Archive of Our Own ^beta

Wilhelm knows he has a bit of a staring problem. 

Multiple people have pointed it out to him over the years, including his own mother. In his defense, most of the time he’s not very aware of doing it, it’s just another bad habit - like his nail-picking or lip-biting or panic-attacks. 

He throws back the rest of his drink just to give himself something to do, skin vibrating from the pounding bass. To his right, a large crowd of his rowing teammates are playing beer pong across August’s expensive looking wood dining table. 

As much as Wilhelm despises August, he has to begrudgingly admit that he does have an eye for interior design. The space he’s in is modern and sleek, all black-marble and pale blue accents. Each of the faucets in the bathroom and kitchen are gold-trimmed, a smart mirror in every room. His mother had sent him photographs of the finished space to try and entice him into renting the third bedroom, claiming that Erik and August’s guidance would be priceless as a too-anxious Wilhelm continued to navigate his first year at university in a new city. 

Wilhelm, however, had flatly refused, even if he had felt a jolt of melancholy at realizing he was probably giving up his last chance to share a home with his brother. 

Still, he can’t bring himself to regret opting to remain at the dorms. His roommates often stayed up far too late with the overhead light on, and the shared kitchen always smelled faintly like stale popcorn, but the space was his. For the first time, he had a place where he was free of his last name and all the expectations that it brought. 

This housewarming is about as much as Wilhelm can stand of August. 

He hadn’t expected much from the party to begin with, at least not more than another chance to take shots with Erik, Felice, and a handful of his teammates - all which he’s already accomplished. He’d assumed it would be a fairly normal Friday night: Wilhelm would get far too drunk, possibly be sick in August and Erik’s flat or back in his tiny dorm bathroom, and wake up with hangover from hell as he swore he’d give up drinking, only to inevitably do it all over again the following weekend. 

What he hadn’t expected was that in between the thumping bass and flashing LEDs, Wilhelm would catch sight of possibly the most beautiful human being he’d ever had the pleasure of laying his eyes on. 

The boy is small, slight, with messy dark curls and a smile that Wilhelm thinks would make angels weep. He’s spent most of the party in the kitchen nursing the same drink and chatting politely with Felice and a girl with mousy brown hair that Wilhelm has seen her with around campus. 

Honestly, Wilhelm’s not exactly sure how he’s managed to get an invitation. The boy sticks out like a sore thumb in his too large sweatshirt and ratty jeans, especially in a room of Ralph Lauren sweaters and sports coats. 

Not that Wilhelm has any room to talk, his own sweater is a gift from his grandparents. He’d received it at Christmas while the family was on vacation in the Swiss Alps. 

To be quite honest, Wilhelm doesn’t care what brand the boy’s clothes are. He isn’t August. All he cares about is what he’ll look like out of them. And he finally feels like he’s buzzed enough to make his thoughts known. If the boy balked at his advances, then at least Wilhelm could blame it on the alcohol and feign being sick to get out of the situation. 

He makes his way to the kitchen on unsteady feet, pushing his way through the rowdy mess of his teammates. The kitchen is quieter than the living room, further away from the speaker. Here, the conversation is almost audible, a perfect amount of background noise for Wilhelm to melt back into in case this is the dumbest idea he’s had in a while. 

He tosses his cup in the trash, grabs a cider can for courage, and slides up beside Felice.  “Hey,” he knows he’s interrupting, but at this point he doesn’t really care. 

At once, pretty, dark eyes blink in his direction and Wilhelm resists the urge to throw up. The boy is even more exquisite up close, with perfect curls and a cute, button nose. 

“Hey,” Felice sounds surprised. It’s not often that Wilhelm seeks her out at a party filled with his rowing friends. “What’s up?” 

Wilhelm slouches against the counter, gestures towards the living room. “Not much, didn’t feel like playing beer pong.” He hopes he’s not being as obvious as he feels, but his eyes keep straying to the boy at Felice’s side. He wonders what he’s drinking, whether he wants a refill, whether he’d settle for Wilhelm’s tongue in his mouth instead. 

“Cool,” Felice smiles, though there’s something knowing in the way her eyes flicker between Wilhelm and the boy at her side. She turns to the girl still standing beside Wilhelm. “I was actually just about to go to the bathroom. Do you want to come?” 

“Uh,” Wilhelm stutters, confused beyond belief, “not really?” 

Felice rolls her eyes. “Not you. I was talking to Sara.” 

The girl besides Wilhelm, Sara, laughs. “Sure,” she takes Felice’s hand, tugging her towards the crowd of people in the other room. “Let’s go.” 

Wilhelm watches them leave, throat suddenly dry. The noise around him feels like it drops a few decibels. He turns back to the boy, who’s now watching him closely, something curious and mischievous glinting in his bottomless, dark eyes. “We haven’t met,” he holds out his hand, “I’m Wilhelm.”

“Wilhelm,” the boy repeats slowly, curling the syllables with his pretty, pink tongue. “I’m - ”

“Wille,” Wilhelm interrupts like a fucking fool. “Please call me Wille.” The last thing he wants is for him to call out Wilhelm in bed - if they ever get there, of course.

The boy looks at him, clearly amused. “Wille, then,” he agrees good-naturedly, “I’m Simon.” 

Simon. 

“Hi, Simon,” Wille’s mouth feels like sandpaper. “Do you - uh. Are you having a good time?” 

Simon rolls his lips together like he’s holding back a smile. “Yeah,” he looks Wilhelm up and down, gaze raking fire through his frame, “I’m having a great time. What about you?” 

Just then, there’s a loud cacophony of shouts ringing out from the living room. Someone must have finally won at beer pong. Wilhelm barely spares a glance in their direction, too enthralled by the way Simon’s eyelashes flutter up at him as he takes another sip of his drink. 

When he fails to speak, Simon quirks an amused eyebrow at him, and Wilhelm startles. “Good,” he rushes to get out, “I’m doing - I’m having a great time.” 

“Cool,” Simon grins. 

Wilhelm swallows, throws all caution to the wind. If he regrets this later, he’ll blame it on foolish, liquid courage, but there’s simply no way in which he can let someone like Simon slip through his fingers. “Listen, Simon,” he leans in closer so he’s not shouting, right by Simon’s ear where he smells fucking divine, “I don’t mean to be too forward or whatever, but I was wondering if I could have your - ”

“Wille,” Erik’s voice rings out, loud against the cacophony of background voices. 

Wilhelm closes his eyes in deep frustration. Sometimes he’s not sure what he’s done in his life to deserve these hardships. He pulls back, gives Simon an apologetic look. “Sorry,” he says, “my brother’s an asshole.” 

Simon’s expression turns panicked. “Your what?”

Erik knocks into Wille, sending his drink sloshing over his fist. He slings an arm around his neck, laughing. “Oh, hey Simon. I see you’ve met my little brother.” 

Simon takes a step back, his lovely, brown skin pinking. God, Wilhelm wants to eat him alive. 

“Oh yeah, we were just talking,” Simon sounds sheepish. He steps closer to Erik’s side, but Wilhelm’s muddled brain is too slow to understand why until Erik puts an arm around him, hand resting low on his back. 

At once, Wilhelm’s heart skips a beat. He frees himself from Erik’s grasp, head swiveling between Erik’s shit-eating grin and Simon’s embarrassed expression. “Wait,” dread pools in his stomach. “What the fuck.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” August snorts from where he’s looking in the fridge. He holds out a hand to Wilhelm as if waiting for a high-five, but Wilhelm ignores him. 

“But you’re straight,” his voice rises without his permission. Dimly, he realizes he’s making a scene. “You - are you - you’re the straightest person I know.”

Now, Simon’s eyes are dancing with mirth. “I mean,” he shrugs, “that’s not what his bio said.” 

“No fucking way,” Wilhelm shakes his head. It would be just his luck to find the love of his fucking life only for said love of his life to be here with Erik of all people. “Erik’s not - he’s literally never - ”

Erik nudges him, head thrown back in laughter. “Don’t be so old-fashioned, Wille. You’re the one always talking about how sexuality can be fluid.” 

“Yeah,” Wilhelm shoots back hotly, “except I was talking about myself.”

Simon snorts, but Erik looks delighted. “Cheer up, little brother. Maybe we’ll break it to mama and papa together.” 

And Wilhelm doesn’t know what he wants to do more: back Simon into the counter and kiss him senseless or punch Erik in fucking face. 

…

The next day, Wilhelm stops by Erik’s apartment with two coffees and a bag of sandwiches. 

Erik opens the door in pajamas despite it being two in the afternoon, bleary-eyed and very clearly hung over. “Hey, Wille, thanks for picking up the food. Housekeeping just left and August passed out again.” 

Wille rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe August calls for housekeeping to clean up after a fucking party.” 

Erik huffs a breath of laughter, but doesn’t say another word about it. He holds the door open, lets Wilhelm in. 

They end up eating standing up in front of the counter, too hungry to bother with plates. 

“So,” Wilhelm says around a bite, trying and failing to sound casual, “where’s Simon?” 

Erik snorts. “I don’t know? At his place?” 

“You didn’t make sure he got home okay?” 

“We’ve seen each other twice,” Erik takes another bite, chewing loudly, “I’m not his fucking keeper.” 

“I would’ve,” Wilhelm points out, knowing he’s being an ass, “I would’ve checked on him this morning too.” 

“He wasn’t even drinking,” Erik protests, “I was the one that was black out drunk.” 

“Well maybe you should’ve been sober then - if he wasn’t drinking.” Wilhelm crumples the sandwich wrapper in his fist, tosses it from hand to hand. 

Erik gives him a look. “He said it was fine, Wille.” 

“I’m just saying,” Wilhelm raises his hands defensively, “I don’t want you to mess this up.” 

Erik shrugs, far too casually for someone who’s been on a date with someone like Simon. “I’m not really sure if I want to date a guy, to be honest.” 

Wilhelm tosses his sandwich wrapper across the counter, smacking Erik square in the chest. He ignores the glare he receives in return. “You’re using him as an experiment?” 

Honestly, is Erik out of his fucking mind? 

“Hey, it’s not like I’m lying to him about it. I told him that I wasn’t really sure.” 

“And he was okay with that?” Wilhelm asks incredulously. Why the fuck would Simon, who could probably have anyone he wanted wrapped around his little finger, be okay with someone like Erik jerking him around? 

Maybe he was bored. 

Or, Wilhelm’s stomach churns at the very thought, maybe Simon actually, really liked Erik and was hoping things would work out. They’d only met up twice according to Erik, but maybe Simon, like Wilhelm, was the kind of person that fell hard and fast. 

Immediately, guilt curdles in his stomach like acid. Who is he to stand here and demand answers about someone he’d only met the other night? It’s not like Simon had taken an interest in his profile. No way would he ever have given Wilhelm his phone number. A large part of him is now glad Erik had interrupted them last night. A foolish, liquid courage based decision indeed. 

“Simon’s definitely okay with it,” Erik shoots back. He sounds like he’s fighting laughter. “Are you?” 

“What?” Wilhelm asks, outraged. The question is entirely ludicrous. “Why would I care if you’re seeing some guy?” 

“I don’t know,” Erik’s grinning now, “you definitely seemed to care last night.”

The events of last night are still deeply entrenched at the very forefront of his mind. Wilhelm doesn’t think he’s ever been a bigger fool than the one he’d made himself out to be in that moment. “Because you’re straight,” he can’t bite the words back fast enough, voice bitter and spiteful, “I know you are.”

“Well maybe you should stop assuming my sexuality.” 

Wilhelm lunges for him, Erik twisting out of his way with a loud bark of laughter. “Fuck you.”

“That’s extremely homophobic of you, Wilhelm. You’re starting to sound like mama.” 

“I’ll fucking show you homophobic.” 

…

Rain washes out their Saturday morning practice. 

Wilhelm trudges back towards the locker room, exhausted beyond belief. He’d woken up at the ass crack of dawn to catch the early bus just so he’d be on time for once, and now he wishes he’d skipped out entirely and spent the morning in bed. Truthfully, he likes rowing, enjoys the way the rhythmic motion forces his brain into focusing on nothing but the present. Unfortunately, he despises August more. 

Erik had stepped down as team captain in his last semester in an effort to give August the chance to follow in his footsteps. August, of course, had eagerly grasped at the position with both hands. If there was anything he loved, it was power and the chance to make Erik proud. 

So in a way, it truly is Erik’s fault for them having to run laps in the rain. Not that Erik had to do any running. He’d simply watched, a sadistic sort of amusement etched across his expression, as Wilhelm had slipped not once, but twice, only offering him a clap on the shoulder as they finally made their way back inside. 

Now, Wilhelm curses under his breath as dirt and sweat and rainwater causes his shirt to stick uncomfortably to his skin. His shoes squelch on the tiled floor as he takes a miserable seat in front of his locker. Beside him, Henry is still catching his breath, his blond hair plastered to his forehead. 

“If we ever have to do that again,” he gets out between heaving breaths, “I’m going to quit. Fuck August. Fuck Erik. Fuck Vincent. I’m out of here.”

Wilhelm grunts in agreement, tugging his sopping wet shirt over his head and shaking out his hair. He slides out of his shoes and socks, watching as Henry rises to grab the last free shower. Normally, he doesn’t mind waiting until the locker room is mostly empty to clean himself up, prefers it even, especially since it means he isn’t rushed to hurry up and get out. 

But today? 

Today, Wilhelm wishes he was in that goddamn shower. 

He sighs, burying his face in his hands. At the other end of the room, he can faintly make out August and Erik casually debriefing the practice, their laughter echoing across the space. Just as he’s about to rise and do something very stupid, like telling August to shut the fuck up, or throwing his wet t-shirt at Erik’s face, another, softer voice rings out, “Hello?”

Wilhelm’s neck hurts from how fast he snaps his head up. He would know that lovely voice anywhere.

Sure enough, Simon is standing at the front of the locker room before the door. He’s bundled in a dark, oversized windbreaker, hood pulled up adorably over a mess of frizzy, damp curls. Wilhelm’s heart feels like it’s tumbling into the ground when their eyes meet, Simon’s gaze flickering over his shoulders and chest, leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

Wilhelm raises a hand in silent greeting, but it’s Erik who responds audibly. 

“Hey, Simon,” he calls cheerfully, giving Simon a casual, half-hug that Wilhelm eyes distastefully. If that were him, he’d have kissed him hello. “Give me a few minutes, okay? We’re just about to finish up here.”

Simon grins. “Sure, take your time.” 

Wilhelm watches as he takes a seat at the far end of the bench near the showers and pulls out his phone. Erik goes back to his conversation with August as if their inane discussion about practice was somehow more important than Simon, who was sitting there all alone. 

He shifts a little closer, catching Simon’s eyes when the bench creaks under his weight. “Hey,” Wilhelm waves again, feeling more than a little foolish. He can only hope that Simon doesn’t remember him begging for his phone number the other night. “Simon, right?”

Simon’s throat bobbles as he swallows. He puts his phone back into his jacket pocket, fisting the edges of his sleeves. “Hi - yeah,” he shoots Wilhelm a smile, hesitant and soft at the edges. “And you’re Wille, right? Erik’s brother?”

Wille nods, rainwater from his hair dropping down into his face from the motion. “Yeah, that’s me,” he swipes a hand across his forehead in an effort to wipe away the wetness. “It’s good to see you again.”

Simon’s eyes soften. “It’s good to see you again too, Wille.”

“Are you waiting for Erik?”

“Yeah,” Simon shivers, curling his arms around his body like he’s cold. “We’re supposed to grab lunch.”

Jealousy rises in his chest, ugly and hot and searing. “Cool,” Wilhelm tries to make his voice as casual as possible. “Where’re you guys headed?”

“Nowhere fancy,” Simon shrugs. “Erik says there’s a sandwich shop on campus that he likes.”

Immediately, Wilhelm makes a face. “You’d better make him pay, then, because that place is fucking terrible. I have no idea why Erik loves it so much.”  

Simon throws his head back as he laughs, exposing the long, brown line of his neck. He’s so gorgeous, Wilhelm thinks helplessly, his soft, lilting laughter the most exquisite thing he’s ever had the pleasure of witnessing. 

“I’ll make sure to tell him you said that.”

Wilhelm snorts. “Jackass.”

Simon pulls his jacket sleeves tighter across the backs of his hands, curling long, delicate fingers into the fabric. “Are you doing anything today?” he asks, words coming out rushed and quick, like he’s embarrassed to be asking.

Wilhelm shrugs. “Not really. I have a physics problem-set to get through and then I might go down to the bars with my roommate.”

Simon looks at him then, clearly surprised. “You have a roommate?”

“I have two,” Wilhelm admits. “I live in a triple.”

“Oh,” Simon blinks. “I thought you lived with Erik.”

“Fuck no,” he drops his voice, “Erik lives with August. And the further I am from him, the better it is for everyone. Trust me.”

Simon’s mouth curves up, sharp and mischievous. Even under the shitty overhead lighting of the locker room, he’s glowing, eyes twinkling. “Erik told me that you knocked him out once.”

The admission shocks a laugh out of him. “Is that what you two do on dates? Talk shit about me?”

“Pretty much,” Simon teases, “Erik hates you, you know?”

In return, Wilhelm looks at him for a long moment, tracing Simon’s frame from the checkered vans on his feet to the sensible puffer pulled around his shoulders to the lone curl that’s slipped out from his hood onto his forehead. He wonders how Erik would feel if he knew the shape that his thoughts took every time he laid eyes on Simon. 

Simon flushes, color rising in his cheeks. He clears his throat as he gets to his feet. Erik and August seem to be wrapping up their conversation, Erik clapping him on the shoulder in a motion filled with finality. 

Wilhelm swallows, looking away. His stomach feels like it’s steadily filling up with lead. What kind of a person was he? What kind of a shitty human being was he to have feelings for his own brother’s fling? 

“Hey, Simon,” Erik approaches them, looking mournful. “Bad news, but I don’t think I can make it to lunch. August needs some help with the paperwork for our next tournament.”

Simon’s eyes flit from Erik to August. “No worries,” he shrugs. He doesn't sound upset in the slightest, even after clearly trudging out here in the rain. “Raincheck?”

“Raincheck,” Erik agrees before his eyes fall on where Wilhelm is still sitting. “Actually - why don’t you go with Wille? He’s probably starving after this morning.”

Wilhelm squeaks.

“Sure,” Simon agrees immediately, “I’d love to.”

Erik grins. “Perfect,” he says, slinging his arm around August’s shoulders. “I’ll catch up with you two later.”  

“Yeah,” August snarks, “if he has the time for you.”

Erik shoves him, leading them both out of the door. “Come on, man. Let’s go.”

Simon watches them leave silently, his eyebrows raised. 

“Sorry about August,” Wilhelm blurts out before he can stop himself. Simon’s gaze snaps back to him as he stands awkwardly, suddenly hyper aware of his bare chest. “He’s a dick.”

“He’s your cousin.”

“My second cousin.”

“Whatever,” Simon rolls his eyes, tips his head towards the showers. “Do you need to - ?”

“Yeah,” Wilhelm nudges past him, careful not to let their bodies brush. “Give me ten minutes?”

Simon nods, retaking his seat. Suddenly, something vulnerable crosses his expression. “You don’t have to go to lunch with me if you don’t want to Wille. I can just head home.”

The sight of Simon’s obvious trepidation makes his chest pang. “No,” Wilhelm insists at once, “I’d - ” he swallows, “I’d love to go to lunch with you.” He aims for a joke in an attempt to lighten the intensity of his confession. “I mean - as long as we don’t go to that goddamn sandwich place.”

Simon smiles faintly, his gaze bottomless as it sweeps from Wilhelm’s face to his chest then back up again. “It doesn’t have to be the sandwich place,” he agrees amicably. “We can go wherever.”

“Tell you what?” Wilhelm reaches for a towel from the rack, tries to calm his jackhammering pulse. “If you let me pick the place, I’ll pay. You can get it next time.”

Behind him, Simon is silent for a long moment. Long enough that Wilhelm thinks that this is it, he’s finally crossed the line. 

“Sure,” Simon’s voice has a tantalizingly breathless edge to it. “That sounds great.”

…

They take the bus downtown, huddled together against the cold rain. The sun has finally broken out over the horizon, smearing a large, bright rainbow across the sky.

Wilhelm learns that Simon is studying audio engineering and that he sings in the school choir. He has an older sister who’s taking a gap year to do an apprenticeship at the stables near their childhood home, which is in Bjarstad of all places. When Wilhelm sheepishly tells him he went to Hillerska, Simon laughs so hard that he ends up with tears in his eyes. 

“Of course you went to Hillerska,” he teases. “You were probably on the rowing team and everything, weren’t you?” 

Wilhelm feels heat rise up the back of his neck. “Hey, at least I was never captain,” he shoots back defensively. “That was Erik. And August.” 

Simon snorts, dropping the subject despite the faint amusement still lingering in the curve of his smile. He says that he went to Marieberg, the only other highschool in the area, and the besotted, romantic part of Wilhelm marvels at how closely intertwined they’ve always been. 

He’s almost glad to have met Simon now, after years of therapy and lessons on self-restraint. God help the universe in which a sixteen year old version of him managed to catch a glimpse of Simon Eriksson. 

They end up going to Thai, knocking elbows as they eat side-by-side at the bar. When Simon discovers that Wille is left-handed, he scrapes his stool around until they switch places and can be more comfortable. Wilhelm pointedly does not think about how, if they wanted to, they could hold hands without having to stop eating. 

At the end of the meal, Simon predictably tries to fight him on the tab, but Wilhelm is taller and his arms are longer. He also has multiple credit cards and easily puts another one down when Simon pretends to steal and pocket the first.

“I told you, you can get it next time,” Wilhelm reminds him, as he holds the door open for them. 

“Who says there’s going to be a next time?” 

Wilhelm snorts, shaking his head in bemusement. He walks Simon back to the bus stop, the ground around them damp and smelling of green. The day is slowly but steadily clearing, even if the afternoon sun is still weak. 

Under the bus stop, Simon hops from foot to foot, shivering. 

Wilhelm tugs at the front of his windbreaker playfully. “This isn’t really keeping you warm is it?” 

Simon buries the bottom half of his face in the collar, shoving his balled up fists in his pockets and looking adorably annoyed. “It’s April.” 

Wilhelm laughs incredulously. “Like that means anything up here.” 

“Whatever.” 

“Here,” he moves to unbutton his coat, but Simon reaches out to still his wrist, the touch reverberating down his body like a drumbeat.  

“Don’t,” Simon’s voice shakes, something vulnerable flitting in the edges of his expression. “I - um. Erik texted. I’m meeting him at the library, so I’ll be inside anyway.” 

“Right,” Wille blinks. His stomach feels like it’s tying itself into knots. “Erik.” 

In response, Simon opens his mouth like he wants to say something. “Wille, listen, I - ” he trails off, big, dark eyes flickering between both of Wille’s own. 

Wilhelm forces himself to step back. “No worries,” he says, and horrifyingly, it feels like his throat is closing up, like he might actually cry. “You should be fine if you’re inside.” 

“Yeah,” Simon agrees dumbly. 

Beside them, a bus rolls up to the stop, brakes squeaking. Wilhelm gestures to it awkwardly. “Well, this is me.” 

“Right,” Simon gives him a faint smile and a little wave. “Bye, Wille. It was nice seeing you.” 

“Bye, Simon.”

…

The bus is just pulling up to the dorms when Wille’s phone vibrates. He checks it absentmindedly, without any thought or expectation of who it might be. 

The notification displayed across his lockscreen almost makes his heart stop, a strange sense of giddiness sweeping through every nerve in his body. 

Simon has followed him on Instagram. 

Wilhelm barely waits thirty seconds before he follows him back.

…

Despite the days lengthening steadily, midterm season looms like a dark cloud in the sky. Wilhelm buries himself in his books, spending most of his nights and weekends either holed up in the library or at his tiny desk in his room. Twice a week, he surfaces for rowing practice, but when he doesn’t get chosen as a starter for the spring tournament, that too lowers in his list of priorities. 

Erik tells him not to take to heart, that he and August are only trying to prioritize the upperclassmen so that they have a chance to compete before graduation. Wilhelm only shrugs and ignores him - much like has been for the past few weeks.  

It’s getting harder and harder to look Erik in the eye, especially when Wilhelm is spending one too many sleepless nights scrolling through Simon’s instagram. Thankfully, he hasn’t seen Simon since that day at lunch and outside of a handful of shared memes, they haven’t really spoken either. The closest he’s gotten to that smile in three weeks has been through a screen, which is both relieving and disappointing all at once. 

Erik finally forces him out of his rut one Thursday evening. Wilhelm is making his way out of his physics room, midterm firmly behind him, when Erik appears at the door. He’s smiling widely, a coffee cradled in each hand. 

Wille tries to make a break for it, but Erik catches him before he can.“It’s past six,” he complains, taking a long sip of the coffee, “I’ll be up all night.”

“Then give it back.” 

He pulls the cup out of Erik’s reaching fingers. “No.” 

They take the long way back to the bus stop, circling around the large university courtyard and library. The wind has gotten significantly warmer these past few weeks and as a result, Wilhelm can feel sweat gathering under the collar of his hoodie. 

“So what’s up with you lately?” Erik asks, knocking their shoulders together. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Wilhelm shrugs. “Not much. Busy with school. The usual.” 

“You haven’t been around the apartment much.” 

He looks down at the sidewalk disappearing beneath his feet. “I haven’t really had the time to party.” 

At his side, Erik makes an indignant sound. “So you’ll only come by if we’re serving alcohol?”

Wilhelm snorts. “What can I say? I definitely need to be drunk to deal with you and August.” 

There is another, very specific reason Wille hasn’t stopped by to see Erik at his place. He’s simply too afraid of witnessing something that’ll leave his poor, bleeding heart in pieces across the floor. But that feels too pathetic to admit, so he keeps it to himself. 

Erik puts an arm around his shoulders, drawing him into his side. Once again, Wilhelm marvels at how different they both are despite growing up in the same house and how much he adores him regardless. 

“Well I promise to get you drunk very soon if you can do me a favor.” 

Wille struggles out of his grasp. “What’s up?” 

Erik looks away, something bashful crossing his face. “Do you - uh. Do you think you can fill in for me at practice on Saturday? I might have a thing to get to.”

“Yeah?” Wille elbows him playfully. “What thing?” 

Erik’s steps quicken like he’s trying to subconsciously run away. “I have a date,” he confesses quickly, “and we’re thinking about driving out to Stockholm for the weekend.”

Wilhelm’s stomach drops like a rock. He looks away, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. “Yeah,” his voice sounds strangled, “uh - yeah, of course. Have fun.” 

Erik claps him on the shoulder. “Thanks, little brother. It’s just - it’s the first time me and Anika are doing something serious and I really didn’t want to disappoint her by - ”

Wilhelm whirls on him at once, stopping their stroll in its tracks. His mouth tastes like ash. “What the fuck?” 

Erik’s brow creases. “What?” 

Wilhelm shoves at his shoulder, hard enough that Erik is forced back a step. “Who the hell is Anika?” 

Erik still looks incredibly confused. “A girl from my Constitutional Law class? Why?” 

“Does Simon know about this?” Fury is rising in him, sharp and hot. Wilhelm can scarcely believe the words he’s hearing right now. In what fucking world would someone want anyone else when they had Simon. Erik should be worshiping the ground he walked on for ever giving him the time of day, not be off galavanting with someone else. “Literally what is wrong with you - how the fuck could you do this to him?” 

“Shit,” Erik’s eyes widen, “I forgot to tell you, Wille. It didn’t really work out with Simon because, well - ”

“Of course it fucking didn’t,” Wille shouts. There are other people around them - walking on the side-walk, zipping by on bikes, waiting at the bus stop that is now only about twenty paces away - but he feels blind to it all. All Wilhelm can make out is the rising cloud of anger in his mind, the way it feels like there’s cotton stuffed in his ears. “How the fuck could it work out if you’re seeing other people? Would it literally kill you to take someone seriously for once?” 

Erik’s expression hardens around the edges. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.” 

“Simon is my friend,” he shoves at him again, but this time Erik is anticipating it and he holds his ground. “He doesn’t deserve your fucking - he deserves better than to feel like you’re just jerking him around because you’re bored or confused or whatever.”

The admission makes Erik pause for a moment. Something unsure ripples across his face. “He - Simon said that to you?” 

Wilhelm throws up his hands, stalking in the direction of the bus stop. Erik doesn’t follow, hurt still marring his expression, but Wilhelm can’t bring himself to feel guilty. Not when he’s letting the one thing that Wilhelm would do anything to have just slip through his fingers like it means nothing to him. 

“He doesn’t have to,” he tosses back over his shoulder. “Unlike you, I actually care if he’s okay or not.”

…

It’s past midnight before Wille gathers up the courage to message Simon, and even then, he types and re-types the text four times before he can convince himself to hit send. 

Are you okay? 

The reply comes almost immediately: Yeah? Why? 

Wilhelm leans back in bed, the light from his phone blinding in the otherwise dark room. He gnaws at his lower lip, tries not to come across as incredibly invasive. Just wanted to check in. 

lol thanks, I guess. A minute ticks by. Are you okay?

Wilhelm squeezes his eyes in deep frustration. Of course Simon wouldn’t be forthcoming with his thoughts or feelings. He was literally Erik’s younger brother. It wasn’t like Simon could badmouth him without coming across as thoughtless and rude. 

Yeah, he replies, I’m good. 

A line of dots blink at the bottom of the screen, but when they disappear with no new message, Wilhelm’s heart sinks. He lets his phone drop face down on his chest, swallowing heavily as he traces idle patterns in the ceiling tiles with his gaze. 

Truth be told, he’s not sure how to salvage this. If he had a shitty ex-boyfriend, the last person he would want to see, other than the ex in question, would be their little brother. Simon was probably just done with him. And Wilhelm couldn’t even blame him - it wasn’t like Erik had given him a lot of reasons to stay. 

He’s just contemplating turning over to go to bed when his phone vibrates again. Wilhelm almost smacks himself in the face in his haste to get to it. 

Cool. Is the reply. Then, do you wanna hang out tomorrow? 

Wilhelm stares at the message until he’s almost cross-eyed, the text blurring before his gaze. 

In the silence, Simon texts again. Only if you want to, though. It’s cool if you think it’s weird. Or if you’re busy. 

He scrambles up-right, adrenaline ensuring he’s wide-awake. I’d love to!

Okay!!! Simon’s exclamation marks are adorable. Simon is adorable . You can come to my place if you want. My roommate’s going home for the weekend. 

And how can he say no to an offer like that?

…

Even though Simon’s dorm is smaller than his own, it feels more spacious on account of it being a double rather than the triple that Wilhelm lives in.

The room is also neater. There’s more personality here than anything he could manage himself, with a series of posters tacked up on the wall by the bed, each displaying a band that Wilhelm has never heard of. Along the windowsills are little, potted cactuses, with brightly colored flowers, and strips of multi-colored LED lights. 

Simon answers the door on the second knock, adorably dressed in sweats and fuzzy socks. His smile is warm and welcoming as he ushers Wilhelm in. “Hi, come in.”

On the surface of what is presumably Simon’s desk are two open bags of chips, a handful of sodas, and a set of switch joy-cons still in the charging port. Simon straightens a corner of his duvet, twisting his fingers together in the sleeves of his shirt. 

If Wilhelm didn’t know any better, he’d say he was nervous. 

“So I have - “ Simon clears his throat, “um - snacks and drinks. We can, like, play video games or watch a movie or whatever. I mean - we also don’t have to stay here, but - ”

Wilhelm laughs. “Simon,” he says, toeing off his shoes, “relax.”

Simon flushes, pink creeping up the tips of his ears. “Right,” his voice trembles as he lets out a long rush of air. “Sorry. I’m just - yeah.”

They end up playing a few rounds of Overcooked, sitting side by side on the bed, with Simon nudging him every time Wilhelm accidentally burns his food or forgets to drop off a stack of dirty dishes. His body is a line of sparkling heat at Wille’s side, their knees brushing every time either one of them so much as shifts. 

When they fail to advance for the seventh time in a row, Wilhelm gives up, his stomach aching with their shared laughter. “I’m holding you back,” he groans mournfully. “We’re never going to beat this.”

Outside, the sun has slowly but surely begun to set, with blazing, orange light starting to spill out across the carpeted floor. He watches as Simon shoves a chip in his mouth, turning to him with full cheeks and playful eyes. “You’re not holding me back,” he insists, “you’re my sous.”

Wilhelm snorts. “Most of those points are yours,” he points out. 

Simon rolls his eyes and exits the game. Wilhelm tracks his frame as he stands and ties off the bag of chips, setting it back on his desk. When he turns back around, he’s got his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, his expression wide and vulnerable, backlit by the early summer sun. “Do you want to get dinner or something? I mean, if you don’t already have plans.”

Something in Wille’s stomach swoops like he’s dived head-first off of a very tall cliff. “I don’t have any plans,” he clears his throat when the words come out strangled. “Are you hungry?”

Simon shrugs, reaching for a sweater, “I could eat.”

“Me too,” Wilhlem agrees readily, smoothly ignoring the fact that they’ve both just eaten half their body weight in chips. He clambers upright, watches as Simon starts frantically digging through his backpack. For some reason, the sight makes him smile. “Take your time, Simon. I’m not in a hurry.”

“Sorry,” Simon makes a small, adorable sound of victory, “I just don’t want to keep you waiting.” He turns back to Wille, wallet and keys in hand. “Besides, it’s my turn to pay, remember?”

Wilhelm lets out a surprised laugh. “I was joking about that, you know?”

“Yeah? Well I wasn’t.”

The hallway is surprisingly quiet when Wille pulls open the door, only the distant, muffled sounds of music and laughter wafting in from the common areas. Simon shoves his hands in his pockets and thanks him quietly for getting the door for him. Just as Wille’s about to let it snap shut behind them, he startles. “Oh shit,” Simon scrambles to catch the closing door. “Sorry, forgot my phone.”

Wilhelm shakes his head, grinning. He follows him back inside the room. “No problem.”

Simon throws him an embarrassed look as he starts haphazardly pulling his sheets back. “I swear, it was right next to me.”

“Take your time.”

Wille takes a seat at Simon’s desk, swiveling the chair back and forth with his feet as he watches Simon rifle through the bed, pulling back his duvet and lifting pillows in an effort to find his phone. When he tips forward to look into the crack between the bedframe and the wall, subsequently almost losing his balance, Wille stands. “Here, let me help.“

“Fuck,” Simon’s voice is muffled as he peers into the crack. He sticks a useless hand into the small space, now crouched up on the bed, “I can’t reach.”

“Simon,” Wille laughs. He puts a hand on Simon’s back, careful not to touch him where his shirt has lifted, exposing a gorgeous line of tanned skin, “move.”

Simon glances back at him miserably. “I don’t even know how it got down here.”

“It’s completely fine, let me get it for you.”

Simon sighs, finally accepting his offer as he shifts back to give him the space to crawl up beside him. Wille has to struggle a bit more than Simon to fit his hand into the sliver of space, but once his hand is through, Wilhelm’s fingers close around the phone relatively quickly. He straightens up on his knees, triumphant and more than a tad smug. “Here.”

At once, Simon rolls his eyes. “Jackass.”

Wilhelm snorts, holds the phone out of his reach. “I think what you’re trying to say is thank you,” he dodges Simon’s shove, “and what would I ever do without you, Wille?”

Simon grabs his sweatshirt in an effort to reach for the phone, and this time, he succeeds despite Wilhelm’s squirming. “Fuck you,” he gives him a look, shoving the phone in his back pocket, “not all of us are built like giraffes.”

Wille bites back a smile as he watches as Simon clambers off the bed. “Have you ever actually seen a giraffe?”

In lieu of a reply, Simon laughs, his curls messy and wild around his head. His eyes are closed, face scrunched with beatific joy, and for a moment, Wilhelm is afraid his heart will tumble out of his chest. 

He slings his legs over the side of the bed, almost out of breath from the alarming fondness ballooning in him. Not for the first time, he curses the existence of the universe. Why couldn't Simon have wanted him? Why couldn’t he have swiped on Wille’s profile instead of Erik’s? Why couldn’t Wilhelm ever have one, good thing?

Perhaps he really was cursed. 

“We should get going,” Simon says, interrupting his spiraling. He shoots him a smile, “Do you have everything?”

“Why don’t you worry about yourself?”

Simon sighs loudly, the sound clearly put-upon. He steps up close, stands right between Wilhelm’s thighs and squeezes his shoulders. “I’m just trying to be nice.”

The sudden proximity is a shock. Breathlessly, he braces his palms against Simon’s hips. “I’m sure you are.”

Simon’s eyes flicker down to his hands for a long, tense moment. It feels like they’re teetering on the edge of something, waiting to see who will break first. Then, Simon swallows, voice barely a whisper, “Wille - ”

Immediately, Wilhelm tries to pull his hands back, but Simon reaches down to stop him, covering them with his own, carefully threading their fingers together.  

“Don’t,” he murmurs, “I mean - you don’t have to - you can - ”

Wordlessly, Wilhelm tugs him closer, marveling at the way Simon follows the gentle guidance. He feels incredible in Wilhelm’s hands, skin warm through the fabric of his sweater, smelling sharp and clean like soap. 

There’s so much Wilhelm wants to do with him that he’s dizzy from the desire of it all. 

In the end, it’s Simon that finds his voice first, looking down at him with huge, dark eyes. “Can I kiss you, Wille? Please?”

Wilhelm’s head feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton. “Yeah,” he nods breathlessly, “of course you can.”

Simon's throat bobs, and this time, Wilhelm knows it’s because he’s nervous. Carefully, his hands break free of Wille’s hold and reach up to cup his jaw, tracing delicate thumbs along the skin under his eyes. 

Wilhelm watches with rapt attention as Simon’s lovely face fills his entire field of vision. Completely enraptured, he only remembers to squeeze his eyes shut when their mouths finally meet, gentle and hesitant and unbearably sweet. For a singular, suspended moment in time, neither one of them moves. Then, Simon makes a soft, questioning noise in the back of his throat, and the entire world tilts on its axis.  

Wilhelm exhales deeply. He pushes up to his feet, moving to loop an arm around Simon’s waist and bury the other deep in curls that he’s wanted to touch for what feels like years now. In return, Simon clings to his shoulders, murmuring a low shivery sound into his mouth that resembles his name. 

Wilhelm crushes him infinitesimally closer, licking into his mouth slow and deep. Simon tastes salty like potato chips, sweet like soda. He tastes exactly like he’d thought he would and nothing like what he’d expected all at once. 

Either way, Wilhelm fucking adores it. 

He adores the way he can feel Simon straining up on his toes to reach his mouth like he can’t get enough of him. Adores the way Simon’s body feels against his hands and lips, spine curved in an effort to get as close as possible. Adores the way he’s responsive and eager and excited, like he wants Wilhelm just as badly as Wilhelm wants him. 

Almost unconsciously, Wille walks them steadily backwards, pressing Simon up against the edge of his desk until he’s gasping. When he ducks to bite along the soft skin of his jaw, Simon makes the most incredible noise, reaching back to steady himself against a stack of notebooks. 

“Wille,” he murmurs, tugging at his sweatshirt, “can you - ?”

“Yeah,” Wilhelm breathes frantically, “fuck yes.” He pulls away just long enough to yank Simon’s sweater off, his shirt rising along with the bunched up fabric. The first sight of his chest, bare and slender and tan, is enough to make Wilhelm’s brain buzz with static. “Fuck,” he mumbles again, kissing the corner of Simon’s mouth. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

Simon lets out a choked laugh, “You’re one to talk.” He tugs again at Wilhelm’s sweatshirt, sending sparks down his spine. “You too, please.”

Wille hides a smile in the soft skin of his cheek before he yanks his sweatshirt off without any finesse. The fabric of the hood gets caught however, and he struggles for a moment, Simon laughing softly in the background. 

By the time he emerges, Simon is perched up on the desk, grinning up at him. His eyes are big and expressive, deep enough to drown in, and Wilhelm doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of looking at him.

Then, Simon spreads his knees, tilting his jaw in a wordless invitation. “Come here?”

Wilhelm has just stepped closer, just put his hands on the lovely, soft skin of Simon’s sides, when Simon’s phone begins to buzz. Simon jumps, huffing a breath of surprised laughter as he reaches into his back pocket to pull out the offending device. 

The name displayed across the screen makes Wilhelm feel like he’s been dunked headfirst into ice-water. 

Erik is calling Simon. 

Simon turns off his phone and puts it face down on his desk. “Sorry,” he mumbles. He reaches for Wille again, tilting his face up to wordlessly ask for another kiss. This time, however, he seems slightly uncertain, “Um - ”

Wilhelm frees himself of his hold, stepping back. All of a sudden, he feels cold and hyper-aware of his own skin, something prickling uncomfortably behind his ribs. “Simon - I - ” he picks his hoodie up off the floor, sliding back into it with quick, jerky movements. “I should go.”

Something in Simon’s expression splinters. He looks crushed, shoulders soft and rounded with hurt. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, but we - we shouldn’t.” Wilhelm swallows, rubs at his mouth, “You know exactly why we shouldn’t, don’t pretend like you don’t.”

Simon opens his mouth and for a second, it looks like he might argue. Then, he must think better of it, because his mouth closes with a clack of teeth. He nods tightly, looking miserable, his voice barely audible, “Okay.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Wilhelm scrambles to explain. Simon’s heartbreak is a horrific thing to witness - the way he’s wrapping his arms around himself, cradling his vulnerable, shirtless frame is making Wilhelm’s stomach steep with nausea. “Because I do. But it’s just. He’s my brother, Simon.”

“I know. It’s okay, Wille,” Simon gives him a small smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “I get it.”

Wilhelm stumbles back towards his shoes, hastily slipping back into them, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Wilhelm turns to face the door, mortified. He thinks he might be sick. “I’ll um - I should get going.”

“Do you think we could - still hang out sometime? As friends, I mean?”

“I don’t - ” Wille’s voice cracks, “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Simon”

“Right,” Simon murmurs from behind him. He sounds small and dejected and all Wilhelm wants to do is turn around and scoop him up, hold him close. “Well - thanks for coming, Wille. I had - I had a really good time.”

“Me too. Thanks for inviting me.”

…

It was one kiss, Wilhelm tells himself over the next two weeks. There’s no reason for him to spend every waking moment replaying it in his mind’s eye. No need to lose sleep over the way Simon had trembled in his grasp, how he’d tasted so sweet and looked so lovely and spoke so softly.

Just one, fucking kiss. 

Besides, it’s not like he has Simon now. Wilhelm hasn’t heard from him since that fateful evening - and rightfully so - he’d been the one to turn down his offer of friendship after all. But how is Wilhelm ever supposed to find the strength to stand beside someone like Simon and keep a carefully constructed barrier of space between them when all he wants is to know the shape his body will imprint against a mattress?

It’s all Erik’s fault, Wilhelm deduces after being drunk for nearly four nights in a row. 

If Erik had just decided to stay straight like he so clearly was, then none of this would have happened in the first place. Perhaps then, he could’ve met Simon in literally any other scenario. Perhaps then, they could’ve actually had a chance. 

The thought is so maddening that Wilhelm actually ends up blocking Erik’s number. He knows it’s not a productive outlet for his frustration, but there’s nowhere else to channel it. No one else he can take it out on. He doesn’t have a lot of close friends, he realizes with a strange, sinking sort of feeling, and the guys from rowing would certainly never understand.

There’s nothing to do but swallow the bitterness, accept the hurt, and hope for it to be swept away by the steadily increasing sunshine. 

In the meantime, he tries to keep himself busy. 

Wilhelm knows he will never have to work out of necessity in his life, so he signs himself up as a volunteer at the campus library to fill his time. He spends hours shelving returns, booking meeting rooms, and organizing activities for the school. The work is methodological and soothing, working his mind in a vastly different way than fluid dynamics or linear algebra.

One bright, Wednesday evening, after a long day of classes, he decides to forgo the dining halls and make his way downtown. The area is swarming with students enjoying the warm weather, sprawled out across lawns and tables with books or plates of food. Wilhelm had texted the rowing chat to see if anyone had wanted to get dinner, but Henry had an exam the following morning, and Walter was stuck in office hours. 

Felice, to his terrible disappointment, had told him that she had a date. When he’d pointed out that she’d been on five first dates this month alone, implying that she was most likely safe to skip this one without missing out on anyone too interesting, she’d resolutely hung up on him. 

So he finds himself alone as usual, kicking through the odd pebble, as he makes his way down to the little Indian spot near the far corner of the train station. The restaurant is small, but most of the tables are occupied. Wille orders at the counter and collects his ticket, his eyes roving the crowded space for a free seat. 

His life must truly be a cosmic fucking joke because immediately, his gaze finds dark, curly hair that he’s been willing himself to try and forget. 

Simon is dressed casually, in jeans and a slouchy sweater, hands wrapped around a drink. His shoulders are hunched, almost reproachful, and his gaze is lowered. All in all, he looks upset. Upset enough that Wilhelm almost goes over to ask him what’s wrong.

He forces himself to remain standing though, turning to collect his bag of food when his number is called. Fuck finding a seat. Wilhelm needs to be anywhere but here. 

Still, he can’t help the way his eyes are drawn back to Simon. 

He only means to glance, to catch one last look at the loveliest face he’s ever had the privilege of looking upon, but the sight that greets him makes him come up short. 

He freezes half-way to the door. 

Simon is no longer alone at his little corner table. Seated across from him, Wilhelm notes dumbly, is none other than Erik, looking far too amused for his own good. 

He watches as Simon leans forward in his chair, talking with his hands, and something in him snaps. Impulse carries Wilhelm’s feet over to them - impulse and adrenaline and stupidity. He’s a handful of paces away from the booth when Erik looks up and catches his eye. 

He opens his mouth, probably to say something ridiculous, but Wille beats him to it. 

“Hey,” he says flatly. He steps up to the table, sets his takeout down on the table right in between the two of them, and crosses his arms. “Wasn’t expecting to see you both here. What a fucking surprise, right?” 

Simon flinches, his hands disappearing under the table as he straightens. 

Wilhelm is distinctly aware that he’s being an asshole, but he can’t help it right now. Not when frustration is sparking bitter and hot under his skin. 

Because honestly - how fucking dare they? 

How fucking dare Simon kiss him with one breath and turn to his brother with another? How fucking dare Erik have a romantic, weekend getaway with someone else and still have the privilege of sitting across from Simon at a dinner table like nothing was wrong between them? How fucking dare they find eachother when Wilhelm is bleeding out under the crushing weight of his guilt. 

Erik snorts, leaning back in his chair. “I see you’re still being a fucking child.” 

Despite his ever present struggle with his temper, Wilhelm’s not a violent person by nature. Anxiety has always made him quick to anger, though, and he can’t quite bite back the flare of fury that rises under his tongue. “Fuck you,” he snarls, gaze bouncing between the two of them, “Fuck the both of you.” 

Erik only raises his eyebrows, faint amusement still lining his face. 

Simon on the other hand, looks stricken. “Wille,” his lovely face is alight with panic, “please let me explain - ”

“Are you doing this to hurt me? Is this fucking funny to you?” Wilhelm demands. Dimly, he realizes he’s making a scene. “You were all over me two weeks ago and now you’re out with him? Did he tell you he’s seeing other people?” 

Simon’s mouth trembles. “It’s not what you think, Wille. I swear. I’m here to - ”

“Then what the fuck am I supposed to think, Simon?” He clenches his jaw to keep it from shaking, a hot, burning knot of emotion rising along the back of his throat. “Tell me how it’s fair that I just have to be the bigger person and watch the two of you together when I - what the fuck does he have that I - ” his voice cracks, the words coming ugly and nonsensical. 

He’s being ridiculous and he knows it. 

Wilhelm is the one who walked away that evening. Still - do Erik and Simon not understand the impossible hand they’ve so cruelly dealt him? 

“I would’ve been so fucking good to you. You know that right?”

Simon stands, his chair scraping loud against the tiling. His eyes are huge. “Wille - ”

He’s interrupted by a slow, almost sardonic, sound of clapping. Wilhelm turns sharply, has half a mind to crack Erik’s face into the table when he starts to laugh. 

“Holy shit, this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to me,” Erik gets out between breaths of laughter. “I’m going to fucking die.”

“Not if I get to you first,” Wilhelm mutters darkly. 

“Simon,” Erik says finally. His eyes are dancing with mirth. “Please tell my absolute idiot of a brother what you were just telling me.” 

Simon bites his lip. All of a sudden, color rises in his cheeks, rosy and gorgeous. “Oh,” he seems unnerved at being put on the spot, glancing up at Wille’s face before looking away quickly. “Well I - after what happened between us, I, um, came to talk to Erik because, like - ” his throat bobs nervously as he swallows, “You know what? Let me just show you.” 

Wilhelm blinks, more than a little lost. He watches as Simon reaches for his phone and begins to swipe through it with trembling fingers. When he turns the screen around, Erik’s dating profile is open to his cover photo.

Admittedly, it’s a sweet picture, taken earlier this year during their family’s annual ski trip. Erik is dressed in a large, puffy coat, a beanie pulled over his head. He’s beaming at the camera, arm thrown around a pink-nosed Wilhelm, who’s also grinning crookedly, hair windswept and wild across his forehead.

“Why the fuck are you showing me this?” 

Simon’s blush deepens. “I didn’t - this was the only picture I looked at before I swiped.” He licks his lips, “Wille - I thought I was swiping on you.” 

“Wait - ” Wilhelm’s mind screeches to a halt. “So - ”

“So I was a little confused when Erik showed up,” Simon confirms ruefully, “but I figured I’d give it a shot because why not, you know? But then - I met you. And you’re - ” 

Wilhelm stares at him, takes in his earnest expression. His heart feels as though it’s caught in his throat. “I’m what?” 

“You’re you,” Simon says quietly. He reaches out, tentatively takes one of Wilhelm’s hands. “And I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I came here to talk to Erik about what happened between us. I thought if I could, like, make him understand, then maybe I’d still have a chance. But I’m - I like you, Wille. I like you so much.” 

And damn everything and everyone to hell - “I like you too,” Wille replies at once. He threads their fingers together, squeezes Simon’s cool hand in his own. “Simon - baby - ”

Simon stumbles forward, and Wilhelm scoops him up at once, folding him into his body, shivering at the effortless way they slot together, the way he can feel Simon inhaling deeply against his shoulder, back rising and falling under Wilhelm’s hands. 

They’ve been in eachothers arms exactly once before this, yet it still feels like a homecoming, like Simon reinhabiting a space with Wilhelm that is made for him and him alone. 

Across from him, Wilhelm can see the way Erik is grinning widely at them. “This better be in your wedding vows.” 

The easy words make Wilhelm’s shoulders loosen. “Fuck off,” he mumbles, dropping a kiss to the crown of Simon’s head. 

“I can’t believe I was the villain in your love life.” 

“You’re always the villain in my love life.” 

Simon laughs softly, drawing back to look up at him. The sheer affection in his face takes Wilhelm’s breath away. “Not anymore. He basically gave me his blessing right before you started yelling.” 

Wilhelm winces, but Erik laughs louder than ever. “I don’t know how you tricked him into this, little brother. He was practically begging.” 

Simon scoffs, “I was not.” 

Wilhelm rolls his eyes, thumbs gently at Simon’s jaw, marveling at the smooth, brown skin. “So we’re good?” He aims the question at Erik just to be sure. “You and Simon - ” 

“ - are probably just good friends,” Erik concedes. He sounds a little begrudging. “You might’ve been right about the straight thing. We never even kissed.” 

Wilhelm snorts, puts an arm around Simon. “If you had the chance to kiss him and didn’t take it, I think you pretty much have your answer.” 

Simon pops a grin, suddenly mischievous. “I mean, we could still put it to the test if you want Erik?” 

Wilhelm yanks him close at once, tilting Simon’s face up with a firm hand at the hinge of his jaw. Distantly, he’s aware of the smattering of applause filling the restaurant, students hooting and hollering with barely constrained laughter. Erik, the absolute dickhead that he is, has joined in. In any other moment, Wilhelm would be mortified. Right now, though, he has a boy to kiss. 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he murmurs as Simon leans up on his toes to slot their mouths together. 

Simon’s laughter is as soft and sweet as a sunlit, summer day, “I would never. Not when I have you.”