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Wille places a piece of fish from the tray onto his plate followed by some potatoes, a scoop of peas, and some slices of carrots, waiting for the person in front of him in line in the dining hall to move before he’s able to put the next lunch item on his plate. The line moves too slow for his liking, and a lot of the good food is always taken by the time the third and second years served and helped themselves, but who is he to break tradition?
He finally makes it through the food line and grabs utensils, walking over to the drinks, placing his plate to rest on the table as he fills a mug with hot water and drops a tea bag in it. He picks up his plate, sliding it to balance in one hand and carefully picking up his tea in the other. Once he’s eventually satisfied with how everything’s balanced he turns, taking two steps before the toe of his shoe snags on something in the carpet and he tips forward, correcting to save his balance but spilling the contents of his mug, straight onto the front of someone’s shirt and the top of their pants. Thank god the stupid water at Hillerska was never really all that hot. Normally he hated his lukewarm tea but now he’s eternally grateful for it.
“What the fuck?”
“Shit I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” Wille starts to immediately apologize, but he loses track of his words as he finally looks at whatever poor person he’d spilled on, only to realize it’s someone he’s never seen before. It’s a boy who’s a little shorter than he is, by the looks of it probably a first year like him, with a uniform that looks a little too big. His skin is a tan color and he has dark ringlets of curls, a few of them dangling long enough that they’re just short of his eyes. Speaking of his eyes, the boy has the darkest brown eyes, eyes that Wille immediately feels intrigued by, until he realizes that they’re staring at him angrily, a fire burning behind them which reminds him to finish his apology.
“I didn’t mean to spill on you, I’m so sorry.”
“Sure you didn’t, whatever,” the boy with the pretty curly hair and dark eyes scoffs at him with a sigh. He knows the boy is obviously mad at him, Wille would probably be upset too, but it’s like this person doesn’t accept his apology for some reason or thinks he’s done it on purpose?
“No, seriously, I’m really sorry, um..” he trails off because he doesn’t know this boy’s name. Is he a new student? He feels like he surely wouldn’t have forgotten this boy if he’d ever seen him before.
Instead of offering his name like Wille expects, the boy just says “mhm,” and then brushes past him and out of the room without sparing him another glance, probably on his way to clean up what Wille had spilled on him. The interaction feels so jarring for so many reasons, one because he feels extremely bad for spilling hot tea on someone, and another being that this mystery boy had been so dismissive of him, the Prince of Sweden. People were usually fighting over each other or being petty and weird to each other just for the chance to talk to him, and here this boy was, glaring at him with his big brown eyes and then completely ignoring him.
Rude.
“Ay nice one Prince Wilhelm,” Vincent calls out, bringing him out of his thoughts.
“Huh?” He asks confused, heading to take a seat at the table, one of the only ones unfortunately being next to Henry and Walter who annoyingly only agree with every single thing he says. He’d made a game out of it in the beginning, seeing how far he could go with the outrageous things he said and still get away with everyone agreeing every time just because he was the Prince, but now it’s just annoying.
“Showing the new non-res what we think of him,” Vincent replies.
“Oh, yeah,” he agrees noncommittally, stabbing his fork into a potato as Henry asks him if he’d seen the match last night.
He doesn’t know why he’s so intrigued about the mystery boy who glared at him, but he does know he’s learned two new things about him: that he is in fact new, and that he doesn’t live here.
“So you’re all agreed that murder is at the top of the list, followed by child abuse and rape,” the teacher says in his class right after lunch, writing the words on the board, but he’s found he hasn’t really been listening most of the class, more focused on the presence of the curly haired boy that happens to be in this class too apparently. He’s sitting in a separate row but directly to Wille’s left, and judging by the sigh the boy let out after surveying the room and seeing it was the only seat left when he’d walked in, he still isn’t too happy with him.
He’d tried to catch his eye initially before the teacher walked in, but it appeared like the boy was hell bent on ignoring him, so he’s been doing the same and ignoring him back all class. If this boy is going to hold a grudge against him like this and pretend he doesn’t exist simply for spilling something on him, then he can pretend the boy doesn’t exist right back. He certainly hasn’t noticed the way the boy’s curls hang just above the boy’s notebook when he leans down to write, or how his tongue pokes out when he’s concentrating on taking notes quickly. And he certainly hasn’t noticed that even under the harsh lighting of the classroom the boy’s skin still looks warm and pretty.
Pretty? Is he serious right now? Thinking this about the boy who hates him and is ignoring him? He shakes his head and forces himself to focus.
“But if we put two less sensitive issues against each other, then what?” The teacher continues, a lot more categories having been written on the board since he’d last looked at it. “Walter?” She says after Walter’s hand goes up.
“Well, regarding tax evasion, you've earned a lot of money,” Walter says, “and at least contributed to society by creating new jobs and so on.”
“Okay. Mm. Stella?”
“Welfare scammers give nothing back. They just take, so that's worse,” Stella adds.
“Henry?”
“If you were to lower the taxes, companies wouldn't have had to move their business abroad. Like, take my dad's estate, for example. They're struggling to make ends meet because of the high taxes.”
He hears the curly haired boy to his left scoff, and when he turns to look the boy is almost smiling, folding his arms in front of him and sitting up in his chair a little straighter, shaking his head with disapproval.
“Simon, do you want to share something with the rest of the class?”
Simon.
Simon.
That’s the boy’s name, finally. But he doesn’t care. It definitely doesn’t matter. They’re probably never going to speak ever again after today anyway so it doesn’t matter if he knows it or not. It doesn’t matter if the name seems fitting for the boy who’s uncrossing his arms, preparing to speak. It doesn’t matter that there’s a strange, airy feeling that just entered his stomach and left as quickly as it came.
“It's such a weird question,” the boy, Simon, says with an acerbic tone. He notices the girl sitting to Simon’s left at the same table shakes her head slightly at him, almost pleadingly, and he realizes he’s never seen her before either. “Why is it called tax evasion but welfare scam? It's all right that rich people cheat, but when poor people do it, it's messed up,” Simon continues, sounding passionate about this topic, his voice strong and seemingly sure of himself in a way that Wille’s never experienced himself. He’s never sounded so sure or passionate of anything when he’s spoken. He kind of admires it, except he doesn’t, because Simon has been rude to him and ignored him and he doesn’t like him.
“It's not even called welfare, it's called deduction. Like your dad,” Simon says, turning around in his chair to face Henry, giving him a piercing look. Damn, maybe this is how Simon treats everyone then. Maybe he’s just mean. “How much EU subsidies does he get?”
“And what the fuck does your dad do?” Henry fires back.
“Watch your language please!”
“Well,” Simon huffs, turning back around in his chair, but instead of facing forward he stops to look directly at him , and his stomach drops, not expecting to have Simon’s eyes staring into his own so directly after being ignored entirely so far. “We all know who this country’s biggest welfare receivers are. Insane amounts of money being wasted on a lavish lifestyle for figureheads who do nothing except perpetuate undemocratic and hereditary institutions, classism, and elitism, when that money could be best spent anywhere else.”
“Simon!” The teacher scolds, but Simon’s eyes remain on him, as if challenging him to say anything in response. He doesn’t though. He can’t. He’s not supposed to speak about politics and he doesn’t think he’d even be able to get a word out if he wanted to, not with Simon’s dark eyes trained on him so directly like this.
There’s a moment of complete, uncomfortable silence, and he feels hot shame burning in his ears. The teacher begins speaking again but he doesn’t hear any of it, too busy thinking about how Simon had purposely called him out in front of the whole class, and how he hadn’t even dared to say anything back which makes him look like a weak idiot. He knows he’s not supposed to respond, and his mother would be upset if he had. It’s not fair that he can’t defend himself when Simon can go around attacking him for something he can’t control. It’s not his fault he was born into a role that’s bigger than himself. Simon doesn’t know fucking shit about him and he shouldn’t assume he knows everything or has the right to be an asshole just because Wille spilled one cup of tea on him.
Eventually class is over, and he packs up his things quickly, heading out the door as fast as possible. When he gets to the hallway however he waits outside the doorway. “Real cool of you to make assumptions and talk shit about things you don’t know about me, all because of what, me spilling a little tea on you? Get over it,” he says to Simon as the boy exits the classroom, his backpack slung casually over one shoulder
“I’m not sorry for what I said, if it’s an apology you’re looking for,” Simon says, leaning up against the wall with a defensive expression on his face.
“What’s your problem? It wasn’t necessary for you to criticize my life while staring directly at me,” he says, hating that he can hear the evident frustration in his own voice.
“I think you’re the one with the problem,” Simon says, his lips quirking into a smirk ever so slightly. Wille kind of wants to punch him a little bit, but fighting is how he ended up at this school in the first place, so he takes a deep breath as Simon continues speaking. “I think you’re not used to people saying what they actually think about you to your face, and you can’t handle it. You’re just like everyone else at this school, the rich asshole type who thinks it’s funny to mess with me, and spill shit on me, and laugh at me with all the others. You don’t think I saw how everyone laughed when you did that shit at lunch today? So just leave me alone and I’ll leave you alone too,” he finishes, and then brushes past Wille for the second time today, disappearing eventually down the hallway.
And what? Wille makes one little mistake and suddenly he’s being told he’s the rich asshole type? Simon can go fuck himself and all of his little assumptions, and his notion that he’s better than everyone here because he’s some sort of beacon of morality since he doesn’t come from wealth. Simon wants to be left alone? He’ll leave him alone. In fact, he hopes he never has to talk to him again.
It turns out his plan of never having to talk to Simon is probably going to be harder than he’d hoped because, a few days later at morning rowing practice, who shows up as they’re about to begin their warm up jog? Just the boy he doesn’t want to see, Simon.
They’re just finishing lining up, ready to start when he hears the sound of footsteps briskly behind them. He doesn’t turn, instead tightening the laces on his sneaker because it’s probably just someone late to practice, but then he hears an unmistakable voice say “sorry I’m late, no one really told me where you guys meet in the morning.”
Immediately his head snaps toward Simon, who’s sort of looking around nervously, if that’s even possible for him, getting in line with the rest of the team. Simon’s eyes meet his then and he immediately looks away, seeing Simon quickly do the same from the corner of his eye. At least it seems Simon’s hopefully adhering to the same plan of leaving him alone.
“If you want to truly be a part of the team then you can’t be displaying that you won’t be taking practice seriously by showing up late,” August says to Simon, but he doesn’t dare look at Simon’s reaction. He’s ignoring him after all.
“It’s my first practice, I didn’t know-”
“I don’t want to hear excuses. You’re taking up more time by talking. On your mark, go,” August calls out, and all of them break into a jog at a steady pace for their warm up. A few minutes into the run he’s comfortably in the middle of the pack, August running far ahead of anyone, way too fast for a warm up, Henry and Walter a little behind him on his left, and Simon slightly behind him on his right.
As they start to finish their course and get close to the starting point once again August calls out “one more lap!” which makes him and everyone around him groan. They’ve never done a two lap warm-up before and if they’re already starting out this strong it only means the rest of practice is going to be equally as grueling. “Hey, you can groan all you want but don’t come crying to me when you’re losing against Sprucewood next week because you’re weak and tired.”
Halfway through the second lap he can feel his breathing become heavier and more labored, and his body is starting to cramp a little bit. He has to slow down a little because he just can’t handle this pace anymore, willing his body to just finish this so they can move on to other things. It’s then that Simon passes him, jogging by him seemingly with ease. It doesn’t even look like Simon’s trying that hard and here he is practically panting. He doesn’t know what it is but something annoys him about Simon just passing him like that, so he wills himself to run at a faster pace, pushing himself until he’s in front of Simon once again.
He’s proud of himself for his personal victory for a moment despite the pain in his side, until Simon jogs by him once again, seemingly with even more speed than before but he’s not sure if he’s imagining it. It turns out he’s not though because no matter how hard he tries to catch up again he can’t seem to, Simon outrunning him easily the rest of the lap.
“Beaten by the sosse, ey Wille? ” August teases him as he finishes. “I’m just joking, don’t look so serious” he says, grabbing his shoulder and shaking it in what he’s sure August thinks is a friendly way but is just annoying. “Alright!” he shouts louder for everyone to hear. “High knees everyone! High knees! Let’s go!”
As he focuses on keeping his knees high enough as he alternates lifting in the air so August doesn't call him out he can’t help but look over at the boy a few meters away with the curly dark brown hair that’s bouncing up and down as he hops from foot to foot. Simon’s chest heaves with controlled breaths, unlike Wille’s less controlled ones despite him having done this at practice lots of times and Simon never having been at practice before. He tries to assure himself that he’s not doing badly just because someone newer than him is having an easier time. Simon probably went to the gym frequently in his free time before joining rowing, if the way the thin sheen of sweat highlighting the contours of his well-defined muscles is anything to go by.
“Transition! Planks!” August calls out and they line up and get on the ground, pushing themselves into plank formation. “Asses in the air!” August reminds. “Talking to you Nisse!”
He tries to channel the frustration he’s been feeling all morning for some reason into the workout, but every time he steals a glance at Simon, who’s holding the plank position effortlessly, he can’t help but feel his annoyance deepen. A minute or so in he feels his arms tensing under the strain and the burn in his core intensifying, and he clenches his jaw, focusing on breathing.
The push-ups come next, the rhythmic up-and-down of Simon’s movements seeming almost like a taunt. He pushes himself to keep up, but each push feels like an uphill battle. Simon on the other hand executes the exercise with a smoothness that borders on perfection, the muscles in Simon’s arms shifting in a way that fuels both his envy and his unfortunate begrudging admiration.
The problem is that there are only so many members of the team that will be chosen to compete in the meet next week against their rival, and since Wille was newest to the team before Simon’s arrival he’s always felt like he’s had to prove himself and fight even harder for a spot to be chosen, and he can’t risk his spot being taken by Simon. His mother would be furious.
His worry about his spot being replaced by Simon lasts throughout the entirety of their workouts, Simon completing all of them with an infuriating amount of ease and, to make matters worse, he has the audacity to look so distracting doing them. His worry ends though the second they take out the smaller boats to focus on solo practice and it’s clear that Simon’s never rowed a day in his life.
He can’t help the smug smile that takes over his face as he watches the boy that’s come to get on his nerves so much almost tip over and fall in the water, the boat wobbling as he struggles to keep his balance. His strokes are way too far below the surface, using more energy than needed because of it, making him look a bit frustrated.
He instantly feels bad for feeling that way because Simon’s frustrating, sure, but he hasn’t actually done anything to constitute Wille smiling as he struggles through his first time ever rowing. He’s clearly struggling and maybe a little nervous, and even though Wille had agreed to Simon’s terms of leaving each other alone, he probably just meant it in the moment and not forever. Wille’s still his teammate and should be helping him. He wants to go help him, but he can’t will himself to go do so for some reason. If he didn’t know better he’d say the way his stomach flips when he thinks about talking to the boy was something like nervousness, but he does know better so there’s no way it could be that.
For the rest of practice he becomes focused on himself and his other teammates, eventually helping to carry in the boats and equipment as the practice starts to wrap up. As he returns back onto the dock to grab the last oar he hears August’s unmistakable voice say, “hey socialist boy, you could become a great cox. They need to be small. And just think, you’d get to tell people like us what to be doing for once instead of the other way around.” He sees August slap Simon’s shoulder in a way that’s pretending to be friendly but is clearly anything but, Simon nearly completely losing his balance in the boat and fighting to stay upright from the force.
“August, that’s fucked up, you can’t say that,” the words leave his mouth before his brain has time to comprehend that he’s even speaking.
He sees both Simon and August’s heads snap to look at him, Simon looking a little surprised at him speaking and August looking almost as surprised for a moment but neutralizing his expression faster. “Oh come on,” his cousin says, “it was just a little new guy hazing. All in good fun. You were in on it too yesterday when you dumped your drink on him at lunch.”
“I didn’t-” he starts but August is already grabbing the oar Wille had been on his way to get and walking away, leaving only him and Simon out on the dock. He sees Simon’s expression cloud over the second he looks back at him, though he can’t help but notice the way the soft morning light reflects off his skin, and his dark brown eyes looking deeper and more mysterious than the water below. Simon starts to climb out of the boat but it tips with the weight shift and he almost falls. Wille reaches out his hand instinctively for Simon to grab and the boy does, feeling electricity sparking at the contact of their hands that transfers to a fluttering feeling in his stomach. Simon steps out of the boat successfully and locks eyes with him for a second, making his breath catch involuntarily, before Simon quickly lets go of him.
“I can defend myself,” Simon says to him acerbically. “I don’t need you coming in as some Prince Charming and making things worse for me by trying to defend me like that.”
“Oh my bad,” he says, unable to control his eye roll. “Sorry for trying to help. Won’t happen again.” He’d let himself think that everything was actually fine between them this practice and that maybe he should even be a good teammate and help Simon out with rowing, but obviously that was a mistake. If Simon’s decided to just dislike him for no reason at this point then he can give that same attitude right back. “Have fun carrying your boat in by yourself then, since you don’t want me to be a Prince Charming or anything.”
He walks away, only feeling a slight sinking in his stomach at the knowledge that the boat is too big to be carried completely by oneself and that Simon will have to drag it up to the boathouse on his own.
The next day at lunch he’s placing some slices of turkey on a piece of bread when he feels someone bump into his shoulder. Hard . He nearly drops what’s in his hands at the force of it, whipping his head up to see what had happened, not surprised to see Simon not even turning back to look at him as he walks away. So that’s how it’s gonna be then. Fine.
The electric heat in his shoulder that spreads and forces his heart to do a little jump is just from the force of the collision, not for any other reason, obviously.
Rowing practice after school today is on the machines. As soon as they walk in August announces that they’re going to be having a competition to encourage everyone to push themselves their hardest. He starts matching up everyone in pairs of two, announcing who their opponent is.
“Nils and Walter! Anders and Henry! Myself and Vincent! Wilhelm and Simon! Lars and Oliver…”
Of course , he sighs to himself, August’s voice fading into the background as he finds Simon across the room, stretching out his shoulders slightly. It’s like the universe is out to get him. He’s upset he’ll have to be competing against Simon, but he’s also a little upset that he won’t get to watch when it’s Simon’s turn, although he doesn’t know what that’s about.
They compete in the order that August had called out the pairings, Nils and Walter first followed by Anders and Henry, everyone screaming and cheering loudly for each other as the competition ensues.
“Simon and Wilhelm, you’re up,” August says and he feels his stomach clench with nerves. He has to win this. Every single person on the team is watching and he can’t let himself be humiliated by the new person on the team who’s been a jerk to him since he arrived.
He sits down on the machine, letting his hands get adjusted to the correct grips and his body positioned where it needs to be. He sees Simon doing the same out of the corner of his eye but forces himself to focus back internally and breathe. He can do this as long as he doesn’t let his nerves get the best of him. He can’t help but feel the weight of all the eyes on him though, everyone staring in anticipation.
His hands grip the rowing machine tighter with determination, and he holds the position, waiting.
“On your mark. Get set. Go!” August says and immediately his teammates begin shouting wildly, all of them in his support. His brain can’t help but feel a little hurt for Simon at how it must feel to not have a single person cheering for him, but he pushes the feeling aside. This is a competition and he can’t be getting distracted.
He continues the rhythmic dance of pushing and pulling, propelling himself through the simulated waters of resistance. The rowing machine groans in response, mirroring the effort required to navigate the invisible currents. Beads of sweat form on his forehead, dripping down in sync with his labored breaths. Each stroke feels like a small victory against the relentless force opposing him.
The muscles in Wille's arms burn with intensity, a sensation that radiates through his body with each row. The repetitiveness of the motion demands stamina, and his muscles scream in protest. Yet, he presses on, fueled by a mix of determination to win and the sickening feeling of letting everyone down.
As Wille fights to go faster, he can see Simon pushing to do the same on the rowing machine next to him. Simon's strokes are a seamless blend of power and grace, seeming like a stark contrast to Wille's struggle. The machine seems to yield willingly to Simon's command and Wille can’t help but feel jealousy burn through him at the efficiency of Simon's movements, his strokes full of strength.
With a subtle glance, Wille can't help but acknowledge Simon's physique. The beads of sweat on Simon's skin seem almost intentional, glistening like a badge of his effort. Every muscle on Simon's frame plays its part, particularly the muscles dancing under Simon’s arms as he fights to keep up his pace.
Wille's strokes start to feel like a battle, not just against himself as he starts to tire but against Simon's performance. Amidst the struggle, a sense of begrudging admiration blossoms within him. Simon's ability to make the demanding exercise look like a dance captivates him. Wille's muscles ache, and his breaths become heavier, but he refuses to let the challenge break his resolve..
As the minutes pass, Wille feels a mounting frustration. Despite his best efforts, Simon maintains a consistent lead. Wille's strokes become more desperate, fueled by a mix of determination and an undeniable anger at himself for letting Simon's presence distract him.
He grits his teeth, the muscles in his arms protesting with every pull. In the final moments of the competition, Wille pushes himself to the limit, pouring every ounce of energy into the last strokes. But as the rowing machines come to a stop, the digital display declares Simon the victor. The realization hits Wille like a physical blow, and he slumps back in the seat, frustration etched across his features.
Anger simmers within him, directed both at himself and the distraction Simon presented. The taste of defeat is bitter, and he struggles to shake off the disappointment. He casts a fleeting glance at Simon, who wears a victorious smile, unaware of the internal turmoil brewing in Wille's mind.
His teammates surround him, offering words of consolation. They pat him on the back, acknowledging the effort he put into the competition, telling him he’ll get ‘em next time. Yet, they seem to not pay any notice to Simon at all, as if deliberately avoiding any recognition of his win.
Wille tries to drown out the congratulations and assurances, attempting to focus on the camaraderie despite the lingering frustration. The gym noise becomes a dull hum in the background, and he can't escape the nagging feeling that he let not only himself down but also his teammates.
Simon, on the outskirts of the impromptu support circle, tries to blend in with what seems like a forced nonchalance. Wille catches a glimpse of something deeper in Simon's eyes – a sadness that goes unnoticed by the others. It tugs at Wille's conscience, adding a layer of guilt to his already heightened emotions.
As the teammates disperse, leaving Wille with his thoughts, he can't help but notice Simon lingering nearby. The air between them feels heavy with unspoken words. Wille hesitates, torn between his own frustration and a growing awareness that not a single person congratulated Simon.
Avoiding Simon's gaze, Wille tries to convince himself that this weird urge to talk to Simon doesn’t mean anything, and his emotions are just running high from being upset. Yet, as Simon leans against the rowing machine, looking more crestfallen than triumphant, Wille can't ignore the magnetic pull he feels for some reason toward the other boy.
“Congrats,” he forces the word out his throat, difficult to say for some reason even though it’s completely genuine. He watches Simon look up at him, his dark brown eyes distracting it for a moment before he takes in the rest of Simon’s face, tired from the competition but still looking so pretty. Not pretty, he decides. He didn’t just think that. He’s un-thinking it. Simon still looks… fine?
“Thanks,” Simon says. “I’d offer some words of consolation but I think everyone’s already told you every phrase there is.”
“Yeah, um, I’m sorry they didn’t say anything to you.” Why is he still talking to Simon? He should just walk away.
“It’s better than what they were doing before at least. I prefer this way when they just pretend I don’t exist and just leave me alone.”
“Like you told me to do.”
“Exactly,” Simon replies, although he can’t help but feel like Simon doesn’t really mean it.
A week or so later Simon isn’t at morning conditioning practice. He isn’t in class which is even more noticeable due to the distinct lack of there being someone advocating against the other students’ obnoxious opinions. There’s also a distinct lack of someone bumping into his shoulder at lunch time like has been every day since he met Simon, and for some reason as he sits at the table and eats his lunch he can’t help but sort of miss it in some strange way.
It doesn’t make sense. Obviously he’s a sane person and no sane person would want someone ignoring them all day, then rudely calling them out for their privilege in class every chance Simon gets, or walking into them at lunch. Yet, he can’t help but think that Simon’s presence has sort of become a constant in his life, and despite how frustrated he can make him, Wille finds a part of himself looking for Simon all day long even though he knows he’s not there.
The next day they don’t have morning practice so he can’t search for Simon there, though he doesn’t know why he cares as much as he does. He doesn’t really. But his heart skips a beat when he sees Simon and his familiar dark curls walk into English class and take his seat. Just by Simon’s posture when he sits down and stares at the board he can tell that something’s off. He doesn’t know when he started to be able to read Simon so well like this, or why he would have even developed that knowledge, but he has.
As class continues he becomes more and more sure of it. The class has been discussing wealth distribution for almost thirty minutes, and despite the multitude of comments from his classmates he was sure would set Simon off into a passionate argument, Simon hasn’t said a thing.
During afternoon practice he overhears Henry say something rude to Simon, something that’s unfortunately frequent for all the boys to do to Simon, Simon for once doesn’t quickly fire something witted back with his sharp tongue and instead just stays silent. Wille can’t help but be a little disappointed by that, because it’s entertaining when Simon does so of course, not because he’s always impressed with Simon’s fast comebacks or the way he looks saying them with a fire behind his eyes, not because of that.
“Your balance is looking better,” he decides to compliment Simon as the boy returns to the dock toward the end of practice as they’re starting to clean up, hoping the compliment will make him feel better. Although all Simon does is bump into him at lunch and say rude quips to him in class so he’s not exactly sure why he’s trying to help.
“Huh? What, oh, thanks,” Simon responds, sort of absently. He offers his hand to Simon to step out of the boat, which Simon takes, the contact once again sending sparks through his fingertips and a swooping feeling in his stomach, giving him deja vu to the last time they were here. This time though, Simon doesn’t let go as quickly, sort of looking at the water a little bit, hand still in Wille’s. He doesn’t know what to say, and he doesn’t know how to remove his hand without making it awkward now, and for some reason he can’t really bring himself to want to move his hand either.
“Are you okay?” He asks, unable to keep his stupid mouth shut.
“Um,” Simon’s gaze snaps back to him like he’s just now realizing Wille’s still there and he jerks his hand away, dropping it to his side. “Yeah.”
“Okay…” he answers, not really knowing how to continue this conversation, if you could even call this one.
“Want to not leave me by myself to drag the boat in this time?” Simon asks, his words sounding sort of harsh but tilting his head to look at him in a way that should not be as cute as it is. Because it’s not. It’s not cute.
He nods, picking up one side of the boat as Simon picks up the other. They carry it over and put it in its rightful spot, both sighing in relief as the weight is gone from their arms.
“Thanks,” Simon says, and starts to walk away.
“Hey,” he says, reaching out to grab Simon’s arm before he can even register what’s happening. Simon turns abruptly, looking as surprised by the movement as he is, and Wille quickly lets go. “It’s just, um, are you sure you’re okay?”
He watches as Simon’s eyes search his face for a second, the intensity of it making Wille squirm a little under the attention, before seemingly finding what he’s looking for and speaking.
“Alright, fine, not really,” Simon sighs. “I broke up with my shitty boyfriend yesterday.”
And that is the last thing he’d expected Simon to say. Boyfriend? As in Simon has a boyfriend? Had a boyfriend? Meaning Simon is gay, or queer? And shitty, why was he shitty?
“Oh,” is all he says, because Simon’s just confirmed he likes boys, and that’s not exactly helping these weird feelings he’s been having lately about Simon. He’s been so immediately shutting down any thoughts relating to the way he may or may not feel about Simon because he’d convinced himself it was insane for so many reasons, one of them being that Simon could never like him back.
But now… he still wouldn’t, would he? It’s technically possible based off this new information that Simon’s queer, sure, but Simon still doesn’t like him, or at least pretends to act like it.
He’s been thinking for too long not even having noticed the dark cloudiness taking over Simon’s expression until it’s too late. He realizes now that all he’d said was oh, and then complete silence, and before he can save himself by saying anything else Simon says “right,” with a frown and walks away.
He’s been trying to find a time all morning to tell Simon he’s sorry about his boyfriend, and that it must be difficult to break up with someone, even someone who was “shitty.” He’s happy he’ll finally get the chance in gym class since they share that one, until Simon begins the dodge ball unit by pelting him with a ball so hard that his skin stings for minutes after. What the hell was that for? Why is Simon literally so hard to understand? Every time he’s about to be genuinely nice to Simon the boy goes and does something like this. Why does he bother to keep trying?
The teacher calls up for the two current teams to sit out and for the two on the benches to switch in. As his team and Simon’s team head to the benches he stomps over to Simon. “What the hell was that for? Why do you have a problem with me?” He hisses.
“Well if you have a problem with me liking guys you should just say it,” Simon responds sharply.
“What?”
“Why did you react like that yesterday?”
“I-” Oh. Simon must have taken his silent staring as judgment when in reality it was anything but. “I didn’t mean to- I was just surprised because um, I like guys too, or girls, or whoever, you know, um.” He’s rambling. He’ll shut up now.
“You do?” Simon asks, looking surprised.
“Um, yeah. I mean no one here knows that, not that it’s a secret or anything but I haven’t really told anyone, I just-” Shut up shut up shut up.
“It’s okay,” Simon reaches out and lays his hand on his shoulder. It’s probably meant to be comforting but instead it sends Wille’s heart beating a mile a minute. “I won’t say anything to anyone. It’s not like I really have anyone I would tell anyway,” he jokes self-deprecatingly, with a sort of small smile.
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Hey Wille?” Simon says, uncharacteristically soft, dropping his hand from his shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for asking me if I was okay yesterday… And sorry I just assumed your reaction. And then threw a dodgeball at your face.”
“It’s alright. I forgive you, if you promise to stop bumping into me at lunch every single day. You’ve already injured me enough with your dodgeball.”
“Mmm sorry, can’t do that,” Simon says, but his words sound light and teasing, and then a smile breaks out onto his face, so bright, and, screw it, beautiful. It’s the first time Simon’s ever really smiled at him, and he can’t help but think he’d like to see it a lot more
“Whatever,” he replies with an eye roll, which makes Simon laugh softly, which isn’t fair because now he can’t even be mad at the boy. Although he’s not too sure he’s ever really been mad at Simon in the first place.
At practice about a week later on Friday afternoon, August announces, “we’ll be having a weekend practice this Saturday because we need to practice more for the upcoming competition against Sprucewood.”
“I can’t make it tomorrow,” he hears Simon say.
“You can’t skip practice if you want to make the team,” August replies. “You’re letting your teammates down.”
“Okay, but I can’t go. Sorry,” Simon says, but he doesn’t really sound sorry. It makes Wille smile a little.
“Whatever. It’s your loss. It’s not like we’ll distinctly notice your absence” August says and then continues his instructions. I’d notice your absence, Wille thinks.
As the group breaks off to go carry two rowing boats into the water he catches up to Simon and says, “why aren’t you coming to practice tomorrow?” He doesn’t know why he asks. He does. It’s not like he really cares. He does.
“Why?” Simon says to him. “Are you saying you’re gonna miss me?” He teases.
“No,” he replies instantly, his nerves getting the best of him. It’s not like he could have said yes. His stupid brain has already convinced him he’d be being too obvious if he did. Simon can’t know about the way he feels toward him. Simon would probably laugh or dislike him more than he already does. And besides, Simon had just ended his relationship, he can’t be already accidentally telling Simon he likes him.
“Fine then,” Simon’s sort-of-smirk drops into a frown. “I won’t miss you either.”
His heart sinks to his stomach at the words. But it’s precisely why he can’t risk saying anything to let Simon in on his stupid nonsense crush. Simon doesn’t like him.
Throughout Saturday practice he does in fact end up missing Simon’s presence there and hates himself for continuing to look for him where he should be. When they carry out the boats he looks for Simon’s usual spot. When they run he keeps expecting Simon to run by him with his stupidly pretty curly hair flying in the wind. And when he falls out of his plank a little early he immediately looks across to where Simon usually is to see if he saw it, but Simon isn’t there.
On Monday he feels himself sigh in relief when Simon walks into English class, and immediately he shakes it off because what the hell was that? He doesn’t want to look too hard into why he’s so glad to see Simon after not seeing him for only two days. It’s weird. It’s definitely weird, right?
“Hey,” he says to Simon as the boy is about to walk past where Wille’s sitting in order to get to his usual desk. Simon stops walking and looks at him questioningly, and he forgets how to speak for a second, too distracted by how soft Simon looks in the purple sweatshirt he’s wearing, his curls looking a little frizzier and messier today. His nose is also a really cute shape, he’d never noticed that before.
“Hey?” Simon replies after a moment, and dammit, he’s definitely been silent for too long.
“Um, I just wanted to let you know you didn’t miss much at practice on Saturday,” he says, kicking himself for not thinking of anything better to say sooner. Sue him, it’s very hard to think when Simon’s eyes are so dark brown and so pretty and looking at him.
“Okay?”
“I hope you had fun at whatever you were doing Saturday.” Why is he still speaking, why is he still speaking, shut up shut up shut up.
“Uh, thanks. I was at a friend’s football game,” Simon offers, still sounding a little confused, or maybe wary of their conversation.
“That’s cool. I’ve always wanted to go to a football game but I’ve never been allowed,” he says. Shut up Wille.
“Oh, that sucks. They’re fun,” Simon smiles a little, but then he seems to remember something and his smile drops, the warmth fluttering in Wille’s stomach dies with it. “Good thing you didn’t miss me at practice then, since you couldn’t have gone to the game anyway,” he says and then walks to his desk and sits down.
Instantly he feels bad. He hadn’t meant to hurt Simon by saying that, he just hadn’t wanted to make his feelings obvious. But what did Simon mean by that? Did that mean that he would have wanted Wille at the football match with him? Surely not, he decides, feeling like an idiot. He’s overthinking things and trying to make up connections that aren’t there. Simon just said that because Wille’d told him he wasn’t allowed to go to football games. Period. That’s all. He needs to stop reading so much into things.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t stop reading too much into things and he’s thought about their interaction far too much by the time lunch rolls around. For the first time today, Wille’s the one to bump into Simon on purpose in the lunch line instead of the other way around, earning him a heated glare from Simon that he certainly does not find strangely hot in any capacity. Not at all.
“For the record,” he says to Simon now that he has the boy’s attention, taking a breath to steady the way his stomach’s fluttering, “I did miss you on Saturday.”
“Missed what?” Simon sort of laughs, the teasing glint in his eye letting Wille know he’s about to be made fun of. “Missed me laughing at you for falling out of your plank every time?”
“Fuck you I do not,” he retorts, telling his heart that’s beating a beat too fast at the thought that Simon knows him well enough to know that it did in fact happen at the practice he’d missed to shut up.
“Sure,” Simon replies with a smirk which does not help his current heartbeat situation.
“Wanna sit?” He offers like an idiot. He hadn’t thought it through before asking, his own stupid heartbeat too distracting for him to think straight. Obviously Simon’s going to say no, why would he say-
“Yeah, sure.”
Well he certainly wasn't expecting that . “Okay, um,” he accidentally glances in August’s direction and sees him watching the two of them together which makes him feel nervous for some reason. “Wanna sit outside? It’s nice out.”
“Okay,” Simon replies.
“Tell me about the game,” he says as Simon follows him outside and to a bench, his head buzzing, trying to understand why Simon had agreed to this.
“The game?” Simon asks, the breeze blowing at that moment, pushing his curls into his face a little, and Wille watches as he pushes them away from his face with his hand. He really wants to hold that hand. Stop it , he tells his brain, but it just won’t listen.
“The football game.”
“Oh, it was good,” Simon says, taking a bite of his food from his plate, beginning to talk again when his mouth is still slightly full, which he should not find as endearing as he does. “The team I was rooting for won. My friend Rosh, she’s one of my best friends, had asked me to come watch so I couldn’t miss it. And it’s not my fault August announced the extra practice the day before!”
“No it’s not,” he agrees. “August is an idiot,” he says, without meaning to. Oh shit. “Oh my god please don’t tell anyone I said that.”
Simon breaks out laughing, and suddenly he can’t even bring himself to be worried anymore, because the beautiful boy in front of him is laughing, with him for once instead of at him. He feels a little bit like he’s floating. He shoves a bit of potatoes in his mouth to prevent him from blurting anything else stupid out such as you look really pretty when you laugh.
“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything,” Simon says. “Although isn’t he, like, your cousin?”
“Yeah. Doesn’t mean I like him though.”
“Fair enough,” Simon says. “I don’t like him either, it’s just I never expected you to say that.”
He shrugs. He never expected himself to say it either. There’s just something strange about Simon, something that makes him feel like he can say anything even though he hasn’t known the boy for very long.
“You’re not a boarder here, where are you from?” He asks. Is that a normal question to ask? Maybe. His mother’s always telling him he needs to get better at making small talk less awkward. Simon either doesn’t notice it or doesn’t mind though because he answers right away.
“I’m from Bjärstad, it’s a small town near here,” Simon answers.
“Do you like it there?” This is the longest he’s talked to Simon and suddenly he feels the desire to know everything there is to know about him.
"I guess. But there’s not much to do, you know? Everybody knows everyone, everyone knows each other’s business, everything."
"That sounds kind of like my life," Wille muses, sipping on his drink.
“Really?” Simon snorts. “You’re saying life in a palace is like life in Bjärstad.”
“I don’t know,” he shrugs, “the whole everybody knows everybody thing is the same. It’s weird how you can be surrounded by people but still feel alone.” And why did he say that? Why’d he have to go make it weird? Or sad? Leave it to him to make things awkward.
But Simon just nods in understanding. "I get that. It’s kind of like Hillerska too."
“Exactly,” he agrees. And maybe that’s why he feels like he can tell Simon anything. Because in some sort of strange way Simon seems to understand the loneliness that Wille feels here, the separation. It’s like he’s the only other one who doesn’t want to just go along with everyone. "If you could have any superpower, what would it be?" he blurts out, because apparently he doesn’t know how to accept sitting in silence.
“Good segue to this totally not cliche icebreaker question,” he says, making Wille roll his eyes dramatically, happy to see the action makes Simon smile. “Let me think... I'd probably go for teleportation. Imagine being able to explore any corner of the world in an instant, without having to pay or take the time to travel."
"That would be really cool,” he agrees. “I'd pick time travel, I think. Then if I made a mistake or said something stupid or did something embarrassing I could go back in time and have a do-over.”
“Have you never seen any movie involving time travel ever?” Simon gasps dramatically. “It always ends badly. The butterfly effect? Hello? Are you not worried about that?”
“Okay fine, fine, jeesh,” he can’t help but laugh. “I pick invisibility then. That way I could just disappear.”
“From August,” Simon grins.
“Exactly,” he smiles. “From August.” God he likes this boy so much.
“Hey, um…” Simon begins after the two of them have eaten in silence for a little bit. His tone sounds a little serious though, and he’s looking at him a little intently, warm eyes searching his face. This is it. This is when he tells him he’s bored of eating lunch with him and he’d rather go back inside and eat by himself. “I’m sorry if I’ve sort of been an asshole to you a little bit,” Simon says instead, the apology surprising him.
“I’m sorry, what was that? Can you repeat that again?” He can’t help but take this opportunity to tease the other boy.
“You heard me, shut up.”
There’s a silence for a moment, not an entirely uncomfortable one though before Simon says, “you know, you’re not like I thought, Wille.”
“You mean ‘just like everyone else at this school, the rich asshole type’” he says, throwing Simon’s previous words from days ago back at him.
“Yeah, exactly that. I thought that you spilling your drink on me on my first day was on purpose because that’s how everyone had been treating me all day. And you’re, you know, the most privileged, privileged guy of them all, so I just assumed…”
“I’m not like them. Or at least I try not to be. I know I don’t always succeed.”
“I know that now, or rather I guess I’ve known that for a little while. I just didn’t know how to act around you with that information though. It’s just easier for me to act like you’re like everyone else.”
“Why?”
“Because, it just is.”
“But I don’t want to be like everyone else. They’re fake, and honestly insane, and…” he wants to tell Simon exactly what he’s thinking, that despite the weird rivalry and rudeness between them he’s enjoyed being in Simon’s presence more than anyone else at this school. “I kind of liked that you dared to give me shit though,” he switches gears and says instead.
“What kind of weird masochistic behavior is that?”
“No!” Wille sputters, feeling his cheeks warm. “I just meant it was nice to not have someone pretending to fall at my feet all the time just because of my title when they don’t even know me.”
“Well lucky for you, not only does your title not mean anything to me, I also actively despise the system that you’re from.”
“That’s so kind.”
“You’re so welcome, Prince boy.”
“So do you hate me because of my title then?” He asks.
“What? No. And I don’t hate you,” Simon replies.
“Really?”
“Yeah, why would you think that?”
“Oh I don’t know,” he rolls his eyes and sighs, he can’t help it. “Maybe the you holding a grudge for me spilling on you for way too long, completely ignoring me at rowing, always trying to do the workouts better than me, pelting me in the face with a dodgeball-”
“-I apologized for that!”
“Always walking into me on purpose at lunch time? Sometimes it actually hurts my shoulder, you know!”
Simon sighs, “I just do that for your attention at this point to be honest. Plus you get so adorably upset every time, I can’t help it.”
Adorably? Did Simon just say that? The boy seems to realize what he’d said the same moment Wille does, his eyes growing a little wider before he quickly looks down and suddenly appears very interested in his lunch.
“Lunch is gonna be over soon, we should probably go inside,” Simon says eventually, and he nods, unable to bring himself to say anything else.
Simon had called him adorable.
Rowing practice is more tortuous than ever, if that’s even possible. He was hoping it would have been better, maybe actually fun today because he and Simon had actually genuinely talked like friends for once and he thought maybe that would translate over into practice.
It seems that isn’t the case though because it feels like Simon’s been ignoring him extra hard all practice, which he doesn’t understand. Does Simon not care at all about them spending all of lunch together? Does he not want to be friends? Why not? He’d said at lunch he doesn’t hate him.
When practice finally finishes he decides to go ask Simon for himself instead of stewing on his thoughts for the rest of the evening. It’s not like he has anything to lose, Simon’s ignoring him anyway.
“Why are you ignoring me?” He asks Simon quietly, once it’s only them and one other person in the locker room. The other person eventually grabs their things and heads out, which Wille sends a silent thank you for.
“I’m not,” Simon answers, but he barely even looks at him as he says it, focusing on putting everything in his bag.
“You’re literally ignoring me now. If I said something at lunch to upset you, you should just tell me instead of acting weird about it!”
“That’s not why I’m acting weird,” Simon says. “I mean I’m not acting weird.”
“So you just don’t want to be my friend then? Is that it?” Simon finally looks up at him at that, his dark chocolate eyes looking almost hurt. “I know we got off on the wrong foot but that feels like a long time ago. I kind of really want to be your friend, Simon.” I want to be more than your friend.
Simon sighs, his shoulders slumping. He doesn’t say anything though which makes Wille a little angry.
“What am I doing wrong?”
“You’re not doing anything wrong.”
“So then why don’t you want to be my friend? At lunch it seemed like, like maybe you wanted to? What’s the problem?”
“I don’t want to be your friend Wille, that’s the problem,” Simon says, and the words hit him heavily, like a blow to the stomach.
“Okay,” he manages to croak out. He knows he was talking fast at Simon, saying a lot and being kind of overwhelming, but he hadn’t expected that. Maybe he should’ve. It hurts.
He tosses one of the straps of his bag over his shoulder, trying to get out of there as fast as possible. He takes a step to get past Simon, though he doesn’t make it further before there’s a hand on his chest, stopping him.
“I didn’t mean it like that, Wille,” Simon says, sounding and looking frustrated, running his other hand through his curls.
“You don’t have to explain,” he mumbles, just wanting to get the hell out of there before he cries in front of the other boy. He can feel it coming.
“No, Wille,” Simon takes in a deep breath before looking so directly at him, so intently at him it feels like Simon’s almost looking inside his soul. Simon takes a small step even closer to him, making his heart beat so fast it feels like he might pass out. “I meant I don’t want to just be your friend… I, um, I like you. I’m sorry.”
And what? Simon likes him? Simon likes him ? He never ever expected this to ever happen, was never ever going to tell Simon about the feelings he has for him, has been having for him, and yet here Simon is telling him he likes him?
“I- what? You like me? Why are you sorry?” He says, his words coming out fast and all together.
“Yeah,” Simon says, his voice soft, still standing so close to him. “I’m sorry I acted weird because of it? I guess? And I’m sorry you have to know that now. I’ll get over it, I promise, I-”
“No I don’t want you to,” he blurts out. “I like you too.”
“You do?” Now it’s Simon’s turn to look shocked.
“Yeah,” he says, feeling a little breathless. “But wait,” he adds, “why have you been ignoring me then, and being so competitive and everything since we met?”
“Because I had a boyfriend,” Simon admits. “I, um, I told you that we broke up, but the part I didn’t mention is that I broke up with him because of you.”
Because of him? “The one you’d said was shitty?”
“Yeah?” Simon huffs out a humorless laugh, dropping the hand that’s been on Wille’s chest this whole time to his side. He instantly misses it. “The one that was shitty. It’s just, I met you, and I thought you were an asshole, but even when I thought you were I still looked forward to being around you more than him, and that made me realize just how shitty he was. And then you ended up not being an asshole, then I went and accidentally developed feelings for you, and that made me feel like such a terrible person because I had broken up with him, you know? Or maybe I started to like you while I was with him? So I figured the fastest way to get rid of those feelings was to just not be around you.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. ” Simon repeats. “But, um, then I sort of realized that maybe if I was having a crush on someone else that it meant I didn’t have feelings anymore for the person I was dating. I don’t know if I ever really did honestly. He was kind of an asshole. We only dated for like two months.”
“You deserve better than an asshole,” he offers.
“Thanks,” Simon smiles, “so do you.”
“That’s too bad,” he replies, “because I kind of have a crush on this one asshole I know.”
Simon smiles wider, making him feel warm. “I could be persuaded to be less of an asshole.”
“Could you? How?” He asks, feeling butterflies erupting in his stomach at the anticipation of where he thinks this is going.
Simon just shrugs nonchalantly but steps into his space even more, their chests touching touching, their noses nearly brushing each other. “Is this okay?” Simon asks, and he nods too enthusiastically, making Simon giggle. And he can’t wait anymore, he wants to know what that laughter tastes like, needs to know. So he leans in, gently letting his lips graze Simon’s, smiling into the kiss as he feels Simon lean forward to meet him.
Time feels as though it’s stopped completely, his heartbeat synchronizing with Simon’s, an electricity flooding through him as they pull apart, smiling at the boy in front of him and seeing Simon do the same. He leans back in, wanting it again, even more this time, pleased to feel Simon already meeting his lips once again, with more force this time. He lets his hands rest on Simon’s waist, Simon’s lingering on his neck and shoulder. Simon’s lips are soft, yielding to his gentle exploration, and he can’t help but lose himself in the sensation.
When they finally break apart a fraction of an inch to catch their breath, leaning their foreheads together, it feels like he can’t stop smiling. And by the looks of it neither can Simon.
“Does this mean you’ll finally stop walking into me at lunch time?” He asks Simon, the boy he likes, the boy he just kissed, the boy who likes him back.
“I said I could be persuaded to be less of an asshole… although maybe if you kissed me again…”
And so he does.