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Wilhelm still isn’t quite sure he isn’t dreaming.
There he is, standing in front of the large gold-adorned mirror, checking for flaws even when Wilhelm can guarantee there are none to find.
He's here now, he's fucking here now. Wilhelm can't believe it. He's almost scared that, if he dares to take his eyes off him, he will suddenly disappear.
Wilhelm’s heart swells in his chest with every passing second that he spends looking at him, convinced, any moment now, it's going to jump right out of his chest. Or he's going to wake up, realize it's all just one of those dreams.
God.
He momentarily presses his eyes closed at the memories rising up. Those fucking dreams over those fucking weeks were the only time he got to have Simon close to him. Got to...
He has to swallow, the starched collar of his shirt suddenly feeling so much tighter around his neck, despite the undone buttons at the top.
No, no, this is real life. He's here. He's come all this way, he's in his purple shirt looking so very... Simon. It really shouldn't work that well, he really shouldn't technically be able to fit in so well, but god, to Wilhelm he's emitting, no, radiating a sort of effortless beauty that makes everything around him look dull and cheap. He really shouldn't, but to Wilhelm, he fits right in, decadence and gold all around him. It normally makes Wilhelm feel so... trapped, reflects right back at him how much he doesn't... this doesn't really feel like home. But Simon, Simon's presence reframes all the kitsch, puts it all in the right context, makes it make sense. Yeah, the golden frames, baroque paintings, all those polished surfaces catching light beams and reflecting them, they all fall right in place with Simon, his Simon, in their midst. He's beautiful, fucking stunning, little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, eyes glinting kindly as Wilhelm greets him and starts to make his way over towards him.
The greeting Wilhelm gets in return is spoken in such a soft voice he can barely take it, feeling a warmth that’s almost overwhelming envelop his chest.
Yeah, the palace is just about adequate of a backdrop for this boy, this stunning, stunning boy, who, god – Wilhelm is still not able to remember without his heartbeat quickening – the muscle inside his chest seemingly swelling and contracting at the same time, this boy who said he loved him.
It doesn't feel real, it really fucking doesn't, it shouldn't be possible, it's entirely implausible and yet: he's here, right in front of Wilhelm, right in this normally way too big, way too cold place, in this place that's so linked to pain and lies and isolation.
He's felt so goddamn lonely here...
Only in his dreams, those dreams that always ended way too abruptly, there was momentary relief. Those dreams, a blur of bliss and warmth and skin whose touch set his entire soul on fire. Touches that made all the hairs on his body stand up, a tingling sensation continuing to bubble away underneath the surface, even after hazy fingers, hands, lips had already eased up. So utterly warm and safe and yet on edge with every new movement, every new sound. He's never seen his face, didn't need to to know. The warmth, that overwhelmingly welcoming aura of him, it had been enough to have Wilhelm reeling, swimming, drowning, completely engulfed and oh, he never wanted to reach the surface again, sweet ringing in his ears, tingle all over, under, his skin, his own fingers, hands, lips searching, yearning and finally touching, smelling, kissing, taking in that sweet, sweet skin of him. It's all Wilhelm needs, he can feel, he can smell, he can taste that staggering warmth, knows just from the phantom-like touches along his back that's its him and fuck, he feels so good, so safe, he feels like home, he feels like it's right here and right now that Wilhelm belongs, like they were made for this, thrown into this cold existence to gravitate to each other, to keep each other warm.
The pain cuts deep into his chest when Wilhelm wakes up alone, sheets in a tangled mess, the walls of this room so goddamn far away. He's shivering, suddenly painfully aware of every single square inch of skin not hidden away under the sheets. He's so cold.
It's not the temperature drop, not really, he's just suddenly feeling so... empty. He feels entirely hollow, like he's made of paper and the vast emptiness of the room is dangerously encroaching, is about to crumple him up, to compress him, to force every last breath from his lungs.
Tears sting in the corner of his eyes as he's slowly realizing what a fool he's been to, even in a dream, believe, just for a second, that he's back in those arms, back against that chest, back in that warm, warm space that accepts and protects him.
The weight on his chest, the iron grip around his aching heart, intensify as he realizes –and now a tear of shame is forming, then escaping and making its way down into the rumpled up pillow beneath him – as he realizes that his boxers are sticking against his skin with a mixture of sweat and come.
The memory stings, stings even after the fact, even now, when he's here, right beside him, warming up this obscenely large room just by means of his presence. There's something... healing about this. Wilhelm feels like, finally, he's whole again, no longer a shell, crushed by the weight of being all alone and so fucking cold. He's right here, standing in front of him, feels this sweet, sweet warmth come off of him and he’s absorbing it through every single pore, his entire organism is feeding off of it, drinking it in and swallowing it down, it's coursing through his veins, reaching his heart and collecting there, making him smile involuntarily, his breath almost leaving him.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Wilhelm says, he has to say it, thinks it’s all going to reveal itself as an illusion if he doesn’t speak it all into existence himself.
His eyes dart across the sumptuously decorated walls of the room – just adequate to exist around this beautiful boy – before quickly turning back.
“Me neither,” Simon sighs and Wilhelm breathes in shakily, lung capacity dramatically reduced by the warmth flooding his chest.
“I just wish it wasn’t for this reason” Simon strokes a gentle hand down the front of Wilhelm's suit jacket and he feels a sting in the pit of his stomach, both at the sudden and oh-so-welcome touch bridging the distance between their bodies and the worried frown on his partner’s lips.
Yeah. It shouldn’t have to be like this. This should be on their terms.
“No,” Wilhelm exhales, “this isn’t how I dreamed for it to be.”
It's so cheesy, fuck, it's ridiculous, he thinks, and for a split second fears his worries confirmed when Simon's lip curls upward and he's getting ready to be laughed at when- oh. There's a glint in Simon's eyes that Wilhelm can place immediately and it makes his already shallow breathing hitch, an entirely new emotion creeping in and setting the pit of Wilhelm's stomach on fire.
“How did you dream it was gonna be like?” he hears him say, all one breath and oh. oh. Those eyes are darting down towards his lips and back up to his eyes. And oh. The tiny daggers in Wilhelm's stomach are relentless and suddenly it's no longer a comforting warmth he's floating it, it's heat that's rolling over him, filling up the room and making it so much harder to breathe. He wants to melt right then and there, his heartbeat heavily thumping in his ears, he wants. God, he wants.
But fuck, those dreams, it's so… complicated. He's fighting the darkness, the emotional cold that keeps trying to crawl back into his body at the returning memories of days, nights spent here, so fucking lonely, so fucking freezing from the inside out, the dreams a momentary relief and yet so, so brutal upon awakening. Like a cruel joke being played on him by the universe, the idea of Simon here with him, his warmth, his light making the wide bed, the huge room, the empty halls bearable just dangling in front of his inner eye, back then seeming light years out of reach. Until…
Simon is so close to him right now and Wilhelm has to avert his gaze at the utter realness of it. This really isn't a dream, he's right here.
“I can…uhm,” he shortly loses focus as he’s looking to the ground and it takes all his willpower, all his strength and more courage than he thought he could even muster as he adds “show you” and returns to stare into those lovely, those loving eyes he doesn’t ever want to miss again. They are quickly glancing up and down Wilhelm’s face, first eyes, then lips, then eyes again and oh, it stings so beautifully.
Simon's nodding then, a little too quickly and a little too eagerly to act unbothered, even with this slow and measured hum he's giving to say Yes. Affirmative. Yes, he wants, too.
And it’s all Wilhelm needs, reaching for Simon’s hand and bumping into his shoulder as he’s starting to pull him with him, the tips of his fingertips burning at the long-awaited contact. The burning sensation spreads immediately and he wants more, wants all of this delicious heat… Wants. Fuck, it's so real, this is Simon, flesh and bone, and yet- it almost can't be. He’s squeezing his hand tighter, reassuring, grounding, promising that this isn't a mirage.
He looks at him, eyes knowing and fuck. Wilhelm can't take it. He needs… Yeah, needs.
But Simon stops in his tracks and when Wilhelm turns around again he almost knows before Simon can say it. Wilhelm loves him for it, loves him for caring so much, loves him for wanting to protect his loved ones, wanting to shield them from everything evil in the world. He feels so fucking lucky to have him here, have him in his life at all. But he knows Linda’s going to be fine, it’s all going to be fine.
They’re in this together, he’s not letting anything come between them again, he’s never going to let them do anything to ruin this.
“They’re not going to start without us, Simon,” he says and knows his eyes are burning right into Simon’s, cause finally, finally he’s letting Wilhelm guide him away.
They can face off the world later, it’s going to be fine, everything is going to be fine, but now, Wilhelm is overrun by the intensity of his utter need to be close to Simon, to hold him, to kiss him, to let his warmth cover him, engulf him, draw out that cold that’s been gnawing in the back of his mind for way too long. He wants and he knows that Simon does, too and fuck, this is healing, it’s so fucking healing.