life.

He didn't tell her anything besides the situation he left early for was somewhat dealt with for now, although it was complicated.

Conversation flowed so easily with her, they were able to be playful and flirty and get to know each other more but then also slip into things a little more serious. 

Erik was never one to have serious crushes.

He was usually far more casual with dating, which is why Wille's feelings for Simon, both, amused and fascinated him - but when Elsa, a full week later, asked if he was doing anything tonight and wanted to hang out again, he was surprised to find that he was excited, even with everything going on.

He cleaned the house like the queen was coming, prepared a nice meal he knew he'd mastered cooking, and steered very clear of the heinous shirt Wille and Simon had persecuted him for. 

7:00 on the dot she came and they hadn't stopped talking. They were all sweet smiles and amused chuckles and pink cheeks that Erik thought was just far too humiliating for a man his age. 

They were cuddled up on the couch later into the night, a stupid comedy on and a blanket covering their bodies, when the man - be it the wine or his heightened state of vulnerability - thanked Elsa for coming. 

"I thought with the way I so abruptly ended things last week I wouldn't hear from you again," he confesses, Elsa's laugh booming through his living room.

It sounds nice to hear that again. 

"Why the heck!" she whines, swatting his stomach softly. "That'd be so mean of me! It was an emergency."

"I know but it was a bad look," Erik says, "baggage is more, like, a 6th, 7th date type of thing, you know?"

"Whatever that was didn't seem to be baggage," she says, shaking her head dismissively, hand lingering on his blanket-covered side. "I could tell it was something serious. You were so different the second you got the call. I actually got a little scared."

"Great, so I scared you and left the date early," Erik teases, Elsa's smile lit by the tv. "How'd I even manage to get you back here?"

"Eh, you're tall. And cute."

"Wow," Erik says dryly, her head softly hitting his shoulder as she throws it back with a soft giggle. 

"I'm kidding."

The man only smiles, holding back a chuckle of his own before they fall into silence.

They were only half paying attention to the movie in the background, too distracted by conversation and how comfortable they are despite only knowing each other a week. 

He can see from the corner of his eye Elsa opens her mouth to speak before promptly closing it; she repeats it a few times, her nervousness about something so sweetly endearing, before she finally speaks. 

Erik lets out a scoff, not because her words are absurd but because they're secretly what he needs right now - especially after the stressful, guilt-ridden week he's had. 

"Yeah?" Erik chuckles lowly, wondering just how much he'll be able to do this. "Well... no one has a mother like mine," he warns, remembering her cold eyes, harsh words and that his little brother's probably suffering because of her at this very moment. "I don't know if you wanna subject yourself to that right now."

"I do," she says, blue eyes wide and soft and so overwhelmingly genuine, "but only if you wanna tell me."

Erik didn't realize just how much he wanted to, needed to, until he started - then, it was like the dam had broke, his guard was down, and everything he held inside about his mother was slowly coming to the surface. 

He didn't go into all of it, because he didn't wanna scare off this suspiciously perfect, understanding woman, and his brother's personal business is private, but he's desperate to get everything regarding Wille's recent absence off his chest.

He started from the beginning.

A shortened version about his own journey of breaking away and moving to this small town before Wille showed up on his doorstep like a welcomed storm, rain after a long drought.

He confessed how hard it was to balance being a brother and caretaker but that he'd learned. That he knew he had to because he'd do anything for his little brother.

"I probably should've fucking known with her being silent for so long that it would blow up in my face," Erik scoffs, admitting what he thought about in hindsight but, "he was just so happy here," he sighs, feeling Elsa's attentive gaze on him. "I didn't even wanna consider him going back there, even though we knew it could happen. And now, I feel so guilty. He hates it there."

Elsa nods, her arm a comforting presence against him; she wasn't kidding when she said she was a good listener, she hadn't interrupted him or made a face of judgment once. 

"It's a tough situation all around and I know it's easier said than done," she begins, "but you shouldn't feel guilty. It's hard knowing he's somewhere he doesn't wanna be but it also sounds like you gave him a place to heal," she continues, because the way Erik talks about Wille is so touching, she can't help but be so intrigued and fascinated by him and his heart but then his playful nature that slips through. "It sounds like these were some of the best months of his life."

"I think a big part of that is because of Simon," Erik chuckles. He feels something twinge in his chest at the thought of the two boys, at how they're dealing with this separation and their respective homes. 

Elsa smiles fondly, because young love is usually unmatched but-

"Some of it, I'm sure, yes," Elsa giggles, because Erik poked fun at his little brother's Simon eyes and Simon smile and Simon voice. "But I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit either. Coming from the world's best older sister, you sound like the best older brother." 

Erik meets her gaze, soft, sweet, almost impossibly light shade of blue, and can't help but smile. He doesn't allow himself to think that, maybe, it may mean something that she's able to make him smile at a time like this. 

"But not the world's best older brother?" 

Elsa laughs beside him, smacking him softly with the arm resting on him. Her touch lingers and it warms Erik even more, causes his eyes to roam over hers and he likes more than anything how genuine they are. 

"The world's best older brother, for sure," she smiles with a nod. 

Erik smiles back sadly because, while his date may be right, Wille being gone will always hurt him. Will never feel okay. Nothing will feel okay again until he's back to living somewhere he wants to be, in a place where he's only ever happy. 

"I try," Erik admits. "I'm gonna try to get him back too, somehow, but it's just... it's hard." 

It doesn't have to be. Not if his mother wasn't so fucking impossible. 

The woman nods beside him, a sad expression covering her pretty face.

"I'm sorry," she sighs, because the pain on this man's face, his general aura, is palpable. 

Erik scoffs beside her, shaking his head. 

"Not your fault," Erik says, his hand reaching out to move a wavy strand. "Thank you for listening. I didn't realize how much I needed that."

"Of course."

Her smile is pretty, her voice is the perfect amount of soft rasp and her eyes are glinted with something just so kind and alluring, Erik finds that he needs to remind himself this is only their second date.

But they're pressed so close together, the smell of wine and her vanilla perfume mixing, and, during sometime in that conversation, her hand started trailing down his arm gently, comfortingly. 

His eyes fall to her lips, pink, plump, and appearing so soft, before he catches her gaze and she nods. He would've thought he was just seeing things if she didn't make the first move to lean in, a coy smile pulling at her lips before he does the same. 

Right before their lips can collide, Erik hears the familiar ruckus next door. 

~

Simon knew that, maybe at some point, he'd regret this but in the moment, he didn't care.

He was just so angry, so hurt, so tired of everything in his life making him miserable. He was angry that the one person who made him genuinely happy was gone. The person he'd run to right now, to avoid his low-life father, who would calm his racing heart and body down. 

Instead, he was stuck in his room hearing thrashing and drunken yelps. Sara was out with Felice, his mom was working, and that left Micke and Simon alone. 

Rosh and Ayub had begged him all day to come over, everything from bribes to guilt trips to selfies of Ayub pouting, but he just couldn't leave his room. Couldn't bear to be around people.

Simon's always brooded, it was a fatal flaw, but tacked on with what felt like heartbreak and he was miserable. Incorrigible.

The only thing that made him feel slightly better was talking to Wille but even that was hard because he was trying to stay strong and put on a brave face for him. 

But he missed him, his presence, the comfort he gave him.

It's only been a week but he misses the way he'd sleep so soundly beside him, laugh and talk and giggle and kiss and, fuck, he think he'd give anything to be able to kiss his boyfriend again.

His thoughts are interrupted by yet another loud bang from the living room. Micke was by himself in there so Simon was wondering why the fuck the drunk asshole was kicking shit around. 

Between his suppressed anger at his father, his life, Wille gone, and being alone and sad on a Saturday night, another bang and Simon snaps.

Simon hates to feel this type of heat flooding through his veins, because he'd rather be dead than be like his father, but if anyone deserves to be on the receiving end of violence and fury, it's Micke. 

Simon flew out of his room like a storm and saw Micke kicking the side table he drunkenly bumped into.

"What the fuck are you doing?" 

Simon doesn't recognize his own voice.

It sounds harsh, biting, and like someone who, for once, isn't secretly scared of the man he's supposed to call his father. Micke's eyes are glassy when he looks up at Simon, stumbling over to the boy.

He pushes at him as he goes on his usual spiel - asks who the fuck he's talking to, why he thinks he can talk to him like that, all the shit he usually says, as if he's a man who deserves any respect. 

"I've done everything to- to provide for you and this family and this is how you-"

"You haven't done fucking anything!" Simon screams, because that's the last straw. The very last one.

It would've been the final one even if he wasn't doing as poorly as he was right now. "You're a drunk and a junkie and you do nothing but terrorize us."

Micke's eyes flash with anger, a look Simon knows all too well, and it surprises him in no way when his dad roughly takes a hold of his shirt.

This is when Simon usually blocks it out, when his body shuts down to forget the pain and terror he's feeling, but he doesn't care right now. Not even a little. He only feels challenged as he looks in his father's dark, tortured eyes and holds back the manic laugh threatening to escape him. 

"Is this the part where you hit me?" Simon mocks, his collar tight around his neck. "Do it, you piece of shit. It's the only thing you can ever fucking-"

Simon's back hits the wall as his dad shoves him, the hold on his shirt tightening.

It's nearly choking him but he doesn't notice, doesn't care, only continues to meet his father's gaze and feels all the hurt transform into something more dark and toxic, something to feel other than emptiness and sadness. 

Something Simon's never wanted to feel but knew all along must've been inside him. 

How could it not?

Micke gives him a warning slap, the sound echoing through the living room, and Simon just continues to provoke. To speak.

To tell him how much he's ruined his life, how they'd all be better off without him, how if he left in this very moment, not a single person would give a shit. 

"You're pathetic, Micke," Simon cries, and his voice is loud but breaking because this shouldn't be happening. He shouldn't be doing this. No one's home to stop them but he can't seem to stop himself either. "I hate you, you know. I fucking hate you. I've never hated anyone more in my life than I hate you-"

A fist flies toward his face before, seconds later, warmth gushes from his nose. Simon laughs again at the sensation, can barely read his dad's expression because he just looks so fucked up, and, for the first time ever, hits his father back. 

Simon's smaller than him, substantially, in height and weight but the power behind it is enough to knock Micke back and on his ass. Simon walks over to his father and ignores the painful ache in his hand.

He kicks him back the way he's seen him do to his own mother, a moment burned into his mind, and looms over him. Blood's dripping from his nose that he wipes at harshly, seeing shock for the first time in his father's eyes - Simon's never hit him back before, not even during the worst bouts of Micke's abuse. 

There's a silent stand off full of heavy breathing and bloody sniffles. Micke looks like he wants to get up and strangle his son but also like he's too shocked to do anything.

Like it's really such a surprise, after years of abusing someone, that there wouldn't be a moment they finally fought back. 

"You're gonna regret doing that, Simon," is all Micke can finally say, although he still lay drunk and immobile on the floor; Simon's truly surprised that he hasn't jumped back up to kill him but he's even more surprised that he, himself, still feels ready to fight. Still has enough fight in him to look at him and egg him on one last time. 

"Fuck you."

It feels good to spit those words at him. To see his father laid out on the floor by his own hand and step over him like he's nothing. He's not even scared that he'll grab him from behind, fight dirty while his back is turned because that's exactly the type of shit he would do, and that should alarm Simon. 

But he's buzzing with adrenaline, with fear, with some strange sense of power that he hopes only feels good because it was his piece of shit father and not because he was violent. 

He flees outside where things always feel right, always feel okay.

He never thought he'd prefer the biting cold to the warming spring weather but the cold reminds him of Wille and he craves it almost as much as the boy himself; it'd be easy to trick himself that his boyfriend was in the house next door preparing their hot chocolate and tea.

His boyfriend, even miles away, seems to know when he's thinking of him; in this moment, his phone vibrating is exactly what he doesn't need.

Wille can't know what happened, that things are bad, that he's stooped to his father's level. He can't deal with Wille's sweet voice and mumbled sweet nothings because he'll start crying and never stop; but he can't resist, not ever, so he checks his phone and fights the urge to sob. 

(Wille 10:13 pm)

just took a bath and almost fell asleep lol

i got several texts from ayub crying to me that you ditched and to talk some sense into you

are you okay tonight <3

Simon sighs. He knew it was a risky idea for Ayub, Rosh and Wille to exchange phone numbers but they'd been upset and outraged at his abrupt departure; they both were coming up with several plans for "operation bust Wille out of Stockholm and reunite Wilmon" - some of which were absolutely ridiculous and some of which Simon was foolish enough to believe might work.

He didn't think Ayub would use it to expose Simon being reclusive.

(Simon 10:14 pm)

please for the love of god, don't drown wille 🥴

(Wille 10:14 pm)

never, i was just resting my eyes 

you ignored my question tho 

Simon scoffs. His boyfriend's just as stubborn as him.

(Simon 10:15 pm)

i'm okay baby <3 just felt like staying in tonight since no one's home

He hates lying to him. Hates it so fucking much that he feels sick but can't have him worried. He can't. 

(Wille 10:15 pm)

as long as ur okay 💜

can we vc later? i miss ur face :( 

Simon feels a little less ill, and is able to smile slightly, because they'd just talked to each other earlier in the day.  

(Simon 10:16 pm)

miss u too

i'll call u in a little 💜

(Wille 10:16 pm)

💜

He puts his phone back in his pocket, tucks himself into the ledge that brings him nothing but solace, and buries his head in his hands. His habit of running his fingers through his curls comes back with a vengeance, doing everything in his power to stay calm and collected.

He doesn't wanna spiral thinking about the fight that just happened. He can't even begin to consider at this moment in time what came over him - how he'd purposely put himself in danger and stuck up to his father.

It felt good, saying those things, but he didn't like how it made him feel. He didn't like that he just wanted to keep fighting him, put himself in the middle of the fire and douse it with more gasoline because it distracted him from his pain. 

And then there was the matter of making things worse for his mom, for Sara, because even though what he said is nothing but the truth - he does ruin their lives and they would be better off without him - it could affect their wellbeing in this house; everything he does, the abuse he takes, is for the exact opposite to happen.

If the one time he sticks up for himself he puts his mom and sister in danger, he'll regret it more than anything in his-

"Simon?"

A voice coming from the yard over makes him jump out of his skin. He knows it isn't Wille's, not because he's away but because he's always been able to feel his presence before anything else, and yet, hearing his name called from that yard makes a heavy sense of nostalgia and heartbreak hit him. 

He turns to see Erik where Wille used to stand over the fence. Under the light, he can tell the man is concerned.

Simon thinks about just waving from his spot but he can't seem to stop himself from making his way over - admittedly, it's his dumbest idea yet and he forgot about his bloody, bruised nose. 

The moment Erik's face drops, he know's he fucked up. 

"Don't tell Wille."

If disappointment, sympathy, and disapproval were all be morphed into one disconcerting expression, Erik had mastered it.

It's the first thing Simon can think to say, his just felt like staying in tonight since no one's home sitting heavy in his chest. 

"Simon..."

"Erik, please," Simon begs. His voice sounds just as desperate as the night on the phone. "He- he can't know. He's going through enough." When that doesn't suffice, the older man's expression crestfallen and uncertain, Simon shakes his head. "It hasn't happened in a long time."

He doesn't say that he egged it on completely. He's not ready for anyone to know that yet, to admit it out loud. 

"That doesn't make it any better."

Simon knows that so he drops his gaze. He toys with his fingers and tries to ignore the way Erik's eyes, the parental-type look of disapproval he's perfected, are burning into him. When he hears the older man sigh, he looks up as sees him shake his head. 

"Can you at least clean up inside?" Erik says, nodding toward his house. "I can't let you go back in there right now."

Simon nods because he was just about to invite himself over anyway. He makes the move to walk into the front and around (not wanting the home owner to see just how masterfully he climbs over the fence) when Erik stops him with his words.

"By the way, I have... company over."

Simon raises a brow, eyes his boyfriend's brother with suspicion, and then, a minute later, sees a young woman with piercing blue eyes and auburn hair sitting on Erik's couch. Her eyes widen for a split second when she sees Simon before they soften, regarding him with kind eyes and a kinder smile.

"Simon, this is Elsa. Elsa, Simon."

"Hi, Simon," the woman says and the boy, for some reason, hates that even her voice sounds kind. "Nice to meet you."

"You too," the boy says, not enjoying the way her eyes are roaming his injured, bleeding nose; he then remembers Erik told him and Wille she's going to school to be a nurse.

"Do you think my nose is broken?" he dares to ask the stranger, the tension in the room and pitiful looks too much. "Wille will notice if I get a nose job."

Erik scoffs, Elsa's lips quirk, and, for a split second, things don't seem too bad.

Not until he goes to the bathroom, the bane of his existence (clawfoot tub) mockingly in the corner, and cleans up his nose.

It brings him back to when Wille did this, with his silly dinosaur bandaids and soft spoken words. That night was also a big one for them; Simon didn't realize just how many big, monumental moments they really had together until everything started to remind him of them.

He walks back out in the living room to see Erik and Elsa sitting closely on the couch, their bodies turned toward the other as they speak quietly. There was wine on the table when he first came in that was now gone and that simple action, as trivial as it may seem, causes his heart to pull.

He misses being here, somewhere safe. He misses spending his days in Wille's room and eating with them at the table.

"Looks good as new," Elsa says, breaking the tense silence. "Don't think you'll need that nose job after all."

Simon chuckles slightly, making his way toward the loveseat. He plops down like he rightfully owns it, although Erik rarely gives it up; the man notices and narrows his eyes. 

"Don't get too comfortable. That's still my old man chair."

"You look pretty content on the couch."

They both know what this is - payback. It's seen in both their eyes, playful teasing and comfort because the two really have grown a mutual respect for one another. 

"I am, thank you very much," Erik bites back, a smile pulling at his lips. "Have you talked to Wille today? The little shit is ignoring me, I think."

"He almost fell asleep in the bath before," Simon grumbles, the older bursting out laughing. 

"Yeah, that sounds like him," he says, with nothing but affection in his tone. 

Simon smiles but it doesn't meet his eyes because how could it?

He looks at Erik who seems happy, there's a glint in his eye that Simon is all too familiar with, but there's something different about him too. Something defeated like him. He knows if anyone in the world could kind of relate to what he was feeling right now, it was Erik. 

"I miss him."

Spoken truly, honestly, and unabashedly. 

He knows Elsa's in the room, it'd be hard not to notice her, but for some reason, her presence isn't deterring him from feeling vulnerable; he swears it's just something about this house, it's safety, that brings it out of him and makes him feel comfortable. 

Erik's face crumbles as Simon says that, with his voice basically a whisper and a bruised nose with dried blood. 

"I know, me too," Erik says, his soft, penetrative gaze on the younger. "I'm working on it. It's just gonna take some time."

"I know," Simon sighs. 

Because above all, he knows that. He knows Erik and Wille's bond is just as strong as him and Sara's - waiting, and adjusting to life without his boyfriend, is just hard. 

Simon looks to Elsa who's quietly looking between the two. He can't help but wonder how much she knows. 

"She knows... enough," Erik says. Simon's cheek flush profusely - he hadn't meant to ask that aloud so rudely. 

"I know that we hate Kristina," Elsa says and, for the first time this week (not including his chats with Wille), a laugh bursts out of Simon that sounds foreign to his ears. 

"Okay, I approve," Simon tells Erik with a nod, before his eyes move to the smiling woman. "I'm glad we convinced him not to wear this disgusting shirt on your first date. You probably wouldn't be here right now."

"Not the fucking shirt..." Erik groans, his head leant back on the couch as Elsa's eyes light up. "Oh? And what is this?"

"I think you should put it on for her," Simon says, biting back a smile when Erik throws him a dirty look.

"I’m definitely thinking that as well," the girl teases, knocking her elbow into the taller man.

It doesn't stop Erik's death stare but it does make him soften a bit. Simon has to bite back a snort - he can't wait to tell Wille that, in his absence, his brother managed to get a girlfriend. 

~

Erik thinks hell must freeze over when Wille answers his phone call after the second ring.

"Well, would you look at that. My little brother actually-"

"You have a girlfriend?"

It was only a mere 12 hours since Simon met Elsa and word already got out. Erik's icy gaze shoots to Simon who's too busy scarfing down breakfast at his kitchen table to notice. 

"No, I do not have a girlfriend," Erik says, Simon looking up and managing to smirk through a mouthful of pancakes. "What happened to basic manners, Wilhelm, asking how I am, what I've been doing, inquiring about my life as a-"

"Obviously, you're doing really good," Wille cuts him off, "since you have a fucking girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend."

"So she's a crush?"

"She's not a crush either."

"It's okay to have a crush, Erik," Wille mocks, doing a terrible impression of his voice just as Simon mutters, "it's a crush." 

"Okay fuck you both, it's not a crush," Erik groans, although it totally is. "It was only our second date last night."

He hears Wille chuckle and it immediately brings a smile to his face; it comforts Erik ever so slightly that he actually sounds happy and teasing on the phone today.

"Simon didn't tell me he crashed your date."

That was the story they were going with, much to Erik's dismay.

After Elsa left, the man made it clear he didn't think Simon should be keeping anything from Wille but that he understood why he was; he also stressed again that he and his family were more than welcome to stay and was immediately relaxed when, after much thought, Simon took him up on that offer. 

He had video-chatted Wille with the lights off to hide his face but the boy was still able to tell, thanks to the faint led lights, that he was in his room.

"Are you- are you actually at Erik's?" Wille asks the moment he notices, because never would he expect his boyfriend to actually accept that offer. He's so fucking happy he did, actually feels like his heart is about to burst, but it also concerns him. "Is everything okay?"

Simon silently curses his boyfriend for knowing him so well. 

"Yes, I'm okay," Simon says. He argues with himself that that's technically not a lie, since he is okay now. "I just... I was missing you," he says, also not another lie because the sheets still smell like him. "And I didn't wanna be in my house anymore."

All of that was the truth. It didn't make him feel any less shitty.

"I didn't mind," Erik says, unknowingly using Simon's same logic to make himself feel better - he really didn't mind. "If I can't get your approval yet, I wanted to get Simon's."

"Approval? Even though she's not your girlfriend?" Wille asks before having the nerve to add, "wasn't that your second date? Are you whipped? Why would you already need approval?"

"I know you're not talking shit about anyone being whipped here."

Simon bursts out laughing which causes Wille's incessant whines to put him on speaker.

With two in the kitchen and one through the phone, the house, for a few blissful moments, is reminiscent of them all eating together and laughing.

Of Wille and Simon with their hands intertwined under the table and Erik pretending to be annoyed at the way they poke fun of him. Banter and laughter and fruitless whines fill the space until, suddenly, like all things good, it comes to an end. 

They hear a heavy knock through Wille's speaker that causes Erik to pause and Simon's face to fall. They could probably hear a pin drop all the way from Stockholm with how deadly silent it becomes. 

A few beats of silence, a quiet groan of annoyance from Wille, before they hear her voice. 

"Wilhelm. We need to speak."

Silence. So he's still not talking to his mother. A few more seconds stretch before she speaks again.

"Who are you on the phone with? Erik?"

More silence and if the situation wasn't so serious, Erik would laugh at his brother's just stubbornness.

The older man's gaze moves to Simon whose tanned face turns pale, his appetite seemingly gone with his plate is pushed away from him. He hopes his gaze is portraying the words he wants to whisper but are stuck in his throat - it'll be okay. He's okay.

The longer the silence stretches, the more Erik repeats those words like a mantra because he also desperately needs to hear that. 

"Hang up and come downstairs," they hear Kristina say, her cold voice quieter but still audible. "We'll finally be having a discussion."

"I have nothing to say to you," Wille finally says. Erik and Simon are so proud at the way his voice doesn't even slightly quiver. 

"You might be interested in something I'm willing to offer."

Her words make the two look at one another, nothing but distrust at her words. Wille must feel the same if the way he scoffs is anything to go by. 

"Unless you're letting me go back to Erik's, I won't be."

"If you actually talk to me, and stop acting like an immature child, you'll find out."

They don't trust her, not one bit, so they're nothing but nerves and skepticism when, after a few seconds, Wille mumbles that he'll call them back.

The kitchen is back to silence, back to tenseness, back to all things that make Simon wanna jump out of his fucking skin. 

His plate may as well be garbage. 

"There's no way she'd let him come back, right?"

Simon hates that, in his voice, in his very being, he feels the slightest bit of hope shine through. Erik scoffs beside him and it's enough for it to be crushed like a chip under someone's boot.

"No," the man begins, but he knows his mother, knows her all too fucking well. "But if she did, there'd be a catch. Kristina would never do something just because it was right."

Erik hates just how true his words turn out to be.

Chapter Text

It was a few days after Wille's conversation with his mom and he and Simon were, per usual, on the phone.

Simon was back in his boyfriend's room at Erik's house.

He slept better here (not as good as with Wille beside him but beggars can't be choosers) and his scent still lingered. It was especially comforting during times like this, when the silence was heavy and their minds were occupied. 

"We did plan for the worst case scenario..." Wille quips poorly. He was aiming to lighten the mood, make it humorous, but it only sounded sad.

Simon gives him a pity laugh anyway.

"We did," Simon hums lowly, his hand running up and down his exposed arm.

If he closes his eyes and becomes deluded enough, he can almost pretend it's Wille's - but, really, his fingers are too short, his nails are too long, and it doesn't light him up with sparks the way his boyfriend's touch does. 

They planned for the worst case scenario and should've expected that'd be the one they'd have to seriously consider; the other one, while enticing, and a true testament to how manipulative Kristina is, both secretly know wouldn't be entirely worth it.

"Which would make you happier?" Simon asks.

Because that was always the main question, the main concern - what does Wille want, need, in order to be happy?

"You. Always you," Wille says, like it's nothing, and Jesus Christ, how is Simon not supposed to smile and blush when he says shit like that?

His sweet, heart-pounding, sickeningly romantic but sincere words hang between them because, unfortunately, it's not that simple. They're only teenagers in love so it should be yet, it isn't.

"But... I think in the long run," he finally breathes out, because in the long run is what they've been thinking about since Sunday, "if I could get you and what Kristina says… that might be even more worth it."

"I agree," Simon says, "not that that matters because it's your decision but-"

"Of course your input matters," Wille interjects, "this affects you just as much as it affects me."

"It definitely does not, Wille, this is your life we're talking about," Simon says, shaking his head even though his boyfriend can't see him. "Your life after Hillerska, or whatever school you’ll go to in Stockholm. Your life..." without me, if that ever happens.

Simon can't even stomach the thought of that but it'd be silly to not consider - they have their whole lives ahead of them, barely any of it lived, they're might be a point in it where they're no longer together. 

”Your life today could look a lot different than your life, like, five years from now," Simon says, although the thought of being 21, almost Erik's age, is crazy to him. "Only one of her… options, would really impact you, you know? One of them gives you less of a choice."

It was a heavy decision to make at his age but Wille would expect nothing less from his mother - she would never wanna make his life easy. 

"Yeah," Wille sighs. They know deep down what he has to do, wants to do.

He knows it's the decision that hurts him now, when Simon was potentially so close. When, if he caved to his mastermind, manipulating mother, he'd be back to holding him close.

It was almost too much to resist - just the mere idea of having the person he loves back and spending every day with him - but if time apart means, eventually, they'll never have to be separated again, Wille thinks it might just be worth it.

~

4 days ago:

The standoff was nothing short of uncomfortable; if Wille still wasn't as angry as he was, he'd probably be anxious and on the verge of puking.

He thinks that’s exactly why his mother chose to congregate in the formal dining room - he'd been forced here one too many times to eat and mingle with company after passing out from a panic attack. 

His eyes were only focused on his mom right now, the silence deafening. He didn't know anyone who could bear awkward, tense silence as well as his mother - probably because she was almost always the reason for them. 

He didn't wanna be the one to break it, he wanted to win something against her, but he was also far too curious about what exactly she was willing to offer. 

"So," he says, swallowing his pride to just hear her out. "What is it?"

Her brow raises quizzically and it takes everything in him not to roll his eyes. 

"You haven't spoken to me in almost a week and those are your first words?"

"Yeah? What else do you want me to say?" He snaps, irritation already prickling through his veins; what the hell did she expect?

"I don't know, Wilhelm, maybe an explanation as to why you're refusing to go to school and not eating."

"You know why, you just don't care," he says and he should've known better than to think his mom wanted to actually have a constructive conversation. "I told you I didn't wanna come back here but you still forced me against my will and dragged me-“

"I didn't drag or force you anywhere."

"You threatened to call the police on Erik and have him arrested!" He yells, "how is that not forcing me?"

It's either his screaming that causes her face to twitch ever so slightly or his knowledge of her threats. She sighs something long and dramatic, definitely disappointment, and he's really thinking all of this is just pointless. 

"I wouldn't have been calling the police unjustly," she remarks, that voice he knows as her lawyer voice slipping through. "You were my runaway child and he didn't call me. That's a crime in the eyes of the-"

"Did you file a police report?" He blurts out, "tell anyone I was missing? Go out looking for me? Did anyone besides the people in this house know I was gone?" 

The answer is no. He's positive of that, would bet money he doesn't have on it - because the one thing his mom hates more than him is a scandal.

Judging from the irritated look attempting to break through her stone cold face, he knows he's correct. 

"It was a personal family matter, he would still have to inform me."

"That doesn't sound right. Or like a law.” 

The last thing he should be doing right now is pushing, especially if she's willing to offer him something, but he just can't help it.

How could she threaten to call the police on her own child?

The look she's giving him right now - cold, hard, and unusually callous - was always the thing to make his panic attacks worse. She just has a way of staring through a person that makes them feel so low and judged.

But fear being replaced with anger, as it’s turning out, is a very powerful mechanism for him. It's not healthy, he's sure of that, because he's still spiraling, but it feels nice to not be constantly losing breath in her presence. 

"We won't be able to talk about anything if you fight me on everything I say."

He bites the inside of his cheek to resist the vehement urge to say something snarky. He could say about five different things right now but settles, maturely, on, "fine."

The thing with Wille and his mom has always been, no matter what, he can never do anything right.

She says not to fight him so he doesn't, he pulls back and submits, and yet, she's still looking at him with such a dissatisfied expression.

It seems like she wants to talk, her lips are pursed, but the longer she looks at him, the more it seems like she doesn't want to have the conversation she suggested. 

"So," Wille says, because if he sits across from her at this table any longer, his old habits will quickly come back; he feels tightness slightly coiling in his chest. "The offer?"

She takes a deep inhale, a shaky exhale, her eyes filling with something like regret before, finally, she speaks. 

"With... with Erik gone," she begins, like every word pains her, "there's no one else from our family to, eventually, continue the firm." He already hates where this is going, probably as much as her. "You know it's very important to us to keep our lineage there, that it's a tradition we value. Erik was going to do that as the eldest."

Wille wants to roll his eyes because Erik never actually wanted to do that. He was as uninterested in law as Wille is.

"But, now with him... out of the picture," she says, her voice clipped. "That leaves you."

She couldn't have sounded more disgusted by that fact if she tried. 

"Me? I'm sixteen."

"You won't be forever," she says, something shifting in her eyes. "You won't be sixteen forever, Wilhelm, it’s important to remember that. You'll... you'll grow out of stuff," she continues, "out of... phases. Things and people that seem important now won't be important later and-"

A fire lights in him at a frighteningly rapid speed.

"Are you talking about me having a boyfriend?" 

Her silence, the twitch of her eye, is all he needs to hear and see to know that's what she's talking about. 

"Simon, and me liking boys, isn't a phase," he snaps, his feet itching to stand up and shout over the table. "I love him."

"I'm sure you think you love him but you're still very young and-"

"I love him," he says, with all the confidence in the world. He's never been more sure about anything in his life than his love for Simon. "And if it wasn't him, it could be another boy. I- that's not a phase."

It's not the coming out he wanted but it's the coming out he got, rushed and angrily declared over the table because his mother thinks he's a silly child.

He's too angry to think about how disturbed she looks; if he wasn't, it would make his stomach sink.

"I- what does he even have to do with this? With the company, with anything?" He dares to ask, not even wanting to finish this conversation now; she looks to be feeling the same way.

"You didn't want to come back because of him."

She states it like it's a fact in one of her cases.

Wille blinks, and then blinks again, before laughing. Manically laughing. He fears he's gonna start crying if he keeps laughing the way he does.

She didn't hear anything he fucking said at all in Erik’s living room. She doesn't care. She doesn't get it. She will never fucking get it. 

Wille pushes himself up and away from the table, the chair scraping against the hardwood floor.

"You don't listen," he mutters, shaking his head as he feels something like hysteria overcome him. "You never fucking listen! You've never fucking listened to me, in my life."

"I try to Wilhelm, but you don't make it very-"

"If you tried," he seethes, whipping his head around to see her poised and collected at the head of the table, "you'd know I didn't wanna come back because of how miserable I am here."

"Miserable in a big house with housekeepers and Malin and all the gadgets in your room that your father and I-"

"I don't give a shit about any of that! I want you to listen to me! I want you to care!"

"I do care."

She says she cares with an emptiness that says anything but. 

"If you cared, I wouldn't be here. I'd still be with Erik."

He'd still be with Simon too but he doesn't wanna say that. He doesn't want her to utter his name ever again. 

"You can still be with Erik, if you so choose."

His eyes immediately narrow at his mother.

"What?"

He told her 500 times on that cursed night where he wanted to be but he didn't have a choice. He never does. 

"If you want to live with Erik, you can go back," Kristina says, but he knows better than to think her words will end there; when her posture straightens yet again and her eyes shift to something somehow more empty, like a robot with a task to do, he sees he's right. "But someone will, eventually, have to take over the firm.”

It takes a moment for her words to really register, his wracking brain doing its best to piece everything together before, with a sinking stomach, he thinks he realizes what's going on. 

"Are you saying that if I... work at the firm..." Wille tries, the words foreign on his tongue because he's 16 and working at the firm was never in the realm of things he wanted to do; he hasn't even had a normal entry level job yet. 

His mom is watching him carefully, like a hawk, and it almost unnerves him more than the idea of being a lawyer. He doesn’t even have the slightest clue what he wants to be.

"You can live with Erik now, until you're done at Hillerska," she says, "until you finish getting all your degrees, whatever you both choose to do. But your degree will be in law. You will go to law school and you will take over the firm like me and your father intended one of you to do."

When his face must look as confused and horrified as he feels, she includes that she'd be, of course, paying for his schooling, like that was his concern. 

"I- I... that wasn't the... I don't know if I..."

He's stammering and confused and his mind is racing a mile a minute. He never ever considered that path in life, because it had been meant for Erik, they were preparing Erik for that, and Wille was fine with that. More than fine.

The thought of standing in a court room and ferociously debating made him wanna vomit - he can fight his brother, he can definitely fight his mother when he feels like this but in a room of people? With all eyes on him? He can't think of anything he wants to do less. 

"I- I never really wanted to do that. Be a lawyer or... or anything related to the firm. I don't think that's something I'm interested in," Wille says honestly, doing his best to talk clearly and calmly.

It's hard when he can't read his mom's face, when her eyes are burning into him and her lips are back to being pursed. He wants to go back to Bjärstad so badly but the other end of the deal is making his hands sweat.

"What if I don't wanna do that?" He dares to ask.

She doesn't talk for what seems like hours. He knows it's not because his mother didn't have another plan - she always has a plan - but she might be hoping Wille gets so uncomfortable by the silence, he backtracks.

Unfortunately for her, he's more uncomfortable by the idea of committing himself to a full blown career at 16. 

"Then you stay here until you're 18. You're still my child and therefore, my responsibility," she says, as cold and detached as a person can be. "But after that, we won't be supporting you. We didn't, and don't, support Erik after he left and if you leave too, you will get the same treatment."

"So you're saying if I don't wanna study law, I- you're just gonna cut me off completely?"

"More or less, depending on the... lifestyle and career choices you decide to make."

Wille snorts, shaking his head in disbelief. 

"So if I wanna study art and date a boy, you'll just forget I'm your son?"

He knew his mom thinks art studies is pointless, because there's rarely money or value in that, but he didn't know she was so blatantly homophobic. 

"It's not about that, Wilhelm," she sighs, like he's being ridiculous and missing something here. "We are just really trying to ensure that tradition is upheld and our family stays in the firm-"

"There are more important things than tradition, mom," Wille snaps because how the fuck can someone be so dense? How can someone her age not realize there's more to life than familial wealth and power? 

His mom looks sad for a split second, something flashing in her eyes before it's gone; for a millisecond, she almost looked human.

"It's admirable to think like that, Wille, and expected from someone as young as you," she says, and even when she's trying to sound kind, it just comes off as insincere. "But those are the things this world truly cares about, no matter how much you wanna think it doesn't."

Wille feels words caught in his throat, because even though he wants to say a hundred different things right now, he feels young. And stupid. He feels like he doesn't really know anything - because he's admittedly lived a sheltered and privileged life - and maybe he really doesn't know anything at all. 

"I- I need time to think."

"I'll give you the week," she informs him, "but whatever decision you make, your attitude must change. I'm giving you a choice here so no more silent treatment, no more refusing meals, and you will be going to school, whether it be Hillerska or your old one."

Wille resisted the urge to roll his eyes, pushed back from his chair again, and made his way upstairs.

He was surprised to see the conversation was just over an hour, plopping down on his bed and immediately calling back Erik; he should probably process this alone, it was a lot to fucking take in, but he needs his brother's guidance and Simon right now.

Erik answers almost immediately. 

~

When he hears the two offers Wille relays to him through the phone, Erik resists the violent urge to drive up to Stockholm and chew out his mother. 

"I- It feels crazy to try and even think about this decision," Wille says, and God, does Erik's heart hurt for him right now - he shouldn't have to be making a decision about this.

Young adults well out of high school and into their college careers don't know what they wanna do with their lives, let alone a 16-year-old.

"I never really wanted to, like, do that... be a lawyer," he continues, Erik catching Simon's dejected face. "But I wanna come back, Erik," Wille mumbles and his chest pangs with hurt. "I don't wanna be here anymore but I don't wanna- I don't know if I wanna..."

The older man feels like so many times throughout the course of these six months these kids have been looking to him and he doesn't know what to say. It's all so hard, all so heavy, and he's the adult they're looking to to say the right things. 

"This isn't a decision you should have to make right now, Wille, and I'm sorry," he begins, because that's the most honest, truthful, real thing he could say. 

But he's been dealing with his mom and her warped brain for longer than Wille. Has been exposed to it more and was manipulated for years in the same way she's trying to do to his little brother right now.

"But... I think she's expecting you to come back here," Erik confesses honestly, just the thought making his blood boil. "She wants you to think that's the best option. The one you want."

"She's using you and Simon against me."

Wille speaks like he already knew that. 

The curly-haired beside him exhales shakily, a low, humorless chuckle escaping him as he runs a hand through his hair. Erik hopes he doesn't start to have a panic attack because, please God, he can only deal with one crisis at a time. 

"I would say so, yeah," Erik says, "and it's still your decision Wille, this will always be your home too... but we just want you to do what's right for you."

Simon is silent the whole time he and Wille talk, his hands folded into each other. He hums the few times Wille checks in with him but, apart from that, seems almost dissociated.

Erik doesn't try to sway Wille, because he deserves to make his own choices, but he does present the facts as he sees them. 

A year at Hillerska with Simon again, living in this house before he's off on his journey to becoming a lawyer or a year at home, with Kristina and the lonely walls of his room, before he's free to do whatever he wants for the rest of his life. 

The decision seems simple but for the two boys who were just presented with the option to be reunited and have each other again, it could seem tempting. That's exactly why Kristina did it and Erik wants to just scream instead of being level-headed right now.

"You should probably get a job in Stockholm if you're gonna stay there," Erik suggests, "save up so you have some money by the time you're able to come back. I'll help you too, of course, but it'd be good if you had something to start with if you wanna go to school."

Wille would have to basically do everything Erik did: new place, new phone, new job without connections, what feels like creating a whole new identity, although their names are still the same.

He hears his little brother sigh, can see in his mind the way his blonde hair is probably tousled from his fingers combing through it.

"Yeah," Wille mutters before groaning. Erik watches a hint of a smile tug at Simon's lips, probably because he knew, a few seconds later, they'd hear him collapse into his mattress. "This isn't fair."

"It's not," Erik says because it really, really isn't. "But you have some time. You can think about it and talk to us when you need. We'll figure it out, Wille. Everything will be okay."

He firmly believes that. It probably won't be okay today or tomorrow, maybe not even soon - but, eventually, everything will be okay. He'll make sure of it. 

Wille hangs up with the promise that he'll talk to Erik soon, that he was never ignoring him, and that he'll text Simon.

The curly-haired beside him managed to utter a few words, blushing when his boyfriend, with Erik as witness, told him he loved him through the speaker. It was the first time Simon smiled this morning. 

It quickly fell once the phone call ended. Simon and Erik sat at the table, breakfast forgotten, and allowed themselves a moment to process everything; they seemed to be thinking the same thing when, all of the sudden, Simon blurts out, "I hate your fucking mom."

It would've been unbelievably disrespectful, appalling, even, if they weren't in the situation they were. If one didn't live through what he had and the other didn't witness what one singular woman, parent, does to her own child. 

Erik can't help but chuckle, a real hearty chuckle even with the circumstances, because "me too. Me fucking too."

Simon regards the man for a moment, eyes full of hurt, lip threatening to tremble, before speaking. His words are whispered throughout the quiet kitchen.

"Is it bad I think he should stay?"

Erik immediately shakes his head, although his brother being there for a year physically pains him. 

"No," Erik says, words quiet but not as whispered, shaky, as Simon's. "I think the same thing. I know she wants him to take the bait, coming here, so he shouldn't." Erik's never been more sure of his mother's motives than right now. "But... I think we should let him do what he thinks is right."

Simon's brain doesn't stop racing after that. He stays at Erik's, the two don't even discuss it, to bury himself under Wille's covers. Usually this comforts him but today, it hurts.

It hurts a lot.

It makes tears burn his eyes because if things were different, Wille would be with him and he wouldn't have his face buried in his pillow. He'd be in his chest, in his arms, he'd have the boy mumbling sweet nothings into his hair and everything would feel okay.  

He doesn't wanna cry anymore, he's so sick of it, he went from never crying to never being able to stop. It's all too much, all too frustrating and all he wants is to love his boyfriend and have him love him back.

Wille video calls him just as his eyes are about to fall shut, disoriented and sleepy as he answers.

"Hi," Simon mumbles, a freshly-showered Wille smiling at him.

"Hi."

The looks between them are knowing, sad, but their smiles are soft. They can't help but look at each other and smile like that.

"You look cute," Wille mutters. Nothing will make his heart squeeze the way seeing Simon wrapped up in his bed does. 

"You look wet."

The boy chuckles and Simon bites back his own, because he wants to be sad, he is sad, and his cute boyfriend shouldn't be making him laugh right now. 

"I love you," he says suddenly, his words seeming heavy because they know a conversation is coming.

Simon loses the battle. He smiles into Wille's pillow, willing his dramatic teenaged heart to calm down. 

"I love you," he mumbles back, because, God, do they need to hear that from each other right now. Wille smiles but it doesn't meet his eyes and that makes any fleeting happiness he did feel vanish. "How are you doing?"

"Good." Even through the phone, his boyfriend can see the disbelief on his face. He sighs in that cute way he always does. "Okay, I'm not exactly good but I'm not... as bad as I'd usually be," he says, sounding hopeful. "I was able to talk to her about this without, like, freaking out."

"That's good, Wille, really good," Simon says, a warmth blossoming in his chest. "I'm proud of you. It- it must've been really hard."

It was hard for Simon to process her ultimatums, let alone be the one they were directed to. 

"Yeah, like, I really don't know what to do," Wille sighs, "I... I wanna go back to Erik's so bad. I miss being there. I miss you. I miss you so much it kind of feels like I'm gonna die." Simon would laugh at the boy's dramatics if he didn't feel exactly the same way. "But... I think I have to really think about the other part."

"The lawyer part?" Simon asks, his tone mocking. Wille chuckles, because it sounds ridiculous.

"Yeah, the lawyer part," he mutters, shaking his head as his voice drops. "I- I really don't think I wanna be a lawyer, Simon."

That's all he needs to hear. Nothing else matters, not even his aching, bleeding heart.

"Then you don't have to be." 

"But if I wanna see you, I have to-"

"You're seeing me right now, no? And still not a lawyer?" It takes everything in him to sound as light-hearted and teasing as he does.

His smirk is fake, he knows it's nowhere near close to reaching his eyes, but hopefully Wille can't tell, because the lighting in his room isn't the greatest with the blinds closed.

"Yeah," he sighs, "but you know what I mean..." 

He does know. They both know. It's crazy and stupid and ridiculous and they both know which option is better.

They let the silence drag out, because it's kind of nice, it's familiar. They can close their eyes and pretend they're breathing in the same air beside each other.

"How are things with you? At home?" The silence is broken by the worst possible question and Simon feels his heart rate spike.

Every possible scenario comes crashing down - Erik cracked, he can tell his nose is swollen, Sara somehow got his number and told him things are terrible - before he opens his eyes and sees Wille just looking his normal, sweet amount of concerned. 

"They're fine. Nothing too... dramatic."

If fine meant the worst it's ever been in a long time, possibly ever, and Micke wasn't fucking with him every chance he got, then, no, he wouldn't be lying.

But things were terrible, his house was nothing short of hell, and the only thing that helps is being here in his room; it'd be even better if he was back but Simon would rather die than admit that to him. 

Wille looks like he doesn't believe him, anyway. He feigns annoyance and rolls his eyes. 

"I'm serious, Wille," he whines, "stop looking at me like that." 

For good measure, he buries his face into the blanket and hides the bottom half of his nose. Wille smiles fondly because it may seem like he's trying to be cute. 

"Okay, I trust you," Wille says, those words an especially harsh punch to Simon's gut. He wills the tears of guilt away, away, away. "I'm gonna think more about it later. And we can still talk about it. I just don't wanna think about her anymore."

That's the best idea Simon's heard all day. 

~

"Your life today could look a lot different than your life, like, five years from now," Simon says, back in Wille's room, days later, a final decision coming in soon. "Only one of her… options, would really impact you, you know? One of them gives you less of a choice."

"Yeah," Wille sighs, a heavy weight on his chest.

He forgot how crushing and debilitating it could really feel. He also forgot how much Simon's voice, even his dark, slightly blurry face could help. 

”And I think just staying here for a year would be better, because I don't wanna commit to law school and all that shit," Wille says, "but- I..." he doesn't wanna upset his boyfriend, they've already talked about what being apart means, how it changes nothing between them, but it's hard to think about.

"We'll be okay?"

Simon would've gotten panicky, which in turn makes him snap, if Wille didn't sound so anxious, so unsure - they're not the problem, he knows that, but his boyfriend's about to decide that staying in Stockholm with his mother is better for him and that's incredibly hard to process.

"Always, Wille, we'll always be okay." Because that's the easiest truth Simon has ever been able to accept. "We still talk everyday, see each other every day, and nothing's different between us, right?"

He doesn't continue speaking until Wille hums something unintelligible.

”And your homophobic mother may hate me," he says, his blood boiling just thinking about her phases comment, "but she can't ban me from visiting Stockholm, as much as she probably wants to. We can plan weekend trips."

Wille manages to chuckle and Simon smiles, because it doesn't sound completely pained. Wille takes his words in quietly, Simon continuing the soothing, caresses up and down his own arm.

"You're right," he admits and Simon's smile widens because "I usually am."

"Shut up," Wille grumbles, his boyfriend chuckling.

Once his laughter dies down, and they fall back into a contemplative silence, they both know Wille's final decision was made. In just a few weeks, Wille will turn 17; then, a year later, he'll be 18 and free.

Simon can only hope it's the easiest, calmest, most fulfilling year his boyfriend will ever experience, before they're officially reunited as neighbors again. 

They talk until night falls and Simon knows, unfortunately, he has to return home.

It'd been something he was avoiding, sneaking in late into the night to not see his father because things are so bad - but he has homework to finish.

Who knew his boyfriend being away, not distracting him with his whining and wandering hands, would actually make him fall behind?

"I'm going back home tonight to finish some work but I'll text you before I go to bed?"

Always a night text. Always a morning text. It was a rule that went unspoken until they finally started talking about how they could make the distance more bearable.  

"Okay, love you, baby," Wille says, Simon's cheeks flushing, ridiculous butterflies in his stomach; he wonders if he'll always react to his boyfriend like this.

"Love you, too."

Erik was on the couch giggling at his phone when Simon walked out. 

"Did your girlfriend say something funny?"

He watches the older man jump dramatically, his phone flying out of his hand and crashing against the floor. The tv isn't loud enough to drown out Simon's chuckle. 

"You little shit, you fucking scared me!" Erik says, flinging a throw pillow back at him. That causes a louder, booming laugh to echo throughout the living room.

"Sorry."

Erik rolls his eyes, because the younger doesn't sound very sorry at all.

The mood shifts when Erik looks back to see him putting on his shoes, slowly one after the other before he's looking over at him. His nose was healed, no sign of bruises, but definitely a tenderness he knows Simon would never complain about or admit. 

"Wille's probably gonna call you," the boy says, "he made a decision." 

With the solemn mood and cryptic words, it all sounds very dramatic.

In a different scenario, Simon might've even laughed at it - but the fact that his boyfriend even had to choose made it all too sad. All too frustrating. Made it obvious why a knowing look crossed Erik's face and he nodded, running a hand through his hair. 

"I figured he would soon," Erik sighed, although he was positive he already knew which it was. Simon nodded silently, lingering awkwardly by the door because he was scared to go home.

He wouldn't ever admit it but these days, he's scared. The thrill and anger, the hint of power that came over him that night with Micke has long fizzled out because the man hadn't been kidding when he said he'd regret that. 

He was mad, he was angry, he was the man of the house that they all needed and he was making sure each and every one of them knew that.

Linda and Sara just seemed to assume he was in an especially nasty mood these days, walking on eggshells and doing everything to keep the peace - but if Simon said anything, if he dropped something, if his food wasn't the exact temperature that he desired, chaos ensued. 

He wasn't getting hit in the face, there was no blood, but his body was bruised and his scalp was burning by how often his father pulled at his curls mockingly - or, at least, what appeared mockingly.

Simon knew very well his father was aiming to hurt him, challenge him again, and it wasn't working. Simon wouldn't start anything with his mom and sister in the house. 

He's sick enough to use them against him. 

"Simon," Erik says, breaking the boy out of his daze, his haunting memories, his spiraling thoughts about what's to come. "Please be careful."

The man says it every night, no matter what.

He almost refused to let Simon go back the first night and seriously considered calling the police but he didn't want the boy to get spooked and push him away - he was finally accepting help, finally agreed to use Wille's empty room for himself (no matter the additional sappy reasons) and Erik didn't wanna ruin that; still, he was a nervous fucking guilt-ridden mess knowing the boy's going back there every night. 

"I will," Simon promises.

He believes now that, if things were getting bad, he'd feel comfortable enough to come back to Erik's or shoot him a text. That's something he never thought he'd be able to say. 

The second he walks in his house, he considers going back.

His mom is working, which is a plus, but Sara's in her room and Micke is sprawled out on the couch. Empty beer cans litter the floor and coffee table, tv blaring with some sports game Simon doesn't know. 

"If it isn't my son," Micke grumbles, Simon dropping his gaze and quickly making his way in. The man gets up and stops him in his tracks, the boy suppressing a sigh - just let me hide in my room. "Where have you been?"

"Out," is all he offers. He'd never tell Micke that he goes just next door.

He can feel Micke's gaze burning into him, something probably so angry and seething behind his eyes he can't even bring himself to look up.

He tries to move around him on the left, then on the right, but the couch is blocking his way. Simon braves looking up and sees he's correct - angry and seething. 

"Can you move?" He asks, trying to sound level-headed but it comes out slightly biting. 

Micke scoffs, a sick type of smirk crossing his face before he shakes his head and pushes him. First, it's light, a warning, but then the next two are harder and he gets shoved further into the room. 

"You're unbelievable, kid," he begins darkly, lowly, terrifyingly and Simon's actually grateful he pushed him because he's just closer to the hallway.

He swallows down the urge to say something back and just speed walks toward his room, movements quick and nimble as his father screams after him; Simon gets to his room and slams the door just as his father's fist meets it. 

The sound makes him jump, his heart squeezing. He doesn't stop knocking and screaming until Sara's voice filter through the house, stiffening before he just hears her tell him she's going to the bathroom.

The noise stops after that, eerily silent except for Simon's pounding heart. He can finally fully relax when he hears the bathroom door open, footsteps, and then, finally, Sara's door closing. 

Simon flops back on his bed, a lump in his throat. He digs his fingers into his eyes so he doesn't start crying, just lays there and keeps digging them in until the feeling is gone.

Then, he sits up, pops in his headphones, and loses himself in the familiar routine of homework. 

Or, at least, it's not familiar anymore. 

Because he got used to looking up and feeling his boyfriend's gaze on him. Chastising him every ten minutes and taking 15 (40) minute breaks in between to kiss and swallow the others moans.

Through his headphones, when the song changes, he can hear his father shouting at the game in the living room. Seconds later, glass shatters, and Simon feels lucky to be locked in his room or it probably would've been at his head. 

Things usually aren't bad like this for long, that's not how the cycle works, that's not why Micke hurts them and then buys them chocolates or fixes a broken swing set - but he's also unpredictable.

Simon hitting him back was very clearly a moment where something switched in his father, something bad, something somehow darker, and Simon doesn't know just how long he'll be out for blood. 

He hopes not long. It couldn't possibly be that long. 

Right?

~

Wille can honestly say not a part of him has missed this school.

The halls are overcrowded, the kids are snotty but think he's the snotty one because he's too anxious to talk, and everyone seems to think his absence was due to something fantastical; he'd been back for well over a month now but the rumor mill was, for whatever godforsaken reason, still rampant.

Probably because Wille wasn't saying a word and people's curiosity was just killing them.

"You went to Switzerland, no?" 

"I heard it was a fancy boarding school in America."

"Yeah, because you got someone pregnant."

That one was especially insane. That one, he immediately had to text Simon about. 

(Wille 11:42 am)

newest rumor 

you are not fucking ready

(Simon 11:44 am)

oh no

is it more insane than you getting a huge movie deal despite never acting in your life

(Wille 11:44 am)

i got someone pregnant 

(Simon 11:45 am)

what???

It was at that very poor moment the counselor popped her head in to go over some requirements he may have missed during his lapse of schooling. Hillerska had covered it, he knows they did, but apparently, this school thinks they're better; the blonde has a feeling his mom has something to do with it. 

When he looks at his phone 30 minutes later, he, both, can't control his laughter but is also frantic to call his boyfriend.

(Simon 11:47 am)

wille??

(Simon 11:49 am)

hello????

(Simon 11:50 am)

wtf

(Simon 11:58 am)

wille what the fuck

(Simon 12:07 pm)

seriously wtf do u mean??

(Ayub 12:10 pm)

wille with a w

answer right this second

(Ayub 12:11 pm)

that's it, you're fucking done

never show your face around here again

(Rosh 12:15 pm)

wille that better have been the rumor 

i know it is but they are being idiots and feeding off each other

i just defended you with my life, PLZ

Simon's sitting outside with Felice and Maddie, a shockingly normal thing for him to do now, when his phone starts vibrating.

"Oop, someone's boyfriiiiend must be calling him," Maddie teases, Simon rolling his eyes as he stands up from the table. 

"It definitely is, he's blushing!" He hears Felice say, peeking over his shoulder with a dirty look and a shake of his head. 

"Hello?" he says, barely getting the word out before- "the rumor! That was the rumor! The rumor was that I got someone pregnant and then got sent to a boarding school in America and-"

"Became a world famous actor who partied with Rihanna?"

Wille's silent for all of three seconds before a loud laugh erupts from him. Simon's happy his back is to Felice and Maddie, because they'd definitely call out the huge smile on his face. 

"Jesus Christ, Simon, you scared me! I thought you thought I was serious."

"After all Erik's prepared you about safe sex and preventing pregnancy? Never."

Wille's laugh turns into groans, never wanting to be reminded of that stupid fucking parenting book again. 

"Stop," Wille whines, Simon giggling. 

These weeks have been hard with his dad, mostly screaming and tension and scary looks that he's never seen from even him before, but he and Wille have never been better.

He sees Rosh and Ayub every weekend and hanging out with Felice and Maddie has actually proven to be the best decision he ever made at this school (besides joining choir). They were the perfect amount of playful and teasing but knew when to be serious. 

Felice keeps Maddie from pushing him and Maddie challenges Simon to come out of his comfort zone, however miniscule it may seem; Simon is also doing everything in his power to set up Maddie and Rosh, because he thinks the girls would get along. 

"You didn't actually think I got someone pregnant, did you?" Wille asks, scandalized at the mere thought. 

"Of course not," Simon chuckles, "but it did confuse me for a split second. I can't lie." Not until he remembered who Wille is, how much he loves him, and decided that reading his boyfriend's first message over again would be helpful. "You would've ruined my birthday tomorrow."

Simon's trying to keep himself positive and light-hearted about his birthday but it's getting increasingly hard.

His home life's a wreck, his mom's nerves are worn thin from Micke, and the person he wants to celebrate most with can't be with him; for Wille's birthday, they tried to arrange a trip that Kristina shut down almost immediately. 

"No. Absolutely not," she had said. "You're not going anywhere and no one, not even your brother, is allowed here until I know you're going to school."

"I went literally every day this month!"

"You only started this month, Wilhelm," she said dryly, her finger squeezing the bridge of her nose in irritation. "The answer is no. No trips until you prove to be serious."

"I would never do that, Simon."

The curly-haired was only teasing but Wille's voice is so serious, so earnest, he can't help but blush. He loves him so much, it actually feels debilitating at times. 

"Get someone pregnant? Or ruin my birthday?"

"Both."

Simon laughs again, shaking his head. 

"You're ridiculous."

"No," Wille grumbles, sounding petulant but cute all in the same. "I just love you."

"I just love you too," Simon says and he decides right in this moment to count how many times a day they say that to each other; he thinks, just by noon, they're already at three. "You're still free to video chat tomorrow night?"

"And morning and afternoon, whenever you want," Wille says, grateful they finally won something and their birthdays landed on Saturdays this year. "I'm all yours tomorrow."

"Is that different than any other day?"

"That... is true," Wille says, almost like he was gonna protest but then really thought about it. It doesn't matter, anyway, because Wille knows he's all his everyday too. "Wait, you're at lunch right now, right? Are you sitting with Felice and Maddie?"

Wille was overjoyed when Simon told him he started sitting with the two girls, probably more excited than Simon was. 

"Yeah," Simon says, turning around to see the two girls blatantly staring at him. They jump in their seats when they get caught, pushing at the other teasingly before, casually, looking around the outdoors aimlessly. "I just caught them staring at me," he snorts. 

"What? Don't they know it's rude to watch someone without them knowing?"

"Oh, fuck off," Simon bites back, doing everything in his power to hold back his own laugh. He loses miserably when Wille's rings through the speaker. 

"I'll let you get back to them, baby." Simon's able to hear the smile in his boyfriend's voice. "Have a good rest of the day at school."

"You too. Love you." Forth time and counting. Who's to say how many times is too many?

When he sits back down with Felice and Maddie, their squealing almost ruptures his eardrum. 

"Oh. My. God!" Maddie's the first to yelp, Simon's shoulders jerking up to his ears. "You are both so fucking cute! I'm, like, actually devastated we didn't get to witness you with our own eyeballs up close."

"They're not zoo animals, you freak!" Felice bites back, swatting at her friend before, guiltily, she chimes in too. "You guys really do seem so sweet, though. We could hear your lovey dovey giggling from all the way over there."

Simon rolls his eyes but has to bite back a smile.

It usually takes him a long time to get comfortable around people - he usually doesn't even give himself the opportunity to try - but something about these two girls is so comforting. 

"Stop," he whines softly, with no bite, focusing back on his food.

Maddie and Felice do take pity on him, talking about assignments due and choir drama (that Simon doesn't comment on but listens intently to) before they ask him his plans for the weekend; he hesitates for a split second before admitting, "it's actually my birthday tomorrow so I'm-"

"Your birthday?" Maddie shouts, "happy birthday, what the fuck! You should've told us! We get cakes at lunch for happy birthdays!" 

Simon chuckles, the American's outlandish nature actually quite endearing - only because it's her, though. 

"I didn't know that was a thing," Simon says, "and besides, a cake wouldn't be necessa-"

"Everyone gets a cake, Simon!" Felice even interjects, "we will not forget on Monday. What are you gonna do tomorrow? Any plans?"

His plans probably sound silly to two privileged girls like them - pizza, maybe bowling, a double sleepover - but Simon's been looking forward to it all week; not so much his actual birthday, because the attention is horrifying, but the quality time. 

"Nothing too crazy. Just pizza and bowling, maybe, with my two friends Rosh and Ayub. And Sara of course."

Sara doesn't hang out with the trio too much.

She likes Rosh and Ayub, she's known them since they moved here, and they always make her feel included - but there's something about tagging along with best friends that always has a way of making her feel bad.

Simon felt like a piece of shit when he finally admitted that to her until she, rather bluntly, said it had absolutely nothing to do with them and was just the way she thought about it. 

The curly-haired looks over Felice and Maddie who are buzzing with excitement, both about to say something before he beats them to it. 

"You guys are more than welcome to join."

"Oh, Simon, we don't wanna intrude or-"

"You wouldn't be. I want you both there... if you even wanna come, of course."

Which is true. Completely and wholeheartedly.

He's been considerably less miserable since sitting with them a few weeks ago, and getting used to his and Wille's long distance relationship, but he knows there are some days it's like pulling teeth - they never make him feel bad, though, and they always welcome him.

They made sure to make it normal just that very first week, waiting for him at their meeting spot before going to the table together. 

He also knows Sara would love to have them there. 

"Of course we wanna come!" Maddie exclaims happily, Felice sending him a pretty, beaming smile. "We'll be there!"

~

"If you think I'm eating that, Ayub, was it? You're out of your fucking mind! No offense."

"We warned you," everyone but he and Felice mumbled at the table. Their eyes were on a horrified Maddie (some more intently than others) as she sits face to face with a determined Ayub and a piece of pizza topped with pickles. 

"It's initiation, Maddie, is it?" Ayub quips back, Simon biting back a smile. "If you don't eat this, you will never be one of us."

"Felice isn't eating it!" 

"She's next," Ayub promises, his gaze flickering to Rosh for a split second, mirth in his eyes. "We need to see how you measure up right now first."

"Oh? And why is that?" Maddie bites back, defensively. 

Simon fears he knows what's coming, keeping a watchful eye on Rosh who almost immediately let it slip how pretty Maddie is. 

"Because I think some of us here want to see you again and if that's the case-"

Ayub yelps in pain, Simon snorts, Felice and Maddie share a questioning but amused look while Rosh is quick to speak.

"What normal pizzas is everyone thinking about getting?" She asks, before looking pointedly at Simon. "What do you want, birthday boy? Do you wanna share a few?"

"Whatever you guys wanna do, I don't care."

"Not an acceptable answer," Felice interjects, "it's your birthday!""

"What Felice said," Rosh says, whipping the menu toward him. "Pick. And we're all treating you so go crazy."

They end up deciding on sharing a few different pies, the pineapple one causing an especially rowdy debate, and Simon complaining almost the whole time about them paying for him.

They all ignore him, getting to know each other and learning about the others.

"So like, I don't know how you rich folk work," Ayub begins, Simon sighing, "but have you guys been bowling before?"

"Of course!" Maddie says excitedly, while Felice blushes and, admits, she has never been; the girl gasps at her friend like she's committed a grave sin. 

"Felice, what the fuck! How is that possible?"

"I don't know!" She whines in embarrassment. "I just never had the opportunity before."

Rosh and Ayub can't help but snort at that - they could only wish the opportunities they miss out on is fucking bowling.

"Wow that's almost as crazy as Wille never taking the bus."

"Malin shocked me more than that, to be honest," Simon admits through a mouth full of pizza. 

"Who's Malin?" Felice asks, because she's nothing if not nosy.

"Simon's boyfriends driver," Ayub says, "can you believe that shit? Who the fuck just has a driver?"

He'd expect talking about Wille to make him sad, because he should be here right now - there's an extra seat just mockingly at the end of the table - but it doesn't.

It makes him happy to speak about him, that his own friends miss him enough to mention him in casual conversation; however, he really does hope Felice and Maddie don't push anymore about why he couldn't come down.

"Okay no, that actually is crazy," Felice chuckles, Ayub throwing his hands up. "Right!"

Simon's next to Rosh and diagonal from Maddie so he can't help but overhear when they start their own private conversation. He makes eyes to Felice, who he let in on his match making plan, and she side-eyes them quickly before smirking.

"Success," she mouths, Simon holding back his chuckle. Ayub notices too and, for once, keeps his fucking mouth shut. "Wait, where's Sara?" The boy finally notices, almost 30 minutes into their meal.

"She's gonna meet us at the bowling alley."

Felice hides her smirk now, Maddie lost in her conversation with Rosh - she may have recruited Sara for a secret project.

"We don't have to like reserve anything, do we? Or wear special shoes?" She asks, so her own suspicious face doesn't give away the surprise. "I don't know if my boots will cut it."

Simon chews his food happily as he watches his best friend stare at Felice like she's from a different planet. 

"Wow, you really don't know anything about bowling."

Some people might think Ayub's blunt, teasing nature could be a little rude or too much at times so Simon feels himself only get happier when Felice's loud laughter echoes through the pizzeria. 

"No! I literally said I've never gone before! How would I?" She whines.

Rosh and Maddie are talking, giggling, leaning in to hear the other over Ayub's loud voice. Maddie throws her head back in girlish laughter Simon has never heard from her and he sees a smile on Rosh's face that he knows, very well, is reserved for girls she likes.

Ayub is sharing all his tips and tricks for bowling with Felice, who was smart enough to be suspicious and ask if he was trying to sabotage her. 

He wasn't confident waking up this morning that his 17th birthday was gonna be a good one - life was hard right now, and sad, he was still adjusting - but he avoided his dad, got to see his mom (who bought him a new keyboard) before she had to work and was now actually genuinely happy as he sat around and saw his friends, old and new, getting along. 

And just like his boyfriend always does, because he swears he has a sixth sense when it comes to him and his emotions, he sends him two texts. 

(Wille 1:32 pm)

hi don't wanna bother you while you're out but i hope you're having fun :)

can't wait to see you later 💜

A smile immediately lights up his face. He didn't realize just how much happier he could feel, how much more warmth could flood through him, until he heard from his boyfriend. 

(Simon 1:33 pm)

you could never bother me, thank you 💜 i am actually :)

can't wait to see you too, will have to tell you about my amazing matchmaking skills

(Wille 1:33 pm)

rosh and maddie?

Simon chuckles, catching the attention of Felice and Ayub who start teasing, "Wille, Wille, Wille, Wille-"

"Shut up," he groans, kicking Ayub under the table while swatting at Felice.

He quickly texts his boyfriend back confirmation - of course rosh and maddie - before locking his phone so he doesn't start blushing. 

"You guys are mean."

"And you guys are soooo in love," Felice teases. 

Simon rolls his eyes but doesn't fight back because he can't. He can only stuff his face with another slice of pizza, smirking when Rosh and Maddie finally manage to remember their in a group setting and not a first date.

"Me and Rosh just decided we should do teams for bowling," Maddie says, "Simon, you can pick your team member first, obviously, but just know I cannot be on Rosh's team because she said she'll beat me-"

"Which I will."

"Which you won't! We made a bet!"

"Oh, I'm sure you did," Ayub teases, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What does the winner get? A free meal on you first da-"

"We can do teams," Simon says, saving Rosh the way she's saved him one too many times from their friends comments. "And I'll pick Felice so you at least have a fighting chance."

"Hey!" 

When they're done eating, and take twenty minutes to pay because Simon was absolutely refusing to be treated (he only accepted once Rosh threatened him), they make the walk over to the bowling alley; the only good thing about Bjärstad being so small and boring is that everything is in close walking distance. 

The moment they walk in and get their shoes (Felice was baffled by the idea you had to share with strangers), they find Sara already waiting at a lane; the smile on Simon's face immediately falters when he notices the cake on the small, circular table.

"Oh no."

"Oh yes!" Maddie sings, poking him in the side playfully. "Everyone gets a cake, Simon!"

Getting sang happy birthday is embarrassing enough - getting sang happy birthday in a bowling alley full of other teenagers and old people is even worse.

Simon is red in the face by the time they're done singing, staring a smirking Sara down who just hugs him.

"Happy birthday little brother," she says, Simon scoffing but hugging her back anyway.

"How could you let that happen?" He whines, "you could've at least warned me."

"And ruin the surprise?"'

Simon rolls his eyes but only finds himself feeling slightly grateful because the cake is homemade, by Sara herself, and delicious.

The teams go Simon-Felice, Rosh-Sara, and Ayub-Maddie when they're done and it's the most competitive game of bowling Simon has ever been a part of.

Felice was actually good, for a beginner, and the birthday boy was nothing but supportive - much to everyone's dismay, Maddie the most, Rosh and Sara had won with just a few points difference. 

"No because you're actually a cheater," Maddie whines, knocking her foot into Rosh's in the plastic chairs. "You didn't mention, you're a bowling champion." 

"I haven't bowled in years."

"She was here yesterday practicing," Ayub remarks dryly, everyone erupting into laughs except Rosh.

"No, I wasn't!" 

"I think you were, that would explain a lot," Maddie teases.

"How 'bout we do a rematch if you don't wanna-"

"Why don't you have a rematch on your first date?' Ayub says, "because this is Simon's day and if Simon wants a rematch, then we can, perhaps, do a-"

"Rematch," Simon says, because Rosh looks like she's about to fucking kill Ayub while Maddie is smirking knowingly - the girl really has no shame. "We'll do new teams too."

Sara-Felice, Maddie-Simon, and Ayub-Rosh proved to be no different - Rosh and Ayub won by a few points. Maddie dramatically flopped back down in her seat, accepting defeat. 

"Fine. Fine," she sighs, "you win fair and square."

Rosh smiles triumphantly. Simon knows she only wanted to hear those words leave the girls mouth before she plopped down next to her, knocking her foot with hers. 

"You tried your best. That's all that matters."

"Don't mock me," Maddie spits, although her voice is more whiny, her eyes glinted with something very similiar to Rosh's. 

"I would never."

Simon bets by the end of the night - because this bowling alley has some of the best milkshakes and arcade games Bjärstad has to offer - their first date will be planned; later that night, the second Wille answers the video call, Ayub excitedly tells him so. 

"Wille with a w! I've missed you so much!" Ayub yelps, nearly falling on top of Simon to get into the camera. "Guess what? We have news."

"No we don't!" Rosh shouts from the table where she's laying out snacks. 

"Yes we do!" Ayub insists, "Rosh has a date with Maddie next weekend."

"Oh?" Wille chuckles, his eyes falling to his boyfriend who's side-eyeing Ayub as lovingly as you could side-eye someone. 

"Yeah, they seem to really like each other, it was actually disgusting," the boy says, "but don't worry, wizard boy, you'll always be my favorite significant other. And you guys are sooo much worse in terms of sappy looks."

Wille chuckles with a shake of the head, watching as Simon finally pushes his friend off him and onto the floor. They bicker back and forth for a few seconds before, finally, Simon's face is in view.

"Hi. Sorry," Simon chuckles, his heart pounding because for whatever silly reason tonight, he feels nervous to talk to Wille. The good kind of nerves, something like first date jitters.

It might be because Wille's laid out in his bed, with his light on, and he can make out just how soft his brown eyes are, how his long blonde hair is, thankfully, still untouched from scissors and how much he wishes he could sleep with him, on him, tonight.

If their lives were different, he might've been able to surprise him; a foolish part of Simon had been hoping all day that would happen.

"Hi," Wille smiles, "happy birthday." He'd been the first to say it right at 12, since they were, of course, already talking. Simon rolls his eyes, because he's ready for his birthday to be over. 

"Thanks," Simon says, "are you ever gonna tell me why Ayub calls you a wizard?"

"Are you ever gonna tell me why he calls me Wille with a w?"  

Simon can't bring himself to say anything. Wille smirks at the silence. 

"Touché," the curly-haired says, his boyfriend chuckling. 

"So besides Rosh securing a date," he asks, "how was your day?"

Simon tells Wille about it all - the pizza, the bowling, the humiliating birthday song, the little stuffed frog he won at the arcade and is waiting to give him for a late birthday present.

Wille watches Simon talk and it feels like everything is right in his world, because his boyfriend is happy and smiling and laughing and, even with the distance, they're still able to be together. 

Watching movies this way is not nearly as fun as when he's next to him, because Simon's phone is faced toward the movie instead of his face and that's just not okay with Wille.

It’s around the third one, almost 1 am and Ayub snoring, when the blonde asks if he can see his boyfriend.

Rosh's basement is dark but the flashing tv and candle is enough for Wille to see, enough to appreciate that, always, his boyfriend is beautiful. 

"I miss you," Wille speaks quietly, his eyes tired, voice deep with sleep.

His heart pangs when Simon frowns, cuddled into the chaise part of Rosh's couch (birthday privileges).

That's where they always laid together, where Simon first fell asleep on him, where Wille would hold his boyfriend so impossibly close to him until he was sweating. 

"I miss you too," Simon mumbles, a lump forming in his throat. He's not gonna cry, he's not gonna sulk, but he really would do anything to have his boyfriend here just for the night. "I... I thought I'd be sad today, because you didn't get to be here... but it was actually a fun day."

Wille could cry from happiness just from hearing that. 

"Yeah? That's good, baby, I'm so happy," Wille says, wrapped up in his blanket. He traces his bicep with the tips of his fingers, much too warm to be Simon's but he can pretend. "You deserve nothing but good days."

Simon smiles, the lump growing, and he curls into the corner of the couch like it's the blonde's chest.

"I'm gonna ask my mom when I can visit," he mumbles, "or if you can come here."

Simon's stomach drops at the just the mention of Wille's mom - he really hopes Wille would be able to come here; he doesn't even mean to admit that but his exhaustion must be getting to him. 

"Me too. I wanna see Erik," Wille says, "and Ayub and Rosh. And maybe I could finally actually talk to Felice and Maddie."

"They want the same," Simon smiles, "they think we're really cute. And in love."

"Well, we are so..."

Simon chuckles tiredly, followed by Wille's. The blonde hears his boyfriend's telltale sign of falling asleep: a tired, cute little hum before he'd inevitably curl into him and Wille would brush his lips against coconut curls. Wille mumbles one last "happy birthday, love," that is only met with another sleepy noise. 

Both boys drift off a few moments later, breaths slow, even, and matching the others as if they're both really right beside each other. 

~

Rosh, Ayub and Simon's weekend-long sleepovers will never not be some of their favorite moments. There's more snacks and movies and games than any person would need but it makes for a fun time.

It distracts Simon from his house, which is something he so desperately needs right now; he didn't even have to worry about Sara because she had been able to spend the night with Felice this time. 

He'd laughed more than he had in a long time this weekend.

The most serious topic they dabbled into was Rosh's date with Maddie (the girl was convinced she was in love as they texted all day) and Simon can see now why they both made fun of him in the beginning with Wille. 

It was because he'd just had such a good past two days he didn't think about what a horrible idea it was to let his two friends walk him home that evening; they always do, they never take no for an answer, but they were talking and shoving each other and teasing the whole time, he didn't part ways up the block.

They'd walked him to his house, right in the front, and were so enthralled by their ridiculous debate they missed Micke sitting on the porch. 

They missed it until the man, reeking of liquor, was on Simon like a predator to prey. 

"Where the fuck have you been?"

His hand was tightly coiled around his shirt in broad daylight. He was staring down at Simon with a look so ferocious, a look so deadly, Ayub and Rosh completely froze up. Simon swallowed down the nerves, pushing at his dad's chest. 

"I stayed at my friends. I-I told mom."

He hates that his voice quivered. He hates even more that his friend's heard it, are seeing this. 

"And what about me?" He hisses. Simon cringes because his breath fucking reeks. "I'm your father."

Simon doesn't say anything - because anything he would say would get him smacked and his friend's already seem to realize things at home are bad.

Micke finally seems to notice they have company, that there's an audience witnessing this, and he pulls back. He's still cold, still looks fucking evil, but he swayed back and away on his drunken feet.

"Come in the fucking house. Now."

He grumbles the words lowly but Rosh and Ayub still hear. Simon's lips quirk at them before he mumbles, "see you guys later," and turns to follow Micke.

Rosh and Ayub don't make any attempts to move, not even after Simon goes inside.

They just stand there horrified, about to cry. They just stand there waiting, listening, to see if their friend will call out for them or run back out; they know Simon, though, they know him a lot better than that so they know that he won't. 

(Rosh 5:05 pm)

is stuff bad at home again?

why didn't you tell us?

(Ayub 5:20 pm)

i know you won't wanna talk about it but we're here for you simon <3 always 

Simon sighs, his friend's messages staring him back in the face.

Tears burn his eyes at the fact that they know, the fact that they saw, the fact that they heard and it all makes him wanna breakdown again.

With shaky hands and teary eyes, he writes in their group chat. 

(Simon 6:12 pm)

i'm sorry you guys had to see that

my dad's only started getting bad like that again for a few weeks now but we're fine (Lie)

me and sara mostly just hide in our room and are able to avoid him (Half truth; when Simon does come out, his dad's usually fucking with him).

i didn't wanna tell you guys bc you don't have to worry. it's fine (Lie. Big lie. The biggest lie of them all).

(Rosh 6:14 pm)

is there anything we can do? people to call? 

this isn't right, simon

he was so fucking drunk and scary 

It's the same question, the same concern, everyone has and Simon knows that's the right thing to do - call help, seek help, there are hundreds of organizations that help families like his.

But the fear outweighs it all, the challenges they'd face seem just as scary, the thought of them reaching out and then nothing happening is terrifying to even consider.

(Ayub 6:17 pm)

does your neighbor erik know?

or wille?

His heart immediately twinges at his boyfriend's name.

(Simon 6:18 pm)

erik knows and i go there sometimes

he always offers for me, my mom and sara to stay

but wille doesn't know and he won't know

don't say ANYTHING to him

he has enough going on and things will be better soon

(Rosh 6:18 pm)

simon :(

(Simon 6:19 pm)

i'm serious

i won't forgive either of you if you tell him

it will get better and then they'll be nothing to worry about 

(Ayub 6:20 pm)

but what if it doesn't?

Ayub asks the scariest question that Simon hasn't been able to stop thinking about himself.

He doesn't know how things could get any worse, it's all pretty fucking bad right now, but he hopes, somehow, someway, things get better.

Things will get better and they'll be nothing to worry about.

Maybe Micke will wake up one morning - see the fear in his wife's eyes, the way his children flinch when they're around him - and get the help he needs. 

Maybe all of Simon's hopes since he was a child will pay off and he won't feel so foolish right now for thinking like this.

Chapter Text

Elsa always knew she wanted to be a nurse, specifically a pediatric nurse.

She had grown up with a single mother and a sick grandmother who she helped take care of, probably more than a child should’ve, but she didn't mind. It came natural to her. She thinks now, as an adult, it formed her into the nurturing person she came to be.

When her mom remarried and had three children, she quickly took on the role as a third parent; she didn't mind it again, she loved it actually, and it aided her on her path to becoming a nurse. 

The internship she wanted during her last year of nursing school was in the neonatal unit - the internship she got was the pediatric emergency room.

The ER had seemed incredibly daunting to her, a part of the field she'd never been drawn to. It was impersonal, bodies flooding in and out every day.

Elsa worked with many different ER doctors during her months here but Dr. Karlsson was her favorite. She was a kind, soft-spoken woman who was great with the patients, ranging from infants to 18-year-olds, and knew how to connect with all of them.

She'd notice the smallest thing about them - a toy they were clutching, a sport-themed shirt, a charm on their cell phone - and immediately open up a conversation about it while seeming genuinely interested. 

Some patients, as expected, weren’t  always as easy. 

Elsa was sitting for her 30-minute break, her late dinner eaten as she scrolled on her phone, when Dr. Karlsson came around the corner. 

"Are you all done? 17-year-old just came in with a broken arm. The mom is hysterical and covered in bruises but they're both not saying anything."

Elsa’s stomach immediately sinks. She springs up from her seat and the two women make their way down to the exam room; much to her surprise (and gratefulness) she hadn't encountered many instances or suspicions of abuse.

Her professors had droned it into them - that they're usually the first people dealing with victims of any kind and it's important to be kind yet diligent; they're also mandated reporters by law and should take that very seriously.

She had never made one, never had to. Not until the night she met Erik's neighbor-

"Simon?" she hears the doctor ask softly, Elsa's head snapping up in the doorway; her heart drops when she sees a familiar head full of curls.

He's sitting on the chair holding his right arm to his body carefully, eyes focused on the ground. His mom is beside him in a long-sleeved shirt and a poorly covered bruise on her cheek. 

"I'm Dr. Karlsson, me and my nurse Elsa will be taking care of you tonight. She's a student in training," she explains softly, as she always does, her gaze bouncing between Linda and Simon’s lowered head. “Is it okay that she's in here with me?"

The only responses are from the low hums of medical equipment, the chatter from the hallway. Simon stays seated with his head down, Linda sighing something in Spanish before addressing the doctor. 

“That’s fine,” Linda says, her voice shaky although it's obvious she’s trying to hold it together. 

”Thank you," the woman smiles at her, before looking back at the trembling teenaged boy. "How ‘bout you, Simon? Is that okay with you?” 

If the way he sighs is any indication of how much he doesn’t care right now, his point comes across glaringly. 

He manages to look up at Dr. Karlsson first, a hauntingly empty look in his bleary eyes.

”Yeah, that’s fine, I don’t-“

His gaze shifts to Elsa and his eyes immediately widen. The auburn can pinpoint the exact moment he recognizes her.

She’d only met him that one time, she’s been to Erik’s since and he just hasn’t been there, but the man tells her how often the younger still teases him about her.

Something about payback. 

Elsa thinks he’s gonna make their prior knowledge of each other known, which wouldn’t be a terrible thing, before he shakes out of his daze. 

“She can stay. It’s fine.” 

Elsa sends him a soft smile before the doctor starts her questioning. 

First, it’s the basics: where the pain is, how severe on a scale of 1-10 (he answers 8), if he’d broken a bone before.

Elsa watches in the corner as Linda’s eyes progressively fill up with tears, a sob escaping her mouth that she quickly covers with a shaky hand.

”I’m sorry,” she blurts out, Simon making an unintelligible noise. “I’m sorry,” she repeats, shaking her head, “it’s just…” 

A heavy silence hangs in the room, Elsa watching Simon while Dr. Karlsson addresses his mom.

"I know this is difficult, Mrs. Eriksson but-"

"Linda."

"Linda," the doctor corrects with a nod. "We're gonna make sure your son's arm gets all the treatment it needs, okay?” She assures gently, "in the meantime, could we get you anything? We have a water cooler down the hall and vending machines."

"No- no, it's fine."

Elsa's never seen a woman so shaken before, never seen such a heartbreaking look in a mother's eyes so close up. 

She looks on the brink of collapsing.

"I can go with you, if you want," Elsa tries, the words just slipping out. "It's really right down the hall. Simon will be okay."

She knows that Dr. Karlsson can really get to asking Simon some questions then; questions he probably won't answer but questions he might feel more comfortable even considering without his mother present - it also seems like Linda would really benefit from some water.

The woman seems to ponder her words for a moment before eventually agreeing with a sigh, mumbling something to Simon in Spanish again. He flinches as she touches his shoulder in passing; her hand immediately falls, like she'd been scalded by a stove. 

"Sorry mama," Simon mumbles, gaze averted once again.

Elsa has to stop her face from falling, not only because of his apology but from the broken response that leaves the woman's mouth.

The air was thick between her and Linda as they walked out of the room, guiding her down the hall to the vending machines. 

"Dr. Karlsson's really good with the patients and an amazing doctor," Elsa says, because those facts should be incredibly comforting. "Your son is in good hands here. I promise."

Linda answers with a smile but that's all she can muster. Elsa thinks, given their night, that's more than enough.

She fills a cup of water with shaky hands, gulping it down before repeating. The older woman seems to stand there for a moment, truly processing where she is, before she breaks again and a tear slips out.

"This is my fault," she cries, attempting to keep her voice low. "This is all my fault. I'm a terrible mother."

Elsa knows about terrible mothers - she's heard horror stories from the doctors and nurses here about the worst types of people, parents who should have never brought children into this world; she's known Linda for all of five minutes and can tell that isn't the case. 

"I'm sure that's not true," Elsa says softly. Linda scoffs, a humorless type laugh escaping her. 

"It is. It is true," she insists, a tear streaming down her cheek. "My son is hurt and it's all my fault."

Elsa doesn't say anything this time, because Simon is hurt and she’s sure Linda's guilt must feel overbearing.

She doesn't know everything, only what Erik told her, but the drunk, abusive father and husband is enough to understand the very sad, very tumultuous dynamic that's been terrorizing their home.

"We're here to help him. He'll be okay," Elsa assures her, because he will be. “But we’re also here to help you."

Linda looks confused until she doesn't. Until Elsa's eyes fall to her cheek and Linda pales at the insinuation. 

"I- I don't need-"

Linda's in her 20s again.

Linda's in a car she can't pay for, with gas she won't be able to afford, and two scared, crying children who are gonna be hungry soon.

Linda's terrified and shaking and her bruised body is aching. She’s left her family, has no one, and doesn't even know how to begin creating a life for herself.

Elsa's heart is breaking as she watches the older woman.

"I've met Simon before you know," the nurse decides to admit, Linda's eyes widening. "I'm friends with your neighbor, Erik."

"You are?" Linda asks, "I- I thought it seemed like he recognized you."

The smallest hint of a smile crosses her face and Elsa smiles back with a nod.

"Yeah, I wasn't sure if he would," Elsa says.

She doesn't say that the first time she'd met her son, he had a bloody, bruised nose and terror in his eyes.

"He seems like a good kid, Linda. Sweet, but also sticks up for the people he loves."

She doesn't mention Wille, because she doesn't know if she knows about her son having a boyfriend. 

”You've done a great job raising him."

Linda's smile falls, her eyes flooding with tears again, head shaking in defeat.

"I haven't," Linda croaks, "I- I've worked so much for them, to help provide for them, so, sometimes I feel like they raised themselves."

"Still, it's you who gave them a foundation. That's the most important thing a parent can do," Elsa says. "And kids know when a parent, even if they're busy with work, even if they're... struggling, that they love them. That they'd do anything for them."

Linda can't speak, can't move, can't even blink as she stands there and looks at this girl who can't be that much older than Sara.

Who's looking at her like she knows, because she must - she's friends with the neighbor, she met Simon, and she's staring at the fresh bruise on her face that Linda messily powdered in the car. 

"We can help you," Elsa says suddenly, speaking gently. "We can help you, Linda, I promise we can. There are so many facilities and programs that help victims of domestic abuse and their families-"

"I need to get back to Simon."

Linda's throwing out her white paper cup and shooting back down the hall before Elsa can say anything else.

"...You also seem to have had a broken wrist at some point but it didn't exactly heal properly," they hear Dr. Karlsson say, entering right as she's showing Simon his x-rays.

The boy looks to Elsa and his mother in the doorway, brown eyes lingering on her for a few seconds, before confirming his broken wrist to the doctor.

"And when did that happen?" She asks.

"I don't know, maybe like... two years ago?"

"Was that also from falling off your bike?"

A shaky breath from Linda fills the eerily quiet hospital room. Elsa looks at Simon who meets her gaze, pain and fear and everything that just makes her wanna start crying swimming in his eyes.

He's begging her for something, she's not exactly sure what, but she has a feeling he really doesn't like that she can confirm what she and Dr. Karlsson already know. 

No bike caused his injuries. Or the fear trembling through his body. Or the bruises covering his mother.

"Yes." 

His eyes fall again, hands folding into each other. He pops a few knuckles, the cracks filling the room, before he silently folds his fingers together. 

"Okay. Does it ever cause you any discomfort, your wrist?"

Simon silently shakes his head; everyone in the room can't help but wonder if he's lying.

After a few more questions about his pain, Simon only answering with short, one-word answers, Elsa and Dr. Karlsson work to wrap his arm and put a cast on. They explain the care, semi-helpful advice to sleep with it, and that it'll be anywhere from 6-8 weeks.  

"The healing process is different for everyone so I'd recommend going to your doctor around the 6-week mark," she explains, Simon only slightly paying attention.

He'd had a hazy, glossed-over look in his eye since he entered and, even if his bruised up, very clearly traumatized mother didn't accompany him, his disposition would've made them suspicious. 

"Do you have any questions?"

To no one's surprise, Simon shakes his head.

The doctor nods with a warm smile before her gaze turns to Linda; the moment Elsa catches it, she knows she'll be assessing her as well. 

"How 'bout you, Linda? Any questions?"

Linda thinks for a moment, her mouth opening, then closing, before she shakes her head. 

"No, I think that's it," she says, getting up on shaky legs. "Thank you so much doctor, we really appreciate-"

"Actually, I was hoping to look at that mark on your cheek."

Elsa looks at Simon who's frozen in his seat, grateful when he meets her gaze. Her lips barely quirk into a smile as she mimics a deep breath.

He looks grateful, she can see hints of it, but he also looks so tortured right now, it's almost impossible to tell.

"I- uh, I don't know if that's a-"

"It'll be quick. I promise," the doctor says, "it's a slow night here, anyway."

There's an awkward, unsure silence in the room when, again, Elsa braves it. 

"If Simon's hungry, we can go get a snack. Or a drink."

"It's alright, we really should-"

"Let her look, mama," Simon says softly, "I'll go with Elsa."

She nor Dr. Karlsson nor Linda can react fast enough before Simon's jumping off the chair, new purple cast in tact, and scurries out of the room like it's on fire.

Elsa nods to Linda who sighs, scrummaging through her bag for a few dollars. She hands them to Elsa, who regards her with what she can only hope is a reassuring look, before following after the teenager.

They're quiet as they walk down the familiar route. Simon scoffs when he sees the vending machine full of hot chocolate and teas. 

Elsa looks at him questioningly, sympathetically, when his eyes seem to prick with tears.

He only shakes his head, blinking his eyes rapidly before getting a cup of water. He plops down in one of the scratchy, torn seats. Elsa lingers nearby, wondering how she'll, again, break the silence when-

"Are you gonna tell Erik?"

The woman can't stop from smiling sadly, walking over to take the seat across from him.

"No, Simon," she says softly, shaking her head, "and even if I wanted to, which I wouldn't, confidentiality is a very important thing in this field."

That seems to comfort him even though he doesn't say anything, not even a hum of approval.

 "But..." Elsa continues, because Simon also has to know. "I think he's probably gonna find out anyway, no?"

"Yeah, he will," Simon sighs after a few moments, because he can't exactly be a recluse for 6-8 weeks. "But I'd rather deal with that later."

She bites back the thought that, maybe right now, the best place for him and his family would be at Erik's.

"I don't know what happened, I'm not gonna ask you," Elsa begins, Simon immediately tensing as he looks down at his hands; she knows some type of conversation happened between him and Dr. Karlsson but this one's different.

She's only met him once but she met him when his guard was down, when he felt comfortable in Erik's home and so honestly (sweetly) admitted to missing his boyfriend.

A part of her feels like, for whatever reason, he slightly trusted her in that moment, and no part of her wants to fucking blow it right now, when he needs that feeling of trust most. 

"But you have people who love you. And want you safe. Dr Karlsson's in there talking with your mom right now about programs and people who can help you guys," Elsa says, surprised but oh so grateful he hasn't cut her off yet.

"I know it's scary. And I know something should've been done a long time ago so I'm so sorry, Simon. I'm so sorry for all you and your family have gone through," she says, her words wavering when his eyes glaze over. "I know it's unfair and probably feels hopeless but there is help for you guys."

Hopeless is the word. Hopeless is definitely the word. Simon has felt hopeless since the day he knew his daddy's water smells funny and then it made him mean.

Since the day he silently begged his mom for them to leave, that nothing could be that bad, not even homelessness, because then at least she wouldn't be getting hurt. 

"She's scared," he croaks out.

It's the first time he's talked about his mom with anyone besides Wille.

He could say a lot more - the suppressed feelings of anger he harbors - but then, if he really thought about it, could just cry for hours, days, years, thinking about what his mom has been through; it makes him feel so immensely guilty for feeling angry in the first place.

"I know you're saying there's help..." Simon says, before he considers the possibility everyone suggested but never seemed plausible. Never seemed realistic because it's such a scary, life-altering decision to make.

"But what if she's too scared to accept it?" The question is barely above a whisper, he barely recognizes his own low, scratchy voice. "We're all scared, we're all tired, we... I can't fucking take it anymore," Simon breaks, because ever since that night, he knew something like this was gonna happen.

A part of him wants to blame himself for this going down the way it did.

"But my mom is scared the most. My mom gets the worst of it. She always has, which is why..." He winces as he moves his broken arm in, both, an answer and a reminder to himself. 

Elsa, for the 10th time tonight, feels tears burn the back of her eyes. 

"I know," she confesses, words just as quiet, just as soft, as his.

The hospital is suspiciously empty tonight, an unnatural type of quiet in the sterile environment, but it feels wrong to talk about this at any higher a level. 

“There will be so much help, so much support. It will probably be the hardest thing your family ever goes through," Elsa says honestly, because Simon doesn't need to be coddled. "But, in the end, it's always worth it. You'll all be together. You and your mom will be safe."

"And Sara," Simon says.

Sara hates hospitals, always has, so she stayed home. Is probably cleaning up the mess of glass and blood as they speak. 

"And Sara," Elsa confirms with a small smile; she's assuming that's the older sister she's heard about. 

The silence is still heavy, with an air of melancholy that naturally comes from being in a hospital but also with the circumstances surrounding Simon, his broken arm, and his family.

But there's also something more open, not as awkward, because the elephant in the room was, for the first time maybe ever, fully acknowledged - they're victims of abuse who flew under the radar fifteen too many times and there is help that they can receive. 

It's not easy, and it's scary, but it's worth it.

It'll be worth it when they're safe, no longer walking on eggshells in their own home, and Micke's rotting in jail where he belongs.

Simon allows himself to, for the first time ever, realistically picture his life where that's a possibility.

He always used to but in a more fantastical way - living away in that big city where he's a musician and his mom and Sara got away too; but now, living in Bjärstad, although still not his dream, could be bearable.

He'd be safe with his mom and sister, have friends he cares about, a neighbor who helped him through the hard times, and a boyfriend who, although not with him, loves him.

He can't even begin to think about Wille right now, though.

Can't even deal with the level of guilt and torment he's gonna experience hiding this all from him so, instead, to distract himself, he looks over at Elsa who's still sitting in the seat in front of him.

"Do you drive a white car?"

The question breaks her out of her thoughts, a confused smile pulling at her lips. 

"I do."

Simon, despite everything, despite the pain in his arm and the heaviness in his heart, laughs.

"Hm… I thought so."

Elsa doesn't know what to make of the question, or the comment, but something like mirth slips into Simon's eyes and even if it's at her expense right now, she doesn't care in the slightest. 

"You're there a lot, at Erik's," the younger says, almost accusingly, because he's noticed a white car in front of his house several days a week now. "What are your intentions with him? I think he likes you."

It's always a little weird to hear laughter in the hospital, where there's usually codes being called or family members crying the worst type of sobs, but Elsa's laugh bounces through the white walls - getting a shovel talk from Erik's 17-year-old neighbor was never a thing she thought would happen, but she's not surprised. 

"I like him too," the nurse smiles, because that's true, almost embarrassingly. She liked Erik from the moment she met him, liked him even more when she saw how delicately he handled his brother and Simon. "Don't tell him," she says, her eyes narrowing accusingly, "but I really like him."

Simon finally feels himself smile, a real one, because maybe he sees why people make fun of him and Wille so much - watching people fall in love is, both, endearing and entertaining. 

"Don't tell him I told you," Simon says, "but he really likes you too. We've been calling you his girlfriend since the second date. By the way, really weird that you guys met in the grocery store."

"My sister said the same thing!" Elsa laughs, never feeling judged so harshly by anyone as much as teenagers. "How is that weird? I don't get it! It’s very organic!”

Simon's about to explain why it's weird - Wille's comment about flirting over produce really sticking with him - when approaching footsteps cause him to fall silent.

It's just the humbling reminder he needed, his mom and Dr. Karlsson turning around the corner. 

He can't quite make out the expression on his mom's face but she looks tired; more than anything else, she looks tired. She also looks sad, lips barely quirking as she smiles at her son, who's smile slowly faded off his face. 

"Hi, how are we doing?" The doctor asks, a warm look on her face as she looks at Simon.

Simon only nods, following Elsa as she stands up and approaches them. The curly-haired goes to his mom's side, noticing the bruise on her cheek is heavily covered again. 

"You ready to go, mi amor?" She asks, Simon ignoring the twinge in his stomach at the thought of going home.

He looks to Elsa and the doctor who are watching them with kind, sympathetic expressions; the look would normally piss him off if they both hadn't done so much for them, if they both didn't know so much. 

"Thank you," he says, raising his arm with a wince. "This is annoying. And hurts. But thank you."

Dr. Karlsson's laugh is contagious and almost makes him smile. 

"It'd hurt more without it, Simon," she quips back. "Sleeping will be rough the first few days but you'll get used to it."

Simon nods, Linda watching the exchange before she thanks both women.

The boy shares one last knowing look with Elsa, who smiles and waves, before Linda and Simon turn to make their way to the exit. Elsa doesn't turn to Dr. Karlsson until the mother-son duo are out of sight. 

The older woman regards her with a proud expression. 

"You did good, Elsa. Really good for your first time dealing with that type of sensitive situation."

"Thank you," the girl smiles, although her stomach sinks a little bit because she has to be honest with the doctor; she wonders if a part of her should've told her from the start but there didn't seem to be a good time.

"I, um, I actually know them. Or, well, Simon at least. I met him once before. He's neighbors with the guy I've been seeing."

"Neighbors?" The doctor asks, because if anyone's gonna know about someone's home life, it's a persons neighbors; even if they're the least nosy neighbors in the world, which don't exist. 

"Yeah."

She relays what Erik has told her over the course of them knowing each other - the dad is abusive, with a drinking problem, the neighbors had called until the police would show up and do nothing before, eventually, they just became the house on the block known for that.

The woman beside her takes it all in, sighing into her cup of water. 

"Not surprised they didn't say any of that," Dr. Karlsson admits, although it doesn't make her heart any less heavy. "Simon told me he fell off his bike. Linda was a little more forthcoming, and admitted her husband... has a bad temper, but that was it."

Elsa debates saying anything until, she just can't help it; she'll know anyway when she tells her a report's already been called in. 

"When I first met Simon, his nose was swollen and bloody," she recalls quietly, because the image was so grotesque. Knowing a father had done that to their own child and how... casual he'd been about it, almost teasing.

She knows humor is a way to cope with trauma but when a kid is profusely bleeding by the hand of his parent, it's hard to accept that.

"I- he obviously didn't say it was his father who did it but we all knew."

"Did you report it?"

Being a mandated reporter in a hospital is a law; outside of work, although you can't lose your job, the morality of it is a heavy weight. 

"The next morning," she confirms with a nod. "So it was the 30th of March."

It was now May 2nd. It was safe to assume they hadn't gotten around to investigating it yet.

"Well I have to report this incident too, so I'll make note of that," Dr. Karlsson says, before that proud look slips back into her gaze. "You're gonna be a phenomenal nurse, Elsa. Some people were just meant to. I think you're one of them."

Elsa's never been tested as severely as she's been tonight with holding back tears.

"Thank you, Dr. Karlsson," she says, trying to keep her voice from wavering. "That means a lot coming from you."

It was a brief, sweet, impactful moment for Elsa before the next child in need came in with a high fever and rash.

As Elsa rushes down to the next exam room, with the next concerned parent and the next scared patient, she tries her very hardest to put Simon and Linda in the back of her mind. 

~

The house was spotless and smelt of lemon cleaner when they returned home.

The once ransacked living room now looked like a showroom: floor free of red droplets and shattered glass, the furniture back in its rightful place, even the pillows were perfectly fluffed.

If Simon wasn't feeling so shitty, if his arm wasn't aching and his mother hadn't been silent since they left the hospital, he would've laughed at his sister's diligence. 

Simon has never wanted to crawl into his bed and disappear as much as he does tonight; he makes it a few steps into the house, his mom still lingering in the doorway, when she calls his name.

He turns around despite his body screaming at him to lay down. 

"Simon, mi amor, I'm-" He hasn't seen his mom fight tears as much as she has tonight. The look in her eyes is haunting, he hates seeing it, but he can't deal with it anymore tonight. He can't. "I'm sorry, Simon, I'm so, so-"

"I just wanna go to bed, mama. I'm tired."

Her face falls for a split second, making Simon's stomach twist, before understanding covers it.

She nods despite the tears in her eyes, making her way over and giving him an awkward side-hug due to his arm. He hugs back, because of course he does, that's his mom, but he needs to be alone right now.

Or, mostly alone.

When Sara knocks on his door no less than twenty minutes later, he welcomes her in with a barely acknowledgeable nod. Her eyes wrack over her brother curled in bed, one arm under the covers while the other, the purple casted one, peeks out. 

"Do you like the color?" Simon hums sarcastically, watching as his sister stares at his cast.

Her face remains blank at the comment and not even Simon can try to smile at her right now; but she was blatantly staring, what else was he supposed to say?

She walks over and takes a hesitant seat in his worn, computer chair.

It takes him a while to sit up, wincing as he does so, before leaning back against the headboard.

It's reminiscent of all the times he spent with Wille, in his room, and, God, does thinking about Wille right now make his heart hurt. He hasn't touched his phone in hours, he abandoned it face down on his desk when the shit show started and can't bring himself to look at it. 

"That was the worst fight that's ever happened."

Sara states it as fact, because it is - even when Micke broke his wrist, the house never erupted into such chaos like that.

Simon knows it's because he challenged him. Ever since that moment, the tension has been escalating and escalating but that didn't make the moment it broke any less terrifying.

It didn't make his moms cries, Sara's screams, Micke's drunken roars, the snap when Simon's arm got crushed, any less haunting. 

Tonight will be burned into their minds for, probably, the rest of their lives.

It's the fight that got Micke to leave, a blissful silence for once over the house that doesn't make them feel nervous purely out of defeat, and it'll be the fight that, hopefully, finally gets him arrested.

"Yeah."

He knows Sara's shaken, not because the events would shake anyone but because she's trying to fill the silence. 

"How was the hospital?"

"Fine. It was just the hospital," he shrugs, "but Elsa was there. She was the nurse, actually."

Confusion covers his sister's face for a second before, "Erik's Elsa?"

Simon smiles slightly at that before nodding. 

"Yeah. Erik's Elsa."

A heavy silence. Simon wincing as his bed creeks under him. The hum from the fish tank more comforting than usual.

Sara looks at Simon, then around the room when he catches her. He feels sad, because she's so obviously uncomfortable, but he's been through too much tonight and his arm hurts too much to say anything.

"I'm- I'm sorry this happened to you," his sister blurts out.

Simon shakes his head immediately; they don't do this, don't apologize for what their dad's actions make them do, and they're not about to start just because Simon's arm is broken. 

"I know it's not my fault, or yours, or mom's," Sara says, a noise slipping unconsciously in the back of Simon's throat. "But I'm still sorry it happened. It must hurt."

"It does." Simon never acknowledges his pain, never wants to, but fuck does it hurt. "Like a motherfucker."

Right as the silence starts stretching too long again, Sara grasping at anything, his phone vibrates on the desk. Sara's head snaps over, Simon stopping her as she reaches for it.

"It's fine," Simon says, "I don't need it."

Sara's eyebrows pull together immediately - her brother, for the past several months, has been glued to his phone 24/7. 

"Oh? You talked to Wille already?"

Simon just blinks at her, the topic of his boyfriend, the mere mention of him, causing his temple to throb. The pain in his arm suddenly grows tenfold and he wishes it could distract him from his clenching heart.

"Simon..." Sara mumbles disapprovingly, like she already knows he's doing something bad. "You told him, didn't you?"

He doesn't want to answer but he knows his sister, even tonight, will be nothing but incessant. 

"No, Sara, I didn't.” It doesn't take much for the annoyance to slip into it. "And I won't be."

"You won't be?"

"I won't be."

Sara's look of displeasure would usually make the younger brother in him crack but not tonight, not with this - this is none of her business and he'll make sure she knows that. 

"Erik's gonna see you."

"Okay, and he won't tell him either."

He doesn't know that, not for sure, but he didn't tell Wille about the bloody nose. He'd probably agree that him knowing Micke broke Simon's fucking arm would be a lot worse. 

"Simon..."

"It's none of your business, Sara, drop it."

Sara, admittedly, knows it's none of her business.

In hindsight, she'll probably look back at this moment, and the moments to come, and realize she had no place to say anything.

Her brother just had the worst night of his life, is most definitely traumatized, and is dealing with it the best way he knows how - but that's exactly why, in the moment, she thinks him not telling Wille is such a bad choice.

She watched them grow, watched them flourish, watch them become the best, sweetest support system and make his brother the happiest he'd ever been.

He needs Wille now more than ever and Simon shutting him out, keeping things from him, is on par with his, characteristically, self-sabotaging behavior. 

His phone vibrates again, at the worst possible time, and Sara huffs. 

"Simon," she says again, because it's not only self-sabotaging but cruel. 

"I said it's none of your business, Sara! Drop it!" 

Simon's tolerance is usually higher, he so rarely yells at his sister, but why the fuck would she think this is okay to do tonight mere hours after his dad snapped his arm in half?

"This is wrong, Simon, he's probably worried. You can at least let him know you're-"

"I will decide what I tell Wille and my friends."

"Oh, great, so you're keeping this news from them too. That's just great."

"What the fuck difference does it make?" Simon snaps, the tension escalating rapidly - that seems to be a theme tonight. "Telling them isn't gonna unbreak my arm."

Sara winces but perseveres, because she might be more fucking stubborn than him.

"No but it will give you some more support," Sara points out, "it's important for the people that love you to-"

"Is that what you're doing right now? Supporting me?" Simon sneers, barely feeling the pain that zips through him as he moves. "Because it sure feels like the fucking opposite."

"I'm just saying, Simon. Wille's probably anxious right now, if he hasn't heard from you in-"

"Fuck you!"

That's what gets him, what breaks him - because him being the reason Wille might ever be anxious is his worst fucking nightmare. Hurting Wille in any way, making him panic in any way, would make Simon feel like the biggest piece of shit on the planet. 

And Sara just brought that to light in a very possible way, as if his night hasn't already been the worst; if she's shocked by his outburst, she doesn't let it show. 

"I'm serious, Simon, it's not fair. You don't have to tell him what happened but you can at least-"

"I can barely text with one hand and he'll know something's w-wrong," Simon says and, fuck, is he so mad at the way his voice breaks. They're both legitimate reasons but not the real one. He can't stomach the real one right now. "But again, it's none of your fucking business so-"

His phone vibrates again and if he didn't close his mouth to stop the words, a cry would've probably left his lips. Angry tears are burning his eyes, threatening to brim them, but not anymore.

Not tonight.

He will not shed another fucking tear tonight. 

"Get out."

"Simon-"

"Get! Out!"

Simon hates yelling at her. He hates it.

He'd hate it if they didn't spend their whole lives in a house where a man constantly raised his voice at her - but Simon's asking, begging, her to stop and she won't listen.

Hasn't tonight been enough?

Sara looks at him for a few seconds too long, her eyes a mix of emotions but mostly hurt, before she gets up from his chair. She opens the door and pauses in the entryway, thinking for a few seconds before turning around. 

"If you don't tell him, I will."

The rage of everything - his pain, his drunk father, his battered mother, the suffocating cast on his arm, his nosy fucking sister - comes out in the scream directed toward her.

It doesn't even sound like his voice.

"Did I not go through enough shit tonight?" He screams, flinging his casted arm up. The rush of more fucking pain shooting through him is almost unbearable. "Have I not taken enough abuse because of him? For you, for mama, for fucking everyone?"

He continues to scream, not even caring if Erik, if the other neighbors, if his mother hears - because they all fucking know anyway.

"I'm the one in a fucking cast, Sara. With an unhealed wrist. I'm the one in fucking pain tonight and every other night he decides to hit someone so this, is none of your fucking business!"

It was a low blow, he knows that. He knows it the second her eyes gloss over with tears and she steps back like she was punched in the gut.

It was harsh, he knows, but Jesus Christ, it's none of her business.

Wille and what he knows, what Simon tells him to keep him as happy as possible in Stockholm, is none of her business. 

"Wow," is all she hums lowly, almost in disbelief, shaking her head before she turns. 

"Don't tell Wille," is all he can get out before she's slamming his door shut.

The slam doesn't seem to stop echoing in his melancholy room, in his pounding head. Carefully, because his arm hurts so fucking bad, he rolls on his side, squeezes his eyes shut, and curses the tears that manage escape. 

~

Wille was panicking. Full blown, on the brink of a mental breakdown, checking his phone every 10 minutes panicking.

He had last spoke to Simon around 8 last night, with plans to maybe video chat around 10 and finish watching a series they had started.

When he didn't hear from him for those first two hours, he was only mildly concerned - maybe he was gaming with Ayub and lost track of time - but the later it got, the more messages went unanswered, the more his calls went to voicemail, Wille panicked. 

Wille panicked and then his mind spiraled and he couldn't stop himself from texting Erik at almost 1:00 in the morning.

(Wille 1:04 am)

hi, sorry to bother you so late 

you're probably not even up but is everything okay next door?

i haven't heard from simon in a while 

It only took Erik less than 20 minutes to answer but it'd felt like hours. 

(Wille 1:28 am)

hey wille sorry i just got home

i was out tonight with elsa so i didn't hear anything but i'm sure he's fine. it’s calm here right now

probably just sleeping like you should be 😬

Wille never fell asleep. Couldn't. But he did seem to pass out at some point because he woke up and it was 8 in the morning.

He scrambled for his phone, his heart frantic, stomach in knots, and almost started crying when he had no notifications.

He paced around his room for hours, unhealthily, couldn't even try his deep breathing or new hobby of journaling because he was so fucking terrified. 

He was curled up under his drafty window, hand rubbing over his chest, when his phone, at 9:55 finally starting ringing with his boyfriend's name.

He didn't even try to take a deep breath before he answered with a blurted out, frantic, "hello?"

A few seconds of the longest silence Wille's ever encountered before-

"Hi, Wille. I'm so, so, sor-"

"Jesus Christ, Simon," Wille sighs, relief like nothing he's ever felt immediately washing over him at his boyfriend's voice.

He never considered his attachment to his boyfriend unhealthy but he thinks, in this moment, the way everything in his body immediately shifts back to place might be a cause of concern.

Not immediate concern, because his boyfriend is talking to him and he hasn’t heard from him in over 12 hours, but something for a rainy day. 

"You scared the fuck out of me, do you know that?" Wille says, something like a laugh but not completely leaving him. "I was going fucking crazy all night. Are you okay? I texted Erik. I- I was going insane even though you might've just been sleeping but I-"

"Did he say anything? Erik?"

Wille, although settled, immediately grows concerned at his boyfriend's question. 

"No. He was out with Elsa," he says, swearing he hears a sigh of relief from his boyfriend. "Why? Should he have?"

An uncomfortable silence, Simon's slightly shaky breathing, before, "no. No. I just- I didn't see that he was home last night. Figured he was with his girlfriend," Simon laughs, but Wille knows that's his fake one; his boyfriend's speaking before he can call him out. 

”Anyway, yeah, I'm so sorry, baby. I was doing something with Sara and we got into... a little bit of fight and I felt bad so I just kind of shut myself out. Then I fell asleep before I could text you and I just woke up, so I'm sorry. I..." another shaky breath, one that makes Wille's heart pang for reasons he can't describe other than he just feels something wrong with his boyfriend. "I hope you weren't too worried..."

"I was," Wille admits honestly, because they're trying to be more honest. "But... as long as you're okay. I'm sorry if my messages were a lot when you woke up, though," the blonde apologizes, embarrassed.

He probably woke up to 20+ texts and 4 missed calls. 

There's a long stretch of silence again and it unnerves Wille. Unnerves him almost as much as Simon's wet, forced chuckle. 

"No. No it was okay. It made me feel bad." His voice is so low, so quiet, and it's making Wille's heart pull. Something's wrong.

“I love you,” Simon says.

Hearing those words from his boyfriend will never not make his body flood with warmth, but it doesn't take away the feeling that something's off with him.

"I love you too," he says, before, "can we video chat? I wanna see your face."

Which is true. He wants to see Simon's face - he always wants to see his ridiculously beautiful boyfriend's face - but then he'll really know if something's wrong or if all of this is his left over anxiety. 

"I, um, I," Simon stutters. Wille becomes positive in that moment it's the former. "I just woke up. I look gross."

Wille can scoff, doesn't know how he holds back, because when they wake up in the mornings beside each other, the first thing he does is stick his tongue in his unbrushed mouth; it's also impossible for his boyfriend to look gross.

It's not even something Wille considers possible, like humans flying or walking on water.

"Simon don't be ridiculous," the blonde says, his finger hovering over the video button. "You could never look gross."

"I do right now. Really," Simon whines, "you'll probably break up with me. Leave me for your Stockholm boyfri-"

Wille presses the video call button and patiently waits, ignoring his boyfriend's incessant whines and pleas.

There’s loud scratching against the speaker, pained groans leaving his boyfriend's mouth before, finally, he sees his face.

Or what would be his face, if his room wasn't pitch dark. 

"Siiimon, turn on the light," Wille whines, not needing it to know his boyfriend's rolling his eyes. "I can't see you."

"I'm not getting up, Wille," he whines, "I'm tired."

"Oh? You're tired?" He teases, his face in the screen obnoxiously. "Were you the one up all night freaking out about your boyfriend?"

Wille meant for it to be funny, he wasn't mad, wasn't upset, he heard Simon out and they moved on from it - so, a few silent seconds later, when he hears Simon sniffle and then start crying, his heart nearly breaks in two. 

"Simon?" Wille asks frantically, speedily, because what the hell just happened? Simon doesn't answer, just muffle his cries, and Wille cannot stand to hear it and not be able to hold him. "Simon, baby, what happened?"

His boyfriend's words are muffled in his pillow, scratchy through the phone's speaker as he must shake his head. Wille feels some slight panic from before stir in him.

"Simon," Wille says, louder but still soft, desperate. "Simon, baby, please. Tell me what happened."

"No-nothing," He hiccups. He's crying hard enough to start almost immediately hiccuping but he claims nothing. "Nothing happened, Wille. It's okay. I'm okay."

"You're crying, Simon," he points out gently, because his boyfriend so rarely cries. "That's usually not nothing."

"It is. It is this time," Simon whimpers, still crying but whining and, fuck, he wants to hug him. 

Wille hums slowly, gently, softly, the way he does against his curls.

He waits the few moments it takes for Simon to calm down and stop crying. His breaths are still ragged when Wille speaks again, because if he calms down too much, he'll try to blow it off with humor. 

"Baby," Wille says, a certain tone on the pet name he only uses for Simon. "Why were you crying?"

"It- nothing happened, Wille. It's fine. I'm fine. I just got-"

"That's not what I asked," the blonde responds, firmly but still gently. He still can't see Simon (which he hates) but he has a feeling he's pressed his lips together. "Tell me why you were crying. Please."

Another sigh. He can hear the squeaking springs of Simon’s bed as he moves. 

"I just-" he finally begins. Wille waits to hang on to every word, per usual. "I miss you."

It's softly spoken, so fucking shaky, and it breaks Wille's heart as much as it makes him smile sadly.

"Simon..." Wille sighs, "I miss you too."

His boyfriend sniffles through the phone. 

"Sometimes it just hits me, how much I miss you," Simon whispers, his voice wet from crying. "Talking to you everyday like this is good, obviously. I- I'm so happy we're still able to talk as much as we do," the boy continues, his boyfriend hearing him out intently.

"But sometimes, I just wish you were here, next to me. I miss being in your room. I miss sleeping with you. I don't sleep the same," he confesses softly, but so honestly it makes Wille's eyes burn. "I miss feeling..."

Safe.

Simon almost lets the word slip, and that would've done him in for sure; but he does miss it, so much. He missed it even before all of this happened. 

"Happy," Simon says. Wille pales for a moment thinking his boyfriend in unhappy before he speaks again. "I'm still happy. I have Ayub and Rosh and now Felice and Maddie and..." he wants to say Sara, he always has Sara, but he's beyond pissed at her right now. "I have people here. And I'm happy. But they're not you Wille. No one is. No one makes me as happy as you."

The lump grows larger in Wille's throat. It feels like he could start crying at Simon's words but he’s trying to keep it together for him right now - nothing good will come from both of them crying. 

"No one makes me as happy as you do, either, Simon. I love you," Wille says, because he could never get tired of it. He needs Simon to know, and remember, every minute of their hard, long days. 

”I told Rosh and Ayub, that first night you fell asleep on me and Ayub called me a wizard, that I'd never met anyone like you. And I really haven't. I probably never will. I..."

He almost says something crazy. Almost tells Simon he's it for him. That no one else will ever affect him, mind body and soul, the way he does.

It's probably outrageous to say, because they only just turned 17, but he feels it so wholeheartedly. It should feel crazy to be that sure of something so serious but it doesn't.

It just feels right. And easy. 

"I feel the same way," Simon mumbles, one final sniffle before his voice seems to go back to normal. "Shit, I didn't mean to just, like, start sobbing. It really does just... hit me sometimes."

There are other things this morning, too, like his aching arm and the reminder that his own father broke it - but him missing Wille, wanting him in this moment, wishing he was here to take care of him, is very real. 

"It hits me too. A lot," Wille says, "but we'll be okay. We can plan something soon. Really soon, maybe for the summer? And then before we know it, a year will have gone by and we'll be together again."

He makes it sound easy. Fantastical, like Simon's old plans of moving to a big city and becoming a singer; right now, fantastical is exactly what he needs.

His cast will probably be off by then too, the summer, so Wille will never have to know. Won't have to worry about it in the slightest. 

"We will," Simon hums, a heavy tiredness still weighing down his body. He can tell by the soft smile on Wille's face that he knows; he watches his pretty blonde boyfriend, who looks at him like he's something magical, when he recalls his words from before.

"Wait," the curly-haired says, a smile pulling at his lips. "Is that why Ayub calls you Wille the wizard? Because I fell asleep on you?"

A few seconds of silence, much less heavy now, before, "fuck." 

Simon didn't think it'd be possible to laugh at all today, but leave it to his boyfriend to have him giggling.

"No, wait, I didn't mean to let that slip! Fuck my life!" Wille whines, Simon only laughing harder. "This isn't fair. Now you have to tell me why he calls you Wille with a w."

"No fucking shot," Simon insists - he will never, ever let that slip. 

They only hang up that day to eat and shower; every other moment, even when they both fall asleep, is spent on the phone.

Wille still has a sinking feeling that something's wrong (and Simon's arm almost hurts worse today) but he knows his boyfriend will come to him when he's ready. 

They've worked hard enough at long distance, built enough trust, for Wille to believe that.

~

Simon and Sara haven't spoken since their fight on Friday night. It was now Monday morning and things were tenser than ever.

His mom had sensed something was off during breakfast, only the loud clattering of silverware clanking against ceramic, but she had thought better than to try and mediate. 

That was definitely the wiser decision because Simon would’ve snapped. 

He felt Sara staring daggers into him like he had done something wrong; sure, his comment was harsh, but so was her giving him shit when he just got back from the hospital.

He looked up boldly, shamelessly holding tense eye contact. Something in his gaze must've been unsatisfactory for her because she got up from the table with a scoff.

"Sara, your plate," Linda reminds gently, the girl stomping back toward the table and snatching it up. He hears the front door slam a few moments later.

"Guess she's not waiting for me," Simon mumbles to himself, shoveling one last bite of cereal into his mouth before bringing his bowl to the sink. He feels his mom's gaze on him the whole time, about to bid her a goodbye when she asks if he's okay.

"How's your arm? Do you feel good enough to go to school?"

Simon, for once in his life, wants to be at school. Being in this house is suffocating, haunting, and he's gonna go insane in the silence. 

"I'm fine, mama," Simon assures, "I don't know how I'm gonna write but maybe someone can give me their notes."

"Let me know if I need to talk to someone from the school."

Simon resists the urge to roll his eyes, pecking her cheek before grabbing his backpack.

Sara's nowhere to be found when he walks outside, not that he was expecting her to be, and starts making his way toward the bus; of course, with his luck, Erik's coming out of the house to bring in the garbage when he stops in his tracks. 

Simon's standing there, deep purple cast with a look so defeated, Erik has a feeling the boy was hoping he’d never see him. The older man makes his way over to Simon, the curly-haired stuck in place, before he sighs. 

"Hi."

"Hey."

Silence.

Erik's horrified gaze lingers on his arm before his jaw clenches and he shakes his head. His texts from Wille on Friday night come flooding back to memory - is everything okay next door? i haven't heard from simon in a while 

"Did that happen on Friday?" Erik dares to ask, Simon staring at the man in silence before nodding. He breathes out a string of curses. "Did you tell Wille?"

"What do you think?"

Erik doesn't say anything because he doesn't know what to say, what to feel besides rage and guilt and horror.

He feels no better than the neighbors right now who stopped calling, even though this block knew damn well what was happening. There's nothing else to feel but rage and guilt because this kid's arm is broken and his dad's probably out there scot-free. 

Erik's about to ask where Micke is, so maybe he can fucking strangle him, when Simon's speaking.

"Your girlfriend took care of me," Simon says, slightly disheartened when Erik doesn't even smile. "She's nice. I approve of her."

Erik would laugh if he wasn't so struck by the sight in front of him right now. 

"At the hospital?"

"No, in the grocery store where you met," Simon says sarcastically, "of course at the hospital. I had to go. My arm was, like, cracked in fucking half."

Erik flinches and Simon feels bad for a split second, because his dark humor really does cause people such discomfort - but it's his broken arm, his trauma that people know about, so why should he have to stop?

"Where's your dad now? Not home with you?" Erik asks, because then he'd have no choice but to kidnap Simon, Sara, and Linda. 

"No," Simon says before shrugging. "I don't know. Don't care. Hopefully dead in a ditch somewhere." They could only be so lucky. "I have to get to school, though. I'm gonna miss the bus."

"I can give you and Sara a ride if you-"

"No," Simon blurts out, "you are no Malin."

He's relieved more than he cares to admit when Erik's lips quirk, a laugh escaping him.

"You're right. I am no Malin."

When Simon lingers, looking like he wants to speak more, Erik already knows what he wants to say - or, rather, ask. 

"I won't tell him. It's not my place," the older man says, Simon relaxing right as the words leave him. "But, usually, you'll always get caught in your lies, Simon. Keeping this from him might do you both more harm than good."

"It'll be off in 6 weeks. He'll never have to know. There's no reason to worry him over this."

Erik disagrees in every way.

But his brother wouldn't worry about this, he'd demand to be driven back to Bjärstad and would never leave again. Simon knows that just as well as he does - so it should make him feel grateful toward the boy - but it doesn't.

It just makes him unbelievably sad. 

"Thanks Erik," Simon says, because this man understands more than his own sister and it only makes his anger toward her resurface; she probably told the bus driver to leave without him. "I really have to go now."

"See you later, Simon. Be careful."

"Will do," the curly-haired says. "Can't break my other arm. I'd be fucked."

Erik shakes his head and laughs, although nothing about it is funny. Simon smirks before he's rushing down to the bus stop; he makes it with two minutes to spare. 

"Thanks for waiting," he grumbles lowly as he walks past Sara, plopping down in the aisle seat beside her; she doesn't answer, because of course she doesn't, and the two don't speak on the bus ride.

They don't speak when she's a few feet ahead of them as they make their way into school and they don't speak, when, at Simon's locker just a few down from her, Maddie and Felice come bounding over.

Their faces drop the moment they see Simon's arm. 

"Simon, oh, my god," Felice says frantically, looking over his purple cast. "What happened?"

No one else but him notices the way Sara stiffens. He tries to meet her gaze but she pretends to look through her folder with fumbling hands. 

"I fell off my bike Friday night."

"What the heck! I didn't know you were so clumsy!" Maddie whines, pouting. "Does it hurt?"

"No. It feels amazing."

Felice laughs at his dry tone, smacking her American friend lightly. 

"I'm so sorry, Simon. That's awful. How long do you need to have the cast on?"

Sara's eyes are boring into his face as he talks to the girls about his arm and what the doctor told him.

Maddie finally seems to notice his sister's odd behavior when Simon hears her mumble, "are you okay?" If he holds his breath to hear her response, he'll never admit it.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired," she says quietly. Simon meets her gaze and she, for the first time, looks back at him before quickly away. 

"Are we allowed to sign it?" Felice asks, an excited noise leaving Maddie. 

"I don't see why not," Simon chuckles, not surprised when Felice already has a marker in hand. 

They sign his cast, with big loopy hearts and FEEL BETTER SIMON ❤️ sprawled across it. It feels bittersweet when Maddie draws a little bike with an x marked through it, Simon forcing a laugh.

"Are you gonna sign, Sara?" 

His sister looks over, peeking down at the little bike in the corner.

"No. I'm good."

Felice eyes her suspiciously, faced twisted in concern but she decides to drop it. She then catches Simon's gaze and he smiles softly, dismissively shaking his head. They hang around their lockers until class starts, Simon slightly nervous about how this will go.

If he had known people would completely change their tune and be weirdly kind to him just because his arm was broken, he would've bought himself a cast to keep himself sane. 

It was bizarre, almost felt like elementary school - everyone blatantly staring, asking to sign his cast (like they even know who he is) and volunteering to take notes for him.

He eventually allows Stella and Fredrika to do the honors, because they have pretty, legible handwriting and made their intentions clear.

"So, like, how did you break it? Did you get into a fight or something?"

Simon holds back his laugh, not only at their insinuation, because of course the poor boy must be a degenerate fighter, but at the slight truth to it. 

"No. Nowhere near that exciting. I fell off my bike."

They were slightly disappointed, he could tell, which was weird. But the real story would probably be exactly what they'd wanna hear, exactly the rumor they'd wanna spread, and Simon won't allow that to happen.

Falling off his bike is believable. No one would bat an eye at that story. No one except the people who know him best, the people who know about his life.

The people like Rosh and Ayub who, when he finally told them, lost their shit and are demanding to see him in person tomorrow.

Or, at least, they were supposed to.

He was making his way toward the bus after school, Felice the one to inform him Sara was going to the stables with her, when he saw his two best friends in tow with their motorbikes.

He tried to fight the smile on his face - they definitely skipped out to be here at this time for him. 

It was easy to not smile at all when he saw their concerned faces up close, because they both look so fucking sad. Looking at him with eyes so full of concern, he wishes he could've kept it from them too.

"Hi," Simon says, showcasing his illustrated purple cast. "Actually a blessing in disguise. It's made me quite popular among the rich."

They don't find it funny, not even Ayub. Rosh looks like she wants to cry and he's only seen her cry twice. 

”That was a joke," he mumbles gently, dejectedly, Rosh shaking her head. 

"It's not funny."

"Not funny at all, Simme. What the fuck?"

He sighs, taking in his friend's expressions. His stomach twists with guilt. 

"I'm sorry."

He's been trying to joke all day, make it lighter to deal with, because if he doesn't, he'll go crazy - but he also understands it's hard for the people in his life to see this and be okay with it. 

"I just- I can't believe this shit," Rosh says, shaking her head in disbelief. "Please, please, tell me something's being done now. I mean, Jesus Christ, Simon, he broke your fucking..."

She can't say it, not only because it's so grotesque and hard but because she doesn't wanna remind her friend; he won't be able to forget, she knows that, but saying it aloud isn't necessary. 

Simon wishes he had a concrete answer for her but he doesn't know. The doctor and Elsa said there's help, said people and facilities can help them, but they must've shared specifics with his mom. 

"Well, Micke's been gone since it happened which is good but..." Simon briefly shares his conversations from that night, Rosh and Ayub, both, shocked and slightly grateful Elsa was a person who knew of the situation prior.

There was no confusing what it was, what happened.

"I think they're, like obligated to report it," Rosh says, Ayub nodding his head in agreement. "A claim has 60 days to be investigated but I think if it comes directly from, like, a hospital and doctors it could be sooner? Or at least it should be?" 

"I don't know," Simon says, the conversation making his stomach knot anxiously. "Would my mom have to press charges? Or... me? She's still so scared, we all are. I don't know how after all this time we're supposed to..."

He doesn't know. He just doesn't know. He feels so fucking ready for his dad to get his karma, what he deserves, but he hates that it's so compliant on them, traumatized individuals, to make it happen. 

Ayub and Rosh don't say anything, because they can see their friend is scared, their friend is terrified, and understandably so. They want to hug him but are scared to hurt him.

Simon can see that, their awkward swaying and Ayub reaching out, before he rolls his eyes. He reaches out his okay arm, wiggling his fingers, and laughs when they fight to hug him first.

"I'm going, you can't always win," Ayub sneers, Rosh rolling her eyes and pushing him lightly out of the way.

The hugs are quick, because they're the type of close friends who rarely hug, but it gets the message across clear: they care, they're worried, and they're here for him, no matter what. 

"If you wanna stay at my house tonight, or ever, please do. You don't even have to ask," Rosh says. "I'll drive you to school on my bike."

"Or I'll drive you to school on my bike."

"You weren't invited to sleep over." 

"You weren't asked to even bring him."

They bicker and banter and it's the taste of normalcy he's been craving for days.

Even things between him and Wille haven't been 100% normal, because he feels so fucking horrible for lying to him. For blowing his boyfriend off when he keeps asking if he's okay, if something's wrong.

He can barely stand to talk to him as he normally would because he's never needed Wille more in his life than right now. 

But he won't do that. Not ever.

Wille can't come back here, can't stay, because Kristina will make sure what she wants will happen. She'll make sure Wille signs his life away and is miserable for as long as he lives.

"Will you be good to go on my bike or should we take the bus?"

"Well we're not gonna leave them here. I'll just hold on super tight," Simon says, before he just can't help himself. "Please don't make us wipe out. If any more of my bones break, I'm gonna be-"

The look from Rosh stops him, the groan from Ayub makes him smirk, and the night he spends with them uplifts him like nothing has since. 

It's in doing what they always do - eating snacks, watching movies, bickering back and forth - that a part of Simon, at least for a little, feels healed. Spending time with his friends always makes him feel better and he's not surprised that, even now, it's exactly what he needs. Makes him feel happy.

Almost makes him forget that nothing, nothing ever in his life can stay the way he wants it for too long. 

Simon didn't know that pissing with one hand was so challenging until this happened.He swears every time he goes to the bathroom, it takes him twenty minutes what usually takes him two.

When he comes out this time, an amused smirk on Rosh's face that he greets with his middle finger, Ayub's words stop him dead in his tracks.

"Yo, Simme, kind of weird," the boy begins, "but Sara texted me asking for Wille's number. I thought they were, like, kind of friends. Why doesn't she already-"

"What?"

Panic consumes him. It almost makes him pass out, how alarmingly fast his heart starts to race. He feels anxious and fucking livid all at the same time, quickly rushing over to the boy. He knows it's not Ayub's fault but God fucking damn it.

"When?" He spits out, "when did she ask? Did you give it to her?"

"Right when you went into the bathroom," he says, confused, hesitant. That's when Simon knows he's fucked. "I- it seemed urgent so I gave it to her because-"

Simon kicks the side of the couch, causing Ayub to jump and Rosh to make a noise of protest. The two friends look at each other as Simon yells, "fuck!" once and then again, brokenly, tears promptly filling his eyes.

~

(Unknown 7:18 pm)

Hi Wille, it's Sara.

Simon's gonna be really pissed that I told you but I gave him a chance to and he didn't. On Friday night, our dad was in a really bad way and started yelling and hitting everyone. He started on our mom and Simon got in the middle and our dad ended up breaking his arm.

He doesn't wanna tell you because he doesn't want you to worry but he really isn't doing okay. I just thought you deserved to know. 

(Unknown 7:18 pm)

Our dad hasn't been home since and Simon’s with Ayub and Rosh now so he's safe. Don't worry.

Don't worry?

If Wille thought he was irrational and worrying when he hadn't heard from Simon on Friday night, Monday night proved to be far, far worse.

He was anxious in a way he'd never felt before.

After reading Sara's message, and then reading it again because no fucking way did he read that right, he was inconsolable. He was never such an extreme mix of emotions in his life. 

He was shocked beyond fucking belief, almost ignoring the message when it popped up on his screen because he figured it was spam.

His shock quickly grew into concern, fear, devastation, because his boyfriend who he'd been talking to for days had a broken arm and he was fucking clueless.

That's when his feelings switched to anger, to betrayal.

He hated that he felt angry at Simon because, fuck, he had obviously been through enough - but the trust they built, the lies he'd been telling, the way he was brushing Wille's concern off again and again and again made him feel like he was spiraling.

They were supposed to be honest with each other, supposed to tell the truth. Even if their feelings were hard and ugly, even if their feelings were negative, they told each other they'd be honest.

They promised each other they'd be honest. 

Wille was shaking in his room at that point, surprised he wasn't hyperventilating but just too fucking angry.

He wanted to text Simon but couldn't, because he was feeling too much right now.

He wanted to call Erik and accuse him of not offering Simon his old room enough but he knows that wasn't true.

He wanted to beg his mom to call every top lawyer she knew in Stockholm, in the country, in the world, and demand they defend Simon and his family to get Micke in prison for life. 

What he did, after little contemplation, was fly out of his room, down the stairs and outside of the estate where he could call Malin.

It was luck, pure luck, if Wille even wanted to fucking call it that right now, that his mom usually worked late on Mondays; she'd be home by 8, though, so he had to hurry.

As always, because she's more of a mother figure to him than his own, Malin answers after the first few rings. 

"Good evening, Wilhelm, to what do I owe the plea-"

"I need to go to Bjärstad. Please." There's a long silence on the phone that only makes Wilhelm's anxiety grow tenfold. "Please, Malin, please," he begs, close to tears. "It's an emergency."

Malin sighs, deep and heavy, and he knows he's about to hate what he hears.

"Wilhelm," she says, in a soft motherly tone. "I was given strict, strict orders from your mother to never drive you back there-“

"If you don't, I'm gonna disappear again," Wille blurts out, "I'll take the bus, the train, an Uber, I'll- I'll fucking hitchhike for all I care but I need to be there."

He's crying now, full on crying, and feels his face drenched with tears.

"Please, Malin, please. Something- something fucking terrible has happened and I need to be there. I need to be there for him, please Malin. I'm begging you."

"What happened? Something terrible happened to who?" The woman asks, some slight movement in the background. "Is it Erik?"

A cry escapes his lips, his chest heaving. 

"No- no it's not Erik. It's Simon. Simon's hurt. My boyfriend's hurt and I'm not there."

Malin's heart could just break at the words, at the agony in his voice.

Wilhelm has always been a sensitive child, always been so quick to respond with such intense emotions - but she's never heard him like this before. Never heard him so distraught and desperate. 

"I need to be there, Malin. I will be there, one way or another," he says. Everything in his voice tells Malin that's the upmost truth. "I'm calling you because you're the only one here I trust. You're the only person who cares about me here. And you can get me there fastest."

The blonde woman almost smiles, because it's so funnily honest, but his words are also sweet.

Malin does care about Wilhelm. She thinks of him as her son. 

"And if my mom- if my mom fires you or something," he continues, "I’ll tell her it was all me. Me and Erik will help you, someway. She'll have no problem giving me some horrible consequences but I have to go. Please."

She can't stand to hear his voice break anymore, can't stand the painful sobs. She can't stand to know he's probably a second away from hyperventilating and no one's there to help him. 

"Are you outside?"

"Yes."

He almost collapses, certainly cries of relief, when Malin tells him she'll be there in fifteen minutes. It's the longest fifteen minutes of his life, anxious his mom will pull up first, when he sees Malin arrive in her own personal vehicle.

He jumps in the front seat which is typically not allowed, "you go in the back, Wilhelm," his mother used to scold, but he always hated how weird it felt for Malin to be in the front all by herself. 

The blonde driver gives him a look, because she knows this is prohibited by Kristina, but it quickly softens at his appearance.  

"Are you okay? Are you breathing deeply?"

"I'm trying," Wille rushes out, unable to relax until they're off his property because his mother can't see them. "Can we go? Please? My mom's gonna be home any minute."

Malin hesitates for a second, debating, before telling Wille to put on his seatbelt - if Wilhelm's gonna go anyway, she'd rather know personally that he got there safe. Kristina doesn't have to know it was her who brought him.

The car ride is tense, with Wille trying to control his breathing and Malin resisting the urge to ask questions.

Wille's emotions are rampant right now, bordering on hysterical, and he knows he has to calm down before talking to Simon. He knows his boyfriend, knows his heart and knows the way he thinks. He knows he keeps things to himself to spare others and has trouble opening up. 

But the lying isn't okay, even if it's to spare his feelings. Wille feels betrayed and whether that's selfish or not, he doesn't know. It's just how he feels. 

"We'll be there soon," Malin says.

Time passes by quickly when you're trying not to have a mental and emotional breakdown, it seems.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asks.

He doesn't. Not even a little. 

"I feel like I'm gonna throw up."

"Erik will be excited to see you," she says, in an attempt to distract him. "Maybe a little surprised. But excited."

"Not if I throw up on him."

Malin presses her lips together so she doesn't laugh. Wille must see her smirk anyway because she hears him chuckle lowly, although tight.

He runs his hands through his long blonde hair, his bangs flopping back messily. 

He won't yell at Simon. No matter what. He doesn't care what his boyfriend says or how heartbreaking seeing him will be - he will not yell at Simon ever; Erik, though, he may yell at.

Because the moment Malin pulls up to his house, the moment he sees Simon's barely-lit home right next door, he's hit with all his extreme emotions again.

Malin debates getting out with Wilhelm before he thanks her for the 10th time and rushes out.

His happiness at being back in Bjärstad in front of Erik's home, what grew to be his home, is overwhelmed by fear and sadness. He can't bring himself to enjoy being here, where he wants to be most, because of the circumstances.

Tears could so easily spring to his eyes and roll down his cheeks again but he holds them off, for now. He needs to keep his shit together for just a little bit longer.

The front door is open and Wille walks right in. It seems like nothing has changed in the almost two months he's been gone: Erik's on his couch, under a blanket, with the tv on.

He looks to the front door in surprise, not expecting anyone to just walk through the door but especially not his little brother. 

Wille would've laughed at the expression on his face in any other scenario. 

"Wille?" Erik blurts out, rushing up and over to the boy. "What the- what the fuck are you doing here? You just love showing up unannounced, don't yo-"

"Did you know?"

Erik looks confused, genuinely; for a split second, Wille feels bad for starting the conversation so hostile. 

"Did I know what?"

"Did you know that Simon's dad..." he begins, choking on the next few words. He blinks back the tears, ripping at the cuticle he was fidgeting with in the car. His voice gets considerably lower as he finishes with, "hurt him?"

Erik sighs, guilt overcoming his features, and Wille knows the answer right there. He scoffs, feeling the need to smack his brother in the chest and start screaming. 

"You have got to be fucking kidding me-"

"Wille, I only saw him this morning, okay," Erik begins, trying to remain calm because he sees his brother is about to lose it. "I didn't even know anything happened because, like I told you, I was out-"

"Why didn't you tell me when you saw him this morning? Did you not- did you not think I should know?"

The words die in Erik's throat, gaze searching his little brother. It feels surreal to see him in his house again, but also strangely normal because he's yelling at him.

"I think that it wasn't my business to exploit, Wille," Erik answers honestly, another scoff leaving the younger's mouth. "It only just happened Friday night. He needs... time to process it. He's allowed to tell who he wants to tell-"

"Why wouldn't he tell me? Why wouldn't he come to me?" Wille asks, shaky voice booming. "We- we said we'd be honest with each other. I've known something was wrong, I fucking knew it, Erik, but he kept telling me he was okay. Kept brushing it off every time I asked. I thought I was going fucking crazy."

Erik takes a hesitant step toward his brother. He reaches out to place a slow, comforting hand on his shoulder and feels relieved when he doesn't pull away. He's not sure the younger even realizes he's crying. 

"Why do you think, Wille?" The older asks gently, almost in amusement, as he squeezes his shoulder. "He didn't want you to worry," he says, a soft cry escaping Wille's lips. "He didn't want you to do something crazy, like demand Malin to drive you to Bjärstad when Kristina's pulling the shit she is." 

He's not surprised when Wille doesn't laugh, but he wishes he would. The last time he saw him in this same spot, he was crying again, clutching onto Simon's hand like letting go was impossible. 

"How could I not come?" Wille grumbles, because maybe it is crazy but it'd be crazier if he didn't. "I'm just... I'm more upset he didn't tell me."

"I understand that," Erik says, "and feeling like that is okay. But it's also okay for Simon to feel that, maybe not telling you right away would be the best decision, too."

Wille sighs, hating that, almost always, his stupid brother is right. 

"Maybe," Wille allows himself to admit, although his heart still hurts. "I just wish he would've."

"I know," Erik says, before he gives his brother no choice and pulls him into a hug. The younger collapses into him after a few seconds, his hold tightening the more he seems to realize he's actually here, back in Erik's home.

"You know… I wish you would've given me more of a warning about your esteemed arrival," Erik says teasingly, "I have company. I know you're not used to that."

Wille pulls back, his cheeks wet, as he looks at Erik briefly before over the rest of his living room.

He didn't notice the two wine glasses on the table or the two plates on top of the pizza box. He didn't notice the pair of women's shoes on the shoe rack or-

"Is it okay to interrupt?" A feminine voice interjects. 

Wille's head cranes back to see a petite woman with auburn hair in the hallway entry. Her smile is kind, racking over the brothers warily. He looks back at Erik just to see him smile toward her and holy fuck-

"Is this your girlfriend?" Wille blurts out, the woman laughing as Erik groans. "The grocery store girl we saved from witnessing your heinous shirt?"

"I really need to see this infamous shirt," Elsa teases, Erik now pushing his brother away lightly. 

"What if this wasn't the grocery store girl? Do you not think I'm charming enough to secure more than one date?" Erik asks his brother, the auburn rolling her eyes. "You would've totally blown up my spot."

"You're not charming enough," Wille and Elsa blurt out simultaneously, a smile spreading across the younger boy's lips. 

"I like her."

"Yeah, me too," Erik bites back, "which is why I don't need you blowing up my spot right now."

Wille realizes in this moment that, maybe, he should've at least told Erik he was coming. He must look as embarrassed as he feels because his brother laughs beside him, ruffling his hair. 

"I'm kidding, little brother, I'm always happy to see you. I'm sorry it couldn't be under better circumstances," Erik says, making it all flood back to Wille. "But… Elsa actually saw Simon the night he went to the hospital. She was his nurse."

Erik had immediately texted Elsa this morning after Simon had told him; and while she couldn't share specifics with him, she made sure to let him know everything that could be done for Simon and his mom was done.

She also said she wouldn't be surprised if people came by tomorrow, if they hadn't been already, to start investigating. 

"Oh?" Wille blurts out, looking back at the approaching woman. "How was he?"

Her smile is soft, gentle, so he knows her answer might hurt. 

"He was okay," she nods. "It was... a pretty bad break. And his mom was with him. But they're gonna be okay."

The younger boy looks so sad that Elsa wishes she had anything better to offer. Erik ruffles his hair again, pulling his brother into him.

"So, how much trouble will you and Malin be in?"

Wille smiles sadly, basking in his brother's familiar lavender scent of home before pulling back. 

"I took the bus here," he says, a smirk creeping up on Erik's face. "Malin had strict orders to not bring me to Bjärstad ever again."

"Hmm, I bet she did," Erik hums lowly.

He'll have to text her later and thank her.

Elsa meets his gaze with a soft, sweet look and he smiles back, a shrug as if to say sorry another one of our dates was crashed by a teenaged boy. She bites back a giggle, looking to the younger Bernadotte brother. 

"Me and Erik were just watching a scary movie," she shares, "well, actually, he was screaming like a little girl while I was trying to watch the movie, if you wanna join us."

Wille smiles, because that sounds like Erik. The groan that leaves his mouth makes his smile widen, as does the way he reaches out to playfully poke the girl. 

"It was a bad jump scare, you have to admit."

"Not bad enough to scream the way you did."

Wille was still sad, still anxious, still buzzing to see Simon and make sure he was okay with his own eyes - but being back with his brother felt good.

Meeting Elsa, who seemed perfect for him, was a pleasant surprise.

Trying to relax into the recliner he so rarely got to enjoy was a challenge. The movie was mere background noise, as was Erik and Elsa's banter. 

He was now just waiting for Simon to come back from Rosh and Ayub's. He hopes, more than anything, that they boy doesn't decide to sleepover; in any other instance, he would want him to stay away from his house.

But Wille thinks he's gonna go crazy if he doesn't see Simon soon. Talk to him soon. Look over him and hold him and make sure, apart from his arm, not another inch of his boyfriend's body is harmed. 

He's fidgeting in his seat, seconds away from being irrational again and asking Erik to drive him to Rosh's, when he hears the familiar sound of motorbikes - either Ayub's or Rosh's, he thinks, as he jumps up from the recliner and toward the window.

Erik's porch light flickers on at the unmistakable figure of his boyfriend getting off the bike. 

It feels like that October night again.

When Wille heard screams, heard Simon's back door slam against the brick of his house, and the blonde peeked through the kitchen window.

It feels like the time he watched him from his bedroom again, so immensely curious about the curly-haired boy with a tortured disposition who he couldn't rip from his mind. 

It's too dark for him to notice when Ayub catches him first, smirking before tapping Simon. 

"Looks like your ghost stalker has made a come back.“

Simon's head snaps back at Ayub's words, seeing the very moment his boyfriend, his boyfriend in the fucking flesh, flies out of Erik's house and down the stairs.

He can hear the older man call out Wille's name harshly, warningly, but, of course, he ignores him. Of course, he stands shell-shocked at the bottom of the steps just staring at Simon who's already about to cry.

His body feels weak, his arm is throbbing but his eyes are burning with tears so intensely, he can't believe they're not streaming down his cheeks.