Work Text:
i
It’s not called welfare for the rich, it’s deduction
He usually enjoyed these kinds of lessons, simply because they afforded him an escape from the pressure of having to speak up. At his old school, the teachers would always give him a good grade as long as he showed up to class and did what he could. Today though, he had been paying attention. Not really out of interest in the debate, but simply because he was trying to understand the dynamics at this new school.
Some of the classes seemed so much more strict that he could have possibly imagined-- a straight forward lecture that wasn’t to be interrupted. He was happy that at least this one class wouldn’t be such a bore, although Wilhelm found himself completely out of the loop with some of these conversations.
He wasn’t a complete idiot. He understood what tax evasion and welfare scam meant. But, had he been pressed to answer, he would not have been able to come up with a single argument for why either one was better or worse. He felt almost ashamed, even though it had been a deliberate decision on his end. The Royal Family was apolitical. As his mother often liked to remind them, even the most simple topics were also political.
The same way that Henry’s father had told him they were struggling to make end’s meet, his own mother had drilled him to not really consider any of these issues. But then something Henry said made him laugh. The boy from the choir-- Simon, the teacher had said his name was. He’d been so upset after Erik left yesterday, that he’d almost forgotten about the chorus and the boy. So far, he’d been in all of Wilhelm’s classes. He knew it was in his best interest to stay away now, but somehow he hadn’t been able to stop himself from looking. Now,at least, he had an excuse.
His speaking voice, it turned out, was as commanding as his singing one:
“Why is it evasion for taxes but scam for welfare? Is it okay for the rich to steal and not the poor? It’s not called welfare for the rich, it’s deduction.”
The comment felt almost like a bolt of lightning. Because until Simon had said it his brain had not really understood the crux of the debate.
The question wasn’t about the ethics of either crime. It was about putting them in order of better or worse based on who was the person committing it. Wilhelm briefly looked around the room, noticing the tension building at Simon’s comment. Somehow, this had made his little crush on the guy intensify far more than he anticipated. There he was, in a room full of people that disagreed with him, speaking his mind because he knew he was telling the truth. And as if that hadn’t been enough, Simon turned and looked him straight in the eye as he did so, before adding: “We all know who the biggest welfare receivers are”
Wilhelm couldn’t even pretend to be offended.
ii
We have to work to be able to afford things
He left the tent early in the morning, trying his best not to wake Simon and Felice. His friend had thankfully fallen asleep almost immediately. He’d spent the majority of the night stiff and unmoving, sandwiched between her and an angry Simon. He thought back to the comment Henry had made the day before about gay students sharing and almost wanted to laugh. He’d imagined this going so differently.He didn’t think either one of them would be in the mood, what with the cold and literally their entire class within earshot of them. But at least they’d be able to cuddle up to each other, a luxury they hadn’t had since the night they spent together before the speech.
He knew he’d crossed a line with the shushing, and the comment about August's money. But Simon’s comment had hit a nerve with Wilhelm, and he hadn’t yet learned to control the part of him that, when insulted, punched even lower. And he was annoyed that Simon had misunderstood his actions like that. He’d only been trying to diffuse the tension. Everything had been going so well. He had been so happy to see Rosh and Ayub again. Things got weird very quickly when everyone else joined them. He couldn’t really pinpoint at what point the conversation shifted into going to the US or not, and he didn’t need to know Fredericka as well as he did to understand she was trying to shade them. He felt offended on their behalf, and on Simon’s. He’d only been trying to… honestly he hadn’t been quite sure what exactly he had been trying to do.
He knew what Simon meant, had known it his entire life. Yes, he was privileged, but that privilege cost him quite a lot. And no matter what anyone else said, he didn’t have a choice about any of it. Sure, coaching a kid’s football team wasn’t super fun, but if Rosh didn’t like it, surely, she didn’t have to do it.
Suddenly, he found himself arriving at the point Simon had been trying to make yesterday. Rosh, Ayub, and Simon had to work during the summer in order to afford things. Sure, they probably could choose a different job, but they worked out of necessity. Wille was obliged to work, but he didn’t need to .
He’d always known Simon wasn’t rich. That had never mattered to him, never affected his perceptions or his feelings. But they’d never spoken about these things, circling around the topics and assuming the other one understood. Why had Simon even needed a job at 14? Surely, Linda earned enough to cover the basics?
Do you even know how much ‘the basics’ cost? He wondered to himself, the profound shame he felt at the thought bringing tears to his eyes. Before Simon, his life had been so narrow. Simon was sweet and kind like no other soul he knew, but at the same time he was an absolute force of nature. Somehow, the boy in the tent had none of that force left in him. Had he hurt him so? He was such a fucking idiot. He’d gotten on edge the second he realized Simon was angry with him; and he’d gotten defensive. He hadn’t listened.
He needed to apologize, but he figured he’d let his boyfriend sleep a bit more, since neither of them had slept really. He’d been thinking about what to say when Malin came with the phone.
iii
Everything you mentioned can be done without someone being born to do that. Without giving the people a choice. And that you, Wille, don’t get a choice, what kind of life is that?
He’d known, from that first day of school, that Simon had some strong political convictions that he had no shame in sharing. Looking back, he was able to recognize that it had only increased his attraction to him. That first day, Simon did so many of the things Wilhelm would never be able to do: argue back, not in an outburst of anger , but with the calculated righteousness of someone who spoke the truth to people who didn’t want to hear it. Simon, he now knew, was like this in every aspect of his life. He’d been far too often on the receiving end of Simon’s declarations, though in the last few weeks they’d started to mellow.
But today’s conversation at lunch had taken him by surprise. He was growing tired of Vincent picking on him as the one ruining the school. Today of all days, after someone had thrown a fucking rock into his boyfriend’s house, he had no patience for it. Because of all the things he could have chosen to clapback with, Simon had gone with being in favor of an elected head of state doesn’t make you a communist .
He didn’t think anyone had caught on to that , other than Vincent. Still, Wille spent all of lunchtime thinking over what Simon had said. Did that mean that Simon was against the monarchy? The idea should have surprised him, but something about that made him feel uneasy. Because, annoying as he was, Vincent was right in that it was a conflict of interest. How could they possibly be together long-term if he was part of the Royal Family, and Simon fundamentally disagreed?
For some reason, the part of him that usually panicked at the thought of breaking up with Simon did not rear its head. Perhaps, because he’d always really known Simon wasn’t a monarchist. He’d never said as much, but nothing about it really aligned with his worldview. He’d been the only person in his life who’d dared to say something negative about the monarchy to his face.
But that had been before they knew each other, when Simon was just a boy that invaded his dreams and when he wasn’t the Crown Prince. So, when they go for a walk at the lake, he asks him. Wilhelm was surprised to be met with another question:
“What do you like about the monarchy?”
He didn’t have to think too much to find his answer. He’d known it almost like he knew how to breathe. Although Wille doesn’t enjoy being in the monarchy, he doesn’t think the institution is without merits. All his life, he’d grown up with royalism as a quasi-religious ideology. The few scattered memories he had of his morfar were of his deep voice, narrating some fairytale-like variation of their family history.
But he also remembered how as a kid, his mother’s intervention had successfully rescued a group of Swedish tourists from an earthquake disaster. He’d been too young to fully understand all the politics involved, why exactly the government had had its hands tied. All his little brain had managed to comprehend was that his mamma was a superhero, the bestest one there was. Without his mamma, without the Queen, those tourists would have never made it home alive. And there were countless other examples of issues like that, where the country needed someone who was neutral and apolitical to intervene. Surely, that meant that there was some value in this institution. Surely that was the closing point for this argument.
But Simon was clever, far more clever than Wille could ever be. Or perhaps, it was simply that his perspective was distant enough that he could see it all so much more clearly.
Why did someone have to be born to do this? Why was this decision based solely on luck and fate? He repeated his mother’s words at Simon, about this life being a privilege, but somehow they felt weaker coming from him.
Simon replied simply with a truth he could not refute, that he saw how the monarchy made him feel, and he didn’t have to specify for Wilhelm to understand what he meant. Somehow, the fact that Simon had said it made his skin itch.
He tried to push aside any more thoughts on the matter. He was afraid of what opening that can of worms would do, of where it would lead him. But later, lying on his bedroom floor while Farima recited conditions and orders his way, he heard Simon’s words once again.
What kind of life is this?