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Chapter Text

King Wilhelm decided he was experiencing the most acute public torture of his life, which was pretty impressive given his history. After all, the paparazzi had caught him brawling in clubs at fifteen. The news cameras filmed his misery at his brother’s funeral at sixteen. August’s clandestine footage of his first sexual experience was played on every news channel in Sweden. His coming out was streamed via student’s phones to every news channel on earth. He was dumped by the love of his life at seventeen and faced nosy questions from journalists and paparazzi for months afterwards.  

He was crowned King at twenty-four.

Wilhelm’s face, pale and serious beneath a heavy golden crown, was once again plastered across every media outlet everywhere, a click away for anyone with wifi and curiosity. The youngest European king in living memory. The first openly queer king in modern times. A king who took his throne all alone, without a family by his side.

Sweden was nervous to have such a young man on the throne but so far Wilhelm had carefully followed the path laid out for him. A year had gone by and the crown didn’t feel as daunting as it had. The people were cautiously optimistic about him. It felt like they were making it work.

The initial news that he was to be king inevitably led to Simon’s name being dragged through the mud again, but by then the other man was far away from Sweden. Wilhelm knew from Felice that he had been living in Amsterdam and then London, learning and working. The then-Kronprins was among the first to smash the follow button on Spotify when Simon got a record deal and released his first song. He had used his burner accounts on every platform to follow Simon’s socials, watching from afar as the singer made his way performing in clubs and festivals, and eventually started playing venues up and down the US and Europe. 

Simon’s most recent album had been a smash hit everywhere, and his international fanbase was passionate, protective and devoted. The gossip rags of Sweden that still wanted to glory in their teen troubles and eventual relationship breakdown had to bow to Gen Z’s obsession with Simon Eriksson. His eyes, his hair, his waist, his ass had whole accounts devoted to them. The lyrics of his back catalogue were dissected feverishly by fans creating a map of Simon’s life through his words. There had been other loves, Wilhelm knew. A boy who cheated on him. An older man who used him as a trophy. A fellow musician whose jealousy got the better of him. It was all there in his lyrics. Wilhelm would vehemently deny combing Simon’s songs for any mention of himself, but there was only Felice who would dare ask such a question of a king anyway. The oldest, die-hard fans knew about Wille’s Song, if only via the discarded chorus that someone had copied before Simon took it down. No one knew that the full, final version of the song still lived in Wilhelm’s phone, backed up a dozen times and protected more carefully than Sweden’s military codes.

Through it all, Simon had avoided returning to Sweden. He always deflected when asked but it was pretty clear he was avoiding returning to the place that had had no pity for his traumatised teenaged self. His fans started all kinds of crazy campaigns to lure him back, finally coming together for a full-out assault on Simon’s management across every platform. So it was that Simon was the headlining act at the Midsommar Festival of Wilhelm’s twenty-fifth year. And as was usual, King Wilhelm himself was the guest of honour at the final gala concert, seated in the royal box with Felice and his father.

He twitched nervously in his light linen suit, wishing he could dress more casually. The crowds roiled below and Wilhelm peered at them cautiously. The heat was incredible and he would probably have had a panic attack from the press of bodies, but he longed to be an ordinary fanboy. He would wear a purple SMN Beauty tshirt and jean shorts, he thought dreamily. He would have a purple heart cut out of cardboard to hold up during Simon’s Song, the first song that Simon ever released on Spotify which remained his fan’s favourite and always closed his set. He would have a hot dog, and maybe a beer, and Felice would bitch about her feet hurting, and they would take endless selfies and concert footage. He would get sunburn and his friend would laugh at him, but it would be so worth it.

The first notes of Simon’s set played, and the man himself leapt onto stage with his trademark energy. The crowd went crazy.

Not even halfway through the song, Wilhelm wondered how he would survive this day. He could see multiple cameras pointed his way despite the fantastic show taking place on stage, so he kept a tight reign on his expression, digging his fingers into Felice’s soothing hand to stave off his feelings. He breathed deeply.

To hear Simon singing live again after all these years was a miracle. He was wonderful. His voice was a little deeper, his moves a lot more risqué and flashy now than when he was a teen. He had not grown taller like Wilhelm had, but his shoulders and arms were more toned, his body more firm than Wilhelm remembered from their youth. Deliciously tanned abs flashed in and out of the king’s eager view between a tight, cropped tshirt and sparkly jeans that clung to his ass. The jeans were in constant danger of succumbing to the weight of the battery pack hanging from them, but Wilhelm stoically forced himself to take in the rest of the show. Simon danced as smoothly as any professional, effortlessly cool, flirting with his dancers and the audience. He famously sang in three languages and the crowd kept up with him, screaming along to every lyric. Wilhelm knew many of them had learned extra languages for this express purpose, and had flown across countries and waited hours to get close to their idol.

Foolishly, Wilhelm felt tears rise to his eyes. He had no right, but he was so proud. The Simon before him was entirely, authentically himself. He had taken the terrible things that had been done to him and worked hard and found ways to make his own dreams come true. 

Wilhelm’s little star belonged to the world now, and he was beautiful.

The sweet hour flew by quickly, Simon working the crowd expertly with dance breaks and dizzying vocal prowess. No fan was left unsatisfied, no camera left unloved. He crouched close and tender for a slow number, letting the teens in the front rows reach for him with eager hands. He bounced around for an upbeat track, doing a cute dance routine from TikTok and giggling when the crowd screamed in delight. A few minutes later the mood changed again. The lighting turned golden and Wilhelm thought he had died and gone to a very specific heaven as Simon gyrated suggestively amongst his heaving dancers. His hips thrust sinfully despite his precarious position leaned backwards on one arm; his expression was intense and focused, and Wilhelm sternly reminded himself that he had no business remembering what Simon looked like in bed.

He briefly debated the merits of asking for a bucket glass of iced water but discarded the idea immediately.

A few minutes later Wilhelm bit down inside his cheek, tasting blood with a stoic expression as Simon stood at the front of the stage, curving his back to arch wickedly. His beautiful throat was exposed as he hit a high note, and in front of him, one of his dancers dropped to their knees suggestively. The handsome man’s face was dangerously close to the front of Simon’s trousers, and Wille felt jealousy curdle in his stomach. The dancer grinned to the hysterical screams from the crowd and ran a daring hand up Simon’s leg, even opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue a little. Simon looked down with a mischievous, flirty grin. Despite the frenetic beat of the song, his hand was gentle as it ruffled the dancer’s sweaty hair. The man leaned back into the intimate caress with theatrical delight, swooning as the crowd roared. Simon gave a couple of sensual thrusts of his hips, perfectly on beat with the music even now. Wilhelm knew that despite the improvised, carelessly sexy move Simon was being very careful not to hurt the man. Always so considerate, always so sweet no matter the position.

He tried not to think about why he knew that.

Felice shifted restlessly, a surprising crack in her usual sleek public presence. She was still smiling though, and the cameras wouldn’t have picked up the way she gasped under her breath. “He really is fucking gorgeous, Wille,” she murmured softly, a hand brought up to hide her mouth from the paparazzi. “No wonder you’ve been so obsessed all these years.”

Wilhelm prayed the blush he could feel clawing at his throat wouldn’t climb over his whole face. Unable to hide anything from his best friend, Wilhelm had to admit that yes, he was still obsessed with Simon Eriksson. He had always been vaguely embarrassed about his own feelings, though he understood now that most of that had come from internalised homophobia and a futile desire to be accepted by his parents. But for the first time, Wilhelm was not alone in being crazy about Simon. He was probably not even the biggest of Simon’s fans in the building, though he allowed himself a moment of mean-spirited satisfaction that he was Simon’s first. His first fan, his first kiss, his first lover, his first heartbreak. He was the first one to make Simon make that face. Simon didn’t even know Simon could make that face, before Wilhelm. Others had worshipped him since, in public and in private, but Wilhelm had been the first. 

As Simon came towards the end of the set, Wilhelm realised the other man had not acknowledged the royal box even once. The other acts always bowed and even sang to the royal box at some point, but Simon sang only for the people. He made love to the official television camera from time to time, knowing they were streaming to the rest of Sweden. He spoke entirely in Swedish between sets, praising the fans for their support, loyalty and kindness. The performance was both a fuck-you to the Sweden that had treated him cruelly in his youth and a love letter to a younger generation that knew and believed in him.

Wilhelm looked at the heaving, screaming crowds below him. Their faces were transported, totally immersed in the joy of music and their shared experience. He remembered perching on the little piano bench at Hillerska, listening to Simon’s faltering piano practice as he took the first steps towards all this.

Wilhelm had told Felice once that he had lost the love of his life, but even then he had been underestimating Simon. The man was a powerhouse of talent and charm, whereas Wilhelm was just some guy in a gold hat. He was embarrassed to remember how highly he had thought of himself; so much so that he had tried to clip Simon’s wings to make him more palatable to the Crown. He had tried to take this away from Simon, and take Simon away from the world.

For years he had felt slighted, miserable because Simon didn’t want to be with him. Now he realised that all this had been inside that sixteen-year-old boy dressed in shabby thrifted clothes. Simon had been born for stardom, and he had done the right thing. He had made the hardest decision of both their lives because Wilhelm was too stupid to know what he held in his clumsy teenaged hands, and too weak to stand up for Simon the way he should have.

Wilhelm choked back his emotions and smiled softly as the stage hushed and Simon braced himself for the finale. Simon’s Song. Wilhelm ached to pull out a purple heart of his own, but contented himself with rubbing his own chest lightly as the first notes rang through the stadium.

When Wilhelm had first heard this song, he had sat on the bathroom floor and sobbed for hours. Now he smiled wanly beneath his sunglasses, trying to hide the tears in his eyes from the prying cameras. The crowd waved their paper hearts in the air and Simon teared up as he often did. He allowed the band to play a few bars on repeat while he thanked his fans through his tears, giggling lightly despite his obvious emotion.

“I wrote this song for a boy I loved,” he told them in Swedish. “It was a long time ago, but I hope he’s happy now and has love in his life. He deserves so much love.” The crowd cheered and it felt like every eye in the place flickered to Wilhelm, but Simon took pity on him by starting the song again and encouraging the crowd to sing with him.

There were confetti cannons, and Wilhelm took the chance to wipe his eyes. The final notes fell as a camera panned across the crowds, playing the live footage on the massive screen behind Simon. The audience were crying and singing, waving their hearts in the air. Simon tipped his head back in relief and joy, soaking in the cries of adulation, the roar and raw emotion of his fans. The lighting warmed to pink and then red, signaling the end of Simon’s time on stage and making him appear like some surreal angel, distant from the people and yet part of them. He smiled almost secretively; a moment of gratitude and elation just for himself at the very heart of the maelstrom.

Simon had reconquered the country he had fled as a youth. Wilhelm was the ultimate symbol of that country, and he smiled graciously for the cameras as he stood to clap, the only time today he had done so. The rest of the royal box scrambled to stand with him, some of the older politicians audibly grumbling. He knew it would be noted in the media that King Wilhelm I was at his ex-lover’s performance and gave him a standing ovation. His mother would have notes when he returned to Drottningholm.

Fuck it, thought Wilhelm. Am I the fucking King or not?

He smiled and clapped harder, making the politicians have to join him or be seen as rude to the king. Simon walked off the stage arm in arm with his dancers, waving cheerfully at his fans. He didn’t look at the royal box at all.

Chapter Text

King Wilhelm shook hands politely and smiled. The line of performers seemed never-ending, and crucially did not include the one singer he had been hoping to meet. Wilhelm kept looking for that distinctive head of curly hair, but Simon had somehow managed to skip being corralled into the group that was meeting with their monarch. Wilhelm would have admired him if he didn’t feel so cranky about it. He shook hands with the next performer, made banal small talk on autopilot and allowed them to fawn over him a little. The guy had been performing in Sweden since Abba was young and wanted to tell Wilhelm all about meeting his wonderful grandfather, the previous king.

By all accounts, Wilhelm’s grandfather had been a cold, cruel, careless man. Erik and Wilhelm had only heard about him from their nannies and governesses, and had turned his stern portrait into a sort of bogeyman for their childhood games. Wilhelm smiled with bland good humour and agreed that his grandfather and Erik were probably having a grand old time in the afterlife.

They came to the end and took some pictures, shook more hands, and then Farima ushered Wilhelm to a dingy back room for a breather. Over the years she had learned to build these moments into Wilhelm’s schedule, and he rather thought she knew him better than anyone when it came to reading his cues. Today she had intuited that he would prefer to be alone; she stationed Malin outside the door to the boxroom and disappeared to make sure Felice was okay with the security team and talk to organisers and all the thousand other things her job entailed. Wilhelm made a mental note to send her a bonus.

He leaned onto the dirty windowsill, absently noting that the window was open and that there were no curtains. It was something he looked for in every room he entered, now. Outside there was nothing more than a tiny, empty alleyway strewn with refuse, so Wilhelm relaxed and pulled out his phone. He was rereading a short text exchange when the door to the room opened again.

“A few more moments, Farima,” he called, head still bent over his phone.

“It’s just me,” came a soft voice. Wilhelm nearly dropped his phone in shock as he looked up into Simon’s soft smile. Indeed he fumbled the device and fumbled again trying to get it back into his jacket pocket, making Simon giggle. Those sparkling eyes were just as arresting as they had been when he first saw Simon at Hillerska, and Wilhelm was enchanted anew. He smiled back as helplessly as the first time. “I saw you coming in here, and I wondered if you were okay.” Simon leaned against the closed door, eyes nervously darting around the small space. After all the years and distance, they were now mere feet apart, with Wilhem perched awkwardly on the windowsill. “Are you… are you okay?” 

He marvelled at the change in his mercurial ex-lover, so bold and confident on stage, now fiddling with his cuffs and blushing lightly. Simon had showered and changed, and his curls were fluffy without the product that had slicked them back for the concert. A ratty hoodie and trackpants suggested Simon intended to sneak out of the venue instead of signing more fan autographs like he often did. He looked soft and sweet and very young, and Wilhelm realised with a start that he had been staring for entirely too long.

“I… I’m okay,” he stuttered. He waved aimlessly at the open window. “It was so hot in there, I just needed some fresh air…” he trailed off, realising how closely their conversation resembled the night they first kissed. It seemed Simon had thought of it too, for his blush intensified. Wilhelm was sure his own face was a tomato. “Thanks!” he blurted out awkwardly. When Simon looked startled, he tried to gentle his voice and make sense of his words. “Thank you for texting me, I mean. Before the concert. Um. It was so great to hear from you after so long, and I really appreciated it. Uhm.”

“Oh! Well, yeah. I. I didn’t want to accept the invitation to sing if you weren’t okay with it,” stammered Simon shyly. “I knew you would probably have to be here. I didn’t want to come if I would be unwelcome or be a problem for you.”

“You’re always welcome, Simon! Sweden is your home and besides, um, yeah,” Wilhelm trailed off.

“Is that an official welcome from the king?” teased Simon gently, and his eyes lit up so beautifully that Wilhelm nearly swallowed his tongue. He nodded eagerly, then joined Simon in embarrassed snickering. “Who would have thought, eh?” Simon gestured vaguely around them but Wille had no time for idle chit chat.

“You were amazing,” he gushed. “Best concert I’ve ever seen, truly! The crowd absolutely loved it! And I’ve never seen you do ‘Talk’ live, it was so cool.” He snapped his mouth shut as he realised he might have said too much. Simon was on it at once, of course.

“You know my music?” he asked curiously, his expression hopeful.

Wilhelm couldn’t help but be honest. “I was one of your first Spotify followers,” he confided with shy pride, and when Simon’s eyebrows rose, had to continue. “I’ve followed your career every step of the way, Simon. How could I not? You know I’ve always loved to hear you sing, and I’m so sorry I took that joy away from you towards the end.”

The other man looked thoughtful. He was still standing near the door, as skittish as a wild deer, and Wilhelm ached to bury his nose into the shower-damp skin of his neck. He remembered what Simon smelled like so clearly it hurt. 

“Thank you,” Simon said cautiously. He smiled, something like the stage smile he wore to meet fans. Wilhelm supposed that was fair – he was a fan. The first fan, he reminded himself. “I watched the coronation.” Simon’s voice was kind and almost apologetic. “I’m sorry it had to happen so soon, Wille.”

“It’s okay.” It wasn’t. It would never be okay, and Simon might be the only person on earth who knew just how not okay it was. Wilhelm gazed into those sweet doe eyes and knew that he was being held and understood completely, the way Simon had always done for him. But he also saw what he had lacked maturity to see in their teens: Simon was nervous. He wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing, saying the right thing, and he was fretting about it. “You’re the only one who’s said that to me,” he told Simon truthfully. “Thank you. It’s a relief to know that someone understands.” He watched some of the tension leave Simon’s shoulders, and it felt like now was as good a time as any. “Uh, I was wondering if you, if maybe-“

“No,” blurted Simon. He was shaking his head hastily, moving towards the door. “I was worried about you and Malin let me in, but I can’t… I’ll go now.”

Instinctually Wilhem reached out and grabbed for his hoodie, using his long arms to gently bring the other man closer to him. He had no idea what his face was doing, whether his eyes showed the sheer desperation he was feeling, but he didn’t have time for social niceties before Simon bolted. The startled way Simon looked over his face suggested that his feelings were obvious. “Please,” he whispered. Simon stilled.

They stared at each other for a few moments, both wary and breathing harder than necessary. 

Oh, it hurt. It hurt that the connection between them had not waned with the years and experiences that separated them, that they still fell so naturally into the others orbit, that their breathing synched up so easily and probably their heart beats too. Wilhelm was overwhelmed by a thousand memories of teenaged Simon that were still not enough, and by the scent and feel of adult Simon beneath his fingertips after all this time.

“Please.”

Simon’s eyes widened then fluttered shut as Wille gently moved towards him, capturing his lips in a kiss that felt as easy as breathing. And it was the same, all the same, and yet so achingly different. Wille was taller now, and broad enough to envelop the slight figure. Simon’s arms were strong where they wrapped around his shoulders, though his hands ruffled Wille’s hair just like he remembered. They were both more experienced, knowing to avoid teeth, knowing how to breath in unison so they could keep sinking down, down into a kiss that felt like cool water in the desert. Tears prickled at his closed eyes but Wille didn’t have time to cry now. He lapped at Simon’s lips eagerly, letting the other man go only to breath.

“I can’t.” Simon whimpered softly as Wille eagerly bent to trail his lips down that slender throat, snuffling greedily at the scent he had craved for years.

“You can,” Wille gasped. “You can, I can, Simon, please.” He didn’t care if he sounded like a pleading loser. Simon was in his arms again and he couldn’t let him walk away.

Simon smiled wanly, pushing him back, fixing his hair carefully into the palace-approved style. “You’re the king, Wille,” he reminded with dry amusement.

“Exactly! I can do what I want now, Simon. They’ll make a fuss but they’ll have no choice but to do what I say, just, please, let me try,” he begged cravenly. It wasn’t that simple, never had been and never would be, but he had to try. Simon gently pushed at his chest and Wille gulped miserably as he slipped out of his hands. “We won’t have to be a secret, we won’t have to sneak around – we can be anything you want.” 

“Wille.” Simon rolled his eyes and put his hands in his pockets in a momentary return to his teenaged sass. “We’ve just met after years. And it’s wonderful to see you again too, of course it is.” Simon stepped forward again and to Wille’s delight, pressed a little kiss to his sulky pout. It was an expression Simon had never been able to resist, in the old days. “It’s just – I don’t think I want to get involved with a high-profile guy again, let alone you, you know? When things went bad with Troy, everyone was in my business. If they see you and me together again, it’ll be insane.”

The bottom dropped out of Wille’s stomach. Simon was right, of course. The moment the first text from Simon had popped up in his phone, foolish hope had spread its wings in his chest. Without even realising it, Wille had been mentally preparing himself for how crazy the media storm would be. But he had promised himself that if Simon gave him another chance, he would not squander a moment of it hiding him.

It had never occurred to Wille that Simon might want to hide him.

It felt bad. It felt really bad.

He blinked wide-eyed at the other man, and Simon smiled. “You look so shocked,” he teased. He stroked Wille’s cheek carefully, thoughtful, weighing up whatever he saw in his eyes. Wille let him look, hiding nothing: his interest, his feelings, his sadness for the past and his hope for the future. He had never found anyone else he could be vulnerable with after they split, and Simon’s scrutiny felt uncomfortable. He let that show too. 

Simon sighed softly and pressed a little kiss to Wille’s forehead before backing away towards the door. “I hope you know I’m not trying to be petty, Wille. I need to protect myself.” He bit his lip, eyes tracking over Wille’s long body. “No matter how much more gorgeous you’ve grown, Your Majesty.” Simon cut him a flirty look through his lashes. His pink tongue came between his teeth in a sexy smile that made Wille want to bite him. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

In a moment, he was gone.

Wilhelm heard Simon’s voice through the door, saying a few quiet words to Malin. Trust him to have remembered her and kept a warm relationship. Simon was like that. Good with people.

Wilhelm sighed and run his hands through his hair carelessly. Simon was right. The media, the palace, even their friends and family would be more against them than ever. On the other hand, he remembered the way Simon had looked as he left the room, the flirty smile, the subtle challenge in his words, the slim chance left open. They had proved that they still had it, the crazy chemistry and connection that had caused two teenagers to try to change the world. A revolution. But they weren’t just horny kids anymore.

Fuck it, he thought. I’m the fucking king now. I can make this work, and I’ll make it work the way Simon wants.

It was the least he owed Simon. If he wanted secrets, they would be a secret. 

Wilhelm got his phone out of his pocket and looked at their chat again, wondering how to tempt Simon into continuing the conversation. Should he try to be cool? But Simon was surrounded by cool guys who were way cooler than Wilhelm and his stupid bespoke suit jacket. Should he try to be smart, funny, interesting? Why would I start being any of those things now? Wille smacked himself in the face with his own screen. Maybe it was time to get Felice’s advice. 

Chapter Text

{incoming text}

W: Hi Simon! It’s Wille here!

S: yeah i know i texted you first remember 😉

W: Oh.

W: Yeah.

W: This is why I told Felice there’s no point in me trying to act cool.

W: Shit, she told me not to double text 🙁

S: lol how is f? i haven’t seen her since sara’s bday

W: She’s a bit fed up of me, but otherwise well. Her new restaurant is going really well.

S: yeah i took my stage crew there the first night we arrived, it’s a great spot

W: Oh cool! Sounds like you’re enjoying being back in Sweden 🙂

S: enjoy is a strong word but some things are good 😂 i’m heading back to bjarstad on the weekend

W: Felice said everyone had moved away?

S: yeah my friends moved after school and i moved mum & sara to stockholm soon as i could afford it

S: just want to see the old place

W: Are you going with anyone?

S: r & a – be like old times 💜

W: That sounds amazing! I’m spending the weekend with boring old people, events for the Chamber of Commerce 🙁

S: good times 🙁

W: I have to admit - I’m not really sure how to keep talking to you.

S:❓

W: I asked Felice if I should try to be funny or clever, and she said no, I should just be myself.

S: oof

S: 😂😂😂 tbf that’s pretty funny

W: I’m glad my suffering is amusing to you.

S: always 

W: She was pretty sick of me harping on about seeing you again and kissing you again and holding you again

W: I’ve really missed you, Simon.

W: Sorry, that came out clingier than I had hoped.

W: Shit, I didn’t want to sound like a loser.

S: it’s ok wille 🙂

S: if you being a clingy loser was a problem for me, we wouldn’t have lasted a day

W: Hey!

W: Wait, did you just heart my ‘miss you’ message? What does that mean?

S: it means I hearted that message

W: Simon.

S: wille

W: 🙁

S: 🙂

W: 😢😢😢

S: urgh fine

S: i’ve missed you too, dumbass

W: I don’t think Swedes say dumbass.

W: Particularly to their king.

S: i humbly beg your pardon your majesty

W: Pardon not granted

S: will you drag me to your dungeon

W: Maybe?

S: don’t threaten me with a good time

W: Uh

W: Honestly I have no idea what we’re doing right here

S: i believe this is known as flirting 😏

W: REALLY? WE’RE FLIRTING?

S: felice will be so proud

W: You’re joking but she really will - you don’t know how bad I am at this

S: pretty sure i do

W: Oh. Yeah.

W: Wait, how do we keep flirting?

S: you know, I’ve dated a billionaire. and a pop star. and a famous model.

W: Is this bit part of the flirting? Because it’s not really working for me.

S: just saying that it’s kinda weird that i’ve been squealing into my pillow for the last half hour

W: YOU’RE IN BED?

S: ffs

S: just call me, prince

W: I’m king now

W: WAIT NO I’LL CALL

{{🐸👑 video calling}}

Simon answering the video call from bed

Simon: Hola, mi amor.

Wille: …

Wille: Uh, fun fact.

Simon: Okay?

Wille: Killing a king is known as regicide. They’ll definitely drag you to the dungeons.

Simon: … That was kind of smooth.

Wille: Felice says you’re the only person on earth who’s actually susceptible to my charms.

Simon: I really need you to stop talking about that girl you kissed once.

Wille: I’ve kissed other people too.

Simon: I’m hanging up.

Wille: Wait no!

Wille: Can I talk about kissing you instead?

Simon. … I’m sure I’ll regret saying this, but yes.

Wille: Can I also just check if we’re-

Simon: Yes, Wille, we’re still flirting. God help me.

Wille: Okay!

Wille: Simon, I want you to be the last first kiss I have.

Wille: Simon? Simon? What’s that noise?

Simon: That was me screaming into my pillow again.

Wille: Is that… good? That was flirty, right?

Simon: That was way beyond flirting.

Wille: You’re smiling though.

Simon: Yeah. So are you.

Wille: You know, I never knew what ‘bedroom eyes’ meant until I saw the way you look at me.

Simon: Oh that’s a good one, wait.

Wille: Wait – what?

Wille: Simon, are you seriously writing in a notebook right now?

Simon: You’ll be happy when you hear me singing it.

Wille: So… I’ll get to hear you sing again?

Simon: You literally heard me singing yesterday.

Wille: Yeah, me and half of Sweden. I want a personal performance.

Simon: I don’t do camshows.

Wille: Hang on, I think my nose is bleeding.

Simon: I said I *don’t* do camshows!

Wille: Yeah but you put the idea in my head.

Wille: But seriously, I do want to hear you singing just for me again.

Simon: Hmmmm.

Wille: You’re not listening to me, are you?

Simon: The wording isn’t quite right but I’m sure I can make something better out of it.

Wille: So glad to be of service. Don’t grin like that, I’m pouting.

Simon: What am I grinning like?

Wille: Like you know I’ll let you get away with anything.

Simon: I believe that’s what you promised me yesterday. And by the way, that was a terrible place for your last first kiss.

Wille: I can find a better place, if you’ll let me take you there?

Simon: … Is Felice feeding you lines somehow?

Wille: I actually came up with that myself! You should write that one down too!

Simon: I’ve created a monster.

Simon: What about Sunday night? Will you be done hanging out with rich old men by then?

Wille: YES! Ahem. Yes, Sunday night would be free. Well not anymore because I’ll be seeing you, but otherwise before that I was free. Very much free, yes.

Simon: Okay…

Simon: Uh, so you’ll let me know where to meet?

Wille: Can I pick you up? Would that be okay?

Simon: If you bring a non-royal car and stay inside it, yes.

Wille: I can do that.

Simon: Wow. Okay.

Simon: I thought you’d fight me on that.

Wille: I told you, I’m the king so I can do what I want. And what I want is for you to have what you want.

Simon: Hmm.

Simon: I want flowers.

Wille: Done.

Simon: I also don’t want you to treat me like a trophy boytoy. That’s what Dmitri was like and it got old pretty fast.

Wille: Remember dodgeball?

Simon: Wh-?

Wille: You hit me so hard in the head that my ear was ringing for like an hour. If I wasn’t the literal future king, the other guys would have laughed at me for the next three years. You’re like the opposite of a trophy.

Simon: Oh. Good.

Wille: Good.

Simon: Uh, I need to go.

Wille: Why are you saying it like that.

Simon: Really want to scream into my pillow again- STOP GRINNING.

Wille: I have to go too, I need to find a flower farm.

Simon: A what? A flower-? Wille? DON’T HANG UP.

Chapter Text

Kristina’s health had never really recovered in the years since Erik’s death. Once seventeen-year-old Wilhelm returned to the palace, tail between his legs and without Simon, the real work of turning him into the next king began. The ‘crown prince school’ of summer gave way to the ‘diplomacy school’ of winter, and from then on there was always something. Every holidays, more to learn, more to take on, more responsibilities and rules. Wilhelm had only survived with help from Boris and Felice, and even August.

They would never be close again but after all these years, Wilhelm could acknowledge that he needed August’s smooth, charismatic presence at his elbow. August knew how to get people to do things, whether by charm or trickery or manipulation. Occasionally, even kindness. He had taught Wilhelm, more than anyone else in his life, how to lead. And when he occasionally spun out of control, Wilhelm needed only to remind him of how close he had come to real jail time. Both men had come to understand that every generation of their family was built on dirty secrets, and this was theirs. Wilhelm still woke up with clammy hands and a racing heart sometimes, but he was untouchable now. He was the king, and if he had quietly made sure that every scumbag journalist who had made his and Simon’s life a misery in the past would never find work in Sweden again, well, no one would ever prove it.

Kristina’s dirty secret was that she enjoyed the perks of being queen but looked down upon the people she was meant to serve, and that she had never wanted a family. She had loved Erik in a mechanical sort of way, but had no interest in the spare son she was forced to bear. Wilhelm had come to understand this in time, and tried to view her as a colleague and mentor. It was all she could give him, he reasoned, and there was no point in wishing for more. Sometimes, when he was very maudlin, he remembered the way Linda Eriksson used to pat his cheek or fuss at him to eat more. A few tears when one was tipsy were allowed, he felt.

The dowager queen was rarely at Drottningholm, preferring to be in their country castle most of the year. That had worked well since Wilhelm had taken the crown, so he knew her current presence in his office boded ill for him. He squared his shoulders as he strode in and closed the door behind him, sharing a grimace with Farima who was left outside. Kristina seemed to have been trying to snoop on his desk, which could be one reason for her disappointed expression. Wilhelm’s paperwork was all electronic. He and Farima had dragged the palace administration into the twenty-first century, kicking and screaming. No one would see anything on the massive antique desk without Wilhelm himself sitting there.

“You’ve made some more changes,” she mentioned in lieu of a greeting, making a sour face at the cheerful new curtains.

“Delightful to see you as always, Mother,” Wilhem said blandly, dropping into his comfortable chair. He thought of it as the real seat of his power, the real throne. There were brightly coloured cartoon stickers plastered on the back, a gift from a kindergarten class that recently visited his office. That was the sort of thing King Wilhelm was becoming known for: he liked to invite people, children especially, into the Palace. There would be a group of teenagers coming in for an art tour soon. A school that specialised in children with learning difficulties had commandeered the music room the previous week. Wilhelm liked to surprise them as he went about his business in the palace, popping in to take some casual pictures and engage with people personally.

The courtiers didn’t see value in trying to charm the people of Sweden one by one, but Wilhelm felt there was more to it than approval ratings. He had learned many things from Simon, one of which was that ordinary people felt completely removed from their royal family and the palaces they lived in.

“I saw that you’ve been inviting people in here,” the queen sniffed. “Interesting.”

“Yes, I thought so.”

“I heard you held a dinner at one of the Crown farms also?”

“It was not a large dinner, Mother. It didn’t need to be added to the event calendar.”

“Just one attendee, I heard.”

“If you say so.”

“An attendee I’ve met before?”

“Yes.”

“Wilhelm.” Kristina sighed deeply, rubbing her head. Wilhelm watched her with polite, manufactured interest. “You cannot possibly be trying to see that boy again.”

“Simon is a grown man, as am I, Mother.” He leaned forward and steepled his fingers. “Why don’t you say what you want to, and we can both be done with this tedious conversation.”

“The courtiers are worried.”

“The courtiers are always worried. There is never a time they are not worried, because unfortunately I continue to be a human being instead of a doll.”  

“The media attention-“

“There will be none of that.”

Kristina cocked her head to the side, confused.

“Simon does not wish it to be known that we are dating. Therefore, Malin and her team are taking every precaution to ensure we are not seen.” Wilhelm looked away, pensive. He couldn’t say he was enjoying having to hide his rekindled love in the shadows. Simon was right though, as he often was. They had given themselves time and space to relax into it, enjoying spending time together and learning each other again. 

“Well that at least explains why our private airstrip and unmarked cars have been used so frequently. I’m glad Simon is being sensible, though it appears you are not happy about having to stay secret,” Kristina snipped, but Wilhelm met her gaze evenly.

“It’s a small price to pay to have Simon back in my life,” he said firmly. “It was all about the Crown last time, and it ruined us. This time we do it our way. We will work out what we want when we want it. That’s the best possible chance we have of making it work together.”

“You can’t mean to marry him?” Kristina looked genuinely astonished, and Wilhelm couldn’t help laughing. Her expression turned to anger and he only laughed harder.

“I’m sorry, Mother, but you only have yourself to blame for being surprised. If you had taken the time to get to know Simon years ago, you would have seen that he’s a thousand times too good for me. But for some blessed reason, he cares for me too. Believe me when I say no one could have wooed him more ineptly than me, yet he’s still here.” Wilhelm smiled into a sigh, glancing at his phone on his desk where a text from Simon lit the screen. “If you really must tell the courtiers something, tell them that their jobs rely on Simon Eriksson being happy.”

“Wilhelm, don’t be ridiculous.”

He glanced back at his mother, rubbing his hand over the beautiful grain of the Swedish pine desk to soothe himself. He breathed deeply and let his shoulders drop from their defensive clench. “I am absolutely serious. If Simon tells me he can only be mine if I leave all this behind, I will walk out of this office and never look back. Tell them that, if you like.”

Kristina clicked her tongue impatiently. “And what of succession?”

“What of it? It’s the twenty-first century. We have options and we will make it work.” Wilhelm smiled softly. The thought of a little Simon or two running around here, with curly hair and warm brown eyes and endless energy, filled him with joy. He knew it was early days still, but Wilhelm hoped to turn the cold, baroque mausoleum he had grown up in into a palace for the people, filled with children and laughter and music. He had begun the process before Simon returned to his life, but he hoped that the other man could be persuaded to join him in this particular dream. 

Kristina stared at Wilhelm and the moments ticked by. He did not change his expression, did not look down, did not change his breathing. She nodded cautiously. “Perhaps it is indeed time I got to know Sim-“

“That will not be necessary, Mother, but thank you for the offer.” Wilhelm turned away a little, swiping his finger over the hidden scanner on his desk which turned on his screens. A clear dismissal. A few moments later, Kristina rose. They nodded at each other cordially before she left quietly. He wondered how much longer the older political factions would keep leaning on her to apply pressure on her son.

Wille’s phone buzzed again, and he smiled beatifically when he opened it to a picture of Simon in the studio.

Simon had been putting off working with a famous Swedish producer, Wille knew, because he hadn’t wanted to return to Stockholm. Now he had elected to stay in the city to spend time working on new music – and see Wille. Simon’s team were pretty good at keeping him under the radar when he wanted to be, but Wille’s team were far better. They had been able to date privately for a few weeks now, falling into a pattern of work and play that seemed to suit them both. Wille felt happier than he had in years, comfortable and relaxed. It felt like hope. 

W: You are so gorgeous. I love those sparkly jeans. 

S: you should see how they look on my bedroom floor 💜

W: Älskling

W: I have work.

W: YOU have work.

W: Why would you do this to me.

S: 😈

S: what would you do to get to see me without the jeans

W: Ummm… bring you flowers?

S: hmm i do like flowers – and i’ll never get over that dreamy flower farm date 😍 

S: not sure you’ll ever beat this! 

W: I know a challenge when I hear one 😅

W: Dinner on a yacht? I have a few scattered about, I think.

S: you think? 😂 definitely want to see them but not right now

W: Fancy a flight to Paris? You can choose a private jet or a helicopter.

S: nope. hate helicopters btw

W: Noted!

W: I can think of one thing I haven’t shown you yet.

S: so can i, mi amor 😉

W: Not that 😂

W: Technically you have seen that – before anyone else did, btw.

W: Give me a second.

Wille quickly ran out of his office to the relative privacy of his bathroom. He unbuttoned his shirt and positioned himself under the light, bringing his camera up to take a picture of his chest. He made sure his face was not visible, took a deep breath and sent it to Simon. He was just wondering whether it was a weird angle on his torso when his phone started buzzing.

S: IS THATaTATTOO

S: ISTHAT THE HEART I DREW ON YOUR HWND THAT TIME

S: IS IT PURPLE 💜

S: HOW.   DID yoU GET A TATTOO WITHOUT ANYONE KNOWING

S: WILLE!!! ANSWER MEEEEEEE!!!

W: You’re typing too fast for me to answer!

W: Yes, yes, yes, and I did it myself. I got Malin to order a tattoo kit online.

W: Sorry it’s a bit wonky, it hurt way more than I thought it would.

W: And doing it in the mirror was so hard!

S: MI AMOR i don’t know how you expect me to ever function like a normal human again

S: nice abs btw you didn't have those when we were kids 😉

S: how soon can you finish work 

W: In about 2 hours?

Two hours and twenty minutes later, Wille was slammed against the inside of Simon’s front door by his purring, affectionate boyfriend. His head fell back as Simon opened his shirt, and he thanked all the gods, angels and ancestors who had given him another chance with the love of his life.

Chapter Text

Wrong by Omar Rudberg

The Dowager Queen Kristina I stood small and overlooked in the bustling halls of Drottningholm Palace. It was an odd thing to be sidelined within the grand rooms she had ruled for decades, but she looked around with interest nonetheless. Her son, Wilhelm I of Sweden, did not officially know she was coming today, but no doubt some aide had whispered in his ear.

On cue, Wilhelm appeared at her elbow. “Good morning, Mother,” he murmured pleasantly. He ducked to avoid a huge light on a heavy stand being hauled through the palace by a bevy of workmen shouting and complaining to each other. It appeared that they barely noticed their king, though a young lad bringing up an armload of wiring did a double take at the past and present monarchs. He scurried along after an awkward curtsy in their direction.

Wilhelm and Kristina started a slow stroll towards the grand music room of the palace, their aides trailing behind them. Kristina saw that Wilhelm barely noticed their constant entourage. It was the only way to survive the intensity of being the king, she knew. You had to ignore things. You had to pretend you didn’t see the way they all hovered, or you would go insane. It made one seem cold and distant of course. But it was a necessity. Nonetheless she had been told that Wilhelm made efforts to get to know his staff. He chatted with his security guys, had inside jokes with his office staff, even knew the names of maids and footmen.

A few years into his reign, King Wilhelm was liked in a way that she herself had never really managed. She sniffed in horror as another group of sweaty men staggered past under the weight of cameras and cables.

“I do hope you know what you’re doing, Wilhelm,” she admonished severely, but her son only smiled.

“No offence, Mother, but what the fuck are you doing here?” he said, so cheerful that anyone observing from a distance would think mother and son were having a genial conversation. She gritted a smile.

“I had hoped to meet your new fiancé.” Kristina allowed Wilhelm to pull her to a small area at the side of the music room, where chairs had been placed out of the way. There must have been fifty people crammed into the baroque salon, all of them ignoring their king and dowager queen. “Everyone I meet gushes about Simon, and asks me whether I’m excited to welcome him to the family. It’s embarrassing to say I’ve never met him, Wilhelm.”

“You have met him,” replied Wilhelm absently. He seemed preoccupied with peering around shouting gaffers and assistants juggling paperwork and coffees. The activity of the room was focused towards the beautiful bay windows, where a grand piano rested under the lights. It was covered on one side with microphones and other equipment Kristina couldn’t guess at. Another complex-looking microphone sat in the middle, ready for a singer.

“I last met him as a sixteen year old at your birthday,” she reminded Wilhelm, wincing slightly as she remembered the events of that day. She put them to the back of her mind carefully.

“Yes, and you were so vile that I promised myself I would never inflict you upon him again.” Wilhelm was still smiling pleasantly, and accepted a cup of tea from a passing assistant. He brought it to his mother with every appearance of being a dutiful son. She reminded herself that this was what she had asked for: for Wilhelm to place appearances above all else. She smiled graciously even as she finally noticed that her son looked tense and a bit out of sorts under his civilised veneer.

The hubbub of the room dipped slightly as a new figure arrived.

Simon Eriksson was dressed all in white, with his long curls severely styled and slicked back. The stark, pale clothing highlighted his beauty; the glow of his skin appeared ethereal with nothing to detract from it. Around him were a dozen people hovering, all working feverishly. Some were fiddling with his hair even as he moved around, touching up his makeup, polishing his nails, talking on the phone, scribbling notes, holding up samples, and one dropped to her knees as he came to a stop in the room. Kristina noted that the woman on the floor went to her belly, continuing to hem his trousers to the perfect length on Simon’s slight frame.

Simon appeared to be carrying on five conversations at once but the hair and makeup people slowly fell away leaving only one, who held up two apparently identical lip glosses. Simon indicated his choice even while hugging the director and starting to take in his rapid instructions. The woman carefully dabbed the product on Simon’s lips while he smiled for a still photographer, and then at a man with a heavy handheld moving camera. The lights swung around again and Simon cut off the director for a moment to request for them to be placed to the right of him. A flurry of activity followed and Simon was ushered to the viewfinder to approve the final lighting arrangement while the hairstylist reappeared to gently re-settle a single curl on his forehead. The unfortunate tailor continued to shuffle along the ground, finishing the final part of the hem as Simon thanked her with a grateful smile. 

Kristina was astonished. She had thought she knew what it was to be the centre of attention but she had never seen anything like this. The room heaved; people ebbed and flowed to gain Simon’s approval of details large and small, technical questions melding with artistic concerns, and the room grew hotter and louder as filming became imminent. Kristina had been told that Wilhelm had given permission for the palace to be used for a special video clip of Simon’s newest release, that would be raise funds for a charity.

“I still haven’t heard the song,” murmured Wilhelm, and Kristina startled. He rarely spoke to her unprompted, and indeed, it appeared he was talking to Farima behind her. “I’ll admit I’m a bit worried.”

“The name is just the name,” the aide replied without looking up from her iPad, but Wilhelm shrugged grumpily.

“’Wrong’? He wrote a song about me called ‘Wrong’? How am I supposed to take that, Farima?”

“You know Mr Eriksson is a playful lyricist, Your Majesty,” Farima soothed. “I’m sure the song will be beautiful. And the pianist is supposed to be one of the best in Sweden.”

“He’s alright.” Wilhelm nodded sourly at a tall, blond man in a severe dark suit, not entirely different to his own. The man nodded back politely, then smiled widely as Simon waved him over. He kissed the singer on each cheek and whispered softly in Simon’s ear, making him giggle.

Kristina thought she could hear Wilhelm’s teeth grinding.

The noise and movement in the room became quieter and quieter, and finally the director raised his arm. An assistant silenced the room. Even the technicians still working moved in absolute silence. Simon stepped into the spotlight, shimmering in his simple clothes and sleek makeup. He smiled softly into the camera, allowing a final photograph before looking beyond the lights.

“Mi corazón?” he called softly.

Wilhelm moved forward as if pulled on a string, coming to a stop just beside the main camera so that Simon would still be able to see him while filming. Simon smiled so sweetly, so lovingly, that Kristina felt herself blush. It seemed the sort of look that should be saved for private occasions, but Simon was here, surrounded by dozens of people, so open with his love. He raised his fingers to his glossed lips and blew Wilhelm a kiss before nodding to the pianist and focussing inward. The attention of every person in the room rested on his face.

The first notes rang through the room from the antique piano. Kristina didn’t know much about music, but even she could tell that the priceless instrument had exquisite tone. Simon’s voice joined it shortly, pitched soft and husky, dreamy and intimate. The room stilled as if held under a spell.

Like lookin' at the mornin' sky

See different colors every time

How I feel when I'm close to you

Still takes me by surprise

From Kristina’s view from the side, Wilhelm looked absolutely besotted. Simon was gazing at him lovingly and singing directly to him, the entire day distilled to these few magical moments made up of nothing but Simon’s voice and Simon’s words, his eyes shining with adoration, the multiple cameras capturing it all. She breathed out softly.

Now when I swear blind that I couldn't love you more

You got a habit of proving me wrong

From behind Kristina came the softest huff of a laugh from Farima, and she turned her head to share a rueful look with the other woman.

There would be more takes, Kristina guessed. Perhaps hours more of people pushing and prodding and filming and talking and arguing. But she wagered that Simon would remain cheerful and kind to his staff throughout. It was obvious that he loved doing what he did, unlike herself and Wilhelm who had been forced into the limelight against their will. It was not a bad thing, she pondered, to have him beside Wilhelm.

Since their relationship had become public again, Simon had chosen not to speak on it at all. The media frenzy about their rekindled love affair had made headlines around the world, but Simon remained silent. He continued to make music and avoided all but the barest mentions of his boyfriend. This video would be seen as Simon’s answer to all the invasive questions from fans and media alike. A defiant declaration of love and commitment in his own words in his own way, filmed at the seat of Wilhelm’s power in a room where cameras had been allowed for the first time ever.

The final notes drained away softly and Simon stared boldly into the camera, proud and confident, holding the room in his thrall.

“CUT!”

The buzz in the room was immediate and deafening, but every head turned as King Wilhelm I jumped over cables and dodged a camera to wrap his arms around Simon’s waist. He swept the slight figure over his arm like a movie star, dipping him into a Hollywood kiss.

Simon swooned. There was a light smattering of applause and a soft whistle from someone at the back. Both men ignored the stills photographer who eagerly hovered. The man couldn’t stop grinning and Kristina rolled her eyes. The royals had never been photographed kissing, never so casual and unguarded, and she knew the pictures would be on the cover of every newspaper and media outlet tomorrow.

The new monarchy. The new faces of Sweden. A new way, for a new generation, Kristina thought with a sigh. A new start, perhaps, to a family legacy that had long since been tainted. She nodded softly, allowing her aide to help her from her chair. Today was not a good day to meet Simon, and anyway she had seen all she needed to. The small, frightened boy who had fled this palace on Wilhelm’s seventeenth birthday had grown up. For all his softness and smiles, humble demeanour and kind way with people, Simon was a formidable man; a force to be reckoned with. Wilhelm was in good hands.