Work Text:
Simon is sitting at Wille’s desk, the afternoon spring light from the window painting him in bright yellows, twisting and glistening in his curls. Wille is sitting on his bed, his bottom lip tugged between his teeth, his fingers anxiously rubbing together as he tries to form the right words. Simon came here, to Wille’s room, after classes were done for the day because Wille had asked him to and because, ever since his announcement, this sort of this is so achingly normal that Wille feels like he’s just floating half the time. They sit next to each other in class with their arms brushing on the table, they eat across from each other so they can grin at each other during lunch, and they even hold hands as they walk around campus together. It’s more than Wille could have ever hoped for, and likely far more than he deserves, but he’s relishing in every minute of it. After the initial craziness that followed his announcement and the two were separated for a bit while Wille did his “damage control tour,” they’re finally allowed to give this all a proper shot and Wille refuses to squander it or ruin it. He’s historically pretty great at ruining things, especially when it comes to Simon, so he doesn’t want to push or ask for too much.
They haven’t said “I love you” since that day when Wille didn’t say it back in so many words and instead decided to confirm his involvement in the video, but every time Simon smiles at him or holds his hand or kisses him or even fucking looks at him, those three words rise in his throat and threaten to spill out. He shoves them back down like clockwork every single time, though, because he’s convinced that Simon’s declaration was one forced from circumstances and definitely not how he would have said it for the first time if Wille hadn’t managed to fuck everything up between them again.
“Is everything okay?” Simon asks, his head tilted to the side and his eyebrows drawn together in confusion.
Wille realizes they’ve been sitting in silence for a few minutes now. He takes a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah. Of course.” His thumb rises to his mouth on instinct, but he moves it back down before he can take nail into his mouth. It’s something he’s been working on with Boris and in his free time; finding better coping mechanisms. Preferably ones that don’t make his fingers look uneven and bloody.
“Is it your mom? Do you have to go do more press stuff?”
He shakes his head. With the hand he’s forced away from his mouth, he reaches out to tangle Simon’s fingers with his own, squeezing his hand when they’re close enough. “It’s about us, actually. It’s, uh…I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Simon nods.
“I wanted to ask if––and don’t feel pressured to say yes, okay? It’s completely fine if you don’t want this or the possible attention that will come with it, and we should probably have a discussion about the press sometime, anyway. If you don’t want it, we don’t need it to keep being what we are or doing what we’re doing or––”
“Wille?”
Wille stops his rambling and looks up at Simon, seeing a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Hm?”
“Could you ask me whatever you want to ask me? You know, instead of just telling me I can say no?”
Wille presses his lips together and grins. “Sorry, sorry. Yeah.” He squeezes Simon’s hand again and takes a deep breath. “I know nothing about us is conventional, but I just…I would really love to take you on a date. Is that—would that be okay?”
Simon is silent for a moment before a sudden, breathless laugh bursts out of him. Wille raises an eyebrow, completely baffled. “I’m not laughing at you,” Simon manages, shaking his head with a smile, “but really, Wille? That’s what got you so freaked out? Asking me, your boyfriend, on a date?”
Wille sucks in a breath and stares wide-eyed at Simon. Simon blinks back him in confusion for a moment before understanding seeps over his features. He gets up and crosses the space between them, straddling Wille’s lap, his knees pressed against Wille’s hips, and his fingers coming up to play with the short hair on the back of his neck.
“You’re my boyfriend,” Simon tells him softly, eyes soft and wide and so fucking beautiful and loving that Wille wants to cry. “I’m your boyfriend. Yeah?”
Wille feels tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, but he’s grinning so widely that his cheeks hurt. “You’re my boyfriend,” he whispers in the space between them. “You’re…you’re mine?”
Simon brushes their noses together and Wille can feel his breath hot and tantalizing on his lips, his mouth parting like a Pavlovian response. “I’m yours,” he whispers, “and you’re mine.”
Wille closes the space between them and kisses him soundly, his hands settling on Simon’s hips as he pulls him closer, closer, closer until he doesn’t know where he starts and Simon ends. Simon’s hands are in his hair, on his neck, cupping his jaw like he’s holy.
“Let’s go on a date then,” Simon says with an impish grin, pulling back enough for the words to escape his lips. “Boyfriend.”
Wille laughs and pulls him––Simon, his boyfriend––back in for another bruising kiss.