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Waking up, Simon is greeted by a warm, golden glow peeking through their bedroom window’s blinds. He takes a moment to appreciate the view, his boyfriend is sprawled across him on the bed, the light shining on his skin, painting it in a golden-like shade. Simon smiles to himself. He’d like to say that mornings are his favourite. When there is peace and quiet, the city of Stockholm still not fully alive besides the few sounds indicating its slow awakening. But then there are also evenings, when Simon comes home to Wille’s open arms and falls into them unceremoniously, not even trying to pretend that he hasn’t been missing his boyfriend through every single second they were apart. There are also nights, when they fall into bed together, their limbs tangled and bodies pressed close, holding each other as if they were still afraid one may let go.
Neither of them will. They know that.
But mornings are a little bit magical, Simon has to admit. Maybe it’s the golden shadows or the stillness that seems to settle around the room at this time of the day. Or maybe it’s just waking up next to Wille after having to spend so many nights apart before. Whatever it is, Simon likes it.
He gently and carefully untangles himself from Wille’s hold, not to wake him up as he leaves the bed. They managed to settle into their new apartment quite fast. The bedroom already begins to look homey, even if they decided to keep the amount of clutter and other items to a minimum, not to clog up the space. It’s theirs. Our home , Simon thinks with a smile. Leaning down he presses a tender kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead and basically tiptoes out of the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind himself.
Swiftly manoeuvring his way through the living room, Simon grabs his guitar and moves to the kitchen, where the soft glow of sunlight illuminates the whole area through the window. He’s kind of favoured this spot to practice in the morning. It’s nice, cosy and also as far away from the bedroom as it can be, so as to minimise the chances of waking Wille up with his strumming.
He took up guitar during his last year at Hillerska, when he was sure he had a pretty good grip on the piano already. Simon has always thought that it is nice when a musician knows a few instruments and it may help him to write songs in the future.
As he never was the best at piano, he felt like he was even worse at guitar. Sure, there’s been a huge difference between how long he’s been playing the former and the latter, but Simon also tends to be a little bit impatient. And a perfectionist. Basically, the first time he picked up a guitar he wanted everything to go smooth and perfect. That didn’t turn out to be the case. He ended up frustrated more times than he could count but now he can admit that he’s pretty decent at guitar too.
But pretty decent is not enough for his new, prestigious music school.
They didn’t have a lot of reserve for his competence at the piano. Simon knows he’s not the best and his teachers seem to know it too. But the first time he played guitar at school, they set things straight: he has to practice, a lot.
It is a requirement to attend classes to learn at least two various instruments at his school. Of course, he went with something he already knew, but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t put some work into it.
It’s not that the comments of the professors stung or something. They were just honest and Simon is aware of that and appreciates it. He heard others play there too and could tell he should be placed at the bottom when it comes to guitar. He’s medium at piano, singing is what he does best and the professors were honest about that too.
He was scared that he’d be looked down on at school again, something that did happen at Hillerska since he was a non-resident and from a working class. Royal College of Music surprised him though, it is different. Professionalism is what shines best here, they don’t judge him through his social status or race, it’s all simply based on his talent, just as it should be. His other fear was that he’d get some special treatment because of his boyfriend’s history of being the Crown Prince, but fortunately, that’s not the case too. Sure, some people in his classes whisper about him and Wille when they think he doesn’t hear, but he can handle those, has been handling those for long enough not to let it get to him. A lot of people he’s got to know there during his still fairly short time of attending do seem to be genuine and want to be friends with him , not because of his connection to the ex-Crown Prince.
There are the fake ones too, craving his attention to somehow get to Wille but Simon can see right through them and smell them from miles. He’s learnt that already.
Sitting down cross-legged at their small kitchen table, Simon makes sure his grip on the guitar is right and begins to play. Some simply melody at first, his fingers grazing the strings lightly, but with enough force to make sounds. He closes his eyes, letting the rays of sunshine wash over him. It’s still fairly warm in Stockholm for the beginning of October, but even if it wasn’t, the cold breeze is being kept outside of their warm, gracious apartment. Simon relishes in the moment, only him and the music, still far from perfect, but getting better one tone at a time. Practice makes perfect, they say. It seems a bit like a motto for the Royal College of Music, but Simon agrees.
The melody he plays eventually comes to an end and Simon whips his head around as he hears a soft sound of applause from the other side of the kitchen. He’s met with his boyfriend, of course, because who else could it be. Wille is still shirtless, only in his pyjama pants. He looks soft and warm and Simon just wants to bury his face his neck, inhale his scent that he loves so much, something fresh mixed with their coconut body wash and just something uniquely Wille, and never let go.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Simon gives him an apologetic smile but Wille only shakes his head, a smile of his own present on his face. Some hair falls into his eyes and he runs his hand through it to push it back. It has got longer now, reminding Simon of their time at the beginning of Hillerska. Wille's been mentioning wanting to cut it, quite short actually and Simon knows he'll be mourning the loss of getting to run his fingers through the silky strands. But it's Wille's decision only, one he can finally make. Simon for sure won't be the one to stop him.
“That was pretty,” Wille says from where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, his sight landing on the guitar in Simon’s grasp.
Simon shrugs. It was fine, could be better though.
Wille seems to notice his train of thought and only shakes his head exasperatedly.
“Don’t let me stop you, I was just going to make coffee,” he states and moves to the coffee machine to do as he says.
Simon lets himself watch for a while, still amazed by the domesticity of it. Getting to have this with the man he loves means everything to him.
His fingers move almost automatically, as if lost in the moment beginning to play the opening cords of Lover . The song always warms his heart and brings back some of the best, most carefree memories. He glances at Wille again, seeing his smile under his nose as he prepares the coffee.
Simon begins to hum the lyrics lightly, more to himself than to Wille, but his voice increases a little as he reaches the chorus.
Can I go where you go?
Can we always be this close?
He turns to his boyfriend again, fingers knowing the cords by heart. It’s kind of stupid that it’s the first song he decided to learn on guitar, but it had been kind of stuck in his head after that one time he sang it for Wille at a karaoke bar for his boyfriend’s birthday. Call him sentimental or something.
Wille has now fully turned to face him, leant back against the counter, his hands clasped on his chest, watching Simon with so much love and admiration his heart could burst. All the coffee making abandoned for a certainly better entertainment.
Forever and ever, ah
Take me out, and take me home
Their eyes lock, the same spark as always travelling through Simon’s whole body when Wille looks at him like this. Wanting, but also soft, amazed. Simon’s had a hard time realising what he could be so amazed by till one day he just asked. Wille shrugged in answer. You, just you , he said then and Simon went to hide his blush and the fact that his eyes became a bit glassy against his boyfriend's neck.
You're my, my, my, my lover
Simon finishes the song, eyes still on his man, his lover. His smile widens and he chuckles at the wave of applause Wille offers him. Simon ducks his head, not embarrassed or shy, but mostly overwhelmed by the love in his boyfriend’s eyes that he’s sure is mirrored in his own.
“Beautiful,” Wille is next to him then, the words pressed at the top of his head, his palm brushing gently against Simon’s bare shoulder blade. “Both the song and you.” He adds then, earning himself a soft laugh from Simon.
Then two mugs of coffee are put down at the table and Wilhelm takes a seat opposite him. Neither of them really says anything and Simon loves this too, has always loved that they are just able to sit quietly sometimes. Especially during mornings like this, just savouring each other’s presence, no words needed.
Simon continues to play, trying out some accords he’s still struggling with as Wille fishes his phone from his pocket and scrolls through what probably is his calendar. It’s the weekend, but since Wille has taken up a job as a photographer for a local magazine, his work hours tend to be a bit unsteady for now. Sometimes he gets called in for some event or whatever during the weekend, but Simon doesn't mind. He still gets a lot of him and he’s just happy Wille is finally doing something he truly enjoys with pursuing photography.
Simon pretends he doesn’t notice that Wille is trying to sneak a picture of him, one he’ll probably see on his Instagram later. He only chuckles to himself and focuses on the guitar, warmth spreading through his chest. He can tell by the way Wille smiles that he must have assumed his boyfriend’s actions correctly.
“Anything on your schedule today?” Simon prompts after abandoning the instrument for a while and taking a sip of his coffee instead. It’s perfect, as it always is.
Wille shakes his head, locking his phone and placing it down on the table, wrapping his now free fingers around his mug.
“No,” he says “I’m free today.”
“What are we going to do with the day all to ourselves then?” Simon asks curiously, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
Wilhelm seems to ponder over his question for a while.
“Hmm, maybe I’ll take you out and take you home, as it has been requested,” he hides his grin the his mug as he drinks his coffee.
Simon laughs, loud and carefree in their otherwise silent apartment. God how he hopes this home will always be filled with laughter.
“Okay, lover,” he replies and then they both laugh, an even better sound echoing through the still slightly void space.
Wille reaches for his hand across the table, playing with their fingers for a while before bringing them to his lips and placing a soft kiss on Simon’s palm. His eyes stay fixed on their hands until he looks up and speaks again.
“I’m really happy, you know.”
Simon’s heart warms. For a split second his thoughts go back to all the times Wille told him he’ll never be happy, that the weight of all these expectations and pressure will crush him. Having him here now, openly admitting how he feels, but also these feelings being so positive… Simon’s throat goes a little tight. It’s everything.
“I’m happy too, mi amor,” he barely manages to form a reply.
Wille’s smile grows, his thumb running softly against Simon’s knuckles. He probably imagines it, but he could have sworn he felt it lingering a little longer over his ring finger.
“I love you,” Wille says then and Simon knows he’s said that to him a million times. With a smile on his face, just as bright as now, through tears of sadness, joy, with desperation, want and desire. The statement is pressed in every kiss they share, every hug, every touch that brings comfort. And yet still, it always has the same effect on Simon. It makes him melt.
“I love you too,” the reply is instant, as always. Rolling off his tongue just as easily as the sounds every time he pulls on the string of the guitar, or presses his fingers down onto the keys of the piano. It feels a bit like a chorus of a song they both know and hum under their breaths all the time, even without being aware of it.
The melody will go on. It will be beautiful and it will wreck them at times, but at the end of the day, they will always return to the chorus.