Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wilhelm

[FRIENDS ARENA – SOLNA, STOCKHOLM]

“Let’s go Bernadotte, pick up the pace!” 

It’s the third time Wilhelm drifts off in the middle of practice, stuck inside of his own head again. Normally practice comes easy to him, the soccer pitch being the one place where he feels most in control. But with the QX gala quickly approaching, his mind is consumed with overwhelming thoughts. The boy presses a palm across his chest to steady himself, taking in a deep breath and tucking the loose strands of hair behind his ears. Wilhelm runs to rejoin the drill, finding his place behind Vincent in line. The blonde-haired goalie slaps the back of his shoulder blade and lets out a hearty chuckle.

“Are we losing you, Wille? Where’s your head at?”  

“Hahah Vincent. All good.” 

Having made his way to the front once more, Wilhelm receives the ball at his feet and swiftly passes it to Nils, cutting around the outside of the mannequin to make himself open again. 

It had taken some getting used to, but Wilhelm is finally started to feel comfortable around his teammates. He was in his third year of playing for Sverige-- the men’s national football team. While there had been some hiccups in the team dynamic over the past couple of years, this year is different. He feels confident.  

Growing up, Wille always knew he was a little bit different from his friends. His parents had thrown in him all different kinds of sports, desperate for their littlest son to grow and become something big like Erik. Soccer was the one thing that stuck. On the soccer pitch, Wilhelm could forget about the world around him and focus on the game, feeling in control. His moves were smooth and calculated, the constant running as a midfielder helping to release all the anxieties and frustrations pent up in his body.  

He dove into soccer head first, the sport taking up every waking moment. He came early and stayed late to every practice. Wille fell in love with studying the game, learning exactly where to be on the pitch and when. Wille loved the way his shin pads and socks hugged tightly at his legs, keeping him grounded. He loved how he could zero in on a simple goal. He loved digging his heels into turf before sprinting down the field. 

When Wilhelm joined Sverige and started training overtime, he found that some of his quirks were becoming harder to manage. It was glaringly obvious that Wille couldn’t keep up with the social stamina of his teammates: all the beers after practice, ventures to the club, or day trips during tournaments. He also just- wasn’t very good at talking to people about anything other than soccer. He always felt awkward, out of place. The bars were too noisy anyways, and so Wille would bring his earbuds and huddle in a corner booth while his friends flailed desperately to get girls’ attention. Wilhelm didn’t mind people watching, though, and would put his comfort playlist on rotation while sipping peacefully on a rum and coke. Other times, he would forgo the teams’ antics altogether to visit his brother Erik and his nieces. 

To top that, Wille found that his sensory issues were becoming even more of a thing. The tournament coach buses were the worst. Wilhelm felt painfully cramped in his ratty blue seat, his body violently vigilant to every bump in the road, every point of contact between himself and the person next to him. Sometimes, Wille would spend 7 hour bus rides trapped in flight or fight, his body screaming at him to just- do something, anything. Even his comfort playlist couldn’t rival the smoke signals that ripped splitting shrieks in his mind. Wille did what he could to mask the panic during episodes like that, but he knew it was pathetic. He could feel the eyes of players and coaches training him carefully between cracks in the seats, seared with concern. 

The day after Wilhelm turned 18, he booked the referral to pursue a formal autism diagnosis. He never told his parents about it. Erik was kind enough to help him out, providing information on what Wille was like as a child so his parents would never have to be involved. Wille was almost certain to begin with, but it felt nice to have a doctor validate all his suspicions. While he’d never had to share that piece of himself with his teammates, Wille was pretty sure they knew too.

Coach Larsson blows his whistle and the boys beeline towards the lockers. While normally Wilhelm would stay after practice to get some extra touches in or receive feedback from his assistant coaches, he runs for his duffle bag and follows along to the changerooms. He hastily removes his cleats and hops into the shower, letting the cold flush wash over him and clear away the dirt. 

Wilhelm had been attending the QX gala for a few years now, and he never made a big deal of it. He loved to soak in the hopeful buzz that bounced around the venue, lathering in the queer joy. He was just happy to sit in the back section and take it all in, too nervous to make conversation with his idols sat in the centre of the room. Thankfully he'd never been nominated. He did not want to be showered in media attention of any kind.

But this year was different. He was assigned a seat on the floor. And not just that, he had been placed next to Simon Eriksson of all people. Simon was, like, the pop star of the century. Wille had always known Simon was popular, but in the last year or two Simon’s presence had skyrocketed beyond anything Wille had heard of before. He was surprised to find out Simon was even attending this year, given he was currently on the world tour to end all other world tours. 

(Wille may or may not have forced Erik to try and get him presale tickets while he was at practice, but Erik had no idea how to use Ticketmaster. Wille may or may not have yelled in his face).

So, yeah, Wilhelm was definitely a fan. Some of Simon’s hits were a part of his safe playlist, and although Wille wasn’t familiar with his whole discography, Simon Eriksson was just mesmerizing. In a few hours, Wille would be sat right next to the man. How was he supposed to make conversation, let alone draw his eyes away from the gorgeous curls splayed perfectly across his face? AND, just last week, Wilhelm had completely embarrassed himself live on air talking about Simon. Too nervous to speak with just any journalist, Wille agreed early on with Sverige’s PR team to only do press on Erik’s podcast, ‘Speedster.’

***

“Okay, so the question is kiss, marry, kill.”

Wilhelm gulps. “Why would you-”

“You’ve got Zara Larsson, the queen, and Simon Eriksson.”

“Well, I’ll kill the queen. Sorry, miss- but.., but you’re gone.”

Erik howls in laughter, seemingly unaware of the way Wille is freaking out in his swivel chair. Wille can’t say he would marry Simon, it would become way too obvious that Wilhelm is infatuated with the boy and the internet would tear him apart. 

“Simon would be the… the kiss.” Wille’s eyes are glued to the floor, suddenly extremely interested in counting the pale tiles at his feet three times over. Wille scratches at his scalp, his cheeks painted a bright cherry red. “And then..uhmm... what was the last one?”

“Zara Larsson.”

“Yeah, Zara Larsson would be the marry.”

Erik looks at Wille and raises an eyebrow, as if looking for confirmation. 

“I mean.. Simon’s probably not looking to marry right now anyways. Right? Cause he’s like… on tour. On the road. You know?”

Erik hums. “I do know.”

Oh my GOD Wille you IDIOT. Just.. SHUT the fuck up. Wille puts his head into his hands and scrunches at the bangs that flop lazily in front of him. 

“Okay! So, uhm, moving past that.” Erik pushes on as Wille stifles a groan. “How are you feeling about your upcoming match against Canada?”

Wille prays to god that clip does not start making its rounds on Twitter. 

***

Simon

[AVICII ARENA – STOCKHOLM, SWEDEN]

Simon inhales deeply– in and out– taking in the crowd surrounding him. He's just finished a three-hour set in Sweden, the buzz of the band behind him ring out the closing notes of his newest single. The night was electric. The crowd feels unlike anything Simon has played for before, the cheers neverending. 

The curly-haired popstar leads a line of dancers to the edge of the stage, bowing together with clasped hands. The spotlights are bright and hot on his face as he moves around the set, waving goodbye to different corners of the stadium. A huge smile plastered on his face, Simon tries to take in the moment: purple confetti raining down on the audience as coloured lights ricochet between faces in the crowd, an electric guitar grinding out a final note to play Simon off the stage. 

As he takes his last bow center stage, Simon feels positively giddy. He can feel the glitter smeared across his eyelids, jet black eyeliner smudged at his creases, and sweat dribbling past his cheekbone. Simon has never felt more alive. The boy can’t help but let out a laugh as he attempts to catch his breath, taking one final look at the crowd before running off backstage right. 

High on the bubbling energy of the arena he just played for, Simon draws his crew into a tight group hug before removing his earpiece and letting it hang over his shoulder. 

“That,” Simon pants, “was amazing.”

***

Simon stumbles around his dressing room trying to button up his shirt and throw on a boot at the same time. He doesn’t bother taking off his makeup and decides resolutely that he’ll keep it on for whichever afterparty they end up at. His stylist, Rayanne, is nestled on an orange sofa in the corner, feet crossed and knees pulled up to her chest as she scrolls through social media reading out critic reviews of the concert. The singer hums lowly to the tune that lingers in the stadium entrance when he notices Rayanne has completely trailed off. He dips his head from outside the clothes rack to make sure she’s still there. 

“Simon, oh my god .”

“What’s up?”

“You have to see this”

Simon skips behind Rayanne, peeking over her shoulder to see the video she’s looking at. 

“So a new episode of Speedster came out, and Wilhelm Bernadotte was on as a guest.”

“He’s that Swedish… baseball player.., right?” Simon giggles airily as he untwists the cap of his bottled water. 

“Football, but close. Anyways, he got so flustered talking about you on the air. He’s not half-bad looking, don’t you think?”

Simon takes in the picture before him, vaguely recognizing the boy from the sports network TV. He looks different here, snug in an oversized plum crewneck with wispy strands of golden hair that gracefully frame his face. 

“I mean.. Simon’s probably not looking to marry right now anyways. Right? Cause he’s like… on tour. On the road...”

Wilhelm’s freckled cheeks are dusted a rosy pink as he nervously twiddles his fingers, dorkily making his way through the uncomfortable question. He chuckles.

“Yeah, Rayanne. He’s cute.” 

Simon strides off to find his jacket. 

***

Wilhelm

[CIRKUS— STOCKHOLM, SWEDEN]

Wille takes another look at himself in the mirror, trying to get a feel for how he looks from every angle. He’s chosen a sky blue suit paired with new white shoes (a safe choice, considering he loves blue). He is also experimenting with some jewellery, brandishing a couple rings Felice had helped him pick out on his last birthday. He’s spent the better part of the last hour debating if he should gel his hair back or not, but eventually he chooses to let it fall naturally at his sides. 

“You look great, little brother” Erik peaks his head through Wilhelm’s door.

“Tack , Erik”

Wille wears his noise cancelling headphones on the way to Cirkus, trying to center himself before a night of surefire chaos and musical fun. His headphones also happen to be bright blue with cat ears on them, so thank god the Uber windows are tinted. Wilhelm breathes in and out, letting his eyes flutter shut. At least he’ll have Erik sitting at his other side in case he completely falls apart. Wille goes through the different opening lines he’s come up with in case Simon tries to talk to him.

What has it been like going on tour? Are there any cities you’re really excited for?

What made you want to pursue music?

Do you have a bathroom on your tour bus? What’s it like? 

JESUS Wille.. WHAT are you even talking about.

Before he can fully pull himself together, they reach the entrance to Cirkus. Wille and Erik thank the Uber driver, coordinating to meet her at the same spot once the gala is over and Wille texts. The boys grab their small bags and nod discreetly at each other before rushing behind the backdrop to avoid the red carpet portion of the event. They sneak across the courtyard, letting out soft giggles as they take the front steps two at a time to reach the lobby. 

Wille and Erik slowly enter the main performance space trying to spot their table. They find their name tags stationed a little bit left of dead centre. The tables are rectangular, lined with black linen to match the charcoal felt of the seats. Wine bottles and sparkling water huddle in the middle of the table, the rest of the space filled out by glasses, napkins, and silverware that glisten under the venue’s lavender hue.  Wilhelm shuffles into his seat and gently places his knapsack underneath his chair, letting his eyes settle on the cardstock slip in front of him.

Wilhelm Bernadotte (He/Him)

And right next to him:

Simon Eriksson (He/Him)

Wilhelm gulps.

***

Simon

[CIRKUS— STOCKHOLM, SWEDEN]

Rayanne pulls the Jeep up just beside the start of the carpet before turning to face Simon. She smooths out the collar of his top and gives his shoulder a reassuring shake. 

“I’ll be sitting in the stands above you, so just text if you need anything.” 

Simon rests his hand over Rayanne’s. “Will do, love you.” 

He blows her a kiss as he clicks open his door and swings his legs out of the car. The minute Simon’s feet hit the ground, the paparazzi are all over him. He can hear journalists shouting his name, barking orders about where to stand so they can get their perfect shot. Simon’s learned better now than to listen, and stays steadfast on his path to reach the first publicist he’s meant to interview with. He stands briefly for photos as his eyes adjust to the flashing lights, making sure his outfit is lined up the way he wants it. Simon feels good- likes to think he looks good. He’s gone with a lilac suit and dress pants, his blazer unbuttoned with no undershirt leaving part of his chest exposed. He’s adorned with a silver necklace that Rayanne picked out which trails down to his abdomen, on top of a silver ring on each hand. He’s stayed fairly light on the makeup aside from a delicate trace of his signature eyeliner daubed at the inside of his eyes, his curls flying freely about his head. 

Simon slowly but surely makes his way down the carpet, making pleasant small talk with every interviewer about how his tour is going and his plans for another album. He knows he and Rayanne have already shown up late, so he cuts some answers short to make it inside in time for the first presenter. One particularly pushy host tries to pry into his love life, asking if he’s in a relationship. “Nope, single as ever,” Simon remarks with a painful kind of self-deprecating laugh. “The tour has kept me so busy. And I don’t know… I don’t think many people want to deal with the… the celebrity– baggage– that comes with dating me.” Fuck, that probably sounded super conceited. “I’m sure some of the people here would get it,” he gestures at the whole of Cirkus. “But trust me, when I fall in love, you’ll know.”

With five minutes till dinner is slated to start, Simon is rushed by some security guards to the inside of the venue. There aren’t many open seats left on the floor, but Simon is brought to a table where he’s supposedly assigned a chair. He quickly registers his nametag, and at the same time, a handsome boy who seems close to his age sat just next to him. He turns his head.

Holy shit, it’s soccer boy. 

Simon thinks he’s cuter up close, if that’s even possible. He watches how the boy’s sandy bangs slip in front of his eyes on their own accord, his face soft and flushed. The boy yanks at the edge of his sleeve to create a makeshift paw, his suit a waterfall blue that perfectly compliments his watermelon lips. Simon recognizes the podcast host who sits next to him.

“Hey!..” Simon quickly checks his nametag. “Wilhelm.., right?” The boy looks up at him and gives an almost-imperceptible nod, his eyes sparkling. “Got room for one more?”

The soccer player stalls for a moment, like his brain is trying to catch up. “Yea– yeah. Of course.” The boy stutters and stands up to pull out Simon’s chair for him, his eyes darting between Simon and the floor as he flashes an adorable smile. Simon giggles. 

“I’m Simon,” the boy takes his seat, quickly adjusting his suit once he’s situated. 

“I know. I love your music.” Wilhelm replies as he scoots his chair back to the table. Simon definitely doesn’t notice the way the other boy is very visibly flustered by his evident lack of shirt, unsure of where to rest his gaze, finally settling on his face. Simon smiles genuinely at the other man, his brown irises shimmering under the mauve glow. Wilhelm’s freckles are light as they colour the slope of his nose and the apples of his cheeks. Simon thinks they pair beautifully with his focused eyes, which are a fascinating mixture of cinnamon and cider. 

What is happening right now? 

“Thank you.” Simon looks down bashfully, nervous all of a sudden. “Is this your first time at the gala? I haven’t seen you here before.” (Simon thinks he would have remembered).

“No, but I usually sit way up in the stands,” Wilhelm starts. “They don’t often invite sports players to these things, but I get to be Erik’s plus one. Erik’s my brother.” He gestures over to the man sitting next to him.

“Erik! It’s a pleasure.”

“Simon, likewise.” Simon's eyes flit across Wilhelm’s face once more. “So, Wilhelm, forgive me cause I don’t know… but what position do you play in soccer? You’re with Sverige, right?”

The boy’s eyes immediately light up, his curled lips revealing two small dimples that dip when he speaks. Cute . “Yeah, I was first brought on three years ago after a pretty crazy recruitment process… but that’s a whole OTHER story…and so I’ve gone from being a practice player to a starting midfielder for the very first time this year,” Wilhelm smiles excitedly as he continues on and Simon can tell his brother is equally proud, looking at Wilhelm with undeniable adoration. “...and I usually play on the right side. I love playing on the right, and being in midfield I’m always focused on making myself available, running up and down the pitch… There’s a lot of practice, but I’m just so happy it worked out that I could make it here tonight.” The boy seems to catch himself babbling and brings his thumbnail to his mouth, hanging his head lower. Simon tilts his head to the side to meet Wilhelm’s eyes again. “That’s amazing, that you’re on the starting line now! It must be a lot of pressure. From the small bits I’ve seen on TV, you seem really good.”

Wilhelm hesitates before looking deep into Simon’s eyes and shining a real, teethy, and beautifully-crooked smile. “Thank you, Simon.” 

To Simon’s surprise, the conversation flows pretty naturally between the two. Even though Simon doesn’t know what football terms Wilhelm is using half the time, he can tell that the boy is super passionate, and honestly, it’s attractive. He doesn’t know anything about soccer besides having watched Rosh’s games in high school, but now it’s like he wants to know. Wilhelm also gives Simon the space to talk about himself and his interests, and as per usual, Simon gets swept away gushing about his love of touring and meeting with fans. Unlike the previous guys Simon has been with, he can feel how Wille is genuinely interested: the way he matches Simon’s enthusiasm, eyes never faltering from his face.  

“Could… could I get you something to drink?” Wille asks shyly as he goes to grab for the wine.

“Actually, I don’t drink, but I was thinking of going to the bar to get an apple juice.” 

Wilhelm chortles. He was definitely not expecting that. “Apple juice?”

“Yeah, why not? I love apple juice.” 

***

Wilhelm

Together, the boys reach the bar and Simon leans his body against the countertop in a nonchalant way that is simply magnetic. The dim lights cast a spellbinding glow across the singer’s face, and it’s like the color purple was made for him. Wille is in the middle of memorizing every inch of the other boy’s face when he realizes he’s led them into a moment of awkward silence. Wille coughs. 

“So, uhm.. do you have a bathroom on your tour bus? What’s it like?” 

Simon splutters. “What?”

Wilhelm curses himself. Miraculously, Simon saves him and replies. “Pretty standard bathroom, you know… Toilet. Sink. I just love getting to travel with my friends and crew. They’ve become family by now. When you’re exploring new places with people like that, the bathrooms become inconsequential… I guess.” He laughs. “Does that make sense?”

“I’m really glad to know you have a community like that,” Wilhelm offers. 

If Simon is judging Wilhelm for his terrible lines of questioning, he’s not showing it, and so their shy discussion moves forward. 

When they return to their table, Erik is making conversation with the other artists and celebrities at the table who Wilhelm has completely forgotten about. They are all served garden salad and potato wedges, which Wilhelm is happy to quietly munch on while he listens to the people converse around him. Erik asks everyone at the table when they’d like to come on his podcast, handing out one business card at a time, and Wilhelm rolls his eyes fondly. The chatter takes a short lull, and in his peripheral, Wille notices Simon sigh and swirl his head to look over at him. The singer looks him up and down. 

“So... Zara Larsson, hey? What’s a guy gotta do to become marriage material?”

With his lips still pressed to his glass of apple juice, Wilhelm starts violently choking. He can see Simon laugh, and while normally that’s a gorgeous sight, he realizes he is not taking in air. Erik pushes across the table, and before he understands what's happening, Erik is vigorously smacking his back trying to give him the heimlich. The whole table is looking at Wilhelm with horror in their eyes, the venue quickly growing silent besides the awkward clink of a stray utensil. The Cirkus security is running to their table about to get involved when Wille feels his airway open up again. He sputters and begins to catch his breath. Erik steps away from his brother and holds the security back, scratching at the back of his neck. “All good,” he laughs, addressing the whole of Cirkus. “Keep it going guys!! Dinner’s great.. Yeah.” 

Low murmurs travel across the audience, and then slowly Wilhelm hears the music and discussion come back to life. He turns back towards Simon and cringes as he closes his eyes, too afraid to meet Simon’s. “You saw that video?”

Simon puts his hand on Wilhelm’s shoulder reassuringly. “I did, but don’t worry. I thought it was sweet. You’re sweet.” Wilhelm glances down to where Simon hand lingers on him before the boy quickly pulls away. Wille gives a semi-defeated smile but there’s still a glint in his eye and he realizes that he hasn’t answered Simon’s question about marriage material. He leans forward slightly, opening his mouth to respond when the MC’s voice fills the room, and the Gaygalan Awards have begun. 

***

Simon wins ‘LGBTQ of the Year,’ and absolutely no one is surprised. Simon springs his way to the stage and dedicates the award to his mama, taking a second to speak to her in Spanish. Wilhelm wants to crawl in a hole and die. Simon is enchanting, the man exudes passion, grace, and humility. When the singer gets back to their table, Wille congratulates him as he sits down and they share glowing smiles. 

Soon enough, the awards ceremony wraps up and the night turns a tad frenzied, celebrities with way too much to drink tearing up the dancefloor. But with his brother close to him, Wille is happy. He is making it through the night pretty well by his own standards, and doesn’t shy away when Simon nervously sticks out his hand and asks him to dance. 

This is a friendly dance, Wilhelm reminds himself. It’s hard to remember that in the heat of the moment, when Simon is moving in front of him in such an alluring way. Lights bounce off his curls and comb between his eyelashes making them gleam. Wilhelm lets out an exhilarated laugh as he tries to keep up with Simon, shifting his body side to side. He’s sure he must look like a complete idiot. “I.. uhh.. I don’t really know how to dance.” 

“That’s okay! We can learn together.” 

Simon is probably the last person Wille can think of who needs dance lessons, but he smiles and goes along with it anyway. Simon makes an adorable effort to explain dancing in a way Wille can understand, showing him that he needs to stay light on his feet and keep his centre of gravity actually centered, like he’s playing soccer. Still, Wilhelm feels out of his depth when he’s not in his airy yellow uniform and shorts with his hair pulled back. Now he’s in a suit, and the movements don’t come so easy. But Simon Eriksson is in front of him and dancing like nobody's watching, directing a dreamy smile at HIM. So, Wilhelm can’t really bring himself to care. 

Simon takes Wille’s arms and hesitantly guides the athlete’s hands to rest on his waist, their steps immediately syncing to move to the upbeat song together. Simon looks nervous, like he’s searching for something in Wille’s face, but Wilhelm makes no move to pull away. Simon keeps his hands on Wille, fingers curling around his biceps. (What? The? Fuck?). They sing and yell to the song that’s playing, grinning like idiots. For once Wilhelm doesn’t care how he sounds. They stay on the dance floor for several more songs, awkwardly switching between holding each other and tentatively brushing arms, Simon always the one to take the lead. 

Normally, this part of the night does not go so well for Wille; he usually never touches or flirts with anyone on the first go (is this flirting? What is going on). But, between the soft giggles and questioning glints in each other's eyes, Wille can’t deny that something is happening. There’s a pull, and it can’t really be explained. 

Suddenly, Wilhelm is alert to Erik floundering onto the dance floor, way more drunk than the last time Wille spotted him. Not wanting his dance with Simon to end, Wilhelm tries to keep an eye on Erik while he bumbles about the crowd, dancing and cheering along with the other guests. Wille gets two more songs in before he thinks they’ve reached the danger zone, and he knows the siblings have already embarrassed themselves enough for one night as Wille practically died at table nine. 

“I’m… I’m just gonna go check on my brother.” Simon eyes glisten as he nods and continues to move with the beat, turning to find other people he knows in the crowd. 

Wilhelm walks briskly through the herds of people, desperately trying to catch Erik in time, but he’s too late.“WaHOOO!!!” Erik laughs and hollers before he yanks the mic from the DJ and screams, “I LOVE GAY PEOPLE!” The crowd cheers.

“Okay,” Wilhelm huffs, tugging at the sleeve of Erik’s navy suit urging him back to their table. “I think that’s our cue.” Wille leans down to start collecting his and Erik’s bags while trying to keep hold of his moron of a brother next to him. Though Wille quietly curses out his brother for cutting his evening short, he knows it’s usually best that he quits when he’s ahead. They make their way through the crowded dance floor towards the exit when Wilhelm bumps into someone. 

“Are you leaving?” Simon asks. Wille can’t tell if there's a trace of sadness in Simon’s voice, but he doesn’t want to give himself any sort of hope that this could become a two-time thing. 

“Uhh, yeah.” Wille nods his head towards his brother, who is currently trying to bodycheck and wrestle a random celebrity in his drunken haze. Simon follows the direction of Wille’s glance and snickers. 

“Ahh, I get it.” 

The moment lingers, and some unspoken thing is shared between them again because all of the dancers around them seem to fade away.  Wilhelm glances worriedly into Simon’s eyes, trying to say a million things at once: I don’t want to leave. I really liked spending time with you tonight. You’re so beautiful. He hopes at least one of those things is communicated properly in his twinkling eyes. Before he can talk himself out of it, Wille steps forward, lowers himself, and kisses Simon gently on the cheek. 

Wille presses his lips, ever so softly, to the other boy’s skin. For an instant, crowded in his space, Wille can smell the intoxicating fragrance of Simon’s perfume and see his eyelashes flutter shut. He closes his eyes too, trying to infuse all the words unspoken into his kiss AND figure out what the hell is happening right now. 

Wilhelm wonders what a silly, perfect picture they currently make: soccer player and popstar, inexplicably captivated by one another. Wille can feel Simon’s cheek lift in a feverish smile as the boy whispers “goodnight” dangerously close to Wilhelm’s swept hair. 

All too soon, Erik is pulling at Wilhelm’s hand and he is promptly dragged off the dancefloor. When Wille takes one last look behind him, he sees Simon staring back. In between all the dancing heads, the singer smiles warmly and waves to Wille, his other hand gently cupping the cheek Wille had just delicately stamped. The boy shines in a crowd of hundreds, his eyes dark and skin dripping caramel, enveloped in a lilac suit. Wilhelm feels like he wants to throw up but is helpless to do anything but smile back. He flashes a crooked grin until he can’t see him anymore. 

On the ride home, Erik raves about the show and asks the Uber driver to put on Simon Eriksson’s latest album. By the second song his brother is fully passed out. Wille leans his head against the window and fidgets with his fingers, letting Simon’s voice fill his senses and take him some place far away. He thinks about Simon… his cheekbones, his curls, his eyeliner, his laugh, his Spanish, his posture, and his apple juice. He thinks about how passionate he is, how energetic, how smart. Wille sighs. It might be the case that they never see each other again, but Wille will never forget today. He knows that he can’t be anything special in the eyes of an international pop star; there’s no way he is good enough for the likes of Simon. Still, Wilhelm reminisces about the night they shared, and imagines how he would have kissed Simon like he meant it, if only he’d asked. 

Wilhelm may be a hopeless romantic, but tonight felt like lightning in a bottle. A little, tiny part of him hopes that Simon felt it too.

***

Simon

When Wilhelm leaves, Simon returns to table nine to catch his breath, trying to piece together everything that’s happened in the last few hours. He talked with Wilhelm, even danced with him, and it stirred up so many feelings: BIG, things-you-write-a-song-about type of feelings. And so what now? Simon wipes the sweat forming across his brow and chuckles to himself, feeling dazed and dizzy in all of the best ways. Wilhelm is different: not just in the world of sports that he comes from, but the way he acts and the way he cares. It’s all mindless and it’s crazy and it’s new. Rayanne approaches him from behind and leans on his shoulders. “So, how was it?” She chimes. 

Simon looks up at her with a rather incriminating smirk. “It was… different. Did you know he’d be here?”

When Rayanne only replies by mirroring his grin, Simon laughs and playfully shoves her off his shoulders. “I knew it, you dirty liar.” He chuckles and then sighs. “I feel like I’m fifteen all over again.” 

“Hm!” Rayanne hums. “Well the label’s gonna love that. Maybe you should see him again.”

Simon snickers and shoves at her once more. “Shut UuP!” 

Of course, Simon didn’t get his number or anything. He wonders if he can reach out to his management team or something– who knows how sports work. As the crowd gradually spills out of Cirkus, Simon grabs Rayanne’s hand and chats giddily to her all the way to the parking lot. 

***

[TELENOR ARENA— OSLO, NORWAY]

With 5 minutes until places, Simon paces around his dressing room running lip trills and shaking out jitters when a knock comes at his door. He opens up the door to an amused Rayanne, who raises her eyebrows and smirks at him in delight.

“These just came for you.” 

It takes Simon both arms to accept the enormous bouquet of tulips displayed before him, held together in a tinted glass vase. Gorgeous petals protrude from the base, an assortment of light peach and burnt orange. Between the leaves, Simon brings a small white tag between his fingers and flips the card over. 

“Fucking hell.” The boy rolls his eyes and giggles. 

“Well… I’ll see you after the show, Romeo.” Rayanne holds in a laugh as she looks him up and down before running the other direction. 

“Rayanne, you knOW ThIs IsN’t GOOD FOR ME!” Simon yells loudly as the girl hastily makes her way to prepare for Simon’s first quick change. 

Simon lets out a dramatic sigh as he places the vase delicately on his vanity. He gives one last look to the tulips on his desk, a shy smile creeping onto his face before he runs to his mark behind the curtain. 

If his eyes have an extra sparkle on stage tonight, Norway doesn’t need to know. 

I tried to find petals that are apple juice color, but I don’t think that exists. 

You’re radiant. I loved getting to meet you.   xx ~ Wilhelm

--

Do u see the vision 

Chapter Text

Wilhelm

[FRIENDS ARENA – SOLNA, STOCKHOLM]

Wilhelm knows conditioning practice is important, he knows that. It’s a little hard to stay focused though, because there are wisps of raven curls flashing behind his eyes. The image of a boy dancing in the dark. His mind is a rich melting pot of bashful touches and glinting smiles. All the things he can smell and taste: glitter and lilacs. In the stretching circle, he lets his fingers drag across the turf, ebony crumbs covering his palm. One by one, he rolls the pellets under his thumb while he thinks about nothing and everything all at once. 

He’s not sure what he expected, that last weekend would be easy to forget. Simon was Simon and Wilhelm, well… he’d never thought they’d get on so well. The flower bouquet was really a no-brainer. Simon was a shining star, casting a dripping-honey glow onto everyone he spoke to, and Wille needed him to know that people saw him. Saw how beautiful he was.

Wille looks down at the high socks clinging lazily to his shins: he doesn’t feel that beautiful. His calves are too pale, clashing with the deep red acne scars that fleck his cheeks. His lips are cracked more than half the time and Wille doesn’t know that he has much else to offer. Being one of the scrawnier guys on the team, his mom always told him he’d never make it to the starting line on Sverige. He used to think she was right, but Wille tries to push those voices far, far away now. 

It’s been difficult for Wilhelm to come into his body while moving through competitive sports. Sometimes, he doesn’t feel in his body at all. During the tougher weeks, Wilhelm completes sets at the gym until he can’t feel his toes. Other times, he squints at the nutrition label so hard the ink starts to blur together. Wille doesn’t want to live like that. 

Part of him wishes his teammates would talk about it more: the passive scrutiny, judging stares. Boys’ bodies being torn apart and clumsily strung back together under the guise of ‘health and development.’ He knows they all feel it. The insecurity that festers and weaves between the blue change room lockers everyday, a smothering stench. 

Boys don’t talk about these things, though. Wille hopes one day they won’t be so afraid. 

When the other boys in the circle move to reach for their left foot, Wille quickly follows suit. 

***

Freshly showered, Wilhelm shrugs on his favourite turquoise crew neck; it feels clean and snug, the fabric hugging warmly at his chest. Waving goodbye to Nils and Alexander, Wille hops the steps two at a time to reach Erik parked in the roundabout. It’s a Tuesday, which means it’s Bernadotte family dinner night. 

Erik always picks him up at 4:15PM in his black BMW. Together, they drive back to Erik’s house where the girls usually wait with supper. Sometimes they play board games, other days they watch movies. No matter what they do, Wille is always so excited to see Emma and Mila. 

Wille hops into the passenger seat and reaches for his seatbelt. “Hej, tack.”

“Hej lillebror.”

Before they can make it out of the parking lot, it’s clear Erik has something on his mind. Wille lifts his eyebrows and throws an inquisitive look to the driver’s seat. Erik sighs. 

“Look, I wanted to apologize. For the way I behaved at the Gala. I definitely shouldn't have drank that much, and I REALLY didn’t mean to cut your date short.”

Wilhelm chortles and leans his forehead against the car window. “It wasn’t a date.”

“Well what would you call it? I know Wilhelm Bernadotte’s lovesick face when I see it.” Erik glances over at him smugly as he pulls onto the main road. “Will you try and see him again?” 

“I… I never even gave him my phone number.” Wille sighs and presses at his knuckles, twisting his wrists back and forth. He watches a line of trees zip by. 

“What!? Wille, are you crazy?” 

“No, but uhm.. maybe a little stupid.”

“Maybe more than a little.”

Wilhelm turns to his brother and chuckles.

“You’re making it again.”

“Hm?”

“The lovesick face.”

“NO, I’m not” Wille turns a bright shade of red as he cranks the volume dial up to drown out his brother’s mocking. 

Lovesick? Wille doesn’t know if he’s that far gone yet. He doesn’t even know what love really feels like, or if he’s ever experienced it. Sure, Wille’s dated a few people in the past, but it’s always stayed pretty casual. Usually the people he’s seen don’t appreciate such a busy practicing schedule, or get bored once the novelty wears off. It’s not like Wille can blame them. Love sounds scary. And big. And how do you know when you’re in love? What do you do then? 

Even with those big scary feelings that swarm his head, Wille hopes one day he’ll find it. He longs to give love. To feel it just the same. 

But lovesick? Well, he did think he was going to hurl whenever Simon stared at him for more than 10 seconds. There was definitely an element of sickness going on. But Wille can’t imagine that it’s love. It was definitely… something. 

Mostly, Wille remembers feeling hypnotized. Drawn to that boy in a way that can’t be explained, under hazy lights and pounding bass. Really they couldn’t be more different, and yet it bordered on the mythic: the feeling that everything just made sense when they were together. How, despite all hope of a rhyme or reason, an invisible string tugged them closer and closer. 

That night, Wille was spellbound into a new version of himself: into someone he really liked. Maybe a little stupid. Maybe a little reckless. But someone who didn’t think so hard, who let his thoughts and feelings float through rivers in his mind. Who allowed emotions to come and go, trusting his heart to take over. 

Wilhelm clenches and unclenches his fists the whole ride home so he doesn’t pick at his nails. Erik quickly takes notice, but thankfully doesn’t say anything. 

***

“Wille!!”

Mila practically trips over her sparkling Sketchers jumping into Wille’s arms, her small brown pigtails bouncing in the wind as she runs.

“It’s good to see you, lillan.” Wille giggles, rearranging his limbs a little so he can properly carry Mila inside. 

“Emma and I,” –the little girl huffs between her laughter– “we worked on our dribbling this weekend, we’re so excited to show you.” 

Wille’s heart swells as he looks fondly into the girl’s sea green eyes. 

“I can’t wait to see. How about after dinner?” 

“YEAH, we made meatballs!” Mila chirps. Erik crouches down by the stairs to un-velcro his daughter’s shoes. 

“Well, what are we waiting for?”

***

Wille listens along with content as Emma and Mila eagerly detail the dramatic escapades of the recess playground. The food is amazing, and so he munches quietly, occasionally sending smug looks to Erik and Tanja from across the table whenever Mila says something especially funny.

Erik proposed to Tanja 7 years ago, but she’s felt like family for much longer than that. He doesn’t often look back on that period of his life, but Wille remembers Tanja being a rock for him in his teenage years. While she was still studying to become a social worker, Wille gravitated towards her and her advice because of the way she seemed to simply understand . She never pushed, just asked all the right questions and put him in touch with a therapist he actually liked. From across the table, Wille sends her a meaningful smile. 

Erik’s been on and off his phone for all of dinner, and Wille’s not too sure what’s up. He watches his brother turn to Tanja and whisper something, a mischievous smirk plastered on his face. Tanja asks if anyone wants desert and Wille says no. 

By the time everyone is close to done eating, the girls are practically jumping out of their chairs to show Wille the soccer tricks they’ve learned. They run to the garage to grab the ball and their cleats, and Wille pulls out his phone in preparation to take a quick video. 

Before he can get to his camera, though, a profile stops him dead in his tracks. Simon’s posted to his Instagram story.

It's a simple post, a sunset combing between orange petals and green stems with a small message that says, "thank you norway <3.' Wille imagines he's talking about his concert. 

So he did get them. FUCK. 

Wille stares down at his phone and replays the story 6 times just to make sure it’s real. He wonders what Simon is up to right now. Is he still in Norway? Where is he going next? He can’t imagine what a crazy life that boy must lead. He hopes someone brought him an apple juice today, that would surely brighten up his day. 

“Wille, come here!! We’re reeeaaady!!” Wille pockets his phone. 

“Coming!”

***

Simon

[OSLO, NORWAY]

Tucked away in the corner of the dance studio, Simon can’t wipe the smile off his face once he’s pressed post. It’s such a silly thing, really. The picture he took this morning. And still, he feels the heat rising to his cheeks whenever he thinks about the effort Wille must have gone through to get those flowers to him. 

Simon’s the one who requests time in the dance studio while he tours. Even though the choreography is all stamped in his brain, he knows there’s always room to improve. And besides, it makes him feel energized and helps keep his body warm. The more stretching and physiotherapy he can do, the less of a chance there is that he gets injured on stage. 

Simon’s scrolling through his Instagram DMs looking for nothing in particular when he sees an incoming FaceTime call from Ayub and Rosh. 

“Hey Simme! We’re on the hunt for famous Norwegian food before we leave with the trucks. Could we interest you in a waffle?” The pair laughs, Rosh flipping the camera and shoving a plate to the lens. Simon can hear the two bicker through the muffled microphone over what kind of cheese is stuffed inside.

“Sure,” Simon giggles.

“The company wants to leave 20 minutes earlier than scheduled. Something about missing the worst of the rain. Will you make it back in time?”

“Yeah yeah that’s fine” Simon mutters rather aimlessly as he re-ties his running shoes. 

“Okay, we’ll see you then.” His friends flash a quick smile and a wave at the screen before they hang up the phone. 

While he waits for the dance captain to return, Simon shuffles through his own discography with his eyebrows furrowed, thinking ahead to the surprise songs he’ll play for Denmark. 

The surprise songs were something new and exciting Simon pushed to include on this tour: playing 2 songs a night that are practically never the same. Simon figured it’d be fun to keep fans on their toes and pull from older catalogues. And sure enough, the crowds loved it. 

Simon’s setlist choices always flow with his mood, and Rosh and Ayub were all too happy to point out yesterday that Simon is in a phase right now. A majorly embarrassing, majorly obvious, phase. 

He only wants to sing cheesy love songs. The dopey, happy, sappy ones. 

And he can’t really explain it, the way he’s walking lighter or grinning wide when it’s not socially appropriate. The giddiness he feels in the back of his mind when he pictures a pair of light brown eyes, like he’s got some primary school crush. 

And he’s not thinking about it, he’s not. Because he’ll probably never see Wilhelm again anyway. That night at the gala was very much a one-night-only, albeit enchanting, snapshot in time. 

Still, Simon can only smile when he thinks about the lovely shade of rose imprinted on Wilhelm’s cheeks as he tried to learn a step-touch. 

Oscar comes back through the door, runners in hand, bringing Simon out of his little trance.

“Ready to continue?” 

Simon walks to the centre of the dance floor while shaking out his arms and legs. He closes his eyes and breathes in through his nose. 

“Yep, let’s go.”

“Okay, let’s run Happier. From the pre-chorus.” He hears the music start blasting through the speaker as Oscar yells: “5, 6, 7, 8!--”

***

Wilhelm

It’s nearing 7:00pm now, and Wille sits in the large arm chair in the family room, Emma and Mila shoving at each other for more space in Wille’s lap. Together, the trio tries desperately to settle on a movie DVD to watch. 

“Well I was better-behaved during dinner and so I say Arthur Christmas,” Emma huffs.

“It’s JULY,” Mila yells back.

“I really wanted to watch Luca, ” Wille pouts. Rationally, he knows he should probably let the girls pick. He’s not serious, but he’s kind of serious. 

The three bicker back and forth with increasing urgency when, suddenly, Erik appears in the hallway.

“Wille, I may have… uh.. done something.”

Three heads pop up in unison, looking over at him with wide eyes.

“So, I know you’re headed to play in Denmark next weekend..”

Wilhelm squints at his brother, he has no idea where he’s going with this. He quickly stacks the DVDs in his hands and puts them on the table beside him.

Erik pulls his arm out from behind his back to reveal a small slip of paper.

“SurPRISE!” Erik says cheerily, an enormous grin plastered on his face.

“I have no idea what I’m looking at.”

Emma jumps out of Wille’s lap to snatch the paper from her father.

“It’s a ticket,” she says. “There’s big words on there, I don’t know what they say.”

“It says ‘SIMON ERIKSSON: The Revolution Tour,’ darling.” Erik laughs and looks up to Wille as Emma hands him the slip. 

Wilhelm looks at his brother, his jaw slackened. He feels himself sink deeper and deeper into the armchair, his face shifting from slightly dazed to completely freaking out in a matter of seconds. 

“Whaaaa- are you-” Wille tries to get the words out.

“EEEE! SiMON?” Mila squeals, “we LOVE his songs.” She hops down to the floor and starts shimmy-ing while singing what Wille thinks is meant to be Mi Casa Su Casa .

♪♪♪ “I’ve been wAtching you all night!” ♪♪♪

Wille gapes up again at his brother. 

“Didn’t you fu– uhhr– didn’t you... fudge up on TicketMaster? I thought we missed our chance.”

  ♪♪♪ “Over on the DANCE flooah-” ♪♪♪

“Oh, I did do that. For sure. But I looked around today and got lucky.”

♪♪♪ “Moooovin – uh… I LIKE” ♪♪♪

Mila definitely doesn’t know the rest of the verse. 

“What does that even mean?”

  ♪♪♪ “...Because YOU gOT SOMETHING I’VE BeeN WANTING!” ♪♪♪

Mila grabs her sister by the hands and they dance across the room. 

  ♪♪♪ “A long long timmmme” ♪♪♪

“I don’t know, I’m in the industry! I just… did my thing. Pulled some strings,” Erik says cheekily. “I have my ways.” 

Wilhelm goes silent for a little while. He’s not sure if he looks panicked or speechless or entranced, probably all three at once. He’s very overwhelmed, that’s for sure. Wille ruffles his hair and jumps out of his seat.

“Okay, wait. HOLD. Hold,” he tries to breathe and steady himself. 

“I mean, this is in…” –Wille peers down at the ticket–  “6 DAYS? And would I be going alone? I don’t know that I’d… handle that very well. Squished into that enormous crowd.”

“It’s okay, lillebror . I was thinking about that, which is why I scored you a VIP ticket. You’ll be in that celebrity tent where there are only a few others. You could dress very simply, maybe even wear a mask. That way you could go without being noticed! Besides, you’ll be in Denmark. People probably won’t know who you are anyways… no offense.”

“WOwww,” Emma clamours. “Farbror Wille is a celEBrity.”

“Nej, Emma. I promise you I’m not.” Wille looks down and laughs, slightly embarrassed. 

He twiddles with the ticket between his fingers and ponders for a moment. Is this actually happening? Surely Wille can’t just show up at this concert so last minute. Also, the idea of attending a concert alone kind of scares the shit out of him. 

But would he ever get the chance to see Simon again if not? Would he rather be holed up in some club in Denmark that night, knowing that the concert of a lifetime is happening two miles away? 

“I mean… I do really want to go,” he murmurs. 

“Exactly, Wille! You shouldn’t give up on this chance.” Erik holds Wille firmly by the shoulder. “I know this is spontaneous, and that you’ve always liked routine. But we can do some things this week to make sure your experience is more comfortable, I promise. You know, plan in advance.” 

Wille looks over to the girls, who are now rummaging through the arts and crafts closet to find more hidden DVDs. 

“I think I have an idea.”

***

If Wille’s really gonna do this, he’s going to have to come prepared.

That’s why Wille, Emma, and Mila are sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, a plastic bead organizer laid out in between them. 

It’s probably way past the girls' bedtime, but friendship bracelets are integral to any Simon Eriksson concert and Wille has spent the last 10 minutes explaining that to them. 

Besides, Wille sees Tanja occasionally peek into the family room, a semi-unreadable but glowing smile on her face, so she seems fine with it. 

Wille is in the middle of describing how the bracelets are meant to spread love and an adoration for the music when Mila gets inpatient and starts grabbing at the box. 

“Not so fast! We gotta organize this, okay? Why don’t we start by making one bracelet each. And hey, maybe you can give yours away at recess next week.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Tanja pipes in, leaning against the doorway. 

Wille delicately opens the case and explains colour coordination to the girls. That is very important. 

“So, Simon’s signature colour is purple, which means we should probably start there… and maybe we could add some complimentary colours, like gold and silver. To really make our bracelets pop.”

“Oooohh, I like that idea.”

“Okay, stick out your wrist.”

Wille lightly measures a piece of thread against the inside of Emma’s wrist and cuts where it’s needed. 

“There, perfekt.”

The next hour is a mess of twine, laughter and love, purple beads sprayed messily across the carpet. It takes Mila four tries to finish her bracelet, constantly grabbing it from the wrong end and watching in slow-motion as all her beads slide off the thread. Eventually, Tanja sits down too to help her littlest daughter. By the time the bracelet is finally knotted to Mila’s wrist, the girl is fast asleep in her mother’s arms. 

Emma’s eyes are droopy when she pads over to give Wille a hug.

“Goodnight, farbror. I hope you have a wonderful time at the concert. Blow Simon a kiss for us from the stage.” 

Wille smiles and closes his eyes, enveloping her in a tight embrace. 

“Goodnight, lillan. It was fun to spend time with you today.” Who knows if he’ll actually have the guts to fill her request. He tucks a small piece of hair behind her ear and then sends Emma skipping off to her bedroom. 

Wille can hear Tanja putting the girls to bed as he and Erik clean up the mess in the family room. They work together quietly, careful to put the beads back into the right colour container. Erik picks the last one up off the floor and clicks the case shut, moving to put it back in the crafts closet. Wille clears his throat awkwardly and scratches at the back of his neck.

“Could I, uhmm.. take that home? I just need to… borrow it for a few days”

Erik raises his eyebrows and smirks. 

“Of course.” 

“Thanks,” Wille lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Well, it’s late. I should go.” 

Erik pulls him into a brief but meaningful hug. When he speaks, it’s very soft.

“I didn’t mean to dump this on you, Wilhelm. I know it’s something you’ve always wanted, and it just happened to line up for next weekend. If you don’t want the ticket then-”

“No!” Wille jumps in. “I.. I really do. It’s just… nerve wracking. You know?”

“Totally,” Erik smiles. “But you’ve got nothing to be worried about.” 

“Simon doesn’t know, right? Or his team, or.. whoever.”

“Nej, nej. Just go and enjoy the concert, have fun. I’m sure there’d be people in the tent who could put you in touch with him though. But only if you wanted that,” he smirks. “I didn’t want to overstep since… you know, you apparently aren’t smitten with him.” 

Wille rolls his eyes fondly and grabs Erik, pulling him into a deeper hug.

“Tack,” he whispers.

“Get home safe,” Erik says. “If the bus gives you trouble just let me know and I can drive you, it’s late.” 

“It's fine. I’ll see you!” Wille calls as he tugs at the duffle bag on his shoulder and walks down the driveway. 

***

Simon

[SOMEWHERE– ON A TOUR BUS]

Simon drags the back of his pen across his clipboard, the lid pressed between his teeth. He’s sat snuggly on the top bunk of his tour bus, attempting to finalize his surprise song selection and remove himself from whatever argument Ayub and Rosh are having below him. 

He lets out a dramatic exhale.

“Guys! Which one is better, Call Me By Your Name or an acoustic version of Off My Mind?”

Rosh lets out a snort. 

“You choose, Simme. Wherever your heart leads you,” she laments dramatically. Ayub snickers. 

“Off My Mind would be good.” 

“Okej, ” Simon sighs.

He throws his clipboard to the side, lifting the covers up past his shoulders and staring up at the ceiling. Simon feels so lucky. This is such an exciting time in his life: travelling to all these great places, meeting so many people. Since the tour’s only just started, he’s still got energy coursing all through him. 

He rolls to his side and pulls out his phone. He likes a couple TikToks from fans who attended the Norway show and comments on their amazing outfits. He takes a couple minutes to lurk on Twitter when that podcast clip of Wille comes up again. He giggles quietly to himself before moving over to Instagram. 

Finding his profile is pretty easy, and Simon has to stop himself going down a rabbit hole of looking fondly through all his posts. He’s dorky. And cute. And educated. And passionate. He feels the smile creeping up his cheeks as he hovers over the follow button. Rosh pops her head overtop of his bunk.

“Whatcha’ doing?”

“Nothing!”

“Okay, come play Sorry with us.”

“Again? That game makes me want to combust.”

“Yep! Let’s go.” 

Rosh whips the covers away from him and Simon laughs, swinging his legs over to hop down onto the floor. 

***

Wilhelm

It’s been three hours since Wilhelm got home, and this is definitely going to mess up his sleep schedule. Erik and Tanja–in fact probably the whole world– is asleep by now.

But Wille can’t get to bed. Instead, he’s perched at the foot of his bed, legs crossed and tongue stuck out as he tries to focus. He pulls the beads from their containers one by one, comparing shades of purple until he finds the one he’s satisfied with. He squints to lace the thread through each bead, working with a fine tune precision. 

Simon’s sophomore album, Breathe , plays softly from his bluetooth speaker. The lush colours of Simon’s voice climb up the walls and fill the space. Wille figures that if he’s going to attend this concert, he’ll need to know these songs too. Whenever he hears a song he doesn’t recognize but really likes, he pads over to his phone and downloads it to his playlist. There seems to be a lot of those.

It may be stupid, but Wille also scribbles his cell phone number onto a small piece of paper with big Sharpie. He folds the slip gently and puts it on the inside of his phone case, where he knows he won’t forget it. 

He’s not sure yet if he’ll use it, afraid that he’s either completely misreading the situation or being way too bold. But Simon was brave enough to ask him to dance. Simon is brave when he writes songs about hard things, and when he shares that music with an audience. If Simon can be brave like that, then Wilhelm can be too.

These bracelets need to be perfect, and he’s going to need a few more if he wants to trade with the other fans. So Wille starts adding song titles and lyrics using the lettered beads onto the new ones he creates. 

He takes a deep breath and stares down at the bracelet he’s working on. Is this one too embarrassing? Because someone in the movies would surely do this. He sifts through the numbered blocks until he finds the two he’s looking for. He fishes out a 2 and a 3 , and takes a long look before sliding them onto the thread. His jersey number. 

Wilhelm finishes his bracelet by tying a firm double not and twisting it onto his wrist. Looking down at it, he can’t help but feel a little proud of his work. Who cares if it’s a little silly? It’s his and he likes it. 

Maybe if he’s really lucky, he could give this one to Simon. 

***

Simon

[PARKEN STADIUM– COPENHAGEN, DENMARK]

Simon is in the zone . He has a good feeling about tonight's concert. He can hear the crowd jumping and cheering for the opener, and he can’t wait to feed off that energy. Nothing seems to have gone horribly wrong since they arrived in Denmark, Ayub and Rosh fearlessly leading the tech crew to assemble the stage in a matter of days. 

Rayanne is touching up part of his nail polish when he comes across it. He has to do a double take to make sure the post he’s seeing is real. 

It's Wille, wearing a simple white t-shirt and a silver necklace, blonde hair swept across his face as he holds up a peace sign up to the camera.

[Feeling happier in Denmark♪]

When he reads the caption, Simon’s eyes grow comically wide. There’s no fucking way. He looks up at his stylist and starts to panic. 

“Uhmm, have you seen Rosh and Ayub?”

“No, they’re with the lighting crew.”

“Ahhh, okej,” Simon says somewhat frantically. Rayanne raises her eyebrows to give him a questioning look and he pinches his nose. Simon closes his eyes and groans in dramatic frustration before turning his phone around to show Rayanne. She looks at the image and laughs.

“You’re a loser.” 

“STOP. Reminding me.”

Simon pretends to be focused, looking closer at his nails while Rayanne applies the drying drops. 

“Do you think he’s actually here?”

“I mean… what does that look like to you.” She blows down on them.

Simon lets out an exacerbated puff when he hears someone give the 5 minute call through his earpiece. 

“Okay, okay I have to go!!” 

“Wait!” She grabs onto his shoulder before he starts to run. “You’ve got a–” she carefully plucks one last piece of fluff from his blazer. 

“Thanks,” Simon calls before he bolts to take his place behind the stage. 

***

Simon is in position just behind the curtain. He can hear tens of thousands of people chanting his name. The horns and keys ring out, growing from a low rumble to a familiar beat. 

Simon rolls his shoulders back and stretches his neck, attempting to soothe the nerves. Why is he so nervous all of a sudden? Shake it out, shake it out. This is just like any other performance.

Simon wonders where he could be sitting in the audience, if he is even here at all. He wonders how many of Simon’s songs Wilhelm knows, or if he even likes them. The screams grow louder now, new energy zipping around him and jumping off his arms. You can do this. You KNOW how to do this. A deep breath. 

The curtains split open and Simon’s eyes are hit by a protruding white spotlight. More screams. Thousands and thousands of silhouettes are looking up at him. Simon takes a step forward and smiles.

There’s no time to think anymore. This is happening.  

***

Erik

So?

Wille

This is crazy. 

Chapter Text

Wilhelm

[PARKEN STADIUM– COPENHAGEN, DENMARK]

When Wille gets to the stadium, there is fanfare everywhere. Big vans are stationed along the pavement selling Simon merchandise. Deep purple hoodies and glow sticks are thrown in the air as fans check their bags for tickets and try to find the right entrance gate. 

Wilhelm quickly pulls his own ticket from his pocket and scans the back of it for the millionth time. Gate 9. He breathes in through his nose and starts making his way to the right queue that is forming.

Erik was right in saying that this wasn’t as bad as he thought it’d be. There are no long and curious stares, no signatures. Just the occasional person who accidentally bumps into him and politely apologizes before scurrying away. 

As Wille lines up inside to buy a drink, he can hear some sort of sound check happening behind the closed doors. There’s a firm and rumbling kick drum marching on, and then some guitars find their way into the mix, and is that humming? 

Wilhelm’s insides shrivel up at the thought of Simon being on the other side of those doors, and the fact that he’s never heard him sing live. Also, sometimes he just thinks it’s harder to breathe when Simon is close by. 

Wille’s learned more about Simon’s discography than he ever could have imagined in the week leading up to the concert. Desperately trying to prepare himself to follow along the setlist, he’s become more obsessed with Simon’s voice the past few days, if that’s even possible. 

Now, Wille feels like he knows enough to have informed favourites, and shyly wishes for certain surprise songs that he wants Simon to sing. Every few hours, his first choice changes between Dum and Treacherous . But really, Wille finds that all of Simon’s music is good. And, if the humming in his ear is anything to go by, he knows he could listen to Simon sing for days. 

“Sir?” Wille is snapped out of his reverie.

“Huh?”

“I said, what do you want?” The teller rolls his eyes and gestures to the long line of people waiting behind him. 

“Oh, uh.. I’ll take that.” Wille points to a red energy drink and looks down at his feet. 

After 10 minutes of stumbling around the stadium looking for the VIP tent entrance, an employee finally approaches him and asks if he’s lost. Wille feels like a deer in headlights, but closes his eyes and grounds himself for a second before nodding to the worker. She smiles softly and asks to see his ticket before leading him to a draped door and a makeshift hallway. 

When he makes it to the other side, he smiles at the lady before turning to enter the tent. It feels somewhat safe and private, being enclosed by a grey tarp that shields them from a large portion of the audience around them.  God, thank you Erik. Still, they have an amazing view.

They’re off to the side, but elevated in a way where Wille knows he’ll be able to see Simon for the whole performance. There are different chairs, sofas, and couches sprawled around the room, and so Wille takes the black sofa closest to the corner to the stage.

There’s two, maybe three other people who Wilhelm doesn’t recognize tucked into the back of the small shelter scrolling on their phones. Wille pays them no mind. He quickly shuffles through his tote bag to make sure he hasn’t misplaced anything. Extra mask. Headphones. Stress ball. Phone. Wallet. Phone number on a purple paper slip. We’re good. 

Wille is about to shoot Erik a quick text when a pair of girls approach him from just across the barrier. A security guard hovers close as they eagerly let slip how they’re football superfans, and Wilhelm grins, offering to exchange friendship bracelets. 

Wille slides two off of his wrists and wiggles his hand through the barricade to pass it to them. In return, he gets a bright pink and orange bracelet that says ★S★I★M★M★E★. The girls beam up at him before politely asking for a picture, and Wille is happy to oblige. He grins somewhat awkwardly at the camera and throws up a peace sign, as he does during all inelegant photo ops. 

The girl takes her phone back from the security guard and quickly checks the photo, showing her friend and smiling. 

“Here!” She wiggles her arm through the barrier once more. “We made glitter cream and we’re passing it out to fans. Don’t worry, the stadium approved it and all that.” 

Wille stares down at the bottle, filled with white and holographic sparkles. He blushes.

“Thank you.” 

“Of course,” she giggles. “Enjoy the concert!” Wille shakes the bottle and waves goodbye as the girls turn around to go back to their seats.

“You too,” he grins.

Slowly, Wilhelm takes in the bottle and untwists the cap. He lightly catches the cream on the pad of his pointer finger and brushes it along the upper part of his cheekbone. It’s fun to be a part of the fan spirit, and a little highlighter never heart anyone. 

He checks his appearance through his camera lens and lets his lips curl up into a small smile. Wille snaps a picture of himself and sends it to Tanja along with a quick text: “Tell Emma and Mila I made it! I’ll sing extra loud for them :)”

Wille is squeezing his stress ball when the lights start to dim and everyone screams. The loudness of the crowd is equally exciting and overwhelming, and Wille quickly moves to grab his headphones from his bag. They’re not fully soundproof, but they help Wille to feel in his own body again. He fiddles with the small dials behind his left ear to make sure he can still hear the music loud and clear. 

Drumrolls, feat stomping, cheers. Suddenly, enormous curtains split down the middle of the stage to reveal an unmistakable silhouette, Simon’s shape made clear by a hazy purple projection that lights the back of the set. One drum beat. Two. 

“Denmark,” he hears the voice before he can fully see him. And without warning, a warm spotlight strikes centre stage and there’s Simon, eyes and dimples scrunched into a perfect smile. 

He looks stunning. Simon is wearing a tight black tank top that perfectly accentuates his waist, not that Wilhelm is looking there at all. Just something he objectively notices. He’s paired it with rather loose-fitting charcoal grey cargo pants that match perfectly with his cropped jacket that’s clipped at the neck.

Wilhelm gulps. He can feel the heat rise in his cheeks as he beats a furious shade of red. 

It’s starting. 

***

Simon

After a massive surge of cheers, the crowd finally settles down and Simon takes a minute to look at the people in the audience. Fans with massive smiles hoop and holler, holding up signs Simon can’t quite make out, dressed in purple from head to toe. Some are screaming and others are crying, makeup smeared down their face. It’s all so cathartic and oh so beautiful. 

Simon makes direct eye contact with a few fans, flashing a cheery smile and waving to their direction. The group cries out in shock as a cameraman focuses on them, capturing their reaction for the jumbotron. 

The familiar opening to Coast Side starts. The catchy guitar riff rings out and the audience screams. 

Simon laughs and runs to take his place centre stage just in time for the lights to change and hit him perfectly on beat. When the dance break hits, Simon feels completely in his element. Everything is planned, everything is calculated. 

Step ball change. Hit 2 3! Body roll and hit, hit. 

At the end of the first part of his set, Simon rushes back stage left to meet Rayanne for his first outfit change. He quickly fans himself off and wipes a bead of sweat by his brow as a flurry of crewmates move around him to help change his shoes and jacket. 

“How’s it?” She whispers with the usual friendly glint in her eye. 

“It’s good,” Simon pants, nodding his head as he takes a large swig of water. Originally, he was worried of his mind drifting off to a certain… someone .. while performing, but so far he’s been able to block it out, too focused on keeping up with the band and interacting with fans on the floor. 

Before he can say anything else, he’s turning and walking back on stage to an army of shrieks and hollers. Simon briefly takes out his ear piece to take in the audience before him and is shocked to hear how loud the fans really are. Even though this happens every night, it’s still a surreal moment. 

He walks gingerly up to the microphone stand, soaking in the love he feels pulsing around him, and adjusts the mic before speaking. 

“Denmark, it’s so lovely to be here with you tonight… and to get to share in this music together,” Simon pauses. “Even though this tour has just started, it’s been so fulfilling getting to play some of my older work.” Screams. 

“You know, when someone first pitched to me a tour where I go through each era of my life, I laughed.” He looks up into the lights, knowing Rosh is sitting up there with the rest of the crew. “Some of these songs I wrote when I was fifteen… sitting on the edge of my bed after a boy broke my heart for the first time. I guess I didn’t think anyone would want to revisit these old chapters of my life and music with me… but you did.” Simon scans the front rows and takes a beat while the audience cheers. 

“You know, it’s not everyday you get fans who want to go back in time with you, and I just feel so lucky.” Simon sighs and smiles warmly to himself. He sets the microphone stand back onto the assigned spike tape and nods towards his lead guitarist. He breathes. “This is Fearless. ”

Simon runs backwards to fall into place with his dancers as he feels the familiar intro roll through his earpiece. The backdrop is a bursting golden sheer and, looking around at the teams’ energetic beams, Simon can’t help but grin. 

Whether he’s here or not, Simon thinks, this will be a damn good show.

***

Wilhelm

Simon can’t be real. He simply can’t be. 

The way he sings and moves is intoxicating and angelic all at once. He’s been on stage for the better part of two hours, and not once has he faltered or slowed. Every move is executed with sharp precision and extreme intent. Sometimes Wille needs to remind himself to blink. 

The whole production is outstanding, the stage, the lights, the backup dancers and singers perfectly complementing Simon’s setlist. 

The tent is the perfect place for Wille, the dark hues and makeshift walls helping him forget how there are people around, and so he lets himself close his eyes and dance like no one is watching. He doesn’t know how many times he smiles that night, a real, genuine, and toothy smile. But the energy in the stadium is exhilarating and Wille further falls in love with the music. 

Just as the crowd winds down after a stellar performance of Moving Like That, the band settles into a chill vamp as Simon walks to the edge of the stage.

The singer slings a deep purple guitar around his shoulder and clips his handheld microphone into the stand in front of him, briefly adjusting the height. 

“So, Denmark, we’ve arrived at the acoustic part of my set. And if you’ve been following along this tour, you’d know I usually play a surprise song or two.” The crowd practically descends into madness with their shrieks and Simon giggles. 

Wilhelm smiles and looks up at the singer with twinkling eyes, half-hazardly putting his headphones back in his small tote bag. Wille wants to be able to really hear him now. 

“This first one,” Simon scans the crowd delinquently, like he’s keeping a secret, “is one of my newer songs…” He strums his guitar absent-mindedly. “But I guess I thought of it and am still feeling inspired… It’s one that, I hope, you’re all… in the mood for, ” Simon raises his eyebrows with a smirk before plucking out the famous guitar melody. 

It’s Off My Mind, Wille recognizes. But it’s different, this time. It’s slower, unplugged. Simon looks up into the audience and smiles. 

♪♪♪ I’m in the mood for a long, long night, switch the light ♪♪♪

♪♪♪ Body so fine, can I get that one last ride? ♪♪♪

He’s ethereal, sparkling and gazing out across the crowd with a mischievous glint in his eyes. The chords come second nature to him, Wille thinks, because he barely looks down at his guitar.

♪♪♪ Baby one more time… ♪♪♪

Simon has the audacity to wink at the crowd and Wille struggles to pick his jaw up from off the floor. He feels tranquilised. Unblinking, he finally manages to press his lips together. 

♪♪♪ And every time you leave ♪♪♪

The beat moves so achingly slow, it’s almost sultry. 

♪♪♪ It’s getting harder and harder to breathe… ♪♪♪

Wilhelm swallows. He knows a thing or two about that. 

♪♪♪ … No I can’t seem to get you off my mind! ♪♪♪

Wille sways back and forth on the balls of his feet, swept away in the music. He feels like he’s losing his centre of gravity, head in the clouds, mind embarrassingly blank. Simon pushes on. 

♪♪♪ … We can do it all over the (shh) ♪♪♪

Simon places his finger to his lips in a shushing motion and laughs while the audience screams. 

♪♪♪ Baby you can kiss me down my neck, go slowly… Dale, baby ♪♪♪

Simon tilts his head just so to expose his neck and drags his finger along the side of his throat in a teasing gesture. Of course, the cameraman has to follow him with steady hands, the jumbotron amplifying the dizzying image that’s playing out before him. It’s all glitter and tan skin and veins and sweat. Wille looks up at the TV with wide eyes and dusted pink cheeks. Okay, he may or may not be losing his mind. 

Simon smirks at the audience before picking up the pace, and all of a sudden he’s singing in Spanish.

Oh god. 

And what the hell is wrong with him? Wille thinks. Is this normal? To be losing it over a man you met once, who probably doesn’t remember you and your heinous dance moves? He glances around at the hoards of people in the crowd– boys and girls – who are screaming along to the Spanish verse. Maybe it is normal. 

Wilhelm clears his throat and wipes his clammy hands against his jeans. He can do this, just one more hour. At the same time, though, he doesn’t really want it to end. 

For the final chorus, Simon brings the tempo back down again and asks the crowd to sing along with him as he switches to acapella. For a moment in time, the stadium becomes one unified voice and it feels almost otherworldly. 

♪♪♪ … But all of this passion is making me blind… ♪♪♪

♪♪♪ No I can’t seem to get you… off my mind ♪♪♪

And as Simon slowly makes his way through the final line, holding onto the mic stand in front of him, Wille swears Simon is looking into the audience to find something. Someone.

Nope. No. Wille thinks to himself, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear. Is Simon dating? He pinches his nose and silently curses himself, he didn’t even think to try and find that out. Who is he kidding? He probably is, Simon is the most charming boy he’s ever met. 

And the singer did say he was feeling inspired. Who can’t he get off his mind? Wille shakes his head. Maybe this was a stupid idea to come. Simon turns his head in the direction of the tent and Wille startles out of his spiral, quickly shielding his face and sinking down into the small black sofa. There’s no way Simon could’ve seen him. 

Breathe in, breathe out. Erik’s words ring through his head– just try to enjoy this, be yourself. Wille fishes his stress ball from his canvas tote bag and slowly gets back onto his feet. If he could just get over this silly, stupid , unrequited little crush, then maybe he could make it through this concert unscathed. 

Simon has moved to the piano now for a second surprise song, one Wille isn’t as familiar with. Of course, he still sounds beautiful. Wille closes his eyes and lets the melody take him to new places, trying his best to push down all the unnamed feelings that scream inside of his chest. 

***

Simon

There’s about 45 minutes left to his set when it starts to rain. 

Rain shows are usually so fun and chaotic, but Simon was trying to impress someone tonight and it’s hard to do that when your curls are in your eyes and descending into frizzy madness. Whatever, Simon sighs. At least he knows his makeup is unmoving, and no amount of rain or hail could crack his eyeliner. (He doesn’t know how it works per se, but he trusts his makeup artist with his life).

Simon lets himself enjoy the last hour despite the weather. He dances and runs and laughs and sings from his heart as best as he knows how. He’s made a deal with Ayub and his vocal coach to refrain from going full out every night to preserve his voice. He lets himself get just the tiniest bit quieter nearing the final 20 minutes and knows the sound crew will adjust his microphone so the audience would never notice. He reluctantly chooses to avoid a couple opt ups in his bridges and decides that maybe he’ll spend tomorrow morning on vocal rest. 

The crowd doesn’t seem phased though, and if anything, the rain only makes them cheer louder.

It all culminates in the final curtain call, when Simon leads his team of dancers to the edge of the stage for a final bow. He gestures up to the sound and lighting crew, giving a wave as he lists out teammates by name. He goes through each member of the band, showering them with praise as they jam out behind him. Finally, the dancers take a coordinated step backwards, leaving Simon standing center with his hands crossed behind his back. He looks teary-eyed and thankful towards the audience as he bows his head several more times. 

On cue, Simon looks up to the highest bleachers. The lights change to illuminate the crowd and confetti cannons blast paper into the middle of the arena. Recycled pieces of gold and purple flutter and weed through hoards of people as they dance and look up to the sky. 

This is always Simon’s favourite part of the show, because he can finally see the faces looking up at him. He walks to all corners of the stage, soaking it in and waving goodbye while the band plays him off, blowing kisses to fans on the floor and nodding his thanks a million times over. 

And through the enormous flood of lavender confetti, he sees him. It’s Wilhelm, dancing with his eyes closed in the VIP tent. Carefree, he spins on the spot with his arms extended and head nodding in a desperate attempt to keep up with the beat. He misses it half of the time. 

Simon blinks his surprise away and he feels his lips quirk up in a soft smile before he moves onto the next corner. It was a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it type of moment, but it was definitely him. Simon lets himself get pulled into the beat one last time and bops towards the lift, which eventually sinks into the floor and brings him under the stage. And then it’s done. 

***

Simon quickly takes a look in the mirror, retouching his hair and lip gloss. After every show, he’s led to a small room where he’s scheduled to meet a handful of VIP ticket holders and megafans, which is where he’s headed now.

Usually, the 30 minute time slot is filled with the tears and shocked gasps of teenagers meeting their idol for the very first time. Simon always offers a hug, a picture, and a quick autograph which almost always ends up as an ankle tattoo by the end of the week.

It’s fun, it’s cool. 

But this time it’s different, because Wilhelm was in that VIP tent. Who knows if he’ll make his way to the meet-and-greet area, or if he’ll just go home. And what is he doing in Denmark anyway? 

There isn’t time to spiral out of control, though, because suddenly a woman with a clipboard is tugging at Simon’s arm and pulling him towards the hallway. Simon recognizes her, one of the Fan Experience & Operations managers, but he’s still learning everyone’s names. Simon nods and flashes her a quick smile as they head towards the double doors, which takes them to the staged area. 

When Simon walks in, the group is already standing there waiting. Like he anticipated, there are shocked cries and emotional hugs, and Simon makes sure every fan in the room gets a 1-on-1 moment. Still, he immediately clocks Wilhelm who is standing nervously in the corner of the room. Simon keeps glancing over, watching the boy as he stands there with his legs crossed, twiddling his thumbs. 

Once he’s interacted with everyone, another tour manager herds up the group and guides them out the way they came. When Wilhelm doesn’t follow suit, Simon whispers something to the operations manager who nods and leaves the room, seemingly happy to be let off the hook.

Wilhelm continues to linger in the corner, shyly looking up as he drags the tips of his converse along the carpet. 

“Hey,” Wilhelm smiles softly.

 “Hi! I had no idea you were coming!” Simon still feels half-stuck in performance mode and takes a brisk step forward as if to go in for a hug before he realizes who he’s talking to. He pauses instead and scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck. “It’s.. well it’s great to see you.” He finishes. 

“You were…” Wilhelm looks like he’s searching for the words, his voice sounding equal parts breathy and astonished, “breathtaking.”

Simon looks down to his feet and lets out a self-deprecatory laugh.

“That was, like, the best show I’ve ever seen.” Wilhelm says, eyes boring into his own and voice coated in vulnerable earnesty. Momentarily out of words, the boys stand and stare at each other with wonder and timid curiosity. 

Simon is about to open his mouth to say something else when Wille continues sheepishly: “I bought you an apple juice, at the stand… But the tour guide took it away from me just before this, she said she thought I might be trying to poison you.” The boys look up into each other's eyes for a brief moment of silence before they both dissolve into a fit of giggles. The tension starts to absolve and Simon mindlessly pulls at his sleeve.

“Well I appreciate the thought, really.” He prays the blush on his cheeks isn’t as noticeable as it feels. “And thank you.” He pauses. 

“So, what are you doing here in Denmark?” The singer looks up at him with an abashed smile. He can feel Wilhelm’s guard start to come down.

“Oh! Well, we had a game about.. eight hours ago? And once Erik found that the times lined up for me to come here, he was able to get me a ticket, and so… yeah,” the soccer player gently tucks a strand of sandy hair behind his ear.

“How’d it go?”

“Oh we lost, big time. But it’s alright,” Wille contemplates with another kind smile. “And besides… I got to come here and see you.” He gently raises an eyebrow. 

Simon realizes now that the boy standing across from him is completely dry, having been sat under the tent all night. His blonde bangs perfectly curtain the sides of his face and his pink lips are upturned in a sheepish grin. His arms are draped in purple beaded bracelets and the caramel in his eyes are exaggerated by hints of glitter cream. Simon instantly feels a little bit embarrassed, he can still feel the water droplets running off the ends of his curls and his clothes still damp from being under the arena’s retractable roof a mere 30 minutes before. He can feel his popstar mask starting to slip. 

“Ugh,” Simon huffs, “If only the weather was better. The rain made my hair all frizzy and I opted down on a few notes.” He’s starting to spiral, he knows, and Wilhelm looks at him with pure confusion written across his face and his jaw slackened. “I just.. couldn’t, today, and I wish you could have co-” 

Wilhelm interrupts him before he can continue. 

“You glow. When you’re on that stage, Simon. You have to know that.” The boy laughs to himself. “Honestly, I have no idea what you’re talking about. You… you look so beautiful , and you sound so incredible. Every time you sing. And, I mean… the way you light up, in that stadium filled with one million people. Everyone can’t help but look at you. It’s.. I can’t even find the words.” The boy’s stare turns urgent, like he needs Simon to understand what he’s telling him. 

“You don’t have to-”

“And I’m not just saying that, I promise you. I… I look up to you, and everything you create. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. You make beautiful art, and you express it so authentically.” 

Simon’s mind is just a blank buzz. He plays with his fingers, not used to hearing so many words feel so genuine. There’s a stale silence. 

“I… uhm.. I made something for you. It’s kind of silly.” Wille looks down in a self-deprecatory way and drags his hand along the bracelets blanketing his arms, feeling them click and twist. Quietly and with focus, Wille picks one out of the bunch, slides it off his wrist and holds it out gently between his fingers. 

“I made it for you. It’s got my jersey number on it, number 23.” Simon smiles. “I know you probably meet so many people, so I thought this could be a way you remember me. If you… if you wanted to.”

Simon grabs the bracelet and delicately slides it onto his hand, admiring the way the purple and gold beads shimmer against his skin. It seems Wille is doing the same. 

Before he can overthink it, Simon reaches forward and gently wraps his fingers around Wilhelm’s wrist.

“Tack, it’s perfect,” he says, finally looking up to meet Wilhelm’s eyes. “How could I forget you?” Simon breathes. 

Wilhelm looks down at their joined hands. Another beat. 

“I get why people travel around the world, now. You know… see the same show 15 times.” He shuffles his feet.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “It’s just… you. your energy. It’s like… I  just keep wanting more.” The boy glances upwards, just barely. 

And for the love of god, this boy is standing in front of him in a plain white tee with glitter smeared across his cheekbones. Wearing ratty converse and a dopey grin across his face. His face is flushed like he’s been dancing along for the full-length of the set. 

Simon doesn’t really notice when he takes the smallest step forward, and suddenly they are way too close. 

“Wilhelm, I-”

“I should go now.” Wille’s eyes are wide like he’s come back into himself, realizing everything he’s just said. The boy scratches hopelessly at the nape of his neck, takes a few steps backward and blinks profusely.  

And before Simon can finish his sentence, Wille bolts out the door.

Uhmm… what?

Simon stands there in disbelief for about 15 seconds before he hears laughter come through his ear piece: it’s Rayanne. 

“Simon, why the hell is this sports man running through the back corridors of this stadium like it’s a 200 metre sprint?”

Simon quickly tries to untangle his ear piece and all but throws it at the wall before bursting through the doorway. 

“Which way did he go?”

“I think he accidentally made it to the recycling room.” 

Screw football players and their long-ass legs.

Simon whips around the third corner and finally sees him. His curls are flying now and he couldn’t be more out of breath. He’s just played a 3-hour show for god’s sake.

“You forgot,” he blurts across the hallway. Wille turns on his heel, stunned. 

“What?”

“My number. You forgot to ask for it… just now.” 

“Oh…” The boy, the cutest boy with friendship bracelets covering his arms, fumbles in his jean pockets like he’s fishing for something. “Actually, I have mine here for you. I wrote it on purple paper, cause I thought it’d be… you know, on brand.”

Wille gently presses the note into his hand, and Simon feels sparks zinging up his forearm. A tingling. 

“Thank you. For tonight.” Simon confesses, barely above a whisper. “I wish we had more time.”

Simon stares up to meet the boy’s intense and alluring gaze, letting honey eyes consume him. When Wille tries to respond, the words get stuck in his throat, and so he nods, never breaking eye contact and letting a glimpse of a smile curl on his lips. Simon gets it. He does. 

Their hands are still lightly settled against one another, and Simon is about to graze his fingers across the other’s when the boy pulls away and clears his throat. 

“Okay, I’m really gonna go now.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Wille smiles. A full, sunny smile. 

They laugh in unison as Wilhelm starts to walk backwards, refusing to pull his eyes away from the singer standing before him.

“You better actually text me back,” Simon warns teasingly, his smirk growing. Wille giggles. 

“I will, I will.”

Another beat of unabashed staring. Wille’s back knocks into an abandoned janitor’s cart and he scrunches his eyes together, cringing. 

“Do you even know where you’re going?” 

“Erm.. no.” The beam on Wilhelm’s face is steadfast as he desperately looks around the back corridor in an attempt to figure out his surroundings. He spots the tiny red sign that reads ‘MAIN ENTRANCE.’

“Ah! There.” Wilhelm points to the sign, eyes still fixed on Simon. “So.. so I’ll just be on my way, then.” 

“Okej,” Simon blushes and smiles softly. “Hej då.”

“Hej då,” Wille echoes with an equally cheesy grin until he’s past the corner and out of sight. 

Simon lets out a long sigh as he leans his head against the wall, closes his eyes and laughs. His voice bounces through the hallway. 

Simon takes the slip of paper in between his fingers before tucking the phone number neatly away in his pocket. Well, if this is gonna be a long game, then that’s how it’s gonna be. Who knows when he and Wilhelm will find themselves in the same city again, but this is a good step, Simon thinks. A step towards what? He doesn’t have an answer.

As Simon painfully tries to collect himself in this random corridor, he plays through the events of the last 10 minutes in his mind and a messy string of lyrics comes to light. Quickly, he pulls out his never-ending note of wax poetic and types the words on his phone before he can forget. Simon chews on his lip and writes,

You and I ended up in the same room, at the same time,

and the touch of a hand lit the fuse…

He’ll come back to that later, maybe. Simon rolls his shoulders and starts making his way back towards the dressing rooms. The singer walks with a newfound stride, slightly readjusting his new bracelet so that the 23 faces upwards again. 

Simon gets a little disoriented trying to find Rayanne again through the maze of hallways, but he’ll never tell her why. Maybe it’s because he’s never played in this stadium. Or maybe, it’s because his mind is clouded with images of unruly bangs and glitter on cheekbones.

Chapter Text

Simon

[ XXX- ### ## ##] 

this better be the right number

wilhelm

Simon? 

[ XXX- ### ## ##] 

[unknown sent an image]

you got me

wilhelm

Hahhahheehheeheheh

Asdocisnwenmslssms;;$//al

Don’t do that

Simon Eriksson

what?

wilhelm

Don’t send me selfies like that

Simon Eriksson

can’t i?

wilhelm

Nope 

You may not

Simon Eriksson

:)

wilhelm

You just

Errdfgdgh

Simon Eriksson

listen

wilhelm

i forgot to tell you at the concert 

but you looked really pretty 

***

“Guys I think he’s ghosting me. Do you think he’s ghosting me?” Simon huffs as he hoists himself high up the steps and onto the tour bus. Rosh snorts behind him. 

“Well, it doesn’t take a genius to see that you’re coming off a little strong.” Ayub snickers and throws his backpack onto the table. 

Simon drops into a chair and bounces his leg back and forth. “You’re right, I DON’T know what I’m doing. He’s, like, this seasoned athlete. What am I supposed to do with that? It feels like a… I don’t know, a whole new ball game!” He throws his phone down and Rosh kicks his shin under the table laughing. 

“No pun intended,” Simon mumbles quietly and crosses his arms. 

“Just stop it,” she slaps him on the back. “He could be in a practice or something. It looks like the guy’s got a life. Which is honestly good for you.”

Simon sinks further into the table and puts his head in his hands. “Arghh I know!! He’s perfect.”

From where his face is buried, he can hear Ayub throw his hands up and mutter: “Singers man…” Rosh throws a clementine at him. 

“So, you really like him?” She says. 

“I don’t know, Rosh! It’s not like we’ve even been on a date.” Simon shrugs frustratingly and feels a blush rising in his cheeks. 

The pair grab hold of Simon’s phone and stare at it together, scrolling from the top. “Okay, but looking at these texts, you’re gonna have to be the one to ask him.” 

A ping comes in and Simon jumps to crowd behind his friends. It’s Wilhelm. 

wilhelm

Wille

You can call me Wille

He doesn’t say anything more after that, seemingly ignoring Simon’s painfully-desperate compliment. Ayub stretches back in his chair and lets out a big sigh.

“Well, listen bro. From this two-second exchange, it’s clear he’s a dork. And I know people usually flock to you, but maybe this time you’ve gotta be the one to make a move.”

“Exakt.” Rosh pipes in. “But maybe it’s good that the tables are turned. This is up to you and what you want.” Simon can feel his cheeks staine a blotchy pink as Rosh raises her eyebrows as if waiting for a response.

“Well, what do you want?”

“Well I obviously want to go on a date with him, but it’s more complicated than that.”

“Is it?”

“Of course it is, Rosh!” Simon tears out of his seat and paces through the tiny bus corridor. “It’s just… I won’t be in the country for another couple of weeks, I feel like it’d be unfair to string him on that long when we can’t see each other. And you know what the stalkers are like. (Simon refuses to call that specific category of people ‘fans’). There’s always so many people recording…” Simon painfully tries to clear his throat. “Once… once he finds out everything that comes with dating me, he’d never go for it.”

Simon can feel his voice start to shake and his lip quiver as he reaches the end of his spiral. He sinks onto Ayub’s bottom bunk and the two slide in next to him.

“Hey! Hey, you are not a burden.” Rosh gently rests her hand at the base of his neck. “And why not let him decide that? You have to let him try.”

“You’re right, I know.” 

“Just keep talking to him. See where it goes.” Ayub lifts his eyebrow and grins. “Besides, you’ve still got three more weeks on this bus. What can you even do ‘till then?”

“I’ll just… do what you said and then think about him longingly as I play breakup songs on stage.”

“That’s my boy,” Ayub chuckles lightheartedly and grabs Simon’s shoulders from behind, shaking him lightly. 

An hour later, after having chatted through the Finland plans with the crew, Simon retreats to his bunk in the top corner and curls to face the wall. 

Quietly, he lifts the bedside pocket in the wall to grab a small black notebook, chalk-full of mindless scribbles and musical drabbles. He taps the back of his pen melodically against the thick pad of paper and then opens it.

***

Wilhelm

“I’m gonna block his number.”

In the unassuming corner of a cozy coffee shop, Wilhelm is pounding a straw into the base of his cup over and over again, Felice sitting hopelessly opposite him. 

“I can’t do this.. This THING with him. This flirty thing, whatever it is.”  He hisses. “It’s freaking me out and he’s way too good for me and.. and, why the fuck would Simon Eriksson be texting ME?” 

With a bright smile, Felice chuckles and grabs his wrist to keep him from spilling coffee all over the table. 

“Wille, can you relax ? This is a good thing that’s happening. Why are you sabotaging it?”

Wille sighs dramatically. “I know, I know. It’s just my mind starts to race and then all the butterflies I have turn into this mucky tornado and I want to throw up. But like, in a good way?” He looks up at her, desperately hoping his best friend will understand. 

Felice rolls her eyes fondly.

“Well yes, I should think that's a good thing.” She ponders. “And I don’t know, Wille, you just seem more excited about this than any other people you’ve met in the last couple of years.”

Wille takes that in for a moment and hums.

“That’s probably true… It just all feels so surreal,” Wille chides and his shoulders sink. “What could he possibly see in me.”

Felice scoffs. “Wille, you always do this. You sell yourself short. And I know we’re talking about Simon Eriksson , but at the end of the day he’s just a guy too.” She grabs his phone. “And LOOK! He’s so clearly into you too,” she says while scrolling through the messages. 

Wille drops further into his chair and groans. Resolutely, Felice looks at him for a minute and then nods her head: “That’s it. Let me do this. I’m texting him.”

Wille’s head shoots up as he makes grabby hands at the cellphone before Felice firmly yanks it away and starts to type. 

wille

Where are you now?

Simon Eriksson

on our way to finland 

we play a show on the 31st :)

“Okay, you got me this far, now pass it.”

“No!” Felice giggles, “I’m talking to Simon Eriksson. Let me have this”

“I said PASS IT”

After an embarrassingly long tussle for the phone and a snarky glare from the barista, Wille manages to take it back into his hands. Together, he and Felice lean over the screen as he types. 

wille

Wow, Simon, you’re amazing

But when do you sleep?

Simon Eriksson

well technically my napping time slot is about to start

but ur DISTRACTING me soccer boy 

wille

You should’ve told me!!

Simon Eriksson

and break this up??

never :)

wille

🙄

Sweet dreams, Simon

Simon Eriksson

goodnight wille

Wille turns the phone over firmly so that his screen faces the table, bringing his full attention to the girl sitting next to him. Felice shoots him a wink and Wille responds with a death glare. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply through his nose before he feels Felice reach across the table to grab his hand.

“Listen, Wille, this is going to be okay. I promise.. Just.., let it happen! And you know I’ll always be here for you if it ends up going to shit.”

At that, Wille feels his shoulders loosen and he lets out a short laugh. He can see the determination, the sureness, in Felice’s eyes and, as he presses the inside of his palm along his chest, he begins to nod. 

“Let it happen.. I can.., I can do that.” He reassures himself with soreness in his throat. 

“Good.” She slides out of the small booth and picks up both of their emptied plastic cups. “And you know damn well I better be getting regular updates on this whole”- she twirls a cup in a vague circle in Wille’s direction- “ situation. ” She throws the cups into the recycling as Wille shakes his head with a laugh. The bell chimes as they step out of the store together in sync.

***

Simon

It’s only been 6 days of texting. 6 days of Simon shamelessly staring giddily at his phone waiting for speech bubbles to appear. 6 days of painful flirting that’d be so obvious to everyone in the universe except for the one boy said flirting is supposed to be working on. 6 days of Simon probably crossing 15 different invisible lines and hovering over a rather treacherous slope. 

But what is he meant to do when a random table assignment leads him to the dorkiest boy on the planet: a boy with gorgeous honey eyes and light-toned freckles?

wille

I was out shopping with a teammate and these gloves reminded me of you 

Wait it’s not letting me send a picture

Ugh

It’s because they were purple

Simon Eriksson

you’re telling me the goalie gloves remind you of me?

wille

Because they were purple 

Simon Eriksson

ok…

wille

Everything purple reminds me of you

So 

“If you could stop beaming down at your phone like an IDIOT,” Rosh says with her head in her hands, “maybe we could sort out this plan for the set.”

The next stadium they’re renting is a little bit smaller than usual, and so Rosh has determined that not all of their normal lighting equipment would fit without creating obstructed views. Together, the trio huddle around the bus’ meal table to decide which fixtures are most disposable.

“Yeah.. yup. Here. Present.” 

Simon throws his phone onto the closest bunk along with the itch in the back of his mind to reply right away. 

Now, the texts have become much more frequent, a new part added to his day. There are quick glances to his screen in between rehearsal breaks, and more prolonged hovering when he knows Wille has just gotten out of practice. 

In that time, Simon has learned that Wille has two nieces he is enormously proud of. He’s learned that Wille loves music, brown noise, socks and crocs, and frog-themed bucket hats. He’s learned that Wille’s favourite colour is a deep, oceanic blue. He’s found out that Wille has some trouble connecting with some of the guys on his team and that his relationship to soccer is super important to him, albeit complicated. 

And Simon has shared tons about himself too, although he’s always been a kind of open book. But with Wille, every conversation feels charged, energetic, delicate , in a horrifyingly exciting way. Wille is smart, extremely passionate, and something about feeling Wille’s undivided attention– even through a phone screen– makes his skin get all tingly. Simon hasn’t shared, yet, that he may have, possibly gone on YouTube to search up the rules of soccer on 3 different occasions. He was pretty certain he already knew them but it was nice to get the confirmation – except for offside. Simon still has no idea how being offside works.

And when Rosh and Ayub tease him about his horrible, terrible crush, Simon tries to brush it off like it’s silly and unserious. Which it is. Until it kind of isn’t. Because Simon can’t pretend he doesn’t often think back to that very first night they met: Wille’s fragile lean forward as they spoke in hushed voices during the awards ceremony, or the pride in his eyes as Simon accepted an award of his own, despite having only met an hour before. 

The shows in Finland surprisingly go by without a hitch, all thanks to the tight ship Rosh and Ayub run. Simon feels happy and light on his feet, and only once catches himself searching the crowd for blonde bangs that aren’t there. Still, silly texts and the unspoken potential of an eventual rendez-vous is enough to keep Simon smiling through 3-hour sets. Well, that, and the booming cheers coming from the audience of 36 thousand. 

With every day that passes, Wille slowly gets bolder and more confident in his texts, which Simon does not mind in the slightest. Now, the yearning at least doesn’t feel so embarrassingly one-sided. They talk about his tour schedule, teammate drama, sibling qualms, and, of course, each other. And it’s good. It’s all manageable and it definitely doesn’t make Simon’s stomach swoop in a million different ways when he’s lying awake on his top bunk talking to Wille in the early hours of the morning. 

Otherwise, Simon and Rayanne have fun shaking up the wardrobe, mixing different pieces of what’s meant to be a matching 2-piece, glittery set. Some days he goes yellow on pink, others purple on blue, based on whatever top Rayanne hurls at him from across the room. Today, on night 3 at the Helsinki Olympic Stadium, Simon decides on a simple combo he hasn’t used yet. 

Completely unrelated, Simon also chooses to sing an unplugged version of New Romantics, to which the crowd goes wild as he winks bashfully into the HD camera held up at the barricade a few meters away.  

The post-show text Simon has come to expect in the last week comes later than usual, sending Simon into a bit of a frenzied thought spiral. He’s perched in his usual corner, eyebrows scrunched together and night light on as he scribbles into his notepad when his phone screen finally lights up.

wille

You wore blue on blue tonight.

Simon Eriksson

are you stalking me number 23?

now which simon updates account are you following 

wille

I don’t!

It’s just.. my twitter algorithm I don’t know

Photos just popped up

Simon Eriksson

well i find that very interesting 

verrryyyy interesting 

wille

Shut up

Well, you looked really good

I just wanted to say that

Simon Eriksson

don’t tell me you watch the crappy livestreams too

wille

I have no comment on that

So… what are you up to?

Simon Eriksson

just writing ;)

wille

How do you choose what to write about?

Or, I don’t know, how does it come to you?

The singer sighs and flops backwards onto his pillow, rolling over towards the narrow window and bringing his phone back up to his face. He lightly gnaws on his lip and replies:

Simon Eriksson

sometimes it’s about old experiences, like i can work through unresolved emotions with the writing 

other times it’s about places and people

feelings 

wille

I think it’s so amazing, how you write so many of your own songs

Simon’s jet black notebook laid out across his white duvet stares daggers through him, its recent contents chalk-full of intimate verses about charged stares from across the dance floor. Simon pauses.

Simon Eriksson

would you ever want that? 

wille

What?

Simon Eriksson

songs written about you 

wille

Why?

Simon Eriksson

you’re the kind of guy people would write songs about 

The boy doesn’t register the sharp breath he’s holding in. A small bead of sweat dribbles down the side of his neck as he attempts to reel in the dam of feeling that threatens to explode in his chest if they don’t talk about this thing . Simon thinks about all of the confessions he’s wanted to concede these last 9 days: the sensationalized rhymes jotted and threaded between faded blue paper lines.

Simon Eriksson

wille?

wille

Sorry I didn’t know how to respond to that 

I’m a little nervous right now I’m sorry 

Simon Eriksson

it’s okay to be nervous 

i am too 

wille

Why would you want to write about me?

Simon Eriksson

idk

cause you make me feel nervous

but a good kind of nervous 

and shy and embarrassed and happy and excited 

Simon stops. No response. He lets himself breathe: lets his chest slowly rise and fall. Fuck it.

Simon Eriksson

we should go out when I come back 

wille

Asbsonsonoansos;aonsn 

Don’t say that 

Simon Eriksson

go out with me?

wille

Yes

Simon Eriksson

ok

then it’s a date :)

Simon lifts himself half out of bed leaning back onto his wrists. Through the darkness, he scans to see if Rosh and Ayub might still be awake, but he’s only met with the familiar nighttime hum of insects outside and the low rumble of the bus engine. 

He presses a hand to his face, trying to hide the inescapable smile that grows rather obviously on his face until his lips are stretched and his cheeks stinging. Finally it’s all too much and Simon is giggling softly to himself in the dead of night on a tiny stretch of road in the middle of nowhere in Finland. 

So he didn’t imagine this. Wille wants to see him too, and well, he can work with that. 

***

It’s only 2 days later when an upcoming weekend tour stop gets cancelled for something stupid. When Simon is briefed on it the venue coordinator says something about the stadium flooding and needing repairs. He groans and tries desperately to convince his team to just move venues, but he knows it’s not that simple. And so they work to refund a million tickets and Simon posts one of those terrible Instagram story updates with a frustrated sigh. 

“This sucks,” Rosh practically yells. “To think the team working at that stadium wouldn’t sort this out or at LEAST tell us sooner?” She paces back and forth as Ayub twiddles the rubix cube in front of him. 

“Yeah….” Ayub mumbles. He looks up at Simon, a mysterious glint crossing his features.

“What, is there something on my face?” Simon worries.

“No, man. It’s just… we’ve got like 5 extra days to ourselves now. What do you wanna do?”

The two best friends look at each other, Simon trying to decipher Ayub’s mysteriously coded shit-eating grin before the idea begins to take shape in his own head, a matching smile crawling up his face. He keeps his eyes trained on Ayub as his eyes twinkle in unspoken understanding. 

Rosh senses the scheming and deadpans: “What are you two on about-”

“When does the driver get back?” They boys say together as they turn to look up at her, Simon’s cheeks flushed and eyes desperate. 

“20 minutes. Why?”

Simon tears his head back towards Ayub and nods, determined. 

“Let’s go.”