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The winter wind blew the falling snow into Simon's face. His fingers were numb and his cheeks were beginning to freeze. He tried to bury himself in his scarf, but it only served as a shield against the cold; the snow just kept coming down faster than before, and now Simon couldn’t even see his feet. He looked back at the road in front of him but all he could see was white. Snow had been steadily falling all morning, covering everything in a white blanket.
He was on his way home from this old lady, Lovisa, who lived near them; Simon and Sara often went to visit her ever since they were kids, especially when mom and Micke were fighting. It was never something they agreed upon, but Sara took his hand and walked out of the door when Micke started yelling—and then it just became a thing. They were always welcomed with open arms, and they still are now. Simon goes to chat when he has time and helps out around the house if she needs it.
Today, Simon had time and it had been a while since he visited her—so he went. They spent an hour or two baking, and Simon shoveled the snow out of the path to the front door and sprinkled salt so ice couldn't form.
He got sent home with freshly baked cookies in his backpack before the heavier storm reached the region, but he didn’t quite manage to get home before that. It wasn’t even the snow itself that was the problem, but the strong wind that carried it and made it impossible to see anything around. Just as Simon didn't see that the stairs in the park were covered in ice. He didn’t see them until he heard the crunching sound beneath his boots, and then his leg slipped out from under him, and there was the pain. He needed a moment to realize where it was coming from, but it became evident when he tried to push himself up, but fell right back down again because the pain was coming from his arm. The feeling of blood running down the side of his arm and dripping onto the snowy ground caused another wave of panic, and before he knew it, he was hyperventilating. He had no idea how long he laid there before he finally stopped shaking enough to hold the phone and call 112 for help.
Two people ended up stopping on their way after noticing that there was something wrong; one of them Simon didn’t know, but the other was his direct neighbor with his little girl, Haru. They helped him up and walked over to the nearest bus stop, so at least they are out of the wind and the snow and the ambulance can find them easier. Haru made it her personal mission to make Simon feel better with endless hugs. He was so thankful.
Things from there on were a bit of a blur because he touched his arm and his hand was covered in blood after. Simon can't handle blood and hospitals ever since he went full force into a tree with his little plastic motor when he was a kid and got a broken nose and concussion. The smell and the feeling of it makes him panic.
His coat and hoodie got cut off (they were torn and bloody anyway) and peeled out of the wound in the ambulance, and the nurses in the hospital got him into a room, bandaged up his arm and told him to wait. Before two of them went out, they asked for his caretaker's contact information.
Linda was on a trip with the kids she's teaching, so she couldn't have come even if they called her. And Simon deliberately didn't ask them to call her because he didn't want her to be worried, and it wasn't that serious for her to come home just for this anyway. But because he's a minor, he needs an adult to sign up papers and such, so if it's not his mom, then it's Micke. Simon already wanted to take it all back and just call for his mama anyway, but apparently it was too late because he heard the nurse starting to talk over the phone a few seconds later. His mind would've gone into overthinking mode (as it always does when he's with Micke) if he wasn't already lowkey panicking because he's in a hospital, his head hurts so much, and the white stuff they wrapped around his entire forearm is getting soaked with blood. His blood.
He started wondering why they weren't starting with his hand already, but quickly realized they were waiting for his dad because it's pretty clear he's too panicked and fidgety to sew up his arm. "It's alright, nothing to worry about; just 10 minutes and your dad will be here," the nurse who was sitting next to him said warmly. Simon wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. For the record, Micke did arrive relatively fast, looking over to Simon with clear worry in his eyes as the doctor quickly updated him. Simon couldn't handle it for long, so he averted his gaze.
"Simme, hey," Micke said as he walked around the bed and sat in the chair next to it. "How are you?"
"Hurts."
"The doctor will come in a second and give you something for it."
Simon felt tiredness wash over him, he had no clue how to have a conversation with Micke anymore. It helped that he came though, Simon felt a little bit better. They sat in silence until the doctor came in, and all that newfound calmness left him upon seeing the tray of needles being wheeled in. He made a mental note to not cry before he could blame it on the pain from the actual sewing part, but he wasn't doing a really good job at it. The doctor was talking, but Simon was hardly able to pay attention as they started unwrapping the white bandage off his arm. He noted that Micke stood up and moved closer, mirroring the exact same way he comforted Simon after the plastic motor incident all those years ago. But this time it was Simon who initiated the hug; he turned as much as he could, leaning his forehead against Micke's chest, and only when his dad's hand came up to block out the world did he start to cry quietly.
The painkillers they gave him, somewhere along the line, started to kick in, so his crying soon became soft sniffles. His dad was still holding onto him tightly while the doctor explained when he can go home and what they need to pay attention to. The important part was that he needed to stay overnight.
Micke let go after a while; when he stopped sniffling completely, and only the silence hung around them in the room. He sat down on the chair beside Simon's right side and for a good 5 minutes they tried their absolute best to have a conversation. It was awkward because they grew so distant over the years that even venturing into the field of safe topics like school or everyday life came out forced, shallow and awkward. Micke never knew how to react to what he says, and so Simon gave up on trying. It's been like that since Simon can remember; Micke talks about his day and what happened to him, and sure, he was engaging the rest of them present in the conversation, but Simon never felt genuine interest from his dad toward anything he or Sara did or said. Micke didn't even bother to remember that he was gay, for fuck's sake. So, in Simon’s mind, it was utterly useless to engage in any sort of thought consuming conversation. Of course, it might be partially his own fault too, because since a while ago he shot down any attempt for the two of them to be able to keep in touch in a more familiar level. Because, yes, he occasionally met with his dad, but he spent the majority of that time spending on not being fully present, and just feeling generally bad. Ayub keeps telling him to stop seeing Micke, Sara keeps telling the same, and Simon gets it and wishes it would be that easy. But no matter how much he tries not to, he still feels some sort of love and care toward his father. It’s all so fucked up.
Thank god, a disheveled crown prince decided to fall through the door just when the silence was becoming too overwhelming.
"Simon…" Wille more or less burst into the room, Malin needed to catch the door, so it didn't hit the wall. He looked bewildered, and Simon saw that he probably started to put together worst case scenarios in his head on his way to the hospital. "Are you okay?" He asked while scanning Simon for injuries.
Simon might have called him after he arrived at the hospital and was told to wait. Initially he just wanted to ask when Wille would arrive, because he was supposed to come over after an event, but then Simon might have become panicky and that probably made it sound worse than it actually was to Wille. And Wille was about 30 minutes long (and probably more with this weather) car ride away, so plenty of time for his brain to overthink. "Sorry for scaring you. I’m okay," he lifted his functioning hand. “Come here.”
Wille was already as close as he could've been, standing beside the bed, but he leaned down to hold onto Simon’s face and kiss his forehead. "What happened?"
"Fell on ice and a branch chafed my arm." He tried to hold onto Wille's face, but he couldn't quite reach it with his uninjured hand, so he took a hold on Wille's hand instead, pulling it away from his face. "Don't look so scared."
"You were terrified over the phone," Wille pointed out. "Are you not hurt anywhere else?"
"There was blood and long needles, of course I was terrified. It's okay now. Not hurt other than the arm."
Their faces were still so close that Simon could see the freckles on Wille's nose.
Someone cleared their throat just then, and it made Simon remember the very fact that his dad was sitting right across the room. Wille pressed another kiss on his forehead before pulling away.
They haven't met yet, and Wille was not aware of anything about Micke. He smiled politely, offering a handshake to Micke over the bed.
"Can you leave?" Simon blurted out, directing his words to his father. The sudden feeling of resentment washed over him over the contrast of the two people beside his bed. Wille, who cared and paid so much attention to what Simon says and feels. And Micke, who never managed to make Simon feel seen, heard or safe over the course of 16 years.
Simon was aware that the way he said it was mean, but it is what it is—the thought of Wille and Micke interacting made him feel sick at that moment.
The silence was deafening, and Simon closed his eyes to disappear from the situation.
His father said "yes" eventually, and he heard the door open then close. If Simon was to guess, he would imagine Wille lowering his extended hand after his head whipped toward the direction of Simon's voice asking Micke to leave. He probably looked confused and taken aback, with his brows furrowed slightly as Micke wordlessly walked out.
Simon didn't bother to open his eyes again, he pulled the blanket up to his chin, and fell asleep shortly, tired from the painkillers and the exhaustion.
When he woke up, Wille was sitting in the chair beside his bed. He looked up from his phone, when he heard Simon stir. There was a sweet, reassuring smile on his face. "How are you?"
"The same. Just more rested."
"Linda kept calling you, I hope you don't mind that I picked it up. Sara also called."
"What did mom say?"
"Your neighbor called her, and then your dad," Simon saw the flicker in his gaze; Wille probably wasn't sure what kind of reaction Micke would get out of Simon right now, so he was careful. Simon felt nothing, though. "She wanted to come, and she said there are multiple other teachers to stay with the students so that wouldn't have been the issue, but she said they told her it's not advised to risk it on the road for a longer ride right now because the storm is way heavier where they are." Simon already knew—and hoped, for her safety—that she wouldn't be able to come.
"I should call her," Simon said, but the thought of moving to lift his hand made him want to die. "Could you call her for me?"
Wille nodded and stood up to walk over beside Simon while searching up her contact. "It's okay if I put it on speaker?"
Simon pulled on his hand, telling him to sit beside him on the bed. "Video, please."
Wille nodded again and let the phone dial while he angled it in a way so both of them were in the frame. The line connected instantly. The next 5 or so minutes went by with her repeatedly asking if Simon was okay, asking him to tell her what happened and asking if he's feeling okay and to tell the doctors right away if anything is out of the ordinary. Simon kept nodding and saying yes.
"Told your dad to keep me posted, but I'll call you in a bit again, okay?"
"Okay, mama."
The line disconnected and Wille placed the phone down to the night stand. All the while Simon’s eyes caught on something and as he looked at his arm he saw the bandage bleeding through. “It’s bleeding.”
“They said it’s normal that the excess blood comes out.”
“I would rather have my blood inside my body.” He kept trying to pull the blanket up, without much success. “Can you make it so I don’t see it?
Wille reached over to get the blanket to where Simon wants it. “Does it hurt?”
“Kinda. But it's not because of that. I can’t handle blood.”
“Like seeing it?”
“And smelling it and having it on my skin. Just can’t handle it at all.” With a hand full of the fabric of Wille’s shirt, Simon pulled him in. "Cuddle me."
Wille scooted as far as he could without pushing Simon off—why was this bed so small?—, and he let Simon to bury his head into his chest. With the smell of blood disappearing from his nasal passage and with Wille very gently enveloping him in a warm embrace, Simon let out a sigh. “You smell nice.”
“What do I smell like?”
“Very Wille. Very nice.”
The low laugh Wille did reverberate in Simon’s ear. “What else did they said while I was sleeping?”
"Didn’t hear much to be honest, they weren't telling me anything, no matter how I asked or what I said. So I eavesdropped when they were talking with your dad, but the door muffled most of it."
Simon was too stunned to speak for a moment, but then he burst into a laugh, turning his head more into Wille.
"Stop laughing, I was– I am worried,” Wille said, stroking his fingers softly across Simon’s temple. Simon hummed against his chest, letting out another sigh. “I introduced myself to your dad. Hope you don’t mind.”
Simon lifted his head suddenly. “Earlier, it wasn’t because of you or anything…”
“No, I know,” gentle hands reached up to guide his head back to lay on Wille’s chest. “I kind of figured you probably don’t have the best relationship with him.”
“Yeah, you could say so.”
“Just wanted to let you know.” Wille started playing with Simon’s hair in hopes that it would help him stop worrying about the bandage, and the blood, and his dad. It was a soft, soothing touch, making Simon relax successfully. They got lost in conversation after; talking about their days.
A nurse came to check on Simon, and he looked a bit taken aback, finding the crown prince cuddling with a sleeping Simon. A small smile crept up his face and he whispered a quick goodbye before leaving them alone once again after he was done with asking Wille how Simon was and if they needed something.
When Simon woke up three hours later, he found himself staring at the ceiling of his hospital room. His arm hurt badly; a throbbing sensation that wouldn’t go away. He tried to turn onto his side, to find Wille sleeping soundly beside him, but as soon as he attempted to move, he winced and turned back around. He looked out the window and noticed the grayish black sky outside, which only added to his misery. Next, he looked through the window beside the door to see Micke already left (he came inside earlier saying that he’ll go home and come back tomorrow morning to drive him home).
He felt nauseous—he really needed to eat, maybe just to sip some water? As he shifted uncomfortably to sit up, trying to move more slowly, he could feel another stab of pain shoot up his arm. “Fuck.”
Wille stirred to the sound. “What’s wrong?”
“Just hurts.”
“Lay back down.”
“Wanna walk around a bit. And I need to pee, and eat, and drink. And take a shower. All of that.”
He tried to (gain strength to) stand up, but before he could attempt Wille was behind him, snaking arms around him, carefully not touch his bandaged hand. “Hold on,” Wille murmured into his curls before placing a kiss there. “I’ll get you painkillers.”
“Don’t want them. It’s okay, I just need a second to get used to it.”
The hands around his torso pulled gently to get him to lean back into Wille’s chest. Simon took refugee in that embrace until he felt okay to get up and move. While Simon went to the bathroom, Wille got their dinner (they couldn’t eat when it was dinner time because Simon was sleeping) from the nurse and got some water too. They ate their late night dinner in front of the window looking outside the snowstorm.
“We used to go out to the close-by hill when it snowed. Dad pulled me and Sara on the sledge.” That made Simon feel a pang of sadness. He remembered those days fondly—the sledging together, the snowball fights between them, how he and Sara would run down the hill, laughing, squealing, and making snow angels. And after they went home they would cuddle to warm up and mama would peel tangerines for Simon, while Micke made hot chocolate for everyone… Simon had been so happy back then. It was hard to imagine why it ended with such heartbreak.
"I met Ayub there. That specific slope was a popular spot around the area at that time." Pictures filled Simon's mind; Of mom getting them dressed in warm clothes and telling them to put their beanie back on every time they tried to take it off. Sara held Simon’s hand on the way down the hill the first couple of times because he was scared. Of dad always having a backup pair of gloves for Sara, so he can give it to her if the texture of the one she’s been wearing starts to bother her. Dad hauling Simon up from the ground when another sledge accidentally ran into theirs, and he was on the verge of tears. Simon was picked up after the boy from the other sledge came over to see if he’s okay. Back then, he was not the one to pretend and to be strong and always okay; he used to always voice out the smallest thing he was struggling with, the smallest thing that he was unsure of. And he didn’t know this other boy, he didn’t know what to make of him crashing into Simon, if he was mean. Dad picked him up and swept off the snow from his clothes, telling him it’s okay, and that it was just an accident, and asked if he would like to play with the other boy who was still standing there apologetically.
Wille smiled, being unaware of Simon's lengthy thoughts. "How old were you?"
"Around eight or so."
"You've known Ayub for half of your life now."
"Yeah."
Wille pulled his chair closer to Simon’s, so they could hold hands. “So if I ask him really nicely, he might have baby photos of you?” He smiled lopsidedly.
“I think you’ll have better luck with mama on that front. She might even make a PowerPoint to explain my entire life history in pictures to you.”
“I would say you can ask my mom too for the same, but I honestly can’t even imagine how she would react.”
“She doesn’t like me very much, huh?”
“If it’s any way comforting, I oftentimes think she doesn’t even like me that much. She's never been the most affectionate mother and often seems disappointed with my… life choices? Or more like anything I do?”
Simon yawned and let himself lean back on the chair—wincing when his arm hit the backboard of the chair. That set Wille in motion; he cleaned up on the table as much as he could and helped Simon up, so Simon could take a shower. It was hard logistically to figure out how to do it without making the bandage wet, and also not moving Simon’s arm much to avoid the pain, so they went with the slow method of a washcloth for the upper part and a normal shower for everything else. Wille held the showerhead and Simon worked while they resumed their conversation.
Until they waited for the water to get to the temperature Wille was satisfied with, Simon got distracted with thoughts once again. “You know…” he began, fidgeting a little, though Wille had his eyes fixed on the water, “when I was little, my parents… we’d usually spend Christmas Eve together. We’d open presents, have dinner, watch whatever Christmas movie was playing at that time, play board games. Then mama got sad, and it’s like everything was slipping through my fingers–”
Wille turned toward him and saw that he was shaking slightly, his lips pursed tightly.
“Hey… hey. Simon–”
But Simon cut him off. “It’s okay, really, it’s fine. I’m good.”
Wille frowned, and stepped into the shower, wrapping his arms around Simon’s waist and pulling him closer with his free hand; his jeans got soaking wet from the showerhead now aiming for their foot. Simon looked at his silly after noticing. “Won’t your very expensive suit get damaged?”
He didn’t get a reply, but Wille ran fingers through Simon’s curls gently. Then pulled back as Simon extended the washcloth. It was silent for a while, Simon cleaning himself with Wille’s assistance.
“Was it drugs?” A gentle question came from Wille, and Simon hummed without pausing what he was doing.
“And alcohol.”
“Is it why you don’t drink?”
“I guess so,” he looked up and Wille squeezed some soap into his extended palm. “I never really had this conversation with myself yet. I just don’t want to- be… like him?”
Wille smiled sadly and reached over to rub off the dried blood from a tiny spot above Simon’s hipbone—there was a bruise there from the fall too. While his hand was there, he squeezed Simon’s waist gently. The latter didn’t seem to take too much of a notice of it because he kept talking. “There are lots of things I don’t like about myself. Like how much I worry. And how much I want to deal with everything on my own. It’s frustrating because I can’t, or I don’t know how to stop it. Mom gives me so much freedom that sometimes I feel like I’m suffocating because of it. It makes me feel so alone and stupid in life. Like trying to put together an entire car on my own without guidance, or walking into the store and getting so overwhelmed with the choices that you can't think properly anymore."
Simon’s hand stopped in its motion, as if he just registered the world outside his thoughts. His eyes slipped to Wille; expression almost as if he was ashamed of sharing all that unpromptedly. But it dissolved after a reassuring smile from his boyfriend.
“We can go grocery shopping together,” Wille placed a hand on his shoulder, and he looked at the hand resting on his shoulder before meeting Wille’s eyes again. His eyes were soft, understanding, and warm. “And although I don’t know much about cars, but we can get the whole squad together to put together one whenever you want,” he continued with the gentlest, most sweetest voice and Simon wanted to die. They both leaned their heads towards each other, Simon resting his forehead against Wille’s. “What a way to say I’m not alone.”
Wille pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his boyfriend’s mouth, causing both of them to giggle lightly. “You were the one who came up with these metaphors.”
“Shut up and kiss away my pain instead,” Simon said, leaning in and capturing Wille’s lips with his own. He felt Wille smile into the kiss. They stayed in a hug until they needed to breathe, their foreheads still touching.
“I’ll kiss you some more, just to be safe. But after, please consider the painkillers for your arm, they’ll help to fall asleep and get this permanent wince off your beautiful face too.”
The corners of Simon’s mouth curled up as he gave Wille a playful look. “And we’ll cuddle?”
“And we'll cuddle,” Wille echoed and dived back for another (and then some more) kiss.