Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I know a place

It’s somewhere I go when I need to remember your face

We get married in our heads

Something to do while we try to recall how we met

Do you think I have forgotten?

Do you think I have forgotten?

Do you think I have forgotten

About you?

The sky beyond Simon’s window fades from an orange hue, to dark blue as the sun sets over the horizon. He barely notices the plane trembling through a patch of turbulence, mind elsewhere as he watches the earth pass under the wing.

He’s done this so many times, seen cities and fields from the sky, oceans and mountains, he no longer marvels at the view. Only taps his foot and wonders how much more of his life will be spent up above everyone else, waiting to land. 

He sits with his feet propped on the chair opposite to keep them still but also to dissuade anyone from sitting there. It’s not that he dislikes his team, he just doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now. The reflective lenses of his glasses have the added benefit of disguising the fact that his is not actually sleeping like he wants them to think he is, but rather staring out the window and trying to decide whether he is excited to be going home or dreading it. 

He almost wishes he were asleep, if only to make the journey go faster. It’s an agonisingly long time before someone is tapping on his shoulder, informing him they are about to land and then his sleeping façade is broken. He sits up, regrettably having to remove his feet from the chair which his tour manager, Anna, subsequently plops down on before he can ask her not to and then he’s trying his best to listen as she briefs him (again) on his filming schedule for the week plus all the interviews they’ve managed to squeeze in between. 

He has a headache just thinking about all the talking he’ll have to do. It doesn’t help that Anna speaks as if she doesn’t have time to list everything they have planned. Simon suspects she would have him working in his sleep if she could. 

“But remember to enjoy yourself,” she adds when she’s done, closing her folder on her lap and smiling at him in a way that Simon can’t bring himself to return. He turns his gaze back to the window. If he squints, he’s pretty sure he can just make out his neighbourhood. “We’ve managed to schedule in some free time for you, so you’ll have time to catch up with old friends, spend time with family.”

Simon doubts that. The idea that his management have allowed time for him to sit and do nothing when they could be shoving him in front of a camera or onto a stage is laughable.

Anna informs him she’s been told there’s a group of fans waiting in the airport so they’ve arranged to have him picked up from the tarmac so he can leave unseen. She tells him the driver will be there for him all week to take him to his interviews and anywhere else he needs to go – since Simon never had the chance to learn to drive himself – and then reminds him again to use his time to relax. He refrains from rolling his eyes and nods when she asks if he got everything, muttering a thank you. Outside the window, the ground is steadily getting closer and, taking the hint from his silence, Anna folds her hands over her crossed legs and sits back as they descend. 

Before long Simon is stepping off the plane, greeted by a harsh gust of wind that burns his cheeks but also clears his head. He breathes in the fresh air before being ushered into a black car with tinted windows. He places his rucksack on the middle seat, pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head and then they’re moving.

Glancing at the driver, he considers whether he should try to make conversation. The radio is playing quietly and Simon has found that they will usually be the one to speak first if they want to talk. Still, Simon opens his mouth to at least introduce himself, but he doesn’t get the chance as his phone starts buzzing in his pocket. 

“Hey,” he says, answering it, only half listening to the reply as he twists in his seat to see a crowd emerge from the front doors of the airport, apparently having figured out their plan. They figured it out too late, however, as Simon manages to escape without the sound of hands slapping against glass and muffled screams of his name. 

“-but I’ll be there in a few days so you won’t have to miss me for long,” Simon’s boyfriend, Marcus, is saying through the phone. 

Simon twists back round to face the front, blinking as he replays what Marcus just said in his mind. 

“Um… good. Ok.” Simon shakes his head, settling into his seat. He wasn’t expecting Marcus to come with him at all. He drove him to the airport that morning but had to stay behind to sort some things out. “Wait, I thought you were going to meet me in London.” 

“I think I can get everything done in time to see you perform on Sunday.”

“Oh.”

Simon hears Marcus chuckles through the speaker. “Don’t sound so excited about it, Simon,” he says sarcastically. “It’s supposed to be good news.” 

“Sorry. It is. It’s just… I can look after myself, you know,” Simon mutters, then mentally berates himself for sounding ungrateful. 

He hasn’t spent many days apart from Marcus since they met. He goes with him everywhere, and Simon’s grateful. He loves Marcus, he doesn’t know where he’d be without him. But… it can also be suffocating. Marcus has ingrained himself into every aspect of his life and sometimes Simon can’t breathe. 

Marcus had been his drummer when he first started touring and, being one of the only people close to his age who he got to spend any time with, Simon had gravitated towards him. They’d been friends at first, but Simon’s fans had noticed how close they were, obsessing over whether they were together or not until suddenly they were.

A year after that, Marcus had broken his hand and then he couldn’t play anymore. Now he spends his time travelling with Simon, becoming a kind of second manager for him as well as his boyfriend, making sure he’s where he needs to be and going to meetings when Simon doesn’t have time. 

Marcus just laughs softly. “Remember the last time I left you alone?”

Simon remembers. He’d missed two interviews and almost got himself labelled as a ‘diva’ when he showed up late, sure Marcus had told him a different time. 

“Shut up,” Simon says lightly. “I won’t be alone anyway. I’ll be staying with my mum. She lives at my flat.” 

Simon bought his apartment with his first pay-cheque but had never got the chance to actually live in it. His mum lived there now, looking after it for him. He wishes he could stay there, at least sometimes, but he’s yet to have a break. Even this is work. Though Simon is trying to treat it as if it isn’t, if only for his sanity. 

“It’ll be nice to finally meet her,” Marcus says.

Simon presses his lips in a flat line, saying nothing. The thought of Marcus meeting his mum makes something twist in his stomach. Something he’d been purposely avoiding. He didn’t think he’d have to deal with it any time soon. 

“Anyway, I just called to let you know. I’ll see you soon,” Marcus says. “I love you.”

“Yeah, ok,” Simon says, smiling even though Marcus can’t see it. “Love you.”

Marcus hangs up and Simon lowers the phone with a drawn out sigh, letting his head fall back against the headrest. He watches buildings pass the window, growing more and more familiar the closer he gets to home. 

He’s nervous.

He’ll only be back for less than a week, from Wednesday to Sunday, after which he’s back on the plane, off to London to kick off his world tour. Always on the move, never a moment to take anything in. And he knows, he knows, that he’s lucky, that he’s living his dream and people would kill to be in his position. But his dream is turning out to be slightly different than how he imagined.

It’s too quiet in the car. He can’t remember the last time he’s been alone this long, the last time he’s been driven somewhere without someone briefing him for an interview or his schedule for the day. It’s unsettling.

His knee starts to bounce and he checks his phone. There are a couple messages, just from Marcus and his manager letting him know that he and the rest of Simon’s team are staying in a hotel. Usually Simon would stay with them, but since he has his flat there’s no need to.

They’re slightly behind schedule. The filming crew arrived that morning, ready to document his home-life, his past, but it’s too late to start now so they’ve postponed it to tomorrow.

The documentary is supposed to show Simon’s humble beginnings, make him more relatable. And even though the plan is to be genuinely honest, he still feels like an actor in someone else’s life. How honest can you really be when you know millions of people will be hearing you?

Simon was against the idea when it was pitched to him a few months ago but Marcus had convinced him that it was a good thing. It’s just… sometimes he feels like he shares too much. There isn’t a single childhood photo of him that’s not on the internet and his every move is updated on constantly. He doesn’t want to give anything else. He wants just one thing to be his alone.

And yet, even as he is laid bare for all to see, he is sure that the people he spends most of his days with, don’t really know him at all. He plays his part, pretends to be the person they think he is, and nobody sees through it. But perhaps it’s easier to pretend when the people around you think they already know everything about you.

Which is why Simon is so uneasy about being back home. Like stepping off a boat after months lost at sea.

The driver is saying his name.

“What? Oh. Sorry,” he says, eyes focusing to find that they have stopped outside his apartment building. He apologises again then grabs his bag, thanking the driver as he climbs out the door and onto the street.

The car drives off and Simon is left alone looking up at the building that should feel like home but is no more familiar than the usual hotel. He doesn’t have a suitcase, just the few things he has in his rucksack. His old clothes should still be in his room, waiting.

He gets the not uncommon feeling that he’s being watched and despite knowing it’s just his own paranoia, he hurries into the lobby and straight into the elevator. He stares up at the slow climb of the numbers until he reaches the top floor and then the doors slide open. He fishes the key out of his pocket, walks the short distance to the door and slots it into the lock. A string loops through a hole in the key, dangling from his hand as he turns it. He used to wear it around his neck, a reminder he never wanted to lose, until one day he took it off and forgot to put it back on.

The door quietly clicks closed behind him and he takes off his coat, hanging it beside the door. He can hear the muffled sound of the TV down the hall. He finds his mum sitting with her feet propped up on the coffee table, her back to the door.

Simon pauses in the doorway and for just a moment he imagines that this is a sight he’s used to.

“Hi mamá.”

She jumps slightly at his voice, twisting in the chair.

“Simon,” she exclaims, a bright smile spreading over her face. She stands, crossing the room to wrap him up in a warm hug. “I didn’t hear the door.”

He clings to her tightly, voice muffled by her shoulder as he says, “Sorry I’m later than expected. It’s been a hectic day.”

“It’s ok, you’re here now.” She rubs a hand over his back comfortingly and Simon feels himself relax into the touch. She pulls back, too soon, and holds him at arm's length, a hand on his cheek as if searching for invisible injuries. “How are you? You look tired, are you getting enough sleep?”

“I’m fine mamá, really.”

She purses her lips but lets it go, patting his cheek gently. “You work too much, mi amor.”

Simon rolls his eyes dismissively, as if it’s nothing, and flips it on her. “Says you.”

It’s a tired argument, one they’ve had too many times. Simon tries to give his mum anything she needs, a way to repay her for all she’s done for him, and still she insists on working her same job.

“I wouldn’t have anything to do if I didn’t work. Now that my children are gone,” she says, her usual argument, but Simon can see the hint of sadness in her eyes at being left alone. Its gone before he can dwell on it and she steps back telling him, “I ran into Ayub and Rosh today. They’re very excited to see you.”

Simon rolls his eyes fondly. “They just want an excuse to throw a party.”

His friends had been messaging him non-stop on their group chat, talking about all the things they need to do while he’s back. He didn’t have the heart to tell them that he’ll mostly be working, leaving little time for anything else and now they’re planning to throw him a party on Friday night that he’s not sure he’ll be able to attend. He should have told them he’d rather play video games, just the three of them, but it’s too late now.

His mum leads him into the kitchen, chatting away in Spanish, a sound he’s sorely missed, and opening the fridge. “I’ve made your favourite. Have you been eating enough? You look a little skinny.”

Simon brushes her off. “Mamá I’m fine.”

It could be his catchphrase at this point. He’s almost sick of saying it, wondering when someone will hear the lie.

His mum has always been easy to lie to. She sees him on the front of a magazine, grinning widely to a crowd of adoring fans and thinks ‘he’s made it. I don’t need to worry about him anymore.’ She sees the money and his big apartment and is glad her son won’t have to struggle like she did.

But the truth is, he is struggling. He tries to be happy, to be grateful, but he mostly just feels alone. There is so much love and emotion when he’s on stage, performing to thousands of crying faces, but there’s nothing left when he steps off of it. Nothing compares. He’s drained.

He can’t blame her really. It’s not her fault he keeps everything so close to his chest until he thinks he might choke on it. And he’s an adult now, he should be able to look after himself. She’s done enough for him.

She shoos him towards the door. “Go unpack and get changed out of your travelling clothes. I’ll heat up your food.”

Simon wants to tell her that he’s not hungry but he knows she won’t have that, so he does as he’s told, walking down the hall to his room. It’s exactly as he left it, minimal furniture and white walls. His mum has kept it clean, not letting dust settle on the furniture and the window is open slightly, the curtain blowing in the breeze.

There are pictures stuck on the wall beside Simon’s bed, a half-hearted attempt to personalise the space before he left. He averts his eyes, instead discarding his bag beside the bed and getting in the shower, letting his mind go blank as he stands beneath the spray.

He feels a little better once he gets out, rifling through his wardrobe to find some pyjamas, and when he sits down on the sofa next to his mum, he revels in the normalcy of being in a place that feels something like home, if only because she is beside him.

They talk as they eat, the TV on in the background as they drift in and out of comfortable silences. Simon’s eyes stray to his phone as it lights up with messages from the group chat every few seconds. He has almost every other chat muted so he amuses himself with watching their conversation slowly descend into a pointless argument.

He laughs at one of Rosh’s messages, demanding he acts as mediator and his mum looks over at him, asks what they’re talking about.

“Just the party,” Simon tells her. “I think they’ve accidently invited the whole of Bjärstad.”

She smiles. “It will be nice for you to see everyone.”

He nods absently, glancing at her then away. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to go.”

She frowns. “Why not?”

Simon shrugs. “I don’t know if I’ll have time.”

Filming finishes late on Friday and then he has to be at the studio Saturday morning. He doesn’t think Anna would be very happy if he turned up with a hangover.

“I’m sure you can make time for your friends,” she scolds, as if it’s up to him. “They miss you, Simon. They ask about you every time I run into them. All of your friends do,” she says, meaningfully.

Simon takes a large bit of his food.

“What about Wilhelm? Does he know you’re home?”

Simon gives her a look and she gives one back, a silent conversation that Simon isn’t willing to have out loud. He’s not talking about Wille. He’s not even thinking about him.

“Fine,” she concedes. “I won’t pry. But I do think you should go.”

Simon just pokes at his plate and changes the subject. 

He wishes he had more time to sit with her but when it gets close to midnight and they are both failing to stifle their yawns, she sends him to bed. He’s reluctant to go, aware that an empty bed is what awaits him. Still he goes without much argument, giving in to the pull of a soft mattress and collapsing into it willingly.

Simon lies in silence. He doesn’t do well on his own. Not anymore. Silences are suffocating and the dark disorientating after growing used to the blinding lights of cameras, stage lights and cities.

It’s been a long time since he has slept alone.

He rolls over, picks up his phone, squinting against the light. He texts Marcus, a quick Goodnight with a heart. Five minutes later he receives one back.

He rolls onto his back, wonders if you can be so tired you can’t sleep.

He doesn’t really have a sleep schedule anymore. He just sleeps when he can. On a flight between concerts, in a taxi or sometimes sitting in his dressing room, having make up applied to his face. But rarely the night after being on stage, high on adrenaline. He’ll go back to his hotel room to sleep, and then stay up until 3am, unable to come down from the high. And then in the morning he’ll be woken up early, delirious and ready to restart the process.

It isn’t healthy, he knows. He’s probably damaging some part of his brain and body in the process, but he doesn’t know how to stop. Doesn’t know if he wants to.

He tosses and turns for a few hours, futilely hoping the knowledge of his mum in the room over will help him switch off. But alas, he gives up and gets out of bed.

He grabs his headphones and pads through the silent house until he ends up in front of the wall of windows in the lounge, looking out over the city. He sits on the window seat and wraps his arms around his knees, pressing play on his phone and letting the music drown out the silence. He closes his eyes, not quite succeeding at drowning out his thoughts.

At some point in the night, he finally drifts off, cheek against the cool window pane.

Chapter Text

You and I (don’t let go) were alive (don’t let go)

With nothing to do, I could lay and just look in your eyes

Wait (don’t let go) and pretend (don’t let go)

Hold on and hope that we’ll find our way back in the end

Do you think I have forgotten?

Do you think I have forgotten?

Do you think I have forgotten

About you?

Simon wakes early. He has an interview just before lunch so he has some time to kill before then, and with his mum at work, he’s not sure what to do with himself. It’s rare that he has to make the decision, since even when he has a free day or night here and there, he has so many invites to choose from it would feel wrong to stay home. And when he does stay home, it’s to spend time with Marcus. So instead of sitting around his apartment, waiting, Simon messages his driver – who he found out is named Einar – and tells him he’ll make his own way to the interview.

It’s quiet as he wanders the streets of his childhood home, looking in the windows of shops he used to visit weekly. He’s grown used to the feeling of being untethered, of the unfamiliar, but Simon still breathes a little easier with each step.

Despite walking with his head down and wearing his usual disguise of sunglasses and a hat, he still gets stopped multiple times by people asking if he’s who they think he is and then asking for a photo. He obliges, if only to be polite, and hopes not to draw too much attention. He’ll never understand how they recognise him from the bottom half of his face alone. It had been startling, the first time he’d been recognised in public, and completely terrifying the first time he’d been mobbed. 

He stops abruptly in front of a café. The sight of it makes his heart squeeze in his chest. He debates going in, twisting his hands in the sleeves of his coat, until finally he gives in to the pull and reaches for the door, decides to get a coffee, hoping it’ll give him the energy to get through his interview.

He joins the short line, looking around at the décor and how it has changed. The walls have been painted a dark green where they used to be purple and the tables are all in the wrong place, but Simon still feels like he’s walking through a memory.

And then he is at the front of the queue and a familiar voice is asking who’s next. Simon’s head snaps around to face him as Wilhelm looks up from the register and does a double take as he meets his eye.

“Wille,” Simon says with a jolt of surprise.

Simon hasn’t seen Wille since the day he left. He knows, of course, that Wille’s parents own the café, but he thought Wille was at university. He wasn’t expecting to see him, especially not standing behind the counter, an apron tied around his waist.

“Simon?” Wille breathes, just as surprised. He blinks at him blankly as if he thinks he might be seeing things. “What-what are you doing here?”

The corner of Simon’s lips lift in a small smile at the stutter and he recovers enough to say, “I’m getting a coffee,” knowing Wille is really asking what he’s doing in the city. He flips the question back on him. “What are you doing here?”

Wille’s eyes fall to the screen in front of him, a flush rising up his neck. “I work here.”

“But you…” Simon starts but stops himself. Wille had been adamant he would never work at the cafe despite his parents clearly wanting him to, and yet here he is. Simon decides it’s better not to bring that up.

He shifts on his feet, suddenly very aware that he hasn’t spoken to Wille in years and that he is completely unprepared to right now. 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you,” he says honestly. In truth, Simon had almost made himself sick on the plane thinking about seeing Wille again, and then again thinking about not seeing him.

He’d left Wille still grieving for the loss of his brother a few months before, unable to speak to his parents, and then, without his best friend. He’d told Simon it was ok, that he would be fine, but still Simon’s guilt had driven a wedge between them. For the longest time, Simon was sure that Wille was be angry with him, and even now, with Wille smiling at him like he’s seeing the sun for the first time in years, some part of Simon is still expecting hostility.

He pushes the thought aside and tentatively asks, “How are you?”

He wishes he could say he forgot about Wille, that before stepping into the café, he hadn’t thought of him in years. But that would be a lie. Because Wille came back to him in the dark, in the silences between, when Simon was allowed to think about anything other than the noise. He wondered what he was doing, if he was happy, wondered what he thinks when he sees him on a billboard or on the TV. Does he watch? Or does he not care? Does he turn away with a bitter curl of his lip at the thought of the boy who stopped calling? Or is he proud of him?

Simon realises he’s staring and that he wasn’t listening to Wille’s response, too busy dwelling on that fact that he probably looks like shit and that he really shouldn’t care but he does. And Wille looks so good and he’s missed him so much.

Wille seems to notice his distraction, a small teasing smile on his face as he says, “So… coffee?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Simon shakes himself out of his daze. Wille is still smiling though he’s trying not to, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Sorry, I’m- I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks. I’m a bit distracted.”

He laughs it off lightly but Wille’s eyebrows dip in the middle, and then deepen further as Simon pats his pocket for his phone. He holds it out to pay and Wille shakes his head, mock offended. “You don’t have to pay, remember?”

Simon does, of course. He remembers his mum scolding him every time he came home with a pastry or a slice of cake that Wille had given him, saying he was like family, so he was allowed to take it.

Simon scoffs. “You and I both know you made that up.”

“Well, I’m in charge today so I say it’s true.”

Simon purses his lips against a smile. “Fine.”

Wille bites the inside of his lip, a habit Simon always found endearing, and glances behind him, eyes lingering on where Simon can just see August in the back, before settling back on him. He gestures to the coffee machine. “I’ll bring it over to you.”

“Right.”

Simon stands, unable to get his feet to move until Wille finally turns away to make his drink. His eyes slide over his back, along his shoulders. He forcibly looks away, swallowing dryly. He turns around, looking for a secluded table where he’s unlikely to be noticed. It’s an unconscious act but a necessary one. He spots a booth in the corner and goes to sit down.

From his position, he can still see Wille behind the counter. It’s odd to see him there. Wilhelm’s parents want him to take over the business one day, as is tradition in their family. But Wille’s relationship with his parents has been strained ever since he told them he’s queer. Simon wonders what had changed. The thought of Wille forgiving them for the way they’d treated him makes him feel a little sick.

But it’s not those memories that come back to him now. It’s the ones that make him smile even after so long, with so many complicated feelings in the way.

He watches Wille move, could almost imagine he’s gone back in time, except Wille is taller now, broader. His hair no longer falls just past his eye but is pushed back from his face, parted at the side. Simon remembers days when they’d come here after school, making themselves hot chocolate and putting every ingredient they could find in each other’s drink. The memories are warm, comforting. Even the ones towards the end, when they were no longer kids and unspoken words hung heavy over their heads. 

They were never together, never had the chance. Wille broke his heart slowly with all the words he never said. Simon still isn’t sure that Wille knows. The question torments him now just as it did then. Wondering whether it was all in his head or if the looks and the touches meant something. 

Simon had convinced himself that he was over those feelings. That when he thought of Wille it was merely curiosity about the friend he’d left behind. But now Wille is in front of him, and Simon can feel the weight of every day, every second they’ve been apart. 

Simon is so lost in his head that he doesn’t see Wille walking over until he is already placing his drink down in front of him. He takes it with a smile and a muttered thanks.

Wille hovers. He shuffles his feet, hands behind his back. Finally, as if he can’t help himself, he asks, “Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” Simon says, an automatic response. “‘course”

“You just seem… I don’t know, like you said, you seem a little tired.”

Simon gives a small dismissive smile. He picks up his spoon, fiddles with the handle. “I’m fine.”

Of course, Wille would be able to see what everyone else fails to notice. He’s the one person he was never able to hide from.

“Ok,” Wille says, chewing the side of his nail now. He looks to the counter where August has taken over from him, then back at Simon as he asks, “Is there… anything else I can get you?”

Simon leans forward in his seat, looking from Wille to the seat opposite him then down at his coffee. He shakes his head and Wille looks disappointed.

Simon takes a sip of his drink to hide his smile. “I like your uniform.”

Wille’s nose crinkles slightly but his awkwardness dissipates. “Shut up.”

He few customers waiting in line and, seeming to decide that he can leave August alone for a while, slides into the booth opposite Simon. His hands rest on the table and Simon occupies his own with his drink.

“So,” Wille says, “You’re back.”

“I am.”

“How long for?”

“Just a few days,” he says, watching as again disappointment takes over Wille’s features. Simon holds his mug in both hands and takes another sip. “It’s the first time I’ve been home since I left. I kind of wish I had time to hang around for a bit.”

He only realises it’s true as he says it. If it were anyone else, he’d be afraid to admit it, scared to be labelled as ungrateful. But it’s Wille. He always understands.

“You’re not taking a break then?” he asks, a hint of sympathy in his voice.

“No.”

Wille nods, his eyes falling to his hands as he fiddles with his fingers.

“I heard about your concert on Sunday.” He rests his chin on his palm, eyes full of pride and fixed only on Simon. “Congratulations on the tour by the way,” he says softly.

Wille had always been his biggest supporter, even when Simon thought he didn’t deserve it.

“Thanks,” he says, not meeting his eye.

It feels like everyone else is more excited for his tour than he is. As soon as he thinks it, Simon mentally berates himself. He is excited for it. Performing is all he’s ever wanted to do.

If Wille notices his unenthusiastic tone, he doesn’t mention it, instead choosing to change the subject.

He leans forward on his elbows and Simon can’t help but stare over the top of his mug. “So why are you back?”

“Filming for a documentary,” he says simply. “They’re making a film about me.”

“Really? Is that a scoop?” Simon laughs as Wille lowers his voice.

“It is.”

“That’s really cool Simon,” Wille says sincerely. “When is it out? I’ll be the first in line.”

“I don’t know yet. Maybe next year,” he says, noncommittally. “They’re going to film some of the tour.”

“Are you going back to the school?”

“Yeah. We’re just going to walk around, do some interviews with old teachers. My mum too.”

“She’s going to love that.”

Simon rolls his eyes. “I think she thinks the documentary is about her.”

Wille laughs and then a quiet settles over them. Simon has finished his coffee and now he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He puts them under his thighs.

Wille is watching him intently in that way he always used to. The way that made Simon squirm and want to ask if there was something on his face.

“You should have told me you were coming,” Wille says finally.

Simon’s eyes fall down to the table. “I know. I’m sorry. There’s just so much going on…”

“No, I get it,” he says, and Simon believes him. “Maybe we could do something… catch up. If you have time.”

His voice is so full of uncertain hope and a yes is on the tip of Simon’s tongue, because of course he wants to. But as he opens his mouth to say the word, his phone starts to ring in his pocket.

Wilhelm smiles somewhat bitterly as Simon fumbles for his phone. It’s his manager.

He looks at Wille apologetically and says, “I need to take this. Sorry…”

He shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

Simon reluctantly answers the call.

“Hello?”

“Simon where are you?”

“I’m just getting a coffee before the interview later,” Simon says, eyes on Wille.

Anne sounds frustrated through the speaker. “No Simon, we managed to move the interview back. We were supposed to start fifteen minutes ago.”

Simon sits up straighter. “What? I didn’t know that.”

“Marcus told me he reminded you this morning.”

Simon thinks of the unread messages on his phone and squeezes his eyes shut.

“No, you’re right. He did mention it. I’m sorry, I’ll be there in a minute.”

When he opens his eyes, Wille’s face has dropped.

“It doesn’t matter. Just- hurry up.”

She hangs up before Simon can say goodbye. He clenches his jaw, stares down at his phone. He pushes down his frustration and turns to pick up his bag, unable to look at Wille.

“I’m sorry Wille, I’ve got to go.”

“Will I see you again? Before you leave?” Wille asks, and he sounds so crestfallen that Simon stops, eyes snapping to his.

He should say no. It won’t even be a lie, he really doesn’t have the time. But he wants to see him.

“Um… Will you be at the party tomorrow?”

“Party?”

“Ayub and Rosh are throwing a party to welcome me home… you should come. If you want.”

His bag is already on his shoulders, but he makes no move to leave.

“I wasn’t invited.”

“I’m inviting you,” Simon dismisses. Ayub and Rosh won’t care. The more people the better, they’ll say. “I’ll see you there?”

Perking up slightly, Wille asks, “Where is it?”

Simon realises he never asked the address. “Um, I don’t know actually.”

“You can just text it to me.”

“Oh. Sure.”

Wille has his phone held out between them before Simon can think to do the same. Not that he’d need to. He knows Wille’s number by heart from all the times he’s typed it out, almost sending a message but never quite having the courage.

He’s had to change his own number so many times after being leaked that he has to take a moment to remember his most recent one. He can’t remember when he stopped sending Wille his new number.

He smiles anyway, taking Wille’s phone and putting his number into his contacts, adding a smiling face after his name. 

“There.” He hands it back, the tip of Wille’s finger brushing his thumb. He pulls his hand away quickly, burying it in his pocket.

He sits there a moment, wants to say more but no idea what. Instead, he manages to say goodbye and leave before he can do something stupid, like skip the interview just to spend more time with Wille.

•••

Simon’s team are waiting for him when he arrives and they have him changed and ushered into a make up chair pretty much as soon as he steps through the door.

He spends most of the time, while they make him look presentable, staring into space, dwelling on memories he’d spent so long burying deep. Memories of what life was like before, of the people he left behind.

Wille had been the hardest to leave. He knew he’d see his mum and sister again, and Ayub and Rosh would never let him forget them. But Wille… he wasn’t sure. There had been so much unsaid between them. So much that, given enough time, they may have been able to figure out. There was so much in the way back then, but that didn’t mean Simon wouldn’t have waited.

But then he was a thousand miles away, touring the world, caught up in the chaos of it all and it was easy. If not to forget then to pretend he had.

And he’d been doing such a good job of it. Only for it to be shattered as soon as he laid eyes on Wille again. As if reminding him why it was so hard to leave him behind. Because Wille is addicting. Simon’s own personal drug that he never got a taste of but that he craves anyway.

“Lift your chin for me,” Liv, his hair and make up artist, tells him, pulling him out of his thoughts.

He does as he’s told and she swipes a brush under his eyes.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks softly. She’s grown used to his bouts of silence, but she always seems to know when he needs to talk.

“I’m trying not to think at all.”

She exhales a laugh as she dabs at his cheek. He gives a tight smile back. It wasn’t a joke but at least she lets the subject go.

He likes Liv. She’s been with him since the start. But sometimes he wonders if she mostly just sees him as a doll she gets to dress up. He feels back for thinking it. She always makes sure he’s ok, scolding him for not getting enough sleep as she covers the dark circles beneath his eyes. But fame has made him paranoid.

She starts on his hair and Simon tries not to fall asleep in the chair, a habit that she doesn’t appreciate for obvious reasons.

His phone vibrates, lighting up with a message and Simon stares at it for a moment. It’s probably Ayub and Rosh.

He picks it up and opens the message. It’s not from his friends. It’s a number not already in his contacts but that he knows anyway.

It’s a paparazzi picture of him from a few months ago. There’s a message below the picture.

that’s my jumper

Before Simon reply, another message pops up.

this is wilhelm btw

A smiles plays at the corners of Simon’s lips as he looks down at his phone. He scrolls back up to the picture. He’s walking down a street, wearing an orange jumper. Simon recalls the moment, walking hand in hand with Marcus, trying to hide behind him with his head down to avoid the camera. A laugh spills from his lips when he realises Wille has cropped the picture to just show him. He types a reply.

Pretty sure that’s mine  

definitely not you’re a thief and a liar  

The reply is instant and Simon bites his lip against a smile, imagining Wille hiding in the kitchen waiting for his phone to buzz again with Simon’s reply.

It is Wille’s jumper. Simon had found it in his bedroom the day he’d packed. He should have given it back – had been intending to – but it smelled like Wille and Simon had realised he had nothing else of him to take.

In the mirror, he sees the door open behind him and Anna walk through, looking slightly harried.

She sees him and raises an eyebrow. “What are you grinning about?”

Simon automatically hides his screen, as if the messages are somehow incriminating. “Nothing.”

She looks down at her watch. “Well, you’ve got two minutes so wrap it up, we’re already behind schedule.”

“Ok,” Simon sighs.

She sits down in the armchair on the other side of the room and opens her laptop, already too busy to pay him any mind. Simon turns back to his phone.

Well I’m sorry but I didn’t bring it with me  

:(

i guess you can keep it. it suits you  

how’s filming going?

Simon glances up, making sure no one is watching, able to see the blush on his cheeks. He doesn’t correct Wille that filming hasn’t started yet. He doesn’t want to talk about that.

Boring  

How’s barista-ing  

boring  

it’s quiet today  

Sounds nice  

we can swap

Ha  

no seriously, i think i could be a famous singer  

Wille you can’t sing  

you don’t know that  

I’ve heard you.  

i’ve been practicing  

I’ll have to have to make it up to you

maybe we could get lunch?

If only I had the time

you could sneak away

Simon huffs a laugh and but his amusement fades quickly. He can feel his pulse in his veins as he sits, unmoving, re-reading the message. You could sneak away.

Because, no, he couldn’t. He can’t. No matter how much he wants to, there is always somewhere he needs to be, people relying on him.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, because Liv has finished with his hair and Anna is standing form her chair. “Simon! Time to go, come on.”

He apologises to Wille, telling him he’ll text later and gets up to go. His phone buzzes twice in his pocket but he continues down the hall to where the interviewer sits waiting and Simon makes himself concentrate on him instead of Wille.

The afternoon passes slowly. This is the part of the job that Simon doesn’t feel guilty for hating. He’s asked the same five questions over and over and he’s expected to smile and pretend like it’s not driving him insane.

When it’s over and Simon is told to make his way home so they can film at his apartment, he again chooses to walk, following the path he took that morning. But this time, when he finds himself once again standing in front of the café, Wille’s not there. At least not that Simon can see. He wasn’t expecting him to be really, but… he just wanted to see him again.

He opens the two unread messages but they’re only reassurances that Wille doesn’t mind and that he’ll see him tomorrow. Simon’s thumbs hover over the keyboard, but in the end, he closes his phone and puts it back in his pocket.

Sighing, he carries on, walking with his head down until he reaches his building.

Chapter Text

Do you think I have forgotten?

Do you think I have forgotten?

Do you think I have forgotten

About you?

Hillerska looks exactly as it did the last time Simon saw it. The white walls appear between trees beyond the car’s windscreen and Simon cranes his neck as the building comes into view.

He thanks Einar as they come to a stop out front and Simon climbs the steps up to the entrance. Anna is waiting outside, talking on the phone, and she smiles when he reaches her, turning to lead him inside. Simon follows, drenched in nostalgia as he walks through the doors.

There’s a crowd in the hall, people with cameras and headsets talking over screens and pointing directions as they set up. Heads turn to look at him as he walks in, but they quickly turn back to their work and Simon pretends not to notice.

“They’ve done most of the scenic shots this morning,” Anna tells him, hanging up and looking back at him as they walk. “They want to start with the headmistress and then they’ll film you walking around looking all nostalgic, tell some stories.”

Simon internally cringes at the idea of them following him around, waiting to capture an emotional moment, but he nods anyway. He doesn’t want to be a nuisance and besides, he did agree to do this. It’s not their fault he never quite got used to being in front of a camera. His confidence has improved – it had to – and though he can accept an award without stuttering too much and he can sing in front of thousands, something about being filmed alone, without his band, without a pre-written speech, has him regressing to his high school self. It’s too much.

He spots Annett, Hillerska’s headmistress, just before he realises Anna is leading him right to her and he resists the urge to switch directions, quickly donning his paparazzi smile. He stops next to Anna, hands clasped in front of him as he says hello.

“Simon,” Annett greets politely. She holds out her hand to shake and Simon takes it awkwardly, not used to having the woman’s full attention. “It’s lovely to see you.”

Anna dives straight into her usual fast paced instructions, running through what sort of questions they’ll be asked, which thankfully saves Simon from having to make small talk.

He doesn’t have to do much for the next hour besides listen to Annett talk about him and the school. They try it with him in front of the camera and then with him behind it. He’s not really listening, mostly just bored, thinking about all the things he could be spending his time doing instead. He thinks of Wille’s suggestion of getting lunch, wonders what would happen if he just left.

Finally, they’ve got everything they need from Annett and they let her get back to work, clearing the hall ready for assembly. They get Simon to take them on a tour of the school next, which isn’t too bad. He’s still the centre of attention, but at least he’s not talking about himself.

It’s odd to be back, especially without his old classmates around. Every corner is another memory, each hallway an echo of a different time. They go into some of his old classrooms, and he sacrifices a few stories that aren’t too personal. Dan, the director, prompts him for more.

“What about a first kiss?” he asks, throwing out ideas, “Something everyone can relate to. Any embarrassing crushes?”

Simon pretends to think, but after he’s shaken his head at every one of his suggestions, Dan gives up, moving on.

They make their way to the last classroom and Anna falls into step beside him, gives him a look.

“What?”

She rolls her eyes. “You know what.”

“I don’t have to tell them everything.”

“Something would be nice.”

Simon refrains from scoffing. He could carve out his heart for them and still they’d want a lung.

They reach the music room, finding his music teacher sitting at the piano and this time as she gets up, he doesn’t have to feign familiarity. She had been his favourite teacher, and when they tell him to sit beside her on the bench and she talks about knowing he was special, his bashful smile is genuine.

He feels like he’s sixteen again, so pleased to have her approval. She’d been one of the first to really encourage him and, unlike other teachers in the school who had found him un-noteworthy, she believed he could be something more.

Seemingly pleased, Dan asks to talk to her alone, but tells him to hang around in case they need him again. So Simon decides to wander.

He shouldn’t be surprised that his feet carry him to the dorms. He’s probably not allowed, but they’re empty since the students are still in class, and he’s only curious. He follows the hall to the end, the route familiar to him, and stops outside Wille’s door. He pushes it open.

It looks the same, but all of Wille is gone.

His red LEDs no longer hang from the shelf, his frog prince, trapped in a glass snow-globe, no longer sits atop the desk. Simon walks inside, taps a finger on the back of the desk chair, runs a hand over the curtains.

He’s not sure whether it was simpler back then or now. He used to feel things so deeply, and his feelings for Wille, confusing at first, had been anything but simple. He was his best friend, his first love and his first heartbreak.

He knew, even then as he doubted it, that Wille felt the same. But he Wille wasn’t ready. And then Simon was gone and Wille became the one that got away. Simon’s biggest regret.

He thinks of the last time he saw him, the way the words were on the tip of his tongue. “Don’t forget me when you’re famous,” Wille had said, and Simon had laughed, because the idea was so ridiculous. Wille had looked so happy for him, yet so heartbroken to see him go and Simon didn’t want to make it any more painful than it had to be. Because he couldn’t take Wille with him, no matter how much he wanted to.

He thought he was over it. He hadn’t seen him in so long and even though Wille always made his way into Simon’s lyrics, it became easier not to think about him, not to feel.

But seeing Wille at the cafe… now he’s once again all Simon can think about. And despite telling himself he wouldn’t, despite knowing it’ll only make it worse when he leaves again, Simon takes out his phone and opens their messages.

He takes a picture of himself in the room and sends it to Wille. The reply comes barely a minute later.

did you break into some kid’s room to send me this?

Maybe

They’re in class, no one will know

Simon leaves the room, not wanting to be found snooping, and goes outside. The sun is starting to set, the temperature dropping with it, but he sits out on the steps by the water fountain, not once looking up from his phone as he texts Wille.

The topic quickly turns to the party and Simon remembers he was supposed to be letting Wille know the address.

can i bring felice?

she’s back from university this weekend

Of course you can.

How is she?

Wille is more than happy to tell him about all the amazing things Felice has been getting up to, because of course she has. The pang of jealousy is unexpected. Sure, Simon has been jealous of Wille and Felice plenty of times in his life, but this is different. It’s the fact that Wille knows what Felice is writing her dissertation on but Simon only found out yesterday that Wille had caved and started working at the cafe.

He types out a message, deletes it then re types it and presses send.

So you two are still close?

yeah

There’s a pause and then three dots appear next to Wille’s name.

we’re good friends

Simon worries at his bottom lip. He didn’t want to ask but he can’t ignore the easing of his chest at the confirmation that they aren’t together. He knows Felice had a thing for Wille at school and he also knows Wille had at least considered it a few times.

Not that it matters.

Eventually, Simon gets up after a call from Anna telling him to come back to the music room. He turns around to head back inside to find the ground floor windows full of faces as students stare out at him. Some of them turn away as he catches them, but some shamelessly continue to stare. He smiles and waves despite wanting to roll his eyes and scowl.

•••

Two hours later, Simon stands in front of his mirror trying to decide whether he should change for the fifth time or give up. He’s spent longer choosing his outfit than he ever has, used to people handing him clothes to wear and putting them on without question.

He’s never been one for fashion. He can appreciate it, but when it’s up to him, he mostly chooses the clothes he’s comfortable in and then lets his stylist dress him up for red carpets.

“You look lovely,” his mum’s voice makes him jump and turn around, finding her watching him from his bedroom doorway.

Simon rolls his eyes. “You always say that. Are you sure it’s not too much? Or not enough?”

She chuckles and makes a face at him. “What’s got you so nervous?”

He sets his jaw. “Nothing. Never mind.”

She looks at him like she knows he’s lying. He turns back to the mirror and fiddles with his hair. He sees her move across the room through the mirror and sit on his bed.

“So who’s going to this party?”

Simon lists off the few people he knows are going, then cautiously adds, “And um- Wille’s going.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so you have spoken to Wilhelm.”

“Yes mamá, I saw him yesterday. At the cafe, he works there now.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“Should I have?”

“You’re very defensive today,” she says but her smile is teasing.

Simon turns around and sighs. “Sorry.”

The fond gleam in her eyes fades to vague concern and she smiles sadly at him.

“Just be careful Simon.”

He nods, not meeting her eye.

“Yeah, I know. I will.”

The buzzer sounds through the apartment, signalling that Simon’s driver is outside.

“I love you,” she says just as he starts towards the door and that’s how Simon knows she’s worried about him.

He says it back, with what he hopes is a reassuring smile and then makes his way outside.

He climbs into the warm car, shutting the door and as they pull away from the curb, he fidgets impatiently, tapping his thumb on his knee. He opens his phone as a distraction, reading through messages from Anna and his publicist.

He ignores most of them. His publicist sends him anything said about him in the media or any trends involving him on social media. Her last message is a screenshot of a trending page on Twitter, people speculating why he was seen at Hillerska school today, sparked by a picture of him that had made its way onto the internet. In it, he’s smiling down at his phone as he walks through the school grounds.

Simon clicks off of the picture with a sigh.

His phone vibrates in his hand and Anna’s name appears at the top of the screen. He lets it ring, almost doesn’t answer, but gives in, lifting it to his ear.

“Hey.”

“Did you read my messages?” she asks, forgoing a hello.

“I glanced at them.”

A sigh. “Honestly Simon, it’s good news. I thought you’d be excited.”

Simon puts her on speaker and goes back to read them properly.

“It’s going to be a tight schedule, what with the tour, but I think I can manage it. We’ll have to record on the road-”

Her voice fades into the background as Simon reads. They want him to release a new album at the end of the tour, less than a year away.

“Simon?”

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

“You don’t sound excited.”

“I just released an album.”

He’d been rushed into releasing it before it was ready and Simon still isn’t happy about it. Giving him a deadline kills all his creativity, makes it feel like a chore. He hasn’t written a single song since.

“Yes,” she says tentatively, like she’s talking to a child. “And it’s done so well, they want you to make another one.”

He puts his head in his hand. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” she asks, genuinely confused.

“It’s too soon. They can’t just demand a whole new album, I- it takes time.”

“But you love to write.”

“Yes, when I’m inspired by something. I can’t force myself to do it,” he says, frustrated. “It won’t be any good. Not if I’m already exhausted from touring.”

“We can get someone to write for you.”

“What?”

“Or with you,” she says quickly. “Really Simon I don’t see the problem here. You love performing, you love writing. I know you hate the interviews, I do, so this should be perfect. Just nonstop music.”

“That’s not what I want.”

“Well, what do you want? I don’t understand.”

To sleep for a week, Simon thinks. To never answer another stupid question about what he looks for in a guy or if he could have any superpower, what would it be? To have control over his own life.

“I want to stay a little longer. In Bjärstad.”

“You have a tour.”

“I know but…”

“Simon you are the biggest artist in Sweden. You need to be the biggest star in the world.” Simon shakes his head. He never wanted that. They are the ones who always want more. He only ever wanted to sing. “You’re not going to get there by putting no effort in. Do you know how long it took to arrange this tour? The people involved?”

“Why can’t we postpone it?” Simon asks feeling his resolve draining even as he says it.

“No Simon.”

“It’s my tour,” he says petulantly.

“No, you’re just the face of it. People’s livelihoods depend on their jobs Simon. Not everyone is as lucky as you. So just remember that when you’ve feeling sorry for yourself.”

Simon hangs up.

He swallows and blinks against the dampness at the corners of his eyes. He will not get upset over this. He accepted a long time ago what he was giving up to live this lifestyle. Nothing has changed.

•••

Simon was right, Ayub and Rosh have invited half of Bjärstad to the party. He has no idea whose house they’re in but people are spilling out the doors into the garden and out front, filling every room with little space to move. Even people who used to laugh at him for singing in the choir, and people Simon has never seen before, have shown up. It’s a bit overwhelming, having so many eyes on him so suddenly. At least with celebrity parties, you’re no more special than the person next to you.

He’d arrived late – as expected – to people already crowded inside, music thrumming through the earth to reach him outside. It didn’t take long for him to find Ayub and Rosh, since he messaged them to say he was there and then they ended up finding him, attacking him with a hug and shouting at him excitedly over the music.

He’d hugged them back, smiling nervously when they pulled away. Ayub was having none of it, clapping him in the back and shouting, “Why are you being weird, come on, let’s have some fun!”

They’d led him over to a table of drinks and he’d let them fill his cup and then he kept letting them fill it, until he started to feel normal again. It’s a little easier now that the attention is not only on him, but even as he lets the alcohol relax his mind and body, he still can’t seem to shake the nagging thought that this is all fake. That he’s here as a visitor, seeing everything he let go in the name of something he isn’t sure he still wants.

He purposely does not look for Wille, but that doesn’t mean he’s not scanning every face expectantly. He’s just having fun with Ayub and Rosh and if Wille wants to find him then that’s up to him.

They’ve found their way into the kitchen, Simon watching Rosh mix him a drink that is starting to turn brown, when Felice walks in.

She sees him first, exclaiming in genuine pleasure at seeing him, and throws her arms around him. Maybe she’s just drunk, but so is Simon and he hugs her back, surprised to find himself glad to see her too.

“Felice! Hi,” he says, pulling away. She’s wearing a white dress, her hair falling in neat curls around her face. “You look gorgeous.”

His eyes flick over her shoulder reflexively. She notices, pursing her lips.

“He’s disappeared somewhere.” She waves a hand in the air. “I lost him like ten minutes ago.”

Simon blinks at her, not used to being read so easily.

“Oh, I wasn’t…”

“It’s ok, the only thing he’s talked about since yesterday is you.”

She rolls her eyes, looking to Ayub and Rosh like they should relate. They nod understandingly. Simon frowns at them all.

Simon manages to steer the conversation away from Wille, asking Felice how things are going with her dissertation. He understands about half of it and then she’s being dragged away by Stella, complaining about her taking too long with the drinks.

Rosh nods at Felice’s retreating back. “So how come you invited Wille?”

“We purposely left him off the list,” Ayub says. “We thought, you know, since Marcus…”

“He’s my best friend. Was my best friend,” Simon corrects. He takes a sip of Rosh’s concoction, winces at the taste. “I wanted to see him.”

His friends exchange a look. Rosh raises her eyebrows and takes a sip of her own drink. “Ok.”

Ayub decides this is a good time to rejoin everyone else and Simon tells them he’s going to get some fresh air.

Half the party has moved to the garden so he takes a bottle and makes his way upstairs. He’s not completely drunk, but he’s definitely not sober either and his vision is fuzzy around the edges as he looks for an empty room. It takes four tries but he finds a bedroom. He shuts the door lightly behind him, hoping no one noticed him disappear. There’s a dormer window on the far wall and Simon walks over, opening the window enough to feel cool air on his face as he leans on his elbows. He takes a deep breath, lets it clear his head a little. 

He can see them all from here, Ayub and Rosh, Felice and her group of friends from Hillerska. Even August and his group have shown up, though Simon knows they wouldn’t have been invited.

He looks down, swirls his drink in his hand. The bottom on the window meets the line of the roof, changing angle so the pitch is shallow enough to walk on.

It’s probably the alcohol loosening his judgement, but Simon decides it’s a good idea to climb out onto the roof. He gets his knee up on the sill and crawls out across the cold tiles, shifting to a sitting position. It’s dark out, helping to keep him hidden in shadow, but he can still see them.

His gaze falls to Rosh, talking to a girl who she’d introduced to Simon as her girlfriend, Clara. They’ve been together two years and Simon has never met her before. Rosh looks happy. They all look happy. And Simon is glad, he is, but that doesn’t mean his heart doesn’t ache at the same time.

It’s fitting, him sitting up here, watching. He feels like he’s spent the past few years watching from afar.

And then he finally spots Wille, laughing with Felice and everyone else falls away.

He keeps looking around, as if searching for something - someone - and it makes Simon smile a little to know it’s him Wille wants to find.

For a few minutes, Simon contents himself with watching him, as if he could fill the gaping hole that Wille should take up, just by memorising the shape of him.

Time has changed him in subtle ways, obvious to Simon only because he pays attention.

He takes a swig straight from the bottle, and the moonlight must reflect off the glass, because suddenly Wille is looking right at him. 

Simon startles, choking mid sip as Wille squints, trying to make out the figure sitting on the roof. He must see that it’s him because, subtly, he waves. Simon hesitates but waves back and Wille turns to Felice, saying something to her before going back into the house. 

Simon takes a deep breath, pulls his knees to his chest, waiting.

A moment later, the window opens and Simon stares ahead as Wille leans out.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting some air,” is all Simon says. 

Wille looks down at the crowd in the garden, then back at him.

“You’re hiding.”

Simon shrugs. Because yeah, he kind of is.

There’s a short pause and then Wille is climbing out the window after him. There’s a slight sway to his step as he walks over and Simon almost tells him to be careful. He manages to climb past him and sit down without falling while Simon continues to stare down at the people drinking and dancing with each other, laughing. 

He doesn’t realise he’s shivering until Wille says, “You’re cold.”

Simon attempts to stop the shudders that run through his body but fails. He doesn’t remember where he left his coat but he’s not going to look for it now. “A bit.”

Wille shifts and Simon finally lifts his eyes to look at him, realising he’s taking off his own coat. 

“Here,” he says, the material still warm with his body heat as he drapes it over Simon’s shoulders.

“Wille,” Simon starts, going to shrug it off and give it back, but Wille shakes his head.

“I was too hot anyway.”

Simon knows he’s lying but doesn’t have the energy to argue. He pulls the material further around himself, closing his eyes as he puts his chin on his knee, and for a moment he’s surrounded only by Wille.

“Are you enjoying the party?” he asks, breaking the silence that had briefly settled between them.

“More than you are, it seems,” Wille says, lightly. “But I only came to see you.”

Simon smiles behind the collar of Wille’s coat.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re hiding?”

“I don’t really know,” Simon says. He doesn’t know why he does anything these days, just going through the motions of what he thinks he’s supposed to be doing. He tells Wille as much.

“Well that I understand.”

Simon purses his lips unhappily, because – despite all the times he tried to make Wille see reason – he’s somehow gotten himself into a similar situation. So now they’re both a little stuck. It’s terrible but it makes him feel better, a little less alone.

Wille brings his drink to his lips and takes a long sip.

Impulsively, Simon ducks his head forward to rest on Wille’s shoulder. He tenses up and Simon almost pulls away, but then all at once he relaxes under the touch. Simon closes his eyes and all but snuggles into his side. He missed this. The gentleness that exists between them so naturally.

“You never told me why you’re working at the café.”

“You never asked,” Wille says, deflecting. Simon feels him lift his hand to bite the corner of his nail.

“Didn’t think you’d want me to.”

Simon always hoped Wille would stand up to his parents in the end, that he’d tell them he wanted to chose his own life and not live the one they’d set out for him before he was even born. At least now, Simon can understand the pressure Wille had felt to do what was expected of him.  

Perhaps, if things were different, they would have helped each other find their way.

After a long pause, Wille admits, “I dropped out of university.”

Simon frowns and Wille must hear it in his silence. “Don’t. Mamma has only just started talking to me again.”

“What happened?”

“I wanted to change my major,” Wille says, breathing in. “They told me they wouldn’t waste their money on it, so I told them I would drop out. I thought it would make them take me seriously but… well, you can see what happened.”

Simon folds his hands into Wille’s coat to stop himself from reaching for his hand.

“So I guess they won in the end, after everything. I’ll end up taking over the café, just like they wanted.”

Simon shakes his head on Wille’s shoulder. “I don’t know why you don’t just let August do it. At least he wants to.”

“Because he’s an asshole and Mamma doesn’t trust him,” Wille says, and Simon can’t disagree there. “Besides, what else am I going to do?”

There’s a bitterness to his voice that Simon has heard many times before. He pretends he understands. He’s always wanted to be a singer; he doesn’t know what it’s like to be without direction.

“You could do anything,” he says quietly.

Wille’s chin brushes his temple as he looks down at him and Simon lifts his head to find him studying his face. Whatever Wille sees, it causes something sad to cross his expression and Simon feels exposed beneath the scrutiny.

“You’re not as happy as I imagined.”

“No?” Simon huffs a laugh, as if he isn’t completely aware that it takes him all of his energy to summon a smile. His hand finds the bottle at his feet, brings it to his mouth.

“Mhm.” A tipsy smile spreads over Wille’s lips. “I always imagined you were off having the time of your life, playing stadiums and touring the world like you always said you would.” His smile fades. “I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

Simon shakes his head.

“I didn’t,” he insists. How could he?

“You stopped calling,” Wille says, voice small.

Simon squeezes his eyes shut.  “I know. I’m sorry.”

The guilt, now that he knows that Wille never hated him for leaving, is all consuming.

“I guess- I just got caught up in it all.”

Wille says nothing, waiting for him to continue and Simon sighs.

“I wanted to but…” Another sigh, this one more frustrated, “But I didn’t want to think about you.”

He forces his eyes to fix on Wille only to see him frown, hurt clouding his features.

“Not- it hurt. To know I couldn’t see you.”

“You could have,” Wille says. “You could’ve come to see me.”

“I haven’t been home. I never have the time,” Simon mutters half-heartedly. Because even as he says it, he knows it’s only a half truth. He could have come back. But then he’d have to say goodbye again. 

Wille doesn’t call him out on it, instead simply saying, “I missed you.”

Simon’s heart aches. The corners of his eyes burn and he blinks rapidly against a wave of emotion.

“I didn’t want to leave you behind. I wanted to take you with me,” Simon says, alcohol loosening his lips. “I should have stolen you.”

“Hm?” Wille bumps their knees together. “Do you think I could fit in your suitcase?”

Simon laughs softly, trailing off into silence. 

“You wouldn’t have come with me,” he whispers. Even if they hadn’t been too young, Wille had still been desperately trying to please his parents at the time. 

“I would have.” Simon gives him a look and Wille purses his lips. “I would now.”

Simon swallows, turns away from Wille’s intense gaze. He forgot how maddening it could be to be around Wille, always walking a fine line.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

“I’m trying not to think.”

“That doesn’t sound healthy.”

Simon laughs. “You’re probably right.”

He looks up at the stars and wonders when Wille became the more reasonable one of them. Emotional reservedness was always his area, not Simon’s. But perhaps they’ve both changed.

His eyes fall back down to Wille, the moon lighting up his skin, reflecting in his eyes.

He’s not sure if it’s the alcohol or the fact that it’s Wille but suddenly Simon is saying, “I don’t think I want to do this anymore.”

Wille frowns, turns to him with that same sad expression. “You don’t have to.”

“I do. I signed a contract.”

“Contracts can be broken.”

“Not without consequences.” 

Wille closes his mouth, looking as if he’s trying to find a solution to Simon’s problem. Like there even is a solution. 

In the end, he only says, “We should run away.”

Simon smiles, lifts his chin to the stars. “Where do you want to go?”

“Where haven’t you been?”

“Not many places. But I’ve mostly just seen the inside of hotel rooms.”

“That sucks,” Wille says, meaning it. “We’ll go again. I’ll take you to every place you never got to see.” 

“Tempting,” Simon says, still smiling. “I’m going straight to London when I leave.”

“I’d like to see London.”

Come with me, Simon’s mind provides but he manages not to say it out loud.

Simon thinks that - maybe - he might be able to do it if Wille is with him. And that scares him. Wille scares him. Being here now, seeing him again, he’s balancing on the edge of a cliff. He knows he should step back, knows he might fall, but he’s missed the view too much to care.

There’s something different in Wille’s gaze now as he rests his cheek on his knee and studies Simon’s face. His eyelids drooping slightly as a smile plays at his lips. Simon’s stomach twist into a knot.

“What?” he says, glancing away and back again.

Wille’s wandering eyes finally settle on meeting Simon’s and he smiles properly, whispers, “You’re so beautiful.”

“Wille,” Simon warns but it comes out as a plea. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you.”

Simon shakes his head, swallows.

Perhaps it’s the reminder that tomorrow he can blame it on the alcohol or maybe he just wants to be honest for once but the words are out before Simon can stop them.

He turns to Wille and says, “You know, I used to have a crush on you.”

He doesn’t know why he says it. They both already know. They’ve never talked about it but they both know. 

Perhaps he’s more drunk than he thought.

Wille takes a moment to take in the words and then he’s grinning. “Really?”

“You must have known.”

Wille bites his lip against his grin. “I wasn’t sure.”

Simon rolls his eyes and can’t help back smile too, despite feeling like he’s just revealed his biggest secret. He has, he realises belatedly, immediately wanting to take it back. What is he doing? He’s moved on, why is he reopening old wounds?

Wille doesn’t pick up on his internal panic.

“I always thought you were too beautiful to be real,” he says.

“Shut up.”

“I liked you too,” Wille says. “I mean- I never stopped.”

What?

Simon shakes his head repeatedly. “Don’t say that.”

“What? It’s the truth,” Wille says gently. “I lo-”

Simon puts a hand to Wille’s mouth, stopping him from going on. “Shh. Stop talking.”

Wille stares at him with wide eyes, silent as Simon lowers his hand.

When did they get so close? Simon can feel Wille’s shaking breath on his cheek, and for a moment, he almost leans in.

Because suddenly he can’t remember why this is a bad idea. Because Wille’s lips are right there and Simon has wanted to kiss him for so long and really, why should he deny himself that, after waiting so long?

But Wille’s eyes fall to his lips and the rush of heat through Simon’s body, the wave of dizziness that takes over him, is too much.

He sucks in a breath pulls away and stumbles to stand up. He blindly heads for the window, almost falling flat on his face as he climbs through it in his haste to put as much distance between him and Wille as possible before he does something stupid.

“Simon! Wait, I’m sorry,” Wille says, catching up. He grabs hold of Simon’s sleeve and as he pulls him to a stop Simon spins around to face him. He collides with his chest, hand coming out to push against him but only closing his fist in the material of his shirt. “I shouldn’t have-”

Wille’s words are swallowed by Simon’s lips as he kisses him. A surprised sound escapes him but he doesn’t pull away, instead reaching as if by reflex for Simon’s waist, pulling him in, and then he’s kissing him back and everything is quiet. Not the suffocating quiet of coming off stage or sleeping alone, but the quiet of feeling safe and at home. Simon could swim in the kiss forever and never drown, never tire of the waves as they wash over him in ripples.

Wille is gentle, oh so gentle, as he slides his hands over Simon’s back, wrapping him in a hug and pulling him closer.

They break apart but just barely as Simon leans his forehead against Wille’s.

“Simon?” Wille asks quietly, his hands rubbing circles into his side. There are so many questions in that one word and Simon doesn’t want to answer a single one. Not with Wille so close. Not when he’s already crossed the line.

So he kisses him again. And again.

He loses himself in it, his head swimming. Wille’s teeth catch his bottom lip, his hands traveling up his back to bury themselves in his hair and Simon’s got a handful of his shirt as he pulls him closer. He doesn’t think, all he knows is Wille’s lips and his hands and nothing else matters, just Wille, Wille, Wille.

And then a glass smashes beyond the window and reality comes flooding back.

Simon shoves Wille away, steps back until he hits the door. He stares at Wille with wide eyes and presses his fingers to his lips.

“Simon?” Wille says again, fragile and the sight breaks Simon’s heart.

“I’m sorry,” he slurs, and this time when he stumbles out the door, Wille doesn’t follow. He makes it all the way out the front door before he throws up in a bush.

Chapter Text

There was something ‘bout you that now I can’t remember

It’s the same damn thing that made my heart surrender

And I miss you on a train, I miss you in the morning

I never know what to think about

Someone is knocking on the door and Simon’s head pounds with every hit. There’s clattering in the kitchen and Simon shifts beneath the blanket covering his body, breathing in a deep breath. He squints open his eyes.

At first, he can’t comprehend his surroundings, thinking maybe he’d fallen asleep in someone else’s house - it wouldn’t be the first time - but as his vision sharpens into focus, he realises he’s lying on his own sofa, in the same clothes as the night before. A vague memory of stumbling into his apartment and collapsing onto the chair surfaces in his mind and then swiftly dissolves as he tries to hold onto the details.

“Simon,” his mum calls. “Simon, can you get the door?”

He groans in self pity but sits up, rubs the sleep out of his eyes and looks around at his living room, light streaming in through the windows making it hard for his eyes to focus. Something plays at the back of his memory as he stands up and wanders to the door, opening it blearily and stopping short when he sees the person on the other side.

It’s Wille, standing sheepishly on his doorstep, with an unsure smile.

Everything from the night before floods back and suddenly he’s wide awake. All he can do is stare, the ghost of Wille’s lips still on his skin, flashes of his hands and eyes and freckles. His mum calls after him but he barely hears her.

He kissed Wille.

They finally kissed and despite that fact that they were both drunk and Simon can’t quite remember how it happened, it was perfect. Wille was perfect. Simon has to stop himself from swaying forward and grabbing hold of him to pull him into another kiss.

He’s a terrible person. What was he thinking? He’d barely been back two days and somehow he’d managed to make such a huge mess of things. Tomorrow he’ll be gone and all he’ll have is the memory of a drunken kiss in the dark and Wille’s confused face as he pulled away.

He can’t deal with this right now, doesn’t want to.

Mostly he wants to grab Wille’s hand and run and then keep running.

“Hey,” Wille says, like he hasn’t tipped Simon’s world on its side and left him scrambling for purchase.

Simon’s lips part, but nothing comes out. He should tell him to leave, shut the door before he can do anything stupid.

But he feels lighter just looking at him.

And Simon has always been stupid when it comes to Wille.

“Who is it?” his mum asks, appearing behind him. Simon finally tears his eyes from Wille’s, stepping aside as his mum comes up the hall behind him. “Oh! Wilhelm. How lovely to see you.”

Wille blinks and smiles warmly at her as she puts a hand on Simon’s arm.

“Hello Linda,” he says politely, eyes flicking briefly to Simon. “How are you?”

Simon’s mum, as always, is completely charmed by Wille and proceeds to invite him in, completely oblivious to Simon’s internal distress. He looks to Simon as if for permission and Simon, resigned to his fate, shrugs halfheartedly and walks back into the apartment, expecting him to follow.

He hears his mum asking Wille if he wants a drink, their voices following him down the hall and into the kitchen. Simon walks around the island, putting a barrier between them. He feels a little lightheaded, watching them chat as if everything is normal.

“Is Simon taking you with him to the studio?” his mum asks, handing Wille a glass of water.

He looks to Simon, a question in his eyes and Simon busies himself with pouring his own glass of water, partly for something to do but also in an attempt to get rid of his headache.

“I’m um… recording at the studio today,” he explains, checking the time on his phone. “I should probably be leaving soon actually.”

“Oh…” Wille trails off awkwardly.

A tension settles between them that even Simon’s mum picks up on as she looks between them, a small frown appearing between her brows as the silence drags on.

Before she can ask what’s wrong and before he can change his mind, Simon clears his throat. “But you could come with me. If you want.”

He’ll probably regret it, but he thinks of the day before, the boredom of waiting to film alone, and finds he wants nothing more than to have Wille’s company. At least for a while, so he can pretend this is something he can have.

“Will I be in the way?”

“Probably.”

Wille laughs. “Yeah. I’d love to.”

“Alight,” Simon sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. He puts his empty glass down, decides to get ready. “I need a shower first.”

He says it like a challenge, like he’s daring Wille to change his mind and leave. But he makes no move to go and seems content to wait with Simon’s mum for him to come back.

As Simon makes his way to his bedroom, he hears her ask, “How is your mum doing Wilhelm? I haven’t seen Kristina in a long time.”

Simon whips his head around with a grimace and mouths sorry to Wille, but he just smiles and waves him away.

She had always been a bit oblivious to the situation with Wille’s mum. It was just another way she didn’t notice things, didn’t see beneath the façade people put up to protect themselves. It made it easier, for him to pretend he was ok. But sometimes he wondered if she just didn’t really care enough to see.

It’s harsh, he knows. But he can’t help thinking it.

Simon leaves them to it and tries not to spend too long beneath the hot spray of water, despite wanting sit under it for hours and let it sooth his aching head.

Getting out, he towels himself dry and then looks through his wardrobe for something to wear. It’s all clothes from before and he knows his stylist would disapprove of them all but right now he really doesn’t care. He pulls out his old favourite hoodie, left untouched since he’d unpacked and then left it behind. He pulls the purple material over his head and stops when he sees his reflection in the mirror. His tired eyes and perpetually downturned lips don’t belong, the only things stopping the boy looking back at him from blurring into his younger self.

Turning from the mirror, he goes back into the kitchen, feeling a little less like death. Simon finds Wille sitting across the table from his mum, and he gives him another apologetic look as he realises she is still bombarding him with questions. Wille answers politely, giving Simon a secret smile over her shoulder.

She eventually lets them go but only when Simon reminds her that he needs to be at the studio on time – a slight exaggeration since he’s actually running early, but Simon wanted to get there before anyone else.

He and Wille walk in silence down to the lobby and it’s only broken as Wille stops outside the entrance, car keys jangling from his finger. “I can drive us.”

The studio isn’t far - Simon chose the apartment because it was close by and he thought he’d enjoy the walk - but right now walking sounds like a horrible idea.

It is once again quiet as they climb into Wille’s car, Simon giving an occasional direction as Wille drives. It feels so blissfully normal. Neither mention the party or the kiss - or kisses - and Simon is grateful. He doesn’t want to talk about it, he just wants to spend time with Wille while he still can.

As he expected, the studio is empty when they get there. He types the code to get in and then turns a switch, flooding the room with light. It hasn’t changed. Even the piano is sitting in the same corner. He could almost believe it had been left untouched, waiting for him to return.

As he takes in the place he made his first record, Wille walks past him, looking around with curious eyes.

“This is so cool,” he says, wandering over to the mixing desk, fiddling with the dials until Simon walks up next to him to swat his hands away and tell him to stop. 

He points to one of the dials. “What does this do?”

“That’s the volume,” he says, amused.

“What about this?”

Simon rolls his eyes but indulges him, explaining each section of the desk and then showing him how they work. He’d learnt by pestering his mixing engineer the same way, and he watches Wille now, looking at everything with a curiosity that Simon hasn’t been able to summon in a while, and feels warmth spread through him at the sight. He feels giddy with it, like he could write a whole song just about this moment.

Wille walks into the booth, puts on the headphones and taps the mic. He looks to Simon through the glass and leans in to say, “Is this on?” 

Simon closes the door to the booth then presses a button, speaking into his own mic. “You’re recording.”

“Really?”

Simon nods. “You told me you’d been practicing,” he prompts. “Time to prove yourself.”

“Ok,” Wille grins, swaying as he decides on a song. His smile widens slightly as he seems to settle on one, and then he starts to sing familiar words, his voice out of tune and completely off beat. Simon bites his lip to stop the laugh that threatens to escape. It’s his newest single, only released a few weeks before. Simon has only just finished promoting it, but Wille knows every word.

At least, he knows the start and the chorus. When it gets to the second verse, Wille starts making up his own lyrics. 

Simon covers his mouth as he laughs, a sound that surprises him. It’s been so long since being in the recording studio felt like anything but his job, since it had been fun.

“That was awful,” Simon says over the mic with a grimace. Wille puts his hand to his heart, mock offended. “How many of my songs do you know?”

“All of them.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think they’re beautiful,” he says, voice soft with eyes to match as he looks only at Simon.

A memory of the previous night floats back to the surface of Simon’s mind. Wille’s slurred, voice. You’re so beautiful, he’d said, quietly, like the confession was a delicate thing.

Simon’s smile fades. “Wille-”

He’s cut off as the studio door opens and Simon turns to see Anna and a few more of his team enter the room. Guilt squeezes his chest, despite not doing anything wrong and he’s sure his cheeks grow a few shades darker.

“Who’s this?” Anna asks, taking off her coat and laying it over the arm of the sofa. 

“This is Wille- Willhelm… my friend.”

“Sorry,” Wille says, emerging from the booth. He seems to be apologising for his general existence as he stands with his hands in his pockets like he’s about to be told off.

Instead, Anna says, “Nice to meet you Willhelm. Will you be staying? We don’t really need any distractions. We’re running late as it is.”

“He can stay,” Simon says firmly.

“I won’t distract him,” Wille reassures her, something Simon doubts. “I’m just listening.” 

One by one the rest of the filming crew arrive, leaving little space to move around. Simon tells Wille to sit on the sofa with Anna and he seems grateful to be out of the way, though clearly wary of the women. Simon doesn’t blame him.

Simon is directed into the booth and he places the headphones over his head. A camera films him through the glass and Simon feels a little like an animal in a zoo with all the faces looking at him.

His eyes wander to Wille and he makes a face behind everyone’s back. Simon laughs and Anna’s head shoots up with a frown. She glances beside her at Wille with a raised eyebrow.

Simon sees his mouth form the word sorry but doesn’t hear it through his headphones. He schools his features into a serious expression.

Dan stands behind the camera, checking the small screen before he leans forward to speak into the mic. “Ok Simon, so first we’re going to get some shots of you singing your debut single and then…”

Simon is only half listening. They went him to sing, he can do that, even if the environment is one he dislikes.

They film for a few hours, trying different songs and angles, they sit Simon down and get him to talk about making his first single and then Dan is calling, “Let’s take five and then we can set up to do some close ups.”

Simon takes off the headphones and hangs them up on the mic. He wanders over to the piano and sits down on the bench. A moment later he hears the door to the booth open and looks up to see Wille walking in, closing the door behind him.

He joins Simon on the bench, smiles sideways at him. “Will you play me something?”

Simon tilts his head as if considering, an embarrassed smile on his lips. He plays in front of thousands every week, but sitting in front of Wille, he’s suddenly nervous. Wille had always been his biggest fan, before. He was the one who taught him the basics of piano, helped him learn to read sheet music. Even when the other students made fun of him, said he wasn’t talented enough to make it, Wille would ask him to sing for him. He would watch with soft eyes that Simon was never sure meant anything more than he liked the song. But now Simon does know and it’s all he could think about.

He presses a single key but doesn’t continue.

“Please?”

Simon rolls his eyes.

“You’re so demanding,” he says, but he puts his fingers to the keys and plays the first notes of a song he’s been working on. He has some lyrics to go with the tune but he doesn’t sing them, afraid to let them be heard. 

Wille is grinning again when he presses the final key.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“It’s perfect.”

Wille’s eyes shine as he looks at him and Simon can’t stop the blush from spreading over his cheeks. He wants to tell him not to look at him like that. That it’s dangerous. It makes Simon want to do something he shouldn’t.

“Can I request another one?”

Simon pretends to be annoyed, as if he isn’t enjoying every second with Wille’s shoulder pressed to his. “Depends which one.”

“I want to hear your favourite song that you’re written.”

Simon purses his lips and thinks for a moment. He loves all his songs, even the ones he wishes he had more time with. Each one is a drop of his soul, a piece of his heart. But there is one, a song that Simon never released, never even played for his label, because it was too personal.

His eyes flick to Wille who is waiting patiently and then takes a breath before returning his fingers to the piano. His voice is quiet, soft, as he sings, as if hoping only Wille will hear, despite knowing the microphone will pick up every word.

The song trails off with the last notes on the piano, and Simon can feel Wille’s eyes burning into the side of his head. He pulls his hands away, holds them in his lap and stares down at the keys.

“I’ve never heard that one,” Wille says quietly. He doesn’t meet Simon’s eye as he asks, “Who is it about?”

Simon wants to laugh. Because he can tell that Wille really doesn’t know. He has no idea that he has been Simon’s muse since the first time he put pen to paper. Wille is in every lyric of every song he’s ever written. At least the ones about longing and home. He writes about Marcus. Just not in the same way. It’s one of the last secrets he has left. Wille is the part of him he’s been trying so hard to stomp out and move on from, but he always finds his way into Simon’s music, hidden between the lines.

Simon lifts his shoulders in a long shrug and is thankful when Dan calls him over to review their footage.

Wille is standing at Simon’s shoulder as they watches the footage back, making quiet comments, when the door opens. Simon doesn’t turn around, expecting it to be one of the crew who have been in and out all day.

But then Anna exclaims, “Marcus! You’re early.”

Simon freezes. He feels the heat of Wille’s shoulder move away from his own as he turns to the door. The loss of warmth snaps Simon out of his panic.

“Hi Simon,” Marcus says from behind him.

Simon spins around just in time to be wrapped up in a hug. Simon hugs him back, an automatic gesture that feels wrong. Especially when he catches Wille’s eye over his shoulder.

He pulls away.

“Hi,” Simon says, hoping the awkwardness he feels isn’t obvious in his voice. He wipes his palms on his jeans.

Marcus’ eyes have caught on Wille and he turns to Simon as if asking for an introduction. Simon swallows, licks his lips.

“Wille, this is Marcus.”

Wille looks between Simon and Marcus as if he had completely forgotten about Marcus’ existence until that moment.

Guilt twists in his stomach all over again. He’d barely considered Marcus in all of this. It didn’t feel like cheating. He looks at Wille and feels like he’s betrayed him, not Marcus. But perhaps it’s both of them he’s betrayed in one way or another.

Marcus must pick up on Simon’s turmoil because he pulls him aside and asks, “Are you feeling ok? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine, just hungover.” Not a completely lie. Simon isn’t entirely sure the sick feeling in his stomach isn’t what remains of his hangover.

Marcus chuckles. “Oh so that’s why you haven’t replied to my texts.”

Simon nods slowly. “Yeah. Sorry. I forgot to tell you. I met up with Ayub and Rosh, they threw me a party.”

Simon had talked about them before so Marcus was familiar with the names. He glances past Marcus to where Wille is still watching the footage of him singing.

“How did you get on without me? I heard you almost missed an interview,” Marcus says teasingly.

Simon gives him an annoyed look. “I’ve been fine.”

Marcus does a gesture of surrender. “I know, just asking.”

Simon ignores him, nodding to the monitor and muttering something about needing to get back to work, and then he returns to Wille’s side.

Wille continues to watch the monitor and Simon isn’t sure what to say.

“What do you think?” he asks him.

“It’s perfect. You sound great,” Wille says flatly. There’s something in his voice that Simon doesn’t like.

He opens his mouth to speak but ends up closing it again as words fail him.

Dan seems to be satisfied with what they’re got so far and he turns to Marcus. “If you’ve got time, we’re going to film you on the drums as Simon sings.”

Marcus seems more than happy to get to play – he so rarely does these days – and he goes into the booth.

Wille finally looks away from the monitor and gives Simon a sad smile. “I should go.”

Simon swallows, panic rising. Wille shifts, as if to move towards the door and Simon moves to block his path, a half step to the side, and Wille stops.

“Wait.”

For a moment they just look at each other, and Simon doesn’t know what to say. He can’t ask him to stay, not with Marcus here and there nothing he can say to fix this. But he’s leaving tomorrow night, and this can’t be the last time he sees him.

“Will you come see me perform tomorrow?” he finally asks. “Mum and Sara have box seats, I’m sure they’ll be happy for your company.”

Wille holds his gaze for a moment, then his eyes flick to Marcus beyond the glass, and Simon is afraid he’s going to say no, that he’s lost him again.

“Marcus usually stays backstage with me, so there’ll be a spare seat,” he adds weakly.

Wille gives a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but he nods.

“Ok,” he says eventually. “I’ll be there.”

Relief floods through Simon. He’s only putting off the inevitable, but for now there’s still tomorrow.

Wille gives one last look to Marcus before he pulls Simon into a hug. He melts into it, wants to bury his face in Wille’s shoulder but he refrains, conscious of Marcus watching them.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Wille says quietly, then pulls away.

Simon smiles and let’s him go even though he wants nothing more than for him to stay.

“Ready Simon?” Dan asks, from inside the booth.

Simon pushes it all down, forces it into its usual place to be locked away, and joins Marcus in the booth. As he reaches for the headphones, Marcus says, “He seems nice.”

Simon startles.

“What Wille?” he asks too quickly. “Yeah, he is,”

“Did you guys know each other from school?”

Simon turns to Marcus, forces his voice even to sound normal. “Um, yeah. He was my best friend, but we kind of lost touch. I was too busy, and I think he felt left behind.”

It’s such an oversimplification of the truth that Simon feels wrong saying it.

“Oh.” Marcus frowns, tapping the drums with his sticks. “It’s just you’ve never mentioned him before. I thought you would have if you were so close.”

“Guess it just never came up.” Simon puts the headphones over his ears, turns to Dan waiting behind the camera. “Ready?”

He doesn’t look at Marcus again until Dan is saying cut and people are starting to pack up, and even then, it’s only a fleeting glance.

Simon is not completely in denial about his feelings for Marcus. He knows that their relationship is mostly based on convenience - at least for him - and that Marcus knows this too. But he’s still the only person Simon has felt close to in the past few years, the only person he talks to every day, and he doesn’t want to lose him. And he’s afraid his crime is written all over his face.

Later, when they open the door to Simon’s flat, he calls out to his mum and is met with silence. Her shoes are gone from the door and then Simon remembers her telling him she’s working late tonight.

He ignores the way his body tenses as he realises he won’t have anyone to buffer the chasm forming between him and Marcus, visible only to Simon.

“She has a shift, I forgot,” he mutters to Marcus as he closes the door behind them. He hangs up his scarf and coat and continues into the apartment.

“So we’re alone?” Marcus asks, following.

Simon hums a response and stops walking next to the kitchen table where a note sits waiting. He picks it up, feeling Marcus stop behind him, the heat of his body close and he wraps his arms around Simon’s middle.

“What is it?” he asks, kissing Simon’s shoulder.

Simon holds his breath, trying not to flinch at his touch. “She left me some food in the fridge.”

He puts the note back down and is about the pull away when Marcus slides his arms further around his waist. His lips start to trail up his neck as he asks, “Did you miss me?”

Simon shrugs him off, pulling away.

“Stop. Marcus, not now, I’m tired.” He catches the irritation in his voice, tones it down as he adds, “You can have my dinner, I’m not hungry.”

Marcus sighs but stops, letting Simon escape his grip.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m just…” he stops himself. “I’m going to bed. Make yourself at home.”

He’s glad when Marcus doesn’t follow, and when he’s finally alone in his room, he sits on his bed, puts his head in his hands. A shaky breath heaves from his trembling body and he gets under the covers fully dressed.

He doesn’t sleep for a long time, doesn’t stir as Marcus eventually slips in beside him and lays an arm across his body. He’s still awake when his mum comes home and he’s still awake when the sun starts to rise.

Chapter Text

I think about you (so don’t let go)

About you (so don’t let go)

Do you think I have forgotten

About you? (Don’t let go)

About you

About you

Do you think I have forgotten

About you? (Don’t let go)

Simon dreams of brown eyes and soft hair, the press of fingertips to skin and lips trailing his neck, a cross necklace hanging from a slender neck, glinting in dim light. Slowly, he becomes aware that he’s dreaming, tries to hold on to the warmth, hand closing around a cloud of mist as he falls into consciousness.

He wakes in an empty bed, the sheets cold beside him when he runs his hand over them. Muffled voices drift through Simon’s closed bedroom door and fall on his barely conscious ears. He wants to ignore them, to lay a little longer in the remains of his dream, but a cold bed and voices in the kitchen can only mean one thing. So he drags himself out of bed and groggily walks down the hall, finding his mum and Marcus talking over coffee.

“Morning,” he says, standing warily in the doorway.

They return his greeting with equal enthusiasm and Simon frowns at their ability to be so cheerful in the morning.

“Guess I don’t need to introduce you then?” he says with a tight smile, pushing away from the door frame.

“I didn’t want to wake you.” Marcus smiles softly at him. “You looked so peaceful.”

Simon doesn’t join them at the table, instead choosing to lean against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms over his middle. Marcus turns to hand him a coffee and Simon pauses before taking it gratefully.

“Are you excited for your concert sweetheart?” his mum asks.

“Hm,” he hums into his coffee, letting the caffeine clear his head. “I’m nervous. Haven’t performed at home in a while.”

It’s mostly true. Simon is nervous, as he always is before a gig, though the nerves are usually drowned out by excitement. But the queasiness in his stomach now has nothing to do with performing at home, and everything to do with the knowledge that as soon as it’s finished, he’s back on a plane, flying to another country that he won’t get to see. 

Marcus gives a saccharine smile. “You’ll be amazing. You always are.”

Something ugly and resentful twists in Simon’s chest and he looks away, eyes landing on his mum. She’s watching them with a fond happiness that turns the sick feeling into guilt. He sets his jaw and puts on a smile, asking his mum how her shift was.

It is clear, as they make mundane conversation, that she approves of Marcus. Simon tries to imagine a future with him as he has many times before and as always, he finds that Marcus fits perfectly. But the picture still feels wrong. Simon wishes he could love Marcus, wishes the pretend life he’s created was real. It would be so much easier.

Not long after, his mum disappears into her room, leaving him alone with Marcus.

The air is thick with tension. At least, that’s how it feels to Simon. Marcus seems content to eat his breakfast, unaware that Simon doesn’t deserve his comfortable silence.

Simon’s not sure what to do. He fidgets uncomfortably, decides to make himself another coffee, opening cupboards then closing them when he realises he’s opened the wrong one. He turns around and leans back against the counter. Marcus continues to eat, scrolling through his phone and Simon watches him, tells himself to say something.

He’s not a cheater, never thought himself capable of it. He’d never want to hurt anyone, especially not Marcus who has been there for him at his lowest and stayed despite it.

He owes him a lot.

“Marcus,” he starts, but that’s as far as he gets, the rest stuck in his throat.

Marcus looks up briefly and hums a response.

Instead of a confession, what comes out is, “I don’t think I want to do this tour.”

He doesn’t mean to say it really, but he’s afraid if he doesn’t say it now, he never will.

He wonders how long it will be before he has time to come home again. He doesn’t think he can wait another three years. He needs a longer break, if the last five days can be considered a break. He’s exhausted. But his tour starts today and Anna was right, he can’t let everyone down just to sit around at home doing nothing. He chose this life and now he has to live it.

Marcus merely laughs. “What? What are you talking about?”

“I don’t want to do it.”

Marcus doesn’t even look up from his phone as he sighs, dismisses it with exasperation. “You’re not thinking straight. You always get like this before an important step in your career. It’s just nerves.”

Simon wants to scream. He wants to shout at him to listen, to hear him and believe him.

The realisation dawns on his that he’s been shouting for help for years, his voice falling on deaf ears every time, like a song without lyrics, a boy who’s lost his voice. It’s maddening.

At Simon’s silence, Marcus finally looks up and meets his eye.

“Ok?” he asks, in a way that can only be answered with a yes.

So that’s what he says. He nods his head and turns around, rinsing his mug in the sink. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s all in my head.”

Simon is about to walk away, shut himself in his room to sulk but the door buzzer rings before he can turn around. He pauses, taken back to the day before and Wille showing up unannounced. But then he remembers, scolds himself for completely forgetting. His sister is coming home to see him. He lets out a breath and drops his mug in the sink.

“That should be Sara,” he says, pushing away from the counter.

Marcus watches him go, and Simon thinks he might see concern behind his eyes. He should feel a spike of triumph knowing that he finally realises he’s said something wrong, but he feels nothing at all besides the anticipation of seeing Sara after so long.

She’s been at university, her last year, and they’ve both been so busy that Simon is pretty sure the last time he saw her was when she came to one of his concerts the year before. He’s missed her.

He opens the door and sure enough, finds Sara waiting on the other side. She takes one look at him and says, “You look tired.”

Simon laughs despite himself. “Thanks Sara. It’s nice to see you too.”

Her eyebrows twitch into a quick frown as she takes off her coat, stepping through the door. “I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

Simon pulls her into a hug, holding on tightly and she holds him back. For a moment he lets himself soak in the comfort of having his big sister close and then she’s pulling away, giving him a quick smile before moving past him into the apartment.

He’s left to close the door and follow behind as Sara heads to the kitchen, clearly familiar with the layout and Simon realises Sara has probably spent more time in his flat than he has.

Marcus is standing when they walk into the room and Sara stops short when she sees him.

“Hi Sara,” he says, hands in his pockets. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

She looks Marcus up and down, the corner of her mouth lifting in something like a smile.

“Hi,” she says and nothing more, looking to Simon. “Where’s mum?”

Simon feels a rush of affection for his sister and her blunt ways and a smile plays at his lips. Still, he sends an apologetic look to Marcus as Sara doesn’t wait for his response, continuing past them to find their mum.

“Don’t take it personally,” he says, starting to follow. “She’s like that with everyone.”

Marcus doesn’t look completely convinced but he sits down, leaving them to their family reunion as Simon goes after Sara.

•••

Hours later, when the sun has come and gone, they take two cars to the theatre. Anna has joined them and she ends up riding with Marcus and his mum while Simon takes the other car with Sara. He’s glad to be able to spend more time with her and relieved to have a short reprieve from Marcus and Anna.

His peace is short lived however as they’ve barely set off when Sara says, “You’re unhappy.”

It’s not an accusation, though it feels like one, simply an observation. She must have been waiting for a moment alone to speak to him. He’d noticed her concerned looks throughout the day and he hates the reminder that his façade is crumbling.

“I’m fine.”

She shoots him a look. “You haven’t been home in three years.”

“I’ve been busy,” Simon mutters.

“It’s making you miserable.”

He ignores her, unwilling to admit that he knows she’s right but doesn’t know how to do anything about it.

Sara purses her lips. “I don’t understand why you let them walk all over you,” she says, genuinely confused. “You’re the famous one. Shouldn’t you be the one in charge, bossing everyone else around?”

Simon rolls his eyes. “That’s not how it works.”

Perhaps it is for others, but Simon has a habit of ignoring his own needs to please everyone else. Giving up pieces of himself until there is nothing left.

“You can’t carry on like this Simon,” Sara says quietly. “I’m worried about you. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

Simon stares out the window, a deep frown between his brows.

“You shouldn’t have said yes to the tour. You knew it was too much.”

“Yeah, well it’s a bit late for that Sara,” he snaps. “I’m flying to London tonight.”

“You can still walk away,” she reasons. “They can’t make you. I saw one of those American artists do it not long ago. Everyone was just worried that they were okay.”

Simon sighs and looks out the window. She makes it sound so simple. He’s reminded of Wille, saying they should run away together and almost smiles.

“I saw Wille,” he admits after a short silence.

Sara raises her eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He picks at his jeans. “He said the same thing. About my label.”

“Maybe you should listen to him.”

He sighs heavily, muttering weakly, “It’s not that simple.”

“It should be,” she says. “This was your dream and they’re ruining it.”

Simon looks at her, knowing she’s right but hating it all the same. He smiles bitterly. “Marcus told me it was just nerves.”

She scoffs and the sound surprises a laugh out of him. He shakes his head but then she’s laughing with him, despite it not being funny at all.

“It’s not funny,” he says, but he’s smiling now.

Their laughter trails off into another silence, this one is less tense.

“I don’t think you should be dating Marcus.”

“Sara!”

“What?” She shrugs, wide eyed. “Do you even like him?”

Simon rolls his eyes, shakes his head. “Of course I do. He’s perfect.”

She squints at him then hums, unconvinced. “But not for you.”

“You’ve just met him.”

“I’ve seen pictures of you two on dates,” she says matter-of-factly. “You’re always looking anywhere but at him.”

Guilt once again settles in the pit of Simon’s stomach. He’s been a coward, letting things carry on the way he has despite knowing it wasn’t right.

“You don’t have to be with him Simon.”

“Can we not talk about this? Please.”

“Ok,” she says, a knowing smile slowly spreading on her face. “How is Wilhelm?”

He rolls his eyes. “He’s good.”

She raises an eyebrow. “That’s all?”

“Yes,” he says. “That’s all.”

“Ok,” she says, believing none of his lies.

He shoves her shoulder. “Shut up.”

She giggles and he can’t help but laugh too.

Up ahead, Simon sees the theatre through the windscreen of the car. His name is in bright lights over the entrance and he can see people lining up already, despite arriving a few hours before the concert so he has time to get ready and for a sound check. He realises, only then, that he should have told Wille to come early.

“Wille will be sitting with you and Mama,” he tells Sara as they drive round to the back of the building.

“Ok,” she says and he can hear all the assumptions she’s making in that single word.

“Sara.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I just think it’s cute. That’s all.”

“You’re the one who told me to forget Wille, that he just needs saving all the time.”

“I did.” She shrugs. “But you like saving him.”

•••

The seats are almost full and Wille is not there. Simon peaks through a thin gap in the red velvet stage curtains and worries that he’s not coming. He can see the box seats opposite from this side of the stage. His mum and Sara are already sat in the one closest to the stage, talking as they wait.

Wille said he would come. He said he’d been here. Anxiety lights up Simon’s nerves. What if he’s changed his mind? Finally decided that Simon isn’t worth it and that he’s better off forgetting about him.

It’s selfish, to expect Wille to wait for around him when Simon hasn’t done the same. But Simon thinks he deserves to be a little selfish for once.

“Five minutes!” someone shouts and Simon lets go of the curtain. He steps back and then he’s being led behind the main stage, an earpiece being fitted under his shirt and over his ear.

He does some vocal warmups and drinks some water as Liv touches up his hair, letting the familiar routine focus his thoughts away from Wille and onto the performance.

There will be no choreography or big production tonight, just him and his band and a microphone. It’s not the stadiums that Simon has grown used to, but a small, intimate venue. They’re calling it a secret concert, only for Simon’s most loyal fans, and it’s being filmed for the documentary. Dan plans to show the footage alongside one of Simon’s first ever concerts in the same theatre.

A camera points at him now and Simon smiles down the lens, trying to disguise his nerves.

There is a countdown in Simon’s ear and he breathes deeply. The curtain begins to rise and then he’s walking out to cheers, lights hot and blinding as they point directly at him. For a moment, before his band join him, he’s alone on the stage, no backing singers or dancers. But the eyes on him don’t scare him, they’re exhilarating. This is the reason he stays, the reason he can’t let this go. It’s all love, in an instant he can have the crowd screaming along to a song, the next they could be in tears as he sings about heartbreak. That connection, it’s addicting.

He does his usual opener, introducing himself to the audience as if they don’t know who he is and then his band come out to join him. They start with his more upbeat songs, his most popular.

As the first chords of the first song start to play, Simon finally lets himself look to the box seats and the last threads of tension in his body immediately unwind when he sees Wille sitting beside Sara.

He came.

Wille smiles when he sees him looking and Simon grins back. He looks so right, sitting up there with his family and Simon’s heart squeezes in his chest.

He almost misses the first lyric of the song, catching himself just in time as the beat plays in his ear. The crowd joins in, shouting his lyrics back at him and Simon feels alive in a way he only does when he performs.

He grips the mic on its stand and his eyes stray up to Wille. He’s singing along with everyone else and Simon is transfixed by the sight.

He tells himself to remember the audience, that they will notice the way his chin is tilted up and off to the side, his gaze straying to the same place with every song. But Simon wrote these words for Wille and he can’t help but watch him as he sings them. Simon imagines reframing the words that he must have heard so many times before into their true meaning, realising that the you is him and Simon has been telling the world about him for years.

He loses himself in the performance for a while, as he often does, until he’s singing the last song, a ballad that is a fan favourite, and then, as he bows and his band exit the stage, he hesitates.

Instead of leaving with his band like they had rehearsed, he steps back up to the mic.

“I um… I actually have one last song for you guys,” he says.

The crowd cheers and Simon glances backstage as he walks over to the piano, slotting his mic into the stand. His guitarist gives him a questioning look, gesturing to the stage, asking if they need to come back out. Simon shakes his head slightly, they’ve never rehearsed the song he plans to play. A woman with a headset appears beside him, probably asking what Simon is doing but he only shrugs.

Simon sits down at the piano alone. The audience are quiet now as he rests his fingers over the keys.

“This song is one you haven’t heard before,” he says, beginning to play the slow tune. “It’s about a love that demands not to be forgotten.”

For the second time in two days, Simon sings the song that he was too scared to sing with an audience. And this time, when his eyes once again fix on Wille, he doesn’t bother to look away. Wille stares back at him as Simon puts his lips to the mic, and he holds his gaze until the very last lyric.

It feels like a confession, a promise he can’t keep, as he sings from the heart.

But maybe it doesn’t have to be that way. Maybe this is a promise he can keep.

With one last glance up at the box, where Sara and his mum are clapping and Wille is watching him closely, Simon exits the stage, mind set on finding them backstage.

He’s barely made it behind the curtain when Marcus pulls him into a hug and Simon is thrown back into reality, ears ringing as Marcus tells him he was amazing, just like he said he would be.

He stands still in Marcus’ arms, adrenaline still coursing through him as he breaths deeply. He’s pretty sure he thanks him, but his head is a mess and then Marcus is letting go.

Simon takes the water bottle Marcus offers him and downs half of it in two gulps. It clears his head enough to realise a camera is still pointing at him and he schools his features to hide the conflicted emotions he feels.

Marcus pulls him aside and Simon lets him, if only to get away from the camera.

“Marcus,” he says when they’re out of earshot of everyone else. “I need to talk to you.”

“We can talk later,” Marcus says. He takes the water bottle back and places it aside, reminding him, “You’ve got to get ready for the meet and greets.”

Simon’s heart sinks. He’d forgotten about the meet and greets, so caught up in the idea of finding Wille.

He doesn’t know if he’ll have the courage if he doesn’t do this now. But Marcus is already turning away.

“Will you tell them to come to my dressing room?” he asks instead before he can disappear.

“Yeah. Of course,” Marcus says.

Simon nods. He hesitates but then forces himself away from the stage and down the hallway to his dressing room.

As he gets further from the noise and eventually shuts himself in his quiet dressing room, the excitement gradually turns back to anxiety until he doesn’t know if he wants Marcus to return with Wille or not. He doesn’t know what he’d say.

He knows what he wants to say, knows what he wants to do.

But in the end, it doesn’t matter. There is no sign of Marcus as Simon quickly gets ready and his resolve drains with every passing second. Before long, Anna is knocking at the door.

“Ready?” she asks, holding the door for him.

Silently, he nods and follows her out. She walks with him, reminding him not to take too long with each fan as they need to head straight to the airport afterwards. Simon hates flying after a concert, he has too much energy and no way to use it.

It’s not as hectic as before the show but there are still people milling around and, as he’s about to walk into the meet and greet room, Simon doesn’t see Wille at first.

“Simon!”

He stops in his tracks.

“Hey,” he says. “You found me.”

“Yeah well...” Wille’s smile turns amused and he holds up something that Simon didn’t realise he was holding. “I had to get your autograph. Will you sign this for me?”

Simon takes it with a laugh. “You bought my merch?”

Wille shrugs. “I wanted something to remember you by.”

Something aches in Simon’s chest and he can’t help the frown that settles on his face.

“Simon,” Anna says from behind him, a reminder.

“Ok,” he says, not looking away from Wille.

“Simon,” she says, voice scolding. “We’re on a tight schedule. There are people waiting.”

Simon takes a deep breath, says through his teeth, “Ok. I’m coming.”

Wille gives a half smile. “It’s ok.”

Simon rocks forwards and wraps Wille into a hug.

He wants to ask him to stay, to wait for him, but what then? He would only be delaying the inevitable. He doesn’t want to let go, doesn’t want to say goodbye. So he doesn’t.

He pulls away without a word and he turns to go, leaving before he can’t.

He only realises when the first fan is walking into the room that he still has the shirt in his hands.

The meet and greet is draining as they always are. He loves to meet his fans but there so many of them and he doesn’t want anyone to be disappointed if he seems a little down. So his lips are firmly held in a smile and he thanks them all sincerely.

Hello. How are you. Thank you for coming. Do you want me to sign this? Let’s take a picture. Bye, nice to meet you! Over and over.

And then somewhere between let’s take a picture and goodbye, a boy asks him, “Who was the guy in the balcony?”

The boy’s friend gives him a wide eyed look and nudges him in the side. 

“What?” he says to her, “someone’s got to ask.”

“What are you talking about?” Simon asks.

The boy pulls out his phone taps a few times and then shows Simon a picture. It’s dark and grainy but Simon recognises Wille. His blood runs cold.

“Where did you get that?” 

The boy is being ushered out the room before he can answer and Simon shoots a look to Anna who is already typing on her phone. 

A few fans later, she silently hands him her phone. It’s open to twitter.

A topic has started trending in the last hour, only a few thousand tweets. They all want to know who the mysterious guy sitting with Simon’s mum and sister is. The guy that Simon practically spent the whole concert serenading, paying no mind to the rest of the room. The room full of people with phones with cameras.

There’s video after video of him staring up at the balcony, and there’s just as many blurry pictures of Wille, staring right back.

“Is he still here?” he asks Anna.

She heaves a sigh, taking back her phone. “I don’t know Simon. Do you want me to send someone to look for him? I’m not your PA.”

“No. No it’s fine.”

“I’ll message your publicist about the trend but it’s nothing we can’t sweep under the rug with a few pictures of you and Marcus. We can arrange a date in London, make sure some cameras are around.”

Simon says nothing but the idea annoys him.

He’s distracted for the rest of the meet and greet, paranoid that every excited, smiling face sees right through him. How many of them noticed? How many of them are going to spend tonight on twitter theorising on who Wille is?

After the last fan has left, Simon closes his eyes and sits on the table. Marcus has appeared again and he sits beside him.

“You were right about Sara,” he says. “I think I’m growing on her.”

Simon doubts that.

“They told me to let you know they’re going back to the apartment. You should have time to say a quick goodbye before we get the plane.”

Simon realises suddenly he can’t think of anything worse than going anywhere with Marcus right now. And he feels awful for it.

Marcus takes his hand and starts walking to the dressing room so they can get their things.

Simon doesn’t carry much with him so he only has to pick up a coat. While he waits for Marcus, he unlocks his phone and scrolls through twitter. The trend has gone from a few thousand tweets to tens of thousands. They have already started putting together a story, some of it completely ridiculous and untrue and some of it so close to the truth that Simon is scared they’ve uncovered something real.

I’ve never seen Simon smile like that before – one tweet says. Simon stares at the pictures attached. His eyes are bright, a beaming smile on his face as he sings.

There are other tweets too. Saying they never liked Marcus anyway. Simon scoffs at that. His fans love Marcus and their little love story. Everyone thought they were perfect. Everyone except Simon.

“What are you looking at?” Marcus asks, bag over his shoulder as he starts towards the door, expecting Simon to follow.

Simon doesn’t move. He twists Wille’s shirt in his hands and stares after his boyfriend, knowing he has to do this now or he never will.  

“Marcus,” he says suddenly, and Marcus stops, one hand holding the door for him. Simon swallows. “I don’t think this is working.”

Marcus frowns, letting the door go and stepping towards him, worried. “What do you mean?”

“I think… I think we should break up.”

“What?” A number of emotions flick over Marcus’ face all at once before finally settling on hurt. “Why?”

Simon tries to find the least hurtful way to do this but nothing feels honest. So he just tells the truth. “I don’t think I’m love with you.”

Marcus scoffs, looks like he’s about to argue the fact but then he stops, narrows his eyes. “Is this about Wilhelm?”

“What?”

“I’m not blind Simon,” Marcus says. “What, did something happen? At the party, did you hook up with him?”

“No,” Simon denies. “Not really-”

Marcus is shaking his head. “I can’t believe you.”

“I’m sorry,” Simon says, voice a little chocked.

Marcus says nothing for a moment and when he looks up, the hurt has turned to something uglier. “I left you alone for what? Three days? And you get with the first guy you find? That’s low even for you Simon.”

“Wille isn’t just some guy,” Simon says defensively, knowing that means nothing.

“I don’t care.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and it’s the truth. “I didn’t want to hurt you but it just happened…”

Simon forces himself to meet Marcus’ betrayed eyes.

“I don’t think I’m happy… with you.”

It’s harsh, but he needs to say it.

Marcus sneers, stepping towards Simon again and Simon edges towards the door. “You’re so selfish, you know that?”

“Selfish?”

Marcus flings his arms to the sides. “I’ve given up everything for you. What am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know Marcus why don’t you do something on your own for once instead of following me around everywhere?”

The words are out before Simon can stop them, hitting Marcus like a slap to the face. Simon wants to take it back immediately.

Marcus scoffs, shakes his head, staring at Simon like he doesn’t recognise him. But maybe he never knew him at all.

“We can talk about this on the plane. You’re being ridiculous,” Marcus says, as if this is just something they can talk through and forget about tomorrow.

Simon laughs, exasperated. “No. Marcus. I’m breaking up with you.”

Marcus isn’t listening. “We’ve got to go, they’ll be waiting for us.”

Simon shakes his head, balls his fists. “I’m not going. I told you I don’t want to, but you never listen.”

“Fine,” Marcus says. “Let me know when you’ve come to your senses. I’ll be waiting with Anna.”

With that, he leaves the room. Simon stares at the closing door, disbelieving, trying to convince himself that that was a real conversation and not a hallucination. He’s not sure which makes him less sane.

It doesn’t matter. Because he has to go.

He throws open the door and all but runs in the other direction. People say his name as he passes, asking where he’s doing but he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t even know he’s made the decision until he’s pulling out his phone, sending a text to Wille.

Where are you?

just got home

are you alright?

Simon doesn’t let himself think, he just calls Einar and slips out the back door. It’s raining which makes it less suspicious when Simon rushes out, hood pulled low. Any fans that might have been waiting to catch a glimpse of him dismiss him without his usual entourage, not expecting him to be leaving the theatre alone to walk down the street. It doesn’t take long for Einar to pull up to the kerb, having been waiting for him out front.

“Where to?” he asks when Simon opens the door. He tells him the address and climbs in and out of the rain.

Sitting in the back, Simon holds the shirt in his hands and tries not to lose his nerve.

He knows the exact moment his team realise he’s missing, because from that point on, his phone doesn’t stop ringing. He turns it off, tosses it on the seat beside him and taps his foot until they’re pulling up outside a familiar house.

He doesn’t get out at first, just stares up at the door. If he goes up those steps there’s no going back. He could tell his driver to carry on, take him to the airport and he could apologise to Marcus. It would be easy.

He looks down at the shirt. Something to remember you by. He doesn’t want to be a memory. The only thing he wants right now is Wille.

He discards the shirt with his phone and finally gets out the car, rain once again soaking into his clothes. His feet carry him up the steps until he’s safely under the porch canopy and he lifts his fist to knock, hesitating only a second, and then he waits. There’s movement behind the door, a muffled voice calling through the house and then the door is opening and Wille is there.

He freezes when he sees Simon, blinking in surprise. He looks down at his rain soaked clothes, his bare arms covered in goosebumps, and frowns.

“Simon you’re soaked,” he says, stepping back as if to let him in but Simon shakes his head, looking over his shoulder to the car waiting for him. Wille does the same and seems to realise he’s not coming in.

“Who is it?” Simon hears Kristina call from inside the house.

Simon has the sudden realisation that he might have to talk to the woman and immediately regrets not texting Wille to meet him outside.

“It’s-” Wille pauses. “It’s no one.”

Simon’s lips curl at the corners as Wille winces at the lie. Simon turns his body and nods to the side, gesturing for Wille to come outside. Wille looks over his shoulder but slips his feet into some shoes and reaches behind the door at grab a coat.

“I’m going for a walk,” he calls to Kristina.

“What?”

Wille doesn’t respond, stepping out onto the top step and closing the door behind him.

“You are the worst liar,” Simon tells him.

“I was under pressure.” Wille shrugs. He shifts sheepishly, looking down at Simon. “What are you doing here? I thought you were leaving.”

“Do you still want to go to London?” Simon asks, no hesitation. He’s done hesitating.

“I mean…” Wille looks at the door, like he might be able to see his mum through it. He steps down so he and Simon are on equal ground. “Right now?”

“I’ve got a private jet headed that way. Might as well use it,” Simon says.

The thought had only occurred to him in the car as he remembered Wille saying they should run away together. It was probably just drunken bullshit, a joke, but Wille is just as stuck as he is. Simon knows Wille will stay here forever with his family, miserable and alone, if he no one is there to tell him to leave.

And Sara was right, Simon does love saving Wille.

“We could go,” he says, smiles like it’s a dare. “Run away together, like you said.”

Wille’s eyebrows knit together but there’s something like hope shining in his eyes. “What about your tour?”

“I don’t think I can do it. I don’t want to.” Simon breathes out, letting go. “You were right. I’m not happy.”

Wille purses his lips to the side. “And your management?”

“I need a new one anyway.” He says it like it’s the most simple thing in the world, like the shitstorm that will follow this is nothing but a small hiccup.

But a smile is spreading over Wille’s lips and that is all that matters. He looks at him so softly Simon wants to collapse forward into his arms. He refrains, but only just, stepping closer instead.

“So?”

Wille’s teeth catch on his bottom lip and Simon can see him turning the idea over in his head. Weakly, he says, “I can’t just… leave. I have a job…”

Simon shakes his head. “Why not? We both know you hate it.”

“I don’t hate it.”

Simon raises his eyebrows. “You’re a terrible liar, remember?”

“It’s not so bad.”

“Come with me,” Simon practically begs. “Please.”

Wille looks between his eyes and Simon can see him warring with himself, until finally, he nods.

“Ok,” he says, then again with more conviction, “Ok.”

Simon’s heart leaps in his chest. “Really?”

Wille nods again but he’s no longer looking in his eyes, instead staring down at his lips. He puts his forehead to Simon’s and whispers, “And us?”

“I’m all yours,” Simon whispers back. “If you want me. I always was.”

Simon stares into brown eyes, not sure what to do from here. He’s scared. It had been an impulsive decision, to come here, and half of him was expecting Wille to try to change his mind. To tell him he was being ridiculous and everything he said at the party had been nothing but a joke. But he only smiles back at him, an excited glint in his eye, and he looks so beautiful and perfect and familiar that Simon sways forward, fingers finding the collar of Wille’s shirt and pulling him down to meet him in a kiss.

It’s barely a peck, testing the waters so Wille can push him away if he wants to. But Wille doesn’t push him away. Instead, he cups Simon’s face in both hands and kisses him again. Slowly and purposefully, he kisses him.

Mind free of alcohol, Simon can feel the shape of Wille’s lips, puts it to memory as hands slide to the small of his back and pull him closer. He moves his hands to Wille’s hair and then lets his arms hang over his shoulders. They both smile into the kiss, grinning wider until they’re just smiling against each other’s lips.

They laugh breathlessly and Wille pulls but just far enough to rest their foreheads together. Simon closes his eyes and breaths Wille in, their noses brushing as he lifts his chin.

“I thought you regretted it. The kiss,” Wille mutters.

Simon shakes his head. “I didn’t want to hurt Marcus.”

Wille pulls away slightly and Simon opens his eyes to see him frown.

“We broke up,” he quickly clarifies.

Wille doesn’t look completely reassured.

“Not because of you, though you helped me realise how I really felt,” Simon explains. “I didn’t love him. I tried to but I couldn’t… I think a part of me was still here with you. I just tried not to think about it.”

Simon realises how it sounds, thinks that Marcus was right about one thing.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’ve been a bit selfish, haven’t I?”

He always tries so hard not to hurt anyone, to put others needs before his own, but by doing that he’s ended up hurting the people he loves, putting their needs second also.

“No.” Wille shakes his head as if he’s personally offended by the suggestion. “No, you’re not selfish Simon.” He tightens his arms around Simon’s waist until they’re pressed chest to chest in a hug. “You’re the most selfless person I know.”

Simon slides his hands down to Wille’s back and lays his head on his shoulder. And for a blissful moment he basks in the knowledge that he doesn’t have to say goodbye, that this is something he gets to keep.

“You took a part of me with you too,” Wille says into his hair.

Simon lets go of the hug and steps back. He offers Wille a hand and he looks down at it, once again worrying his lip.

“Are we really doing this?” Wille asks, but even as he says it, he takes Simon’s hand between both of his own, threading their fingers together.

“You can’t change your mind on me now.”

Simon has no idea where this will lead them or how long they’ll be gone before they inevitably have to come back, but he wants to figure it out. And he wants to do it with Wille.

He takes a step down and after a short moment of hesitation, Wille follows. His eyes stay firmly on Simon as they descend the steps to the car, without looking back.

Chapter Text

Simon is dreaming again.

There is an arm slung over his waist, a warm body pressed against his side and his nose tickles as it brushes against a head of hair. The serenity he feels is something he only experiences in sleep, when real life falls away to nothing. He doesn’t want to wake up.

But as his mind emerges from sleep, Simon realises he’s not dreaming at all and that the boy in his arms is real. Wille is solid beneath his hands and he doesn’t disappear into mist as Simon trails his fingers over his skin. He presses his lips to the top of Wille’s head and then shifts down in the bed so they’re lying next to each other, a hand under his cheek as the other rests between them.

Simon’s permanent smile, that hasn’t disappeared since Wille agreed to come with him, is firmly in place as he watches the slow rise and fall of Wille’s chest. He reaches forward, brushes the hair from Wille’s forehead.

They haven’t left the hotel room since they arrived the previous morning, alternating between making up for lost time and catching up on the sleep they’d missed because of the flight. They talked the whole way, about the past and the future and about pointless things, both too absorbed in each other to even glance out the window.

Simon can’t remember the last time he was this happy.

In the silence of the hotel room, with only the faint sound of cars outside and Wille’s shallow breaths, Simon is inspired to write. He reaches blindly for his phone on the nightstand and opens his notes. He writes a few lines, wanting to detail the exact swoop of Wille’s hair, the bow of his lips and tiny groove between his brows that only appeared after Simon left the circle of his arms. It’s barely a verse let alone a song but it’s the first lyrics in months that he hasn’t had to pour over for hours.

Wille remains unaware, sleeping deeply, and probably will remain that way for a while, so Simon decides to get something to eat. He considers ordering room service but he really needs to stretch his legs. He remembers the receptionist telling him there’s a buffet every morning and so, as quietly as possible, he slides out of bed and puts on a pair of joggers then his hoodie. Wille is still asleep when he goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth and he is still asleep when he slips out the door into the hallway.

He presses the button for the lobby as he enters the elevator and as the doors close, his phone rings in his hand. It’s Anna. He sighs.

“I’ve spoken to your label,” she says when he’s accepted the call, voice clipped and not quite friendly. Simon had finally turned his phone on the day before and the shouting match that ensured was not pretty. He’d hung up on her three times before she finally agreed to hear him out. Now she’s communicating with his label for him, though begrudgingly and Simon is grateful nonetheless. “I’ve managed to schedule a meeting.”

“Thank you,” he says and means it. He’s aware that he can’t stay in his bubble with Wille forever, that he’ll have to face the consequences of his actions eventually, but he’s going to prolong it as long as he can. “When?”

“Next week.” It’s sooner than he would have liked, but Simon can’t really argue. “It would be a lot easier if you just came back. There’s still time to fix this.”

Simon rolls his eyes. “Bye Anna.”

He hangs up, not wanting to hear her attempts to convince him to change his mind. His mind is made up, he’s not going back.

He thought he’d feel worse, at least for a while, but his heart is so full of Wille and the freedom of being able to wake up next to him that there’s no room for the guilt he knows is hidden in the pit of his stomach, waiting to rear its head as soon as he comes down from this high. But Wille isn’t going anywhere and they’re doing this together.

There are a few people sitting around in the lobby and hotel restaurant, some families eating breakfast and a few people sitting alone. He doesn’t miss the way most of them whisper behind their hands when they see him but not even that seems to bother him at the moment. Besides, he’s used to it.

He makes two mugs of tea then grabs a plate and walks along the buffet table, stopping in front of the slices of bread and sandwich fillings. There are trays piled to one side of the table and Simon is pretty sure he’s not supposed to take anything up to their room but he fills the tray anyway, making his way back to the elevator.

Predictably, Wille is still asleep when he pushes the door open with his elbow. He puts the tray on his nightstand and crouches beside the bed with the plate of sandwiches.

“Wille,” he whispers. There’s no response, barely a twitch of an eyebrow, so Simon brushes his fingers through Wille’s hair and says, louder, “Wille.”

“Hm?” is Wille’s response. He goes to swat his hand away but stops when he squints his eyes open and realises that it’s Simon’s hand in his hair.

“I made you a sandwich,” Simon tells him, pulling away anyway and holding up the plate.

Wille stares down at it a moment and then a slow smile spreads over his face. He pushes himself up onto an elbow.

“Thank you,” he says, taking the sandwich with delicate fingers as if it’s precious.

“I also made tea,” Simon mutters, following Wille’s every movement with soft eyes.

Wille grabs a hold of the front of his hoodie with his free hand and drags him into a kiss, just a soft press of lips that turn into smiles.

“I love you,” he mumbles as he lets go.

Simon bites his lip, smiles and says, “I love you too.”

Wille nods and laughs softly. “Good to know.”

Simon pushes his shoulder but laughs too, “Idiot.”

He picks up the other sandwich and barely has time to place the plate aside before Wille is pulling him forward, onto the bed. Simon lets him and they settle against the headboard, eating their sandwiches side by side.

“What do you want to do today?” he asks after their sandwiches are gone and their mugs are empty.

“Nothing,” Wille says. “I want to stay right here with you.”

“We did that yesterday.”

Wille purses his lips hums dismissively as if he doesn’t see the problem. Simon laughs but shifts to the edge of the bed, looking over his shoulder at Wille.

“You promised to take me sightseeing.”

Wille’s eyes slide to the windows, taking up half the wall and looking out at the skyline of London. He moves to sit just behind Simon, resting his chin on his shoulder and shrugging. “You can sightsee from here.”

Simon rolls his eyes but when Wille’s arms wrap around his waist and his lips brush his jaw, he decides sightseeing can wait at least a little longer.