Work Text:
They appeared towards the end of December.
Pretty purple petals, all mingled with blood. When they had bloomed at the pits of his stomach, climbed up his throat and finally poured out of his mouth, Wilhelm’s first thought was: he’s not in love with me anymore.
Then: I’m about to die.
He leaned over the sink, studying the flowers that had now filled up the space. They were small and in clumps. The edge of the purple petals were lined with white. Their fragrance was so powerful that Wilhelm could still smell it underneath the combined scent of soap and candles. Some had stuck to the sides of the sink, leaving bloody flower shaped prints on the china.
Wilhelm gargled some mouthwash and wiped his lips with a tissue, looking at the mirror to make sure there wasn’t any red stains left. He then gathered the lilacs, stuffed them inside a little zip bag, and buried them at the very bottom of his trash bin, underneath all the energy bar wrappers and unfinished letters.
He got under the covers and stared at the chandelier hanging over his bed.
He didn’t get a wink of sleep that night.
The lilacs kept coming. He remembered a story Erik had told him years ago, one about unrequited love, flowers, and the affliction that cursed the ones unfortunate enough to fall victim to it. He knew that the lilacs could eventually kill him. He also knew that he could solve it by having them surgically removed— along with every single memory and feeling associated to Simon.
It was, to Wilhelm, such a high price to pay. He thought of soft curly hair, doe eyes, football fields and fish names, the feeling of being truly alive, and couldn’t bear to part with it no matter how much pain it brought him. Those moments were his prized collection; Simon’s face was the masterpiece in the gallery that was his mind.
So he spent the last part of Christmas break running to and from the sink, coughing up lilacs. He noticed that they increased as time went by. A flower or two there, an added clump here, he tried not to panic as they grew in numbers and intensity at an alarming rate.
He did a good job at keeping it a secret from his parents. He spent the remaining days locked up in his room, refusing to grant audience to anyone, not even his mother, most specially his mother. He shut doors to her face and deflected any attempts at making peace.
In Wilhelm’s moments of solitude, he blamed her. If she hadn’t pressured him and used his brother’s death like a shield every time he called her out on her bullshit, then he wouldn’t have made the statement denying the video. If his mother wasn’t so hell bent on molding him into the perfect crown prince, then maybe he and Simon would still be together.
He almost hated her for it. Almost.
Because when the sun went down and the walls of the palace threatened to swallow him whole, Wilhelm blamed himself. He regretted so many things— taking those pills, not closing the curtains, trusting his asshole of a cousin— and wished that he could turn back time. He’d fix everything and tell Simon just how much he loved him. It wouldn’t be a confession tucked to the side of the boy’s neck, but instead a declaration that was so loud and certain that the whole world could hear it.
Wilhelm lost his chance though. He let Simon slip through his fingers, and now he was halfway to his grave.
Going back to Hillerska was a dizzying experience, to say the least. Somehow everything felt so similar yet so different. For one, Simon was absent from the choir, and secondly August was avoiding him like the plague. The former made his heart sink while the latter had him immensely satisfied.
There was a shift in the school hierarchy. People were being more friendly— or to be more accurate, painfully agreeable— to Wilhelm. He had no doubt that it had something to do with his blatant display of hatred towards August and the students’ tendency of always following his example like mindless zombies. They kept looking back and forth between him and August, though, obviously dying to know what had caused the cousins’ fallout.
He didn’t have the time to tell them. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. The court and his mother made sure of that, and just the very thought of it made him angry.
However, all of those things faded into the background when he laid eyes on Simon again. He hadn’t transferred like Wilhelm had feared, just late to class because he forgot to set an alarm. That’s what he told Wilhelm as he sat down next to him. He tried not to make a big deal about it; he told himself that Simon had no choice because that was the only available seat left.
(Wilhelm ignored the fact that it still didn’t stop the butterflies in his stomach from taking flight.)
Simon hadn’t changed at all. Granted, two weeks wasn’t enough time for anyone to have any drastic developments on their appearance, but Wilhelm was blown away again by just how stunning he was. Simon’s curls were wild and made Wilhelm want to run his fingers through it. His uniform was a little too big, the sleeves just stopping short of his knuckles. A frown pulled at his lips when he struggled to understand the lesson being discussed.
Wilhelm was staring. He knew he was, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t dare look away, not when this was the closest Simon had ever been since their painful goodbye last winter.
He was bursting with questions: hey, how was break? Did you get the new game you wanted as a gift? How's your mom and friends? Did you know that you invaded my every thought and dream?
Was it that easy to fall out of love?
When their fingers touched briefly as they rested their hands on the table at the same time, a sudden rush of warmth went through Wilhelm’s body. The flowers, instead of suffocating him, seemed to grow in all their beauty.
“I’ve been thinking about you all break,” Simon admitted.
It made Wilhelm smile. Perhaps he hadn’t completely given up on them yet. It gave him hope, a feeling that was quickly crushed by the next words that slipped past Simon’s lips.
“But it’s been nice having space.”
“So what then?” asked Wilhelm. “We’re just not going to talk to each other? Simon, can’t we just—"
Wilhelm put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Simon shook him off, walking over to the other side of the aisle with a heavy sigh.
“It doesn’t have to be forever,” said Simon. “Just for now.”
“But Simon, you’re the only one here that I can talk to,” he said, not caring about how desperate he sounded.
Pain flashed through Simon’s eyes but was quickly replaced by exasperation. “Wille, don’t you see that you hurt me?”
That effectively shut him up. Wilhelm stood there, heartbroken and guilty, not knowing what to do. He could feel the flowers slowly budding through his chest.
“I have to go,” Simon added after taking a quick look at his phone.
Wilhelm was ready to beg for him to stay, talk, just anything, but Simon was already out of the library before he could decide on what to do.
Later, the lilacs he threw up were enough to fill one of the vases in the dining hall.
Felice was an angel.
She and Wilhelm had grown closer over the break, bonding over their mutual hatred of August and strained relationships with their mothers, strong foundations for what could be a lasting friendship. As they exchanged texts during the holidays, he realized just how much he’d missed having someone in his corner. She was in all the ways the perfect companion: kind, patient, sassy, and most of all managed to make sense of his jumbled up thoughts.
When she accidentally stumbled upon Wilhelm as he retched in the trash bin behind the school buildings, she didn’t say anything. Instead she watched over him and guided him back to his dorm after the flowers had ran out.
They sat on opposite sides of his bed in silence. Felice kept fiddling with the hem of her sweater while Wilhelm tried his best not to look at her. He was afraid to see the expression on her face because it could only be something between pity and concern. Right now he didn’t want either.
“Wille,” said Felice hesitantly.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he replied.
She shook her head. “Please. This is serious—”
“Felice, I can’t. Can we drop this for now?” he asked, turning his back on her and facing the windows.
He heard her sigh, then finally there was a soft “okay.”
“Thank you,” said Wilhelm, grateful.
“Is it—” she said before pausing. He risked a glance at her: Felice was focused on the floor, eyebrows scrunched in thought. “Is it Simon?”
Even hearing his name hurt. He could feel the flowers itching to get out again, but he held them in. A few traitorous tears escaped his eyes. He gave a slight nod.
“Oh, Wille,” she said gently.
It was like a punch to the gut, the way she spoke to him. How could two words convey so much worry and affection? He couldn’t remember the last time someone had talked to him like that— Simon and Erik felt like a lifetime ago. Wilhelm peered at her through tear filled eyes. God, he didn’t deserve her; he definitely needed her.
“I love him,” Wilhelm whispered.
“I know.”
“I love him so much.”
“It’s going to be okay.”
“No, it’s not,” he said, resigned. “I’ll love him until it kills me, Felice. That’s just how it is.”
It was terrifying how true that was. She must’ve sensed that, too, since she didn’t say anything else after.
When Wilhelm was done crying, he coughed up another handful of lilacs. Felice gazed at the purple petals with poorly disguised sadness. She helped Wilhelm discard them, then got him settled for bed. She left with a kiss on his cheek and another promise that things would turn out fine.
He didn’t believe her, but it was nice to be taken care of.
Simon was seeing someone. Wilhelm knew because he’d been uploading stories with this guy from his old school. Wilhelm was only slightly ashamed to admit that he had been stalking his Instagram for the past few weeks. He couldn’t stay away. Withdrawing from Simon would be like learning how to stop breathing; it was simply impossible.
The guy’s name was Marcus and he was eighteen years old. He had a car that he liked to drive around town with. His family rented the stables to Hillerska, as well as the shooting range where he occasionally helped out in. He knew Simon’s friends and hung out with them. Linda adored him, if Sara’s stories to Felice were anything to go by.
Marcus was everything Wilhelm could never be: independent, well loved, free. Truly the man that Simon deserved to be with.
The night Ayub had posted a story of Simon singing a duet with Marcus, Wilhelm had broken down. He screamed into his pillow, threw his sweatshirt across the room, put his head in his hands. Emotions rushed through him with such an intensity that it scared him.
The lilacs came out in full force. Wilhelm spent a good quarter of an hour throwing up, scattering purple petals all across the carpet. They were so bright and rich in color. They reminded him of Simon’s favorite hoodie.
His lungs burned and his jaw hurt by the time he’d finished, yet the pain was nothing compared to what he felt when he watched Ayub’s story again.
Interacting with Simon was getting harder and harder as the days flew by. They still sat next to each other in most classes, but now every time Wilhelm looked at him he also thought of Marcus and how he was probably the reason for Simon’s shy smiles and renewed investment in the choir.
Wilhelm wanted to dislike him so much— how dare you take him away from me— but he couldn’t because it wouldn’t be fair. He and Simon were over. He could see any person he wanted and had every right to move on with his life.
Sometimes he wondered if he should tell Simon about the lilacs. What would his reaction be, if he found out Wilhelm’s life was in his hands? Would he help him, confess he still loved him after all this time? Would he say sorry, or worse, hate him for putting that burden on his shoulders?
Wilhelm didn’t know and he decided that he didn’t want to find out.
When he saw Simon smiling at his phone at the shower room, he’d holed up in one of the stalls and did his best to push all the petals down the drain.
A new photo was added in Marcus’s timeline, that of Simon sitting on the hood of his car while eating pizza. It was captioned with a simple i love the view and was liked by Rosh, Ayub, and Sara. He stared at his phone screen until his eyes burned, then released a bouquet’s worth of lilacs.
Simon was skipping rowing practice. Wilhelm found out through Sara’s not so quiet teasing that it was because Marcus and his mom was coming over for dinner that night, a knowledge that left Wilhelm utterly devastated.
After that he jogged quickly back to his dorm room and threw up the highest volume of lilacs yet.
“Here,” said Felice, sliding a sheet of paper to him.
They were at the school café. There were very few people milling about, a rsare occurrence. It was the weekend, so many of the students were catching up on sleep or visiting Bjärstad for pizza and a game of football. Some of the first-years had invited him to come, but he opted to stay here where he could run to the bathroom any time. He didn’t want to be spewing lilacs in public.
Wilhelm blinked at her. “What is this?”
“It’s a list.” Felice bit her lip. She looked nervous. “Look, I know you said you didn’t want to do it, but can you at least go over this? Just in case you change your mind?”
Wilhelm closed his math textbook and glanced down at what she had just given him. On the document was, just like she said, a list of Sweden’s top surgeons, complete with contact details and recommendations. She had written notes on the margins, commenting on those that specialized in hanahaki disease.
“Felice,” he said, not really knowing what else to add.
“I’m sorry,” she replied sincerely. She reached out and grabbed his hand. “But Wille, you’re not getting any better. You need to do something before— before you—”
“Die?” he completed, raising an eyebrow.
She winced. “Tell me the truth. How much time do you think you have left?”
Wilhelm looked away. He’d been throwing up frequently, the lilacs bountiful and in full bloom, so unlike how they were when he first had them. When he wasn’t busy emptying his stomach of these flowers, he was rubbing his chest that felt like it was set on fire. He wasn’t stupid; he knew the disease had progressed to a level where it was fatal.
The only question now was what would get him first: the flowers clogging up his throat until he couldn’t breathe anymore or the roots curling around his insides that would have him bleed out.
“I know you don’t want to forget him,” Felice continued. “And I understand, I really do. I’ll support you whatever choice you make. But Wille, please, can you just think about it?”
He folded the paper and put it in his coat pocket, which seemed to give her a small amount of relief. He gave her hand a squeeze.
“Thank you,” he said. He wasn’t just referring to the list— he was truly grateful for everything she’d done for him. He wanted her to know before it’s too late.
Felice smiled softly and went back to her homework.
There was a buzz in the common room. The boys were busy writing poems and love letters for the Valentine’s Ball. Henry was hunched over the desk, lamenting about his lack of writing skills.
“How do you write a fucking sonnet?” he screamed.
Vincent snorted from his spot on the window sill. “You’re hopeless. A sonnet, really? Just send her a dick pic.”
Henry glared at him but didn’t discount the suggestion. He then turned to Wilhelm. “How about you? Aren’t you going to write something?”
“No,” he said. “I’m not going.”
The only person he wanted to go with was already taken, so he didn’t really see the point.
The boys paused in their conversations, so Wilhelm gave them a smile. He hoped it didn’t look too fake. They exchanged glances, but thankfully no one bothered him about it. They just went back to throwing suggestions at Henry, each one more ridiculous than the last.
“He looks happy,” Wilhelm commented when he met with Felice after choir practice. He could see Simon still in the music room, discussing something with their teacher.
“Yeah,” she replied, following his gaze. “He’s singing a solo at the ball. An original song, I think.”
“That’s great,” he said genuinely. Simon laughed, clear as a bell. It was a sound Wilhelm wanted to play on repeat. “He deserves it.”
Wilhelm spent the night of Valentine’s Day surrounded by lilacs, the flowers looking eerie under his red string lights. There was so, so many. He couldn’t seem to stop throwing up.
He choked on spit and blood and petals. Tears sprung in his eyes and fell to the floor in dark droplets. His lungs were crumbling, bleeding, fighting.
The loud bass from the party music masked his calls for help.
He groped blindly for his phone, then with shaky fingers dialed Felice’s number.
Wilhelm heard her shouting through the speaker before he passed out.
He woke up in his room back in Drottningholm. Wilhelm groaned as the sunlight pouring through the gap between the curtains hit his face. He lolled his head to the side and was surprised to see his mother sitting by his bed, her head resting on her arms that was folded over the mattress. She was fast asleep.
What happened?
He felt the beginnings of a panic attack. He pressed a hand to his chest and was met with excruciating pain. He screamed.
“Wilhelm?” his mother said, blinking awake. She immediately sprung into action. “Wilhelm, please. Ludvig! Nurse—”
His father entered the room, an elderly woman wearing scrubs following right behind.
“Your highness, please calm down,” the nurse said as she proceeded to pry his hands off his chest.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
His father soothed him. “It’s okay, son. It’s okay. You had surgery a few days ago and are still in recovery.”
“Surgery?” he said, shocked. He watched as the nurse opened the buttons of his shirt and checked on the bandages plastered around his chest. “What happened? What— was it an accident?”
His mother hesitated. “You had complications in your, uh, lungs. It was pretty severe, so we had to rush you to the hospital. Felice helped you, don’t you remember?”
He racked his brain for any memories. If he concentrated, he thought he could recall sitting alone on the floor of his dorm room and the awful feeling of drowning. He could see Felice in a black ball gown rushing to his aid, Malin and the headmistress right there with her.
Wilhelm scrunched his eyes shut and tried his best to remember every detail. Yes, he did call her. Because he was sick. He was very sick. With what, he didn’t know.
“I don’t…” he said helplessly.
“Don’t push it,” his mother said, running a gentle hand through his hair. “You don’t have worry about it anymore. What’s important is you’re okay now, yes?”
He let out a shaky breath. The nurse, once satisfied, closed his shirt and nodded to his parents.
“Wilhelm,” said his mother as she sat on the edge of his bed. His father hovered nearby. “We were thinking that maybe it’s best that you continue your education here at home.”
“You mean home school?”
“Yes. Just so we can monitor you better. The doctors said that you need time to recover, after all.”
“What do you say, huh?” his father said, patting his leg. “Maybe I can help you with your studies. History or math…”
“Please,” his mother said good-naturedly. “Your grades were bad.”
“Well,” he replied, shrugging. The couple shared a laugh.
Then his mother asked: “Wilhelm? Would you like that?”
He thought back on his time at Hillerska, of the rowing team, the boys of Forest Ridge, the red string lights of his dorm room, and Felice. He would miss her. It was nice reconnecting with her after they’d met again, but besides their friendship, he couldn’t really think of anything else to go back to.
The truth was, he didn’t have anything that anchored him to that school. Even if he left, he wouldn’t really be leaving anything behind. He went to Hillerska hating the idea of living in a secluded boarding school and nothing had been able to change his mind.
It was a cage, just like this palace was. Drottningholm, at least, housed happy memories of Erik, and that made all the difference. His brother was the last person that ever made him feel safe. He wished he was here to help him make sense of what’s happening.
Wilhelm’s chest hurt. His head too. He felt like there was something missing, but he couldn’t figure out what.
Perhaps he missed Felice more than he was willing to admit.
He certainly knew that he longed for Erik’s presence.
And he was tired. He was so tired.
So, he said, “Okay.”
His parents beamed at him. Wilhelm could cry.
Felice visited him a month after his surgery. It was the happiest he’d been for a while. She talked about Hillerska and her friends, especially a girl named Sara who took care of her horse.
“Do you remember her?” she asked slowly.
“I think so,” he said after a while. “She’s a non-boarder, right?”
“Yes,” she said, looking at him carefully.
“Maybe she could apply for a grant at the manor house,” he suggested. “You could help her. I could help her.”
She chuckled. “You don’t have to do that. She doesn’t want to board anyway, said she prefers to be with her brother.”
“That’s nice,” he said, thinking about the bond he and Erik had.
“Yeah,” said Felice, her voice breaking. “It is.”
Wilhelm didn’t think much of it. Instead he showed her the palace gardens and asked if Smysan would be alright with him visiting in the summer.
Wilhelm was lucky enough to study at Uppsala, considering he’d been home schooled for the last two years. He had a nagging suspicion that his admission had little to do with his academic performance and more with his title as Crown Prince, but of course no one would ever tell him the truth.
He moved to an apartment in Stockholm when he turned eighteen. He wanted to be able to experience the city, the small bit of freedom, the amount of normalcy that surrounded college life. His parents weren’t keen on the idea at first, but after a few compromises (he would still have bodyguards and the court would have to approve his living arrangements), they finally folded.
Felice had flown to the States. She'd fortunately managed to get into NYU, so now she was sharing a flat with one of their former classmates Madison. She sent Wilhelm a photo of them on Times Square a few days after she landed, along with a message saying good luck on your first day!
Her wishes seemed to go unheard, because here was Wilhelm running around the campus like a lost child. His chest was burning from the exertion— it hadn’t been the same ever since his surgery— and he was pretty sure that he was already late for his very first lecture.
When he finally arrived at the correct place, the professor was already well into the discussion. He tried to be as discreet as possible, sticking to the walls as he made his way through the room, the students following his every move. He ignored them and plopped down on the first available seat.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes,” said Wilhelm, trying to catch his breath. “I got lost and so I ran around in circles—”
He stopped when he saw the person looking back at him. It was, with no exaggeration, the most beautiful face Wilhelm had ever seen. The boy had thick curly hair, doe eyes, and a cute button nose. He had a faint scar on his cheek, very much like the one under Wilhelm’s eye.
He had a purple button up over a graphic shirt and jeans. The combination shouldn’t work, but somehow it did. He noticed that he had an old Garfield pencil case open on the desk.
“Wow,” Wilhelm said eloquently.
The boy tilted his head to the side. “Wow?”
Wilhelm flushed. “I mean— uh, wow, that’s an interesting pencil case.”
“This?” he said, holding the object up. “It’s nothing special, but thanks.”
He went back to his notes, but he was smiling now. It was a wonderful thing to behold. Wilhelm steadied his breathing, then once he was done, finally started to open his notebook, although he was sure he wouldn’t get any studying done as long as he had this boy sitting next to him.
“Actually,” the boy spoke up.
Wilhelm turned to him. “Yes?”
“This is going to sound crazy,” he said, looking shy. “But have we met before? I feel like I’ve seen you.”
Wilhelm raised his eyebrows. “Well, yes. I’m the prince, so you might’ve seen me on TV.”
The boy laughed quietly. “Of course. But that’s not what I meant. I don’t know. I just feel like we’ve met before.”
There was something stirring inside him.
“I think I’d remember a face like yours,” Wilhelm finally said.
He was flustered the moment he let those words slip. He didn’t mean it to sound flirty. It was supposed to be a genuine compliment. Wilhelm was just about to explain when the boy suddenly held out his hand.
“I’m Simon,” he said, smiling.
Wilhelm grinned. “Wille. It’s nice to meet you.”