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Wilhelm was no stranger to panic attacks.
Much to his mothers disliking, he had been having them since he was 10. His chest would tighten or his neck would get hot. It was always when he was stuck in the middle of some conversation about his future with the kingdom of future appearances he knew his Mama would make him attend. Wills learned to swallow it down until the nighttime where he could escape to his room's bathroom, cold tile floors grounding him in a way his mother couldn’t.
Because of his experiences, it was no shock when he was glued to the floor of his room, humming quietly to himself as the sound of other boys heading to their classes kept his mind in control. His fists were clenched on top of the wooden panels as he tried to do breathing Boris had taught him. A presentation on government funding wasn’t the end of the world to most people, but to Wille, the thought had sent him into a full spiral at 9 in the morning.
“Wille?” An Angel. Wille could almost feel Simon's presence through the door. He hummed gently to imply it was open. The suns morning light made a halo shape around Simon’s head as he quickly opened and shut the door behind him. Wille’s Angel.
“Presentation?” Wille merely nodded and closed his eyes tight, trying to push the thoughts out of his head through his ears. He felt warm hands on his face, cupping his cheeks in a gentle way, not like when Mama disciplined him. Wille opened his eyes, sigh of relief exiting his chest when he saw Simon up close. Proof that he was real.
“I can’t-“ were the first words he had spoken all day. Simon seemed to understand, wrapping him in a tight hug. Wille imagined he was absorbing all the worries and fears into his own body, saving Wille.
“You’ve got floorboard marks on your legs honey,” Simon sounded worried, almost like he knew Wille had no plan to move from this spot on his own. Wille buried his head further into the soft texture of Simon’s….well….everything.
“Simme,” it was almost a plea. He felt heavy and useless. Disposable, even.
“Let’s get you on the bed Mi amore,” Wille felt spineless as he was lifted up a bit and helped up onto the side of the bed. His head began to feel light, a sign of the end, Boris had told him, of an episode like this.
He felt Simon breathing with him, the same pattern he had learned and attempted to follow moments before. His body was still being squeezed, his pulse was beating slower than it had been.
Simon made a humming noise and began to move Wille toward the pillow. Wille went willingly, allowing Simon to adjust and get into a position where he could face him.
The second they made eye contact, Simon laying next to him with both arms around each side of his neck, Wille was unable to stop the tears. Simon only held him closer.
“Talk to me,” it wasn’t demanding at all. Simon had a way of asking for things in a tone that made Wille melt and comply on the spot.
“Reminds me of parties,” the tears fell harder, “the politics, the people, rich assholes who would look you dead in the eye and pretend they care about your opinion,” the last part came out angrier but Simon didn’t mind.
“What happened to your panic attack medication?” Simon was smoothing his hair down over and over.
“Out. Gotta call Mama to get more and we aren’t….” Simon knew they weren’t talking so Wille didn’t feel the need to finish the sentence.
“Have you slept?”
“Two hours last night,” Wille was more sad than ashamed. He was upset at his body not himself for his sleepless nights.
“Oh sweetie,” Simon kissed his head lightly, not ceasing the petting, “tell Malin you're not going to class. I would but I had to fight her to get in here,” he gave a soft chuckle at Simon’s words.
“Can’t get up,” He didn’t want to was more like it. He had never felt safer then right now. Simon kissed his head once again and lifted his face to meet his own.
“We can tell her later,” he left a peck on the boy's lips, making his blush rise and the heat on his neck come back for a different reason. God he loved Simon.
“I love you”
“Te amo, Wille,” Simon didn't bat an eye as he went in to kiss Wille again. The feeling never got old. Every kiss felt like their first.
After a few minutes of hair petting and pecks back and forth, Wille had managed to get his breathing in check and his arms maneuvered around Simon’s waist under his sweater. The warmth of his skin was the only warm temperature that could ground him.
“Simme,” his voice was rough and quiet from crying, “do you ever get sick of this?” Simon raised and eyebrow as if he didn’t understand the question.
“Holding you will never get old-“
“No, I mean me. This. The way my brain reacts to small shit,” his tears were back, “me. Do you ever get sick of me?”
Simon looked taken aback. Wilhelm was scared he had pushed a step, made him uncomfortable or even worse, forced him to confess how much he hated Wilhelm. Maybe this was all a ruse.
“Wille baby,” he looked at Simon, “I have never and will never find you sickening. You are my everything,” there was only one emotion behind his words. Love.
“I-“
“No. Hear me. I love you,” Simon looked him dead in the eye. And Wille believed him.
“I love you too,” the tears were slowing down once again.
“I’d sure as shit hope so,” they both laughed, Wille snorting, at that. This caused them both to laugh harder, past panic flying out the window as time passed. All Wille could feel was love and his sunshine. His Simon.
Through all their joy, they never once let go of each other.