Work Text:
*TW: Mentions of death, grief and child loss
----------------------------------------------------------------------
"When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy’s been swinging them."
- Robert Frost
He could think of all the grand gestures, the highest peaks they had climbed together, and the radiant memories from when everything was vibrant and brilliant and altogether just perfect.
Simon could think of their wedding day—exchanging vows in the big cathedral on a July afternoon, the atmosphere inside the holy halls aglow with the summer heat that had seeped in between the vast, heavy doors. Hundreds of pairs of eyes followed his walk down the aisle on his mother's arm, and yet thousands more watched the broadcast on live national TV. His hands had been sticky with excitement, the back of his neck had itched from the creamy white collar of his shirt, and the walk along the dark red carpet through the nave had seemed as long as a marathon. In his stomach, excitement, nervousness and euphoria had gone roundabout hand in hand, and if his mother had not held him by her side with an unwavering hold, he probably would have turned around and run out of the church. But then, as truly corny as he was used to from all the many movies of his childhood, then there had been Wille, waiting for him, looking at him as if he were the only truth worth believing in. Wille, with his golden brown eyes, whose gaze caught him and kept him upright; Wille, who was his support and his home.
And no matter how many ears had thought they had a right to the words exchanged in those hours between groom and groom on the marble altar steps of a Stockholm cathedral, the only ears that had mattered were those of Wille and Simon, and maybe, if he cared to listen, those of God.
Simon could think of Wille's abdication. Or, as he liked to remember it, the "great liberation". It had taken Wilhelm several years and many many therapy sessions to decide that he was in fact entitled to reject a life that he did not want to lead. Simon had done his best to support him throughout the tedious process. Sometimes that had meant getting up in the middle of the night, searching for his husband, who once again, plagued by thoughts and sorrows, wandered through the castle (or sometimes the surrounding park). He carefully took Wille by the hand and led him back to the bedroom, brushing his worries from his forehead and humming him to sleep. Sometimes it had meant sorting through stacks of paper, filing documents in binders, typing up protocols and making pots of coffee. One would think the court would have enough employees to take care of the paperwork involved when the sole heir to the throne decides to avoid his destiny and turn his back on the monarchy. Actually, they probably had. But Wille, whose obsession with perfection took on almost pedantic dimensions when it came to the really important things, made copies of nearly every document, went over procedures and provisions at home, underlined with coloured markers and frankly, turned the living room into a full-blown mess of black printed on white. Simon was under the impression that yes, Wille wanted to leave the sinking ship, but he wanted to make sure they at least had enough lifeboats.
Simon could think of the sense of freedom, of utter joy and excitement that had filled both their veins on the day that Wille made his abdication speech in front of Riksdaken and the court. Of the way Wille had pulled him fervently into his arms and had held onto him as tight as ever while he whispered a "thank you" into his ear as if it had been Simon that had freed him out of his golden cage.
Simon could think of the first morning in their new house, or well it was more a villa than a house, close to Nyköping, about 200 meters away from the seashore. They had managed to move almost everything in the span of three days. Considering that his husband was a resigning monarch, and was in possession of clearly too many powder- and navy blue coloured suits and above all else the owner of around 2.000 books that he insisted on taking along (really, Wille, you´ve read about 10 books in your entire life, what in gods name do you want to do with that many books? Light the fireplace?), that was something they could be proud of. They had had the help of a moving company and a handful of loyal friends, but they hadn´t had the time yet to unpack a lot. The bed wasn´t set up yet so they had slept on the mattress on the floor and Wille had practically squealed in delight in the face of so much un-princely ness. That morning, they had been woken up by then casts of pale golden sunrays, shining unfiltered through the floor-length windows (the curtains had yet to be installed). They had spent a whole hour just looking at each other, basking in the newfound sense of freedom, of a new beginning, of possibility. Box by box, crate by crate, they had unpacked their previous life and given it a new home. It had taken days, no weeks until everything was where it was supposed to be (SIMON! Why are there two pairs of your socks in the box for cups and glasses??). But never in his life had Simon felt so content, so ready for a long, new life.
Simon could also think of the birth of their three children. Of newborn skin, fresh and rosy and entirely too vulnerable, pressed against his naked chest at night. Of their warmth and soft little noises. Of the soft fuzziness of their hair. Simon originally had never thought about having kids. Not that he had strongly disliked the idea, it had just not been something he had considered a possible part of his life. But he had known that Wille did. Wille had wanted kids. It had taken some time until Simon felt like he was ready. But then he hadn´t been, in the end, neither of them had. They had been overwhelmed and nothing could have prepared them for what it really was like having kids. Having a baby to take care of. Being the person, a tiny human was depending on. Still, with the burden had also come responsibility, and they had grown into fulfilling that responsibility together. Simon had loved their kids from the moment they entered their life. All three of them. From the bottom of his heart. But after some time, he had also grown into enjoying parenthood. Finding confidence and comfort in being a father, even if it hadn´t come with the natural ease it had for Wille. There came a time when Simon couldn´t imagine that he had once been afraid of all this. He had spent countless sleepless nights holding bottles, changing diapers and wondering if that really had been such a good idea. He had shared the tiredness and the bliss, the puke-stained shirts, the dark circles under his eyes, the hours bent over a little crib, watching a peacefully sleeping baby, with Wille. And maybe, that was what made him enjoy it after all, even though there were tough days when he had nearly ripped his hair out. But watching Wille being a Dad, made it all worth it. Fighting the battle of parenthood with Wille at his side, getting to see him bursting with pride when their eldest son, Elias, was welcomed by their first-grade teacher, witnessing how Willes warm embrace was the preferred source of comfort to their daughter Selma whenever she was feeling down, watching how Wille just wouldn´t let go of newborn Jesper, walking around the room, rocking him back and forth for literal hours until Simon had to force him to come to bed finally; all those memories had some golden glow to it as if someone had put a cute vintage filter over it.
Simon could think of Wille´s adorable nervousness on the day they both walked Selma down the aisle. Selma's love story resembled their own in some ways. Just like Wille and Simon, she had gone to a boarding school as a teenager. Selma had fallen in love with her roommate Cecile, a french girl with red hair and piercing green eyes. They had tried to keep their relationship a secret in the beginning but one of their classmates had found out and sold that news to a gossip rag. Simon and Wille had tried to shield their kids as best as they could from any kind of media attention. For the most part, it had worked out pretty well but even if they weren't entitled to any privileges any more and didn't bear titles - they were all still members of the royal family. An occasional headline could not be avoided. That news though, that the daughter of the former Crown Prince was in love with a girl, pulled the whole family into the spotlight once again. Everyone had an opinion to offer. 17-year-old Selma suddenly was exposed to comments like "Is the sexual orientation inheritable after all? Gay parent's daughter homosexual herself?" and other impertinences. Simon had been furious. They took their daughter home for a few weeks until the worst had died down. Selma was a courageous and resilient young woman and had been raised with the unconditional acceptance of her parents. It didn't take long for her to get used to the increased media attention. In a way, it had also freed her and Cecile from the burden of a closeted relationship. Those who were still preoccupied with the whole story for a long time were Simon and Wille. On the one hand, their own trauma had been washed back to the surface of everyday life; on the other, they were shocked that nothing had changed. People still thought they had a right to know about other people's sexual orientation, their love lives, and chosen partners. Newspapers still assumed wildly and nobody cared about privacy. Not even Wille´s abdication had changed that. Luckily, the relationship between Selma and Cecile had only gained strength and seriousness and eight years later, their daughter was marrying her high school sweetheart.
Simon could think of the tears he had to wipe away from his husband's cheeks that night after the celebrations were over and they came back to their empty house. Selma had been Willes little princess and her marrying and moving away to France, where her wife´s family owned a vineyard, secretly tore Wille apart. Simon thought he was being a tad dramatic, seeing as Selma had moved out already two years ago, but he couldn´t deny that Willes emotional reaction was endearing.
Simon could think of Willes's expression when he got to meet his first grandson, Elias's child, for the first time. Never had Simon seen him being so overjoyed, so utterly amazed by a baby in his arms. He looked at him as if he was made of starlight, as if he was outright holy and to be preserved from any harm by Wille's arms. And that was a lot to say, given that Simon had seen him holding their own children. He had only realised sometime later, that it was the first time Wilhelm had gotten to hold a baby since Jesper. Sweet, gentle Jesper had only gotten to be 10 months old when he was torn out of their hands, their love, their life. Jesper, the little boy with the big blue eyes, and a particularly sweet smile, an unusually alert baby, very calm and very touch-demanding, had passed away from sudden child death syndrome in his sleep and neither Wilhelm nor Simon had ever been the same since then. For a seemingly never-ending while their little world had been drowning in darkness and grief. It had been as if someone had soaked up every source of light and happiness in their life with a charcoal-black sponge, to give way to paralyzing tiredness. The truth was, that the only thing that had kept them from following their youngest son into eternity back then, had been that they were not alone in their grief. They had always had each other. If they had been inseparable before that, they were quite literally depending on each other's comfort and support ever since then. It´s a sad truth that nothing ties people as tightly together as the experience of loss and pain. However - eventually - they had learned how to live on, how to take tiny steps, side by side, and how to laugh again, even if Wille´s smile would never be as bright and carefree again, as it had been when he was younger.
The birth of his first grandson, who had an astonishing likeness to baby Jesper, was, as Simon supposed, somehow healing some wounds, that Jespers sudden and way too early death had caused in Wille´s heart.
He could think about the day that Wilhelm had won Nordiska rådets litteraturpriset for his novel "Mellan skuggorna en virvelvind". Wille had spent over five years writing that book and it had taken him a lot of time to gather the courage to offer it to a publisher. He first published under a synonym. He hadn´t wanted to be a successful author because of his name, because of his family. But then it got sold in large numbers pretty quickly without anyone knowing who the author was, and when it was officially nominated for two different literature prizes, Wille decided to step out of the shadow. Of course, Wilhelm and his newfound talent made headlines for weeks. Simon had been incredibly proud of his partner. Maybe not so much because the novel was a success, but rather because Wilhelm had finally found a way to express himself, his beautiful mind and soul, and above that, that he had dared to let other people have an insight on that.
Simon had read the book in all its various stages of work, had given Wille feedback and commented on how he would do things differently, and what was especially good. He had also read the final version, but on loose pieces of paper before it was finally sent to the publisher's printing agent. The first time he actually opened the hardcover version, was shortly before the award ceremony, in their hotel room in Helsinki, where the event had been hosted that year. He had opened the book and found these words on its third page:
"I have lived with shadows and weathered storms in my own life and one thing is safe to say - I´d be an uprooted tree without the grounding of your love. This is for you."
Needless to mention that Simon had attended the ceremony with red-rimmed eyes and a heart that overflowed with love and sincere affection for the man he had called his husband for already 25 years that day.
He could even think about how it all had begun, how a shy teenager of noble birth had sneaked his way into Simons's heart when he had been only 16 years old, in the hallways of a boarding school, between math lessons and rowing competitions, with his nervous glances and his genuine smile that he had cast at Simon whenever he had the chance. He could think of intertwined pinkies, reluctant approaches and of the incredible gentleness with which Wille had touched his skin when he had lain in his bed for the first time. Simon could think about that terrifying, life-changing moment when Wille had stopped in the middle of his speech and then had told the whole world that he was in love with a boy. Well, he didn´t say exactly that but Simon had been able to hear the meaning underneath the confession Wille made. "Det var jag i videon". Simon's traitorous heart had nearly leapt out of his chest, out of simple disbelief, shock and an undeniable amount of pride given the courage that Wille had mustered.
Alas, that was not what Simon thought about when he woke up that April morning, next to Wille, just as he had for over seventy long and happy years, and found his husband asleep next to him. Asleep as in sleeping forever.
Simon Eriksson didn´t measure his life in the sum of years it had bestowed upon him. He didn´t measure it in the number of extraordinary events he had experienced. He didn´t measure the happiness of his marriage in the big gestures or in the exceptionally low number of serious arguments they had fought.
No, those moments weren´t the ones that crossed his mind in the hour he allowed himself to just take leave from Wille. Before he would get up and call Elias and Selma, before he would fully acknowledge the fact that he would have to walk the rest of the journey without Wille by his side, before he´d let the world grieve with him. He was overcome with a flood of memories, each one tied to the person that fell asleep right next to him. It was like he got to relive a thousand tiny moments of their shared life, short and strung together like birds perched on power lines in summer.
------------------------
A September afternoon in Stockholm. Simon and Wille are visiting Sara there. They took a nice long walk together on Djurgården, the many lime trees showing off their magnificent yellow. They get stopped occasionally, but usually, most people are respectful and they learned a long time ago how to carry themselves, how to not search eye contact if they want to stay to themselves. Sara got to carry baby Selma for a while, and they had a nice cosy fika at Rosendals Trädgård. Now they´re on their way home to Sara's apartment in Östermalm. Selma is sound asleep in the carrier, secure on Simon's chest. There are about fourteen people in the compartment of the t-banan they chose to sit in. And all the 14 pairs of eyes are on Wille and Simon, some disbelieving, some paralyzed, some endeared, some try not to stare as apparent as others. Simon is pretty sure he will never get used to that feeling, of being so on display for everyone to stare at. Wille though, he doesn´t notice the gazes. Not one bit. The only thing Wille has eyes for is Simon and the sleeping baby tied to his chest. Simon looks up and pointedly ignores all the strangers. He meets Willes loving smile and notices how it steades him. How Wille is still able to make him feel seen and safe and like he is the only thing that counts.
Wille, lying down on the soft green spring grass that had just recently dared to peek through layers of muddy earth and tree leaves, is straddled by a five-year-old Elias who is trying to weave some daisies into his father's hair.
Saturday morning, Wille is bringing breakfast into their bed. Satsumas, coffee, pancakes and hardboiled eggs. "Since we´re officially living kid-less again from today on, I thought we could go back to behaving indecently and eating in bed" a cocky grin is spreading over Willes features. "Since we´re no longer role models, you know?" Simon doesn´t hold back the words that immediately came to mind while facing half-naked Wilhelm: "Are you talking about food or…?". The rest of that morning is history.
Simon is sick. Really sick. He´s got a big fat nasty cold, with fever and all. Lying in bed all day, his nose running and no appetite at all. At night, he´s sweating like a pig and he tried to pursue Wille into sleeping on the couch because he can´t imagine how sticky and clammy and overall gross it must be to sleep next to him these days. Wille just laughed. Simon is kind of grateful he refused. He would never admit it, but when he´s feverish, the room takes on weird shapes and that scares him at night. So he lets Wille stay with him. Lets him carefully wipe his forehead with a damp cloth and force him to drink a glass of water every few hours. And even though it feels like he might actually catch fire because of how hot he feels, he´s even grateful for Willes soft embrace, spooning him from behind, making sure that he´s safe from the monster that Simon´s certain is hiding under the bed.
Wille, dancing a hopelessly chaotic cha cha cha with Linda on her 50th birthday, both stumbling around the room in their festive clothes, clutching onto each other, helplessly trying not to fall to the ground laughing.
Wilhelm, sitting on their dock at the bottom of the little hill that connects their garden with the rocky shore. It´s July and the sun is still up, despite the late hour. Wilhelm, sitting at the seaside, letting his salty tears join the seawater. He doesn´t make any sounds. He´s long past the point of screaming and whining and sobbing and shouting his son´s name into the void. The only thing that´s left is the tears, which find their way down his cheeks and then onto Simon's fingertips and lips, in an attempt to soothe the pain to wounds, as invisible as the love that connects us to the dead.
A snowy hillside, in the Norwegian mountains, the sun beaming from above, almost competing with the expression on Elias' face, as he watches Wille's first attempts on a snowboard. Simon tries not to laugh but soon fails spectacularly because really, it´s an exquisite sight, a flailing and cursing Ex-Crown Prince, sliding down the slope on his ass while making all kinds of aggressive gestures towards his gleeful family.
The alleyway is narrow and seamed by concrete walls, decked in colourful graffiti. Here and there are little houses, tiny shops and from above are hanging alternately plants and laundry. The temperature is about 39 degrees, the humidity is hardly bearable but Wille and Simon keep on going for hours, exploring the labyrinth of the Samyan area in Bangkok. The freedom of being nearly anonymous prickles on their skin. Here, they are just two tourist boys in their mid-twenties, discovering a foreign culture by tasting Wing bean salad while sitting on tiny red plastic chairs, or Durian, offered by an old man with the friendliest smile Simon has ever seen (Ewwww that tastes like puke how can you even enjoy that, Wille??).
Willes eyes, dark and deep, gazing down on Simon with the utmost care. Willes body, moving against his, skins melting into each other, a hand combing through Simons curls, the moonlight tangled in Willes soft hair strands. The feeling of being as close as possible yet not nearly close enough.
The room is crowded with rich people in fancy suits and colourful dresses. In the corner, someone built up a small bar, where champagne is being poured into elegant glasses. Earlier, the headmistress had finished her speech, congratulating all the third years for passing the exams and wishing them well for the future ahead of them. Then she declared the dancefloor open and quite a few students and parents are already dancing a waltz, which looks more bad than good. Simon watches the spectacle from the end of the hall, leaning against the wall. Suddenly, Wille is standing in front of him, bowing to him in what could only be described as a mocking gesture. He grabs Simon's right hand and with the words "May I have this dance, noble lord?", drags the hesitant Simon into the midst of swirling pairs. They more stumble around than dance, but the feeling, that spreads inside Simon's chest is unbothered by that. Wille loves him. He is his boyfriend. He openly shows that to everyone; doesn´t back away from the many sideglances of the snobby rich assholes surrounding them. If even, he makes a little show of grabbing Simon extra tight. He is his. Nothing can change that.
Their hands, intertwined, already a bit wrinkled, each hand adorned by a simple golden wedding band, swinging back and forth between them while they are walking down the street on a late afternoon in spring.
The silent understanding, the trading of comfort and despair, shared between two pairs of brown eyes. Wille is digging a small hole with a spade into the damp soil. Simon places a tiny birch tree sapling into the spot, then covers it carefully with the earth crumbs, that Wille piled up next to the hole. Elias pours some water over the small sapling. Wille picks up Selma, who clings to his legs, and she immediately nestles against his neck. Elias leans into Simon's side, while Wille gently squeezes Simons's hand on his other side. They all look down at the small tree, which is so much more than just a tree. Hopefully, it will take root here and grow to become a strong and lively tree. It will lose all its precious leaves in autumn and fall asleep in winter, only to grow hundreds of tiny buds in spring. Life will come back to it, every year again, and it will stand there and keep on growing when they have left the earth. And every leaf will whisper in the summer breeze, will tell stories of a little boy that lives inside of the tree, inside of their hearts. Simon looks up at Wille and sees him smiling back, a single tear escaping his eye. Simon squeezes his hand.
There is a tiny birthmark, right behind Willes left ear, half hidden by his hair most of the time. It has the shape of a whale's fin, or at least that´s what Simon thinks it looks like. Wille most of the time mocks him playfully, saying it has the shape of a crumbled pancake, but that can´t diminish the affection Simon has for the spot. It might be his favourite place on Wille´s body to press his lips to. Right after his lips. And his neck. And his lower stomach. And his shoulderblade and the inside of his thighs, and well, Simon isn´t the lord's strongest soldier when it comes to Willes body, so maybe the birthmark is but a little further down the list....
Wille and Elias, sitting in complete paralyzation, both their mouths hanging open, eyes glued to the screen as they watch the premiere of "Na´ amu - the awakening of the underground" in the very first row of the cinema. The resemblance of father and son at that moment is absolutely striking.
Wille, completely absorbed in the melancholic, beautiful song Troye Sivan is singing into the mic. His voice is soft and melodic but expresses so much pain at the same time. Simon can´t tell who´s more paralyzed: Troye or Wille. He snaps a picture of his boyfriend's expression, but WIlle isn´t even noticing. Simon feels victorious about the prospect of getting to tease Wille about it later. Wille has been listening to Troye a lot in the last few months. And because they share an apartment, Simon was kind of forced to do so too. Blue neighbourhood was playing when Wille attempted cooking, when he was doing laundry, when he was sitting on the couch, when he was breeding over his thesis that was due in two weeks. The tickets had been a surprise gift for WIlle and Simon still had trouble breathing when he remembered the bone-crushing with which Wille had practically tackled him to the ground.
Madeleine, Elias` daughter, about 5 years old, is sitting on Wille´s lap at the kitchen table. Elias and his wife went skiing in Norway for the weekend and left Madeline and her older brother with their grandparents. Currently, she is drawing on a piece of paper, that is being held at the edges by Willes big hands so it doesn't slide around on the surface. "Is that a pig, my dear?" Wille points to a monstrous pink creature in the centre of the picture. "Noooo that is a bird, farfar, it´s got wings, can´t you see that? Look, there! It´s flying!" Simon really can´t judge Wille for not identifying the creature as a bird right away. It´s got a curly tail and something resembling the nose of a pig. "But it´s got a curly tail here?" Wille looks questioningly at his granddaughter. "Yes, that´s because it´s a piggy bird!" Wille and Simon change an amused glance. "A piggy bird?" "Yes! My friend told me that there are piggy birds in America and that one of them ate his ice cream cone!". Wille visibly tries to suppress his laughter, as he fondly continues watching Madeleine create all kinds of funny creatures on the piece of paper.
The doorbell rings and cuts through the comfortable silence in which Simon was dwelling on his old childhood bed. He gets up and opens the door, hoping it´s not that annoying neighbour's kid again, fooling him with another bell prank. He runs a hand through his mess of untamed curls and tucks a bit on his sweats to seem at least half decent for whoever dares to interrupt his self-pitying misery. It´s Wille. And he has been crying, judging by the slightly reddened eyes and nose. Malin is standing a few meters away, looking in the other direction. Simon feels a rush of Deja Vu at the sight. "I´m sorry, Simon. I´m sorry I said that, I didn´t mean it like that. Please, can you forgive me and come home again?". Simon looks at his boyfriend, at the puddle of regret he is, and suddenly, he can´t find it in his heart to reject him. He lets out a deep sigh and steps into the others` space, pulling him into a hug. "I´m sorry too, dumbass. Don´t say such bullshit ever again, okay?" Wille's arms wrap tightly around his torso and Simon breathes in the calming scent he connects with Wille. His boy is silently nodding and pulling him even closer.
It's Christmas eve. Jespers first. And his last too, but that thankfully nobody know´s about. He´s much too small to celebrate it anyway, sleeping throughout most of the day. Elias and Selma have already gone to bed, as have Linda and Sara and her boyfriend Kalle. Only Wille is still awake, walking around in the dimly lit living room. Simon is leaning in the doorframe, silently watching. Only then he sees, that Wille has Jesper on his arm, who apparently had chosen to wake up when everyone else was going to sleep. But he´s not crying, just watching with his big blue eyes, as Wille shows him the Christmas tree and taps against some of the ornaments so they start dangling back and forth. Then Wille starts humming a Christmas song and continues his weird but cute mixture of slow dancing and rocking a baby in his arms.
Simon is sitting at the grand piano, trying out some combinations of chords to accompany the lyrics of a song he scribbled down in his lecture about music history this morning. Wille is sitting on the couch and watches him. He watches like other people watch movies: fully concentrated and seemingly sunken in another universe. To be able to play on a grand piano in his own living room after having to practice on the trashy old pianos they offer the students to play on at college, it still feels surreal. He really wanted to turn the gift down, when he came home to his and Willes's apartment on the afternoon of his 24th birthday and saw a real Steinway standing in his living room. He wanted to. But he was only human, after all. And to own a Steinway grand piano, well, let´s just say he accepted the gift. He did give his boyfriend a talk though, about taxpayer money and that some presents maybe are a bit over the top for a college student. Wille nodded, listened and then went on to beg him to play, with the most convincing puppy face he was capable of doing.
A bathroom in some hotel, somewhere in Italy, Wille kneeling beside Selma, who is bent over the toilet after having eaten something that had been too greasy for her little stomach. He held back her long black curls with his big right hand and murmured calming words while caressing her back with the other hand.
The feeling of sliding into bed, under the covers, after a long work day, nestling his body into Willes, it's like coming home every time, like a sanctuary from all the problems. No other place in the world is as peaceful, as safe and cosy as the warmth of Willles naked embrace, his scent burying itself in Simon's nostrils, his body hair tickling against Simon's thighs, his soft breath fanning over his cheeks. If Simon were to die young, he would choose this place to be his forever home. Luckily, he isn´t. He doesn´t know it at that moment, but he´ll enjoy their physical proximity for another sixty years.
Raindrops are drumming against the windows as if they were trying to tell him something. Simon just got home from work and he is exhausted. It´s late and already dark outside. But inside their house it´s warm and cosy and it smells like his family had curry for supper. The kids are seemingly already in bed. Simon pulls on his slippers and leaves his bag in the kitchen, he takes the opportunity to lift the lid from the pot on the stove and nibbles a spoonful of the remaining warm chicken curry before climbing the stairs to the second floor. The door to the bay window room where Wille is writing is ajar, and a cone of light falls on the dark hallway floor. Simon sneaks up and carefully sticks his head in the door. Wille is sitting at the desk in front of the window with his back to him. He has opened his laptop and is typing intently. In between, he pauses briefly and stretches his arms over his head. Then he continues typing. Simon smirks as he sneaks up behind him. He wraps his arms around Wille from behind and kisses him gently on the temple. Wille does not even flinch. Unmoved, he continues typing. The fact that he has taken notice of Simon's greeting is only evident from the way he almost imperceptibly tilts his head to nestle his cheek against Simon's.
A hospital bed, clean sheets, dimmed lights and pain that settles subtly but inevitably behind Simons's eyelids, as he grabs his mother's hand and tries to say goodbye in the same way he had expressed love all his life: silently. He feels Willes warmth behind his back and slightly leans into it, grateful that there will be someone catching his fall if Linda decides to join Jesper in heaven tonight.
Wille didn't want to have pets. Especially not a dog. He was afraid of them ever since Thomas, Erik's pet from childhood days, had bitten his neck. So there were no dogs allowed in the Eriksson household, despite Elias' constant begging. Simon had convinced Wille to get Elias a cat at least. Now said cat, a black kitten called Bulle, which they had gotten from the animal shelter, is currently climbing up Wille's leg. "Pá! Look! Bulle thinks Papa is a tree!" Elias' laughter is ringing through the living room. For a moment, Simon thinks Wille would get angry at the animal and place it on the floor where it belongs. But he doesn't. He supports the small beast with his big hands and smiles down gently at him. "Well done, Bulle, you're a real climber, aren't you?". From that moment on, they became best friends. Where Wille went, there went Bulle. Inseparable. It was only when Wille allowed Bulle to sleep in bed with them, that Simon put a stop to it.
A warm, broad hand at the small of Simons' back, put there in a gesture of support and maybe also to signal "this is my man, don´t come any closer", as Wille talks to one of Simons work colleagues at the companies` Christmas party. Poor Pelle, he really didn´t do anything wrong in his life and Simon is convinced that Pelle has a mere little crush on him, nothing more, but Wilhelm is merciless and marks his territory pretty obvious by sticking to his husband's side all evening. Not that Simon would mind. He might even find Willes's jealousy a tad endearing (who acts like some courting peacock around a work colleague after more than 20 years of marriage??), but he would never tell Wille that.
"I want another one", Wille's voice is soft, whispering into his ear, as they stand in the back of the room, cramped together with the other preschooler's parents, waiting for the kids to enter the small stage. Simon's eyes widen, as he looks up at him, silently mouthing the words 'not here!'. Willes reaction is a smug grin before he leans in even closer, " and I want it to have your eyes". If Simon's heart manages to melt and stutter simultaneously, no one has to know.
Simon wakes from the unmistakable sound of the bedroom door creaking open. It´s the middle of the night. And he knows what will happen next because he witnessed the exact same course of events regularly lately. Some small feet will shuffle over the hardwood floor until their owner reaches the bed. Selma will whisper "Pappa!". For a few seconds, nothing will happen. Then, she´ll say "Pappa!" with more conviction and then Wille's body next to his will move, he will draw his arm out from under Simon's neck and lift his covers. Selma will climb in there and Wille will wrap his arms around their daughter instead of Simon. And after falling asleep again, in the morning, he´ll most likely wake with either his daughter's hair in his mouth and nose, or one of her limbs slung around optionally his tummy, his neck or his chest. He doesn´t mind. Not now and not in the mornings. He remembers very well how it felt when he was haunted by nightmares and climbed into his mother's bed nearly every night, seeking safety in her warmth. Eventually, it will pass. And he knows it won´t be that natural for Selma to seek physical comfort in Willes embrace forever. He´ll let his husband cherish the closeness to their children as long as they are willing to give it. Sleepily, Simon turns around and snuggles his back against Willes back, drifting off into sleep again.
It had been a particularly bad day. He had arrived late at work and the customer had found ten different ways to express his disapproval of Simon´s raw cut version he had forwarded to them. It was freezing cold outside and on his way back, Simon had stepped into a puddle. He came home and was nothing but frustrated and so so done with that awful winter weather and the darkness. He had opened their door and had found Wille reading on the couch. Soon, his husband's arms had encircled him, had drawn him into his chest. Simon didn´t need to say much, Wille seemed to sense he was in a bad mood. So he just held him tight and gently scraped his long fingers along Simon's scalp, until relaxation took over Simon's body. They sank down onto the couch, tangled in each other's limbs, and suddenly, Simon felt a little better already.
Wille, dead asleep in their bed, an open book dropped to his chest, his glasses slipped to his nose tip. Simon carefully takes them and puts them on the nightstand, next to the small pill dose and the water glass. He takes the book, places the reading mark, and puts it into the small bookshelf in the corner of the room. Then, he turns off the light and heads back to the kitchen, where Selma and her wife are waiting for him to return.
Returning from a visit to Bjärstad, late in the evening, both Elias and Selma fell asleep in the backseat while Simon was driving them through the slowly fading landscapes of southern Sweden. As he pulls into the parking lot in front of their home, he looks over to Wille, whose head is leaning against the window, eyes closed. He gently touches his arm, waking him up. Wille smiles sleepily and gets out of the car. Simon frees little Selma out of her car seat, draping her arms around his shoulder and holding her close. A few steps ahead of him, Wille is carrying sleeping Elias with one arm and Simon´s small suitcase with the other. After opening the door and going upstairs, they place both children in their beds, Elias mumbling something incoherent as Wille carefully takes off his shoes before tucking him in. They stand side by side for a moment, just watching their kids drifting off to sleep again, and then Willes draws Simon into an embrace, burying his nose in Simon's curls.
It´s Willes 70th birthday. They held a nice little party, some friends and neighbours coming over to barbeque on their terrace near the water. It´s summer, the air is light and warm, the sun is about to set. Elias` kids and the grandchildren of Felice were allowed to stay up longer than usual. Everyone was laughing and having fun, sitting together in small groups scattered all over their garden. Simon just brought some dirty dishes into the kitchen and is on his way back down to the shore. But he is stopped by a truly heartwarming sight. He pulls out his phone, silently steps a little closer and takes a picture. A framed print of that very picture ends up on their bookshelf just some weeks later. It shows the shapes of the most important people in Simon's life, almost black against the rose and orange colours of the setting sun. Wille, sitting on a bench, each arm draped around the shoulders of one of their children, now grown up and parents themselves, leaning into their father's sides just like they did when they were little. Simon is overcome with nostalgia and gratitude. There is one child missing, and their family will always be completed by someone not visible to their eyes, but still, he is so grateful to see his children there, next to Wille. Because that´s what they´ll always be, no matter how old they become: their children.
-----------
Simon traces the outlines of Willes's face with the pads of his fingers, the hand is a bit shaky but internally, he is calm. He gently follows the lines of the wrinkles. Each one is telling a story about the life they had shared. Simon loves every one of them. He had loved Wille when he had been a lanky teenager with splotchy skin and greasy hair, falling into his forehead. He had loved him even more when that hair had become grey, strand by strand, and a pair of reading glasses had regularly found its way onto the others` nose bridge. It was a mystery to Simon, a beautiful mystery, that his love for Wilhelm had been growing throughout the years, every day a tiny little bit, just like the birch tree in their garden. Graceful and subtle, but with roots, that were bound so tightly to the earth´s nurturing ground, that not a single storm the tree had weathered, had been able to break it. In the end, Simon finds himself loving his husband the most on the day that Wilhelm passes away. It is a mystery but he wouldn´t dare question it.
He will miss him terribly. That much he knows. Wilhelm will be his first thought in the morning and the last one at night. It will hurt. He will feel lonely sometimes. He will be longing for the sense of safety, that used to radiate from the others´ body alongside his warmth. Simon will be terribly and utterly left behind, the remaining half of a whole, and he knows already, that he will welcome the day that it will be his time to join Wilhelm.
And yet...
He had gotten to live an exceptionally long time alongside his partner, and he had loved him every day, even on the dark and suffocating ones.
And really, how many people were so lucky to be able to say that?
Slowly, Simon sits up in bed. Lets his feet softly touch the carpet. Stands up, walks around the bed to the other side. He takes Willes heavy arms, carefully, so as not to hurt him, and lays them on his stilled chest. His hand shakes decidedly too much as he lifts them to cup Willes cold cheek one last time, gently, like you would cradle a newborn's head. Then, he places a kiss on Wilehelms forehead and allows himself to close his eyes and silently thank him.
Thank you.
—---
Simon gets dressed, walks out of the room and gently closes the door. It is a beautiful morning. Spring will not be long in coming; the first timid green is already breaking out on the birch tree branches.
He takes the smartphone from the kitchen counter, switches it on. Waits a moment, enters the pin number and stands in front of the living room window. He can see the sea on the horizon, grayish blue with white foam caps.
Simon's hand hovers for a moment over the green telephone sign next to Elias' name. Then he presses and waits as it beeps in his ear. He takes a breath, his fingers playing with the lilac curtain fabric.
"Pa? Good morning!"
"Good morning, my boy."
"Is...is everything all right? You sound so funny..."
Simon takes a deep breath.
"Your father fell asleep tonight."
Simon's voice is calm, very gentle and cautious. He knows that they have all been expecting it for a while. But that doesn't make it any less painful. There is silence on the other end of the line. Then, he hears a shaky breath and Elias's deep voice answers.
"Oh Pá. I´m sorry."
Silence again, a quiet sob.
"I'll be on my way right away. I'll be there in half an hour. Do you want me to stay on the line?"
"No, that's all right. I.... I'm okay. I'll wait for you."
"Have you called Selma yet?"
"No."
"Do you want me to do that?"
"No, cariño. That's my job, I guess. Just come here and drive carefully, will you? I love you"
"I love you too, Pá"
"See you in a bit, Elias."
Then, Simon is alone again.
He calls Selma.
Selma cries on the telephone. They talk for a bit. She books a flight to Arlanda Airport for the afternoon. Then they hang up. Simon considers calling a mortician but decides to do that together with Elias later on.
Instead, he slips on his coat and hat, steps into his boots and walks outside.
He goes to Jesper's birch tree and brushes over the slender white trunk.
Pauses for a moment, thinking that Wille may be holding him at this very moment, his youngest son. If there is a heaven, then Wille will not be alone up there. Erik will be waiting for him and his parents. Linda, Sara, Felice, and all the other friends they made along the way. He won't be alone. The thought makes him smile.
Simon turns and walks down the little path leading to the dock. There is a light spring breeze that paints whitecaps on the surface of the sea, making small waves hug the shore. Simon closes his eyes and breathes in the salty fresh air.
In the distance, he can hear the call of the geese, returning with the spring on their wings.
---------
Simon Eriksson died two and a half years after his husband Wilhelm Eriksson at the age of 94. He died as one would wish, in his sleep, in his own bed in the house where he had lived happily for all his life. He was found by his granddaughter Madeleine, whose book about the life and marriage of Simon & Wilhelm would one day be at the top of the European bestseller list for weeks. About the death of her abuelo , the young woman notes the following words:
"I am certain, that Simon didn´t just die that afternoon,
judging by the peaceful expression imprinted on his features
when I found him. He just went home."
- "REVOLUTION - HOW A LOVESTORY CHANGED THE SWEDISH MONARCHY"