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When Simon and Signe get home, it is already 3 pm. The daylight has almost run out, the winter sun too tired to stay up long. They have only about five hours of daylight at this time of the year and Simon tries to drag his daughter outside every day to catch as much of it as possible. But Signe is certainly not the only one who desperately needs the vitamin D, the fresh crisp winter air and the movement. Needless to say, Wilhlem very rarely has time for going outside during the day. It´s starting to show though, the paleness of his skin has reached a new peak. Simon wouldn´t be surprised if he would be able to look through it soon.
Signe is worn out completely, the effects of running around and burying her father under loathes of snow making her limbs heavy. When they reach the back entrance of Drottningholmen's west wing, she stops chatting, eyes slowly fluttering shut. So, Simon scoops her up to spare her the two long staircases, that lead to the King's chambers. That´s what their apartment is called. Simon made a whole lot of fun of Wille when he told him that for the first time. Among the staff and family, it´s simply called the private area, but Simon was so amused by the unofficial name, that they continued to use it, as kind of a joke between them. It’s funny altogether that they are living in the rooms that are supposed to be home to the head of state and their spouse. Wille isn’t King yet, thankfully, Kristina being at the very peak of her reign these days. But since the residence in Hagaparken, which technically is the home to Crown Princes or Princesses, is being renovated, they decided to stay at Drottningholm for a little while longer. Kristina, surprisedly, offered them the King's chambers, since they were three people and Ludvig and her had wanted to move into the smaller apartment in the eastern wing for a while. It was very weird in the beginning, to live in the apartment, that Wille grew up in. But they got used to it, eventually. And Simon even grew into liking it. At least, after they made changes and decorated the apartment to their liking.
Simon onehandedly pulls his hat off, dark curls pressed to his skull, a little dampened. He can´t wait to get out of the thick jacket and drink a good cup of black coffee. Do they still have some kardemummabullar left? Or did Wilhelm eat the last one this morning? The little warm weight on his arms is getting heavier by the very minute and he knows that Signe will most likely fall asleep soon. So he hurries a little more because there is nothing as nerve-wracking as undressing a whining, sleepy toddler from layers of clothing. When they reach the top of the last staircase and turn to the left, walking through the big arched entrance to their apartment, he suddenly startles at the sight of Malin, standing right next to the entrance. She smiles and gives them a discrete nod. Simon couldn´t handle being bowed to when he got Prince Consort of Sweden. He hated it to the very core of him. Malin and a handful of staff that is entitled to serve the Crown Prince's family in their private life, are the only ones he persuaded into only nodding when they see him. Only behind closed doors though.
“Hej Malin, what are you doing here? Did something happen?”
He hates the way his voice is pitched noticeably higher than usual, as his heart rapidly fastens its beating. He hates that he gets anxious about Willes well-being so fast. But he can´t help it. The images of a depressed young man, incredibly thin, skin pale and dull, eyes empty and tired, lying in bed all day with no energy to move at all, are burned into his memory too deep to ever disappear. Although Wille had been doing mostly great for the last five years, sometimes he was going through relapses. And he probably would have to go through those for the rest of his life.
Malin, who has known Simon for over ten years now, senses that he is about to panic.
“No, no sir, everything is alright. His Royal Highness is alright” she says with a calming voice.
“Linnnnnnnnnn” is Signe squeaking and despite the sleepiness, that took possession of her tiny body, she manages to wiggle around in Simons's arm and make grabby hands towards Malin. His daughter had developed a deep fondness for her father's bodyguard in the last months. Malin, although always staying respectful and professional, wasn´t exactly one for children and didn´t really know how to handle Signe's attacks of affection. So Simon quickly decides to spare them all an embarrassing moment and an outburst of emotions.
“Alright, have a good day then, Malin”
She nods once again as Simon turns towards the apartment door and opens it. Inside, he kneels down beside Signe, who steadies herself with her hands grasping onto his curls as he peels her out of her big puffy snowsuit. “Ouch, Älskling, that hurts. Can you try to not drag on my hair, please?”
She smiles down at him and pats him a little on the head while murmuring some incoherent phrases and words. Simon carefully places her on the little wooden bench beneath the coat hook and begins to undo one of her tiny boots.
“Pappa hemma?” she then asks, her big wondrous eyes looking towards the hallway that leads to the kitchen and living room. “I suppose he is home, yes. Since Malin is standing outside.”
That is enough encouragement for the 4-year-old. She decides she had enough of the undressing and after freeing herself out of Simons's grip, stumbles towards the living room, with still one boot on her left foot.
“Nu-uh.. Stop, you little runaway. We are not done here.” Simon catches her by the collar of her shirt and drags her playfully back onto the bench. He´s thanked with some giggles and a small kick of her socked foot between his ribs.
“Hey, sluta! Kicking is not nice, okay? It hurts.”
Signe stops immediately and sends him an apologetic look. It doesn´t last long. He barely frees her right foot out of the boot and she is running down the hallway again.
“PAPPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA”, her happy little voice almost rolling over, “Papapapapappapaaaaaaaaaaaa!” and then she opens the door to her parent's room, almost stumbling upon the threshold.
Simon walks into the living room instead and immediately discovers Wilhelm, lying flat on the big crème coloured couch in the corner under the arched window, sleeping. He smiles and carefully closes the door.
“Pappa is asleep, amor. He is taking a nap, just like you should now”, Simon scoops up his daughter again and carries her into her bedroom.
“But Pappa is awake later? To see Lucia?” Signe's eyes are wide and hopeful, as she grabs one of Simons's curls again and begins to play with it, while he places her down into her crib.
“Yes, älskling, of course he is. But you have to get some sleep now, okay? Because you will stay up longer today and then you´ll be tired. Alright?”
Signe has apparently no contradictions, as she barely manages to nod before her eyelids fall shut.
He tucks her in for her afternoon nap, gently, and places the traditional kiss on her forehead. “Buenas noches, amor. Dream well.”
And then he just stands there for a short moment and watches her falling asleep. Watches as her little chest begins to rise and fall regularly and her face takes on almost angelic features. She is a small child, always has been. With a delicate physique, almost reminiscent of some kind of fairy creature. And now, as she lies there like that, with her little tangled head of curls almost disappearing into the big white pillow, Simon can't help but think of how it was when he first saw her. The tiny bundle on Willes' arm; even then, fine dark brown hair on the little head.
On this day, something shifted in both of their lives. Something strong and unbreakable formed in the space between their hearts, something that would form a unity of the three of them, two men and a newborn, that would last until their last day. It was a scary feeling. An overwhelming one. But above else, it was miraculous and somehow… holy. He would never forget how her little newborn body felt against the bare skin of his chest. How he promised himself, that he would be whatever she needed him to be. A father, a friend, an ally. Love was a scary thing, really.
Simon smiles wistfully and quietly turns off the small bedside lamp. He leaves the door ajar. Afterwards, he finds himself walking back to the living room.
He ends up next to the couch and looks down at the sleeping figure. Apparently, his husband was so tired that he didn't make it to the bedroom, let alone get rid of his clothes. He has only loosened his tie and undone the top buttons of his shirt. He is lying half on his back, one arm draped over his head, the other hand resting on his chest. A strand of hair falls cheekily into his high forehead. His lips are slightly parted. There is something about sleeping Wille, that Simon can’t quite place and that yet makes him unable to look away. His features are relaxed and one can definitely tell, he’s not a boy anymore, hasn’t been one since long ago. But in his sleep, he lets go of everything, of every rule of every shield, and Simon can see the purest form of Wille, the sensitive, dreamy, deeply emotional man. Of Wille, just Wille, the one that has to disappear behind the Crown Prince persona way too often for Simons's liking. He recently got criticised for being too reserved and not enough anticipating, by one of the bigger newspapers.
If only you knew, Simon thinks to himself as he gently traces the Prince's strong jawline with his fingers, if only you all knew how much love this man has to give. How passionate he allows himself to be when surrounded by people he trusts. Like Simon and Signe, his own little family. If only the outside world knew what a sensitive and beautiful soul their Crown Prince was and how he had to learn way too early, that showing these affections and true feelings in public would leave him exposed, vulnerable; would lead to people speculating and judging and tearing apart his every move.
Simon is grateful that he gets to be his safe haven. That he is the one person Wilhelm trusts wholly and without hesitation. But that doesn´t mean everything is perfect between the two of them. Their marriage is unlike others in many points, but it has the same flaws and imperfections as any other relationship. Simon wishes he could say that they get along well. Well, they kind of do, they care for each other a lot after all, but they are not exactly a peaceful couple. They fight a lot if he´s being honest. Most of the time, they fight about stupid little things of no importance and they can´t stay mad with each other for more than one or two hours. Strangely, Simon feels like these bickerings and small fights only bring them closer to each other and encourage them to talk about their feelings. It often ends with them looking at each other and bursting into laughter. So, he guesses, it´s not something to be too worried about. And when he looks back, it had been that way all the fourteen years they shared so far.
The last time they fought, they came to a… well… let´s call it a memorable conclusion. Simon grins a smug grin when he remembers last night…
----
Toddlers and dough. A lethal combination for any tidiness. Simon doesn´t mind the death sentence for the kitchen counters' clean surface, nor is he worried about the little linen apron that he wrapped Signe in. Not when the prospect of sticking her wiggly little arms elbow-deep into the soft dough makes her smiling widely like that. Her little body is charged with excitement, legs bouncing up and down on the chair he pulled next to the counter.
“Baking, baking, baking, bakiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing“ she yells excitedly while clapping the tiny hands. She looks expectantly in his direction. Simon sighs and once again spares a glance to the elegant small watch sitting on his wrist. Wille is now 45 Minutes late. And he hasn´t answered Simons passive-aggressively „Where are you???” he texted ten minutes ago.
„Let´s start this without Pappa, yes amor? I´m sure he will be here soon.”
The look his daughter gives him is placed somewhere between disappointment, impatience and hope. For a few seconds she seems to be indecisive, but then the urge to touch the soft, yeasty dough wins and she nods understandingly.
Simon makes a silent prayer that Wille will for once keep his promise and actually show up before they are finished. He curses himself a bit for promising his daughter earlier, that her father would join them for baking Lussekatter tonight. He painted a vivid picture with his own imagination, that he had for this special evening. Simon loves Luciadagen more than any other holiday (okay, except for midsommar) and baking Lussekatter is an essential tradition for him. Because it´s one of the few happy memories tied to his dad. They used to bake them together with Sara on the night before Lucia. When his dad left, he continued the tradition with Sara. When Sara betrayed him in his first year at Hillerska, he continued it with Wille. And it had stayed that way ever since. Since Simon is a dad, it became an even more precious and special moment for him. The three of them don´t get to spend that much time together. Wille leaves very early in the mornings when Signe is still asleep. Simon likes the quiet mornings at the breakfast table though. Wille, already dressed and almost ready to go, he himself still in his pyjamas, sipping the first steaming black coffee of the day. They don´t talk much, just bask in each other's presence and let the day begin peacefully side by side. Wille is home for lunch break, but that´s when Simon is at work. At the time Simon fetches Signe from dagis, Wille usually has to work for another one or two hours. So today is an important moment for them. And Simon is mad that Wille apparently didn´t succeed in clearing his schedule for the afternoon. Maybe he´ll be here any moment. And then they can drink glögg and watch their daughter making a mess of the whole kitchen.
But Wille isn´t coming.
For the next one and a half hours, Simon does his best to form proper Lussekatter, keeping his daughter from eating all the raisins, and trying to make her forget about the missing part while making a big effort in swallowing his own anger and disappointment.
By the time they pull two baking trays of perfectly safran yellow pastries out of the oven, his nerves are as thin as a silky thread. He quickly gets Signe into bed, singing her favourite Spanish lullaby.
When the front door finally opens and Simon hears Wille hanging up his coat on the hook in the hallway and taking off his shoes, he is just about to sweep the flour off the countertop and puts the used bowl in the dishwasher. He tries not to let his anger show immediately, but he succeeds badly.
A pair of arms wrap around his shoulders from behind.
„Förlåt, Simon. There was simply no escape“.
Simon stands still. He does not nestle his cheek against his husband's as usual but shakes off his strong arms with a sigh.
„Yeah, I see. So, what was it this time? Did Krissy refuse to let you go? Did Minou ask you to join another unforeseen meeting? Was the Prime Minister late so you had to reschedule everything?”
Simon can´t help the bitterness in his voice as he continues to wipe the floury surface with a cloth. He doesn´t look at Wille. He knows the determination to confront his husband about his time management will falter if he looks at him.
“Simon, I-
“Oh, no I know. It was Agnetha. She came to you with that bunch of documents that needed your signature already last week, right?”
Now he finally looks up. Straight into Willes tired face. And is immediately met with a pang of guilt. He knows Wille is doing a difficult job. That he is working hard. That he really tries to make a good balance between all his duties and his family life. And Kristina does take too much out on him, he knows that.
But still. Simon is working a job himself too. And tends to various royal duties, while also raising a toddler. At least half-time. And it´s not like he is that hard on Wille usually. It´s just that…well. They specifically agreed to meet two hours ago for baking Lussebullar together with their daughter. Just like every year. Because it´s a tradition they both value very much and because Wille misses spending time with Signe on a more regular basis.
Wilhelm runs his hand through his hair with a sigh. He clenches his jaw and looks out of the window.
“I´m sorry,” he says quietly.
“Yes, I know you´re sorry. You´re always so desperately sorry. Tell me, why doesn´t it make you keep your promises then?”
Now, Simon is standing in front of Wille, looking up to him (inwardly cursing the height difference) and crossing his arms. He is angry. He has a right to be. He won´t give up that easily.
Wille looks at him, with tired and sorrowful eyes.
“Look, I didn´t mean to miss it. Don´t you trust me? I was ready to leave by 3.30 and then-
“I don´t care, Wille. It´s always the fault of the other. All the time. But it´s you that has to draw a line and learn how to say no.”
Now, Wille is fiddling with his fingers and clearly avoiding his gaze. They both stay quiet for a few moments. Then, Simon can´t take the tension any longer.
“It´s not even that I wanted you here for this, you know? The worst is that you promised Signe to be here, to do this with us, and you didn´t show up. And adding to that, you didn´t even text me! You could´ve at least texted me, for god's sake.”
Wille looks at him woundedly. His big brown eyes starting to tear up. He then turns on his heel and walks towards the door. Simon realises he is about to leave, about to just cut him off like that. He can´t have that. So he grabs him roughly by the sleeve to stop him
“No, Wille, you won´t leave me hanging like this. You don´t get to be more upset about this than me!”
Wille stops in his movement but his face stays turned towards the door, away from Simon. He is sniffling.
“Hey, look at me! I´m talking to you!” Simons's voice is now also a few decibels louder than usual.
„Well, I don´t have anything to say. Because you´re right, of course you are”, Wille spits out as he turns around to look at Simon, a tear escaping his eye, “you are always right”.
His face is very close to Simons now, he can feel Wilhelms breath fanning over his cheek. For a second, that catches him off guard, as he feels Wille gripping his wrist.
“That is so unfair, Wille, and you know it”, Simon whispers now, anger pulsing through his veins. For fucks sake, it is unfair!
“No matter what I do, how much I try to satisfy your needs, I always end up apologizing. And my mother on the other hand is no better. For every admission I make towards you, towards my family, I get scolded by her”, Wille looks him directly in the eyes and is not moving back the tiniest bit, “so yes, Simon, I am sorry, and I wish I had a better apology. But I also have to take care of unexpected things sometimes and I can´t just deal with them the next day”.
And then, Wille grabs him by the shoulders and drags him closer. The tips of their noses almost touching. Simon can see how guilt and anger are fighting inside Wille. He can see how sorry he is, desperately sorry, in the big brown puddles of his eyes. At the same time, he feels that Wille is trapped, that he holds something back, and tries to protect Simon from something that he doesn´t want to talk about.
“That is a miserable apology and you…. you”, Simon begins to stutter, as Wilhelm moves even closer, the tips of their noses now touching. He watches Wille's gaze slipping down to his lips for a second. The tension between them is so tangible, Simon is astonished that nothing´s caught fire yet. He wants to know what Wilhelm is holding back, really he does, but when Wille is that close, it´s impossible to think straight. So he tears himself loose and in a sudden fit of rage takes the rag, forgotten on the kitchen counter, into his hand
„Simon, you know that I wouldn´t have been late if-
Wilhelms angrily uttered sentence is muffled by the cloth landing on his face. There is a moment in which they both stare at each other, shocked, disbelieving that Simon actually did that. A short moment, in which Wille is wiping a trace of flour off his left cheek.
The next moment, their bodies crash into each other, hands gripping onto hair, lips clashing. It´s impossible to tell where the one begins and the other ends, they are a wrestling, kissing, moaning and hair-pulling mess. Wilhelm grips Simons's hip and lifts him up while Simon drags his teeth along the other's neck, which causes the Prince to shiver. Next thing he knows, he is being placed on the countertop and Wille is impatiently unbuttoning Simons's shirt, while he keeps kissing his neck and collarbone. And then, Wille is sinking to his knees and Simon loses himself in the little fireworks that begin to spark behind his closed eyelids, and in the moaning sounds that escape Willes lips on his way down Simons's abdomen.
---
Later, when they´ve cleaned themselves up, laughing about the angry teenager sex they just had on a kitchen counter, still largely covered in flour, which Willes black slacks are perfectly proving with big dusty stains, Simon remembers that they weren´t done with the conversation (if you could call it one).
“What things were so important tonight?” he looks at Wille, the anger having left his body along other substances. He is still curious though. And he feels like he deserves an honest answer after all.
Wille lets out a deep sigh. He comes over to where Simon is sitting on the edge of their bed and sits down next to him, gently wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
“I wanted to spare you this, but you are right. This is a poor excuse for dumping you and Signe tonight, so...” He takes another breath and pulls out his phone. After swiping around on the screen for a moment, he shows it to Simon.
Simon slightly flinches at the image he sees there. Not again, he thinks. How long would he be punished for this damned mistake he made six fucking years ago? He feels knocked out of breath for a second. Guilt and anger starting to build again in the pit of his stomach.
“Somebody talked again. We don´t know who, but we received a threat that they would sell to Aftonbladet if we didn´t give them what they want. I had to react, Simon, I couldn´t risk that the entire country would know about your… well, you… I just couldn´t let them drag you into the mud again, do you understand?”
Wille moves a bit so that he can look into Simons's eyes.
“I can´t have them invading our privacy like that, on top of that at your expense. Please believe me that I didn´t intend to be late today of all days. I´m really really really –
He is interrupted by Simon, leaning over and pressing his lips softly to Willes. He tries to say that he understands and how sorry is for yelling at him with his lips instead of his words.
“I know you´re sorry. I´m sorry too.“ Simon then whispers into Willes's hair.
“Just – don´t dump us again, alright? It´s Lucia tomorrow and I know a certain someone won´t ever forgive you if you missed out on her walk down the hallway in her Luciakronan..”
Wilhelm smiles softly.
“Not for the world!”
Later that night, they fall asleep curled around each other, just like every night, just like how they are supposed to, for the rest of their long lives.
----
Loving Wilhelm had never, not for one single day, been easy. Indeed, it had always been quite the opposite. Painful, difficult, devastating. First, loving Wilhelm had meant to hide, to sacrifice, to without, to be satisfied with a minimum of shared time. It had meant to feel ashamed and uneasy and before everything else, to be scared, that someone would find out. And then it had meant to share him with the whole country. To give parts of himself up in order to fit in. To be on display for the media to analyze their every move. It had meant to be exposed to other people's opinions, or much worse, their hate and resentment.
But maybe, love wasn´t supposed to be easy.
Loving Wilhelm also meant being at peace. Being at home. Being alive and whole.
Happiness doesn´t come with the guarantee of easiness. Happiness isn´t given. It´s made. And lastly, happiness doesn´t mean the absence of unhappiness.
Simon, as he watches his husband sleeping in the middle of the day, is very certain about one thing: There is no place on this earth that he would be happier in than this one, right here.
Later, he will wake Wille up. Then they will go together to their daughter's room and wake her up. Dress her in the small white linen gown and the red sash. Place the little crown with lights on her head and then they will walk down the palace's halls together, a tray of fateful Lussekatter in their hands, singing the traditional Lucia song. But for now, Simon is very content with sitting next to sleeping Wille and watching, as dreams stumble upon the other´s forehead, soft and hard to catch, like the snowflakes, that started dancing outside their window.