Work Text:
Wille was anxious.
Everyone knows it. Classic overthinker of everything that doesn’t need overthinking. Although, Wille protests that this is absolutely something that justifies overthinking.
Wille and Simon have been together for nearly four months, and while that might not seem like a long time in the grand scheme of things, it’s certainly long enough to get to know someone.
He wanted to give Simon a sign name.
Now granted, Simon’s name was fairly easy to sign, and Wille had no qualms using it in their conversations. Honestly, Wille didn’t use much sign language outside of his interactions with Felice and Simon, but to him, the idea of giving Simon a sign name was about more than practicality. It was about sentiment. A sign name was personal, a gift, a reflection of who Simon was to him. And Wille wanted it to be perfect.
He’d given Felice a sign name just a month into their friendship. It had been haphazard, created in the spur of the moment after she’d tripped over her own feet during one of their study sessions. Her laughter had been contagious, and Wille had decided on the spot to incorporate the sign for “laugh” into her name. Felice had loved it. But this felt different. This was Simon. Wille had never felt about anyone the way he felt about Simon, and he wanted to convey that in this gesture.
He’s already thought of a sign name for Simon, that wasn’t the issue. No, it was the moment he was overthinking. Call him cheesy, sappy, a lovesick idiot, but he wants this moment to be special and he’s afraid he’ll completely fuck it up if he doesn’t plan every detail down to the second.
He’s invited Simon over for dinner under the guise of the date night and he’s set to arrive any minute. Wille is just finishing plating the pasta he made when the lights of his doorbell begin flashing. He can feel his palms start to sweat again, wiping them on his pants before answering the door.
He was greeted by a smiling Simon, bundled up against the evening chill, his cheeks pink from the wind. He adjusted his coat to reveal a wind bottle he’d tucked away.
“Hey,” Simon greeted, stepping inside and shrugging off his coat.
“Hey,” Wille replied, leaning in for a quick kiss. He took the bottle from Simon’s hands. “Wine? You’re spoiling me.”
“I figured it might go with whatever fancy thing you cooked up,” Simon teased. His eyes flicked toward the dining table, where the pasta and salad were already set. “Wille! This looks amazing!”
“It’s just pasta,” Wille responded, his face reddening as he closed the door.
Dinner went smoothly. Simon’s face lit up as they both recounted their weeks. Simon was recounting a chair rehearsal that went awry, fork waving in the air as he signed between bites. Wille couldn’t help but watch, mesmerized by Simon’s expressions and the energy in his gestures. It struck him, not for the first time, how beautiful Simon was in moments like this, completely in his element.
“...and then Ayla tripped over the piano bench, knocked over half the sheet music, and tried to play it off like she meant to do it,” Simon concluded with a grin.
Wille laughed, though his mind wasn’t fully on the story. He’d been so focused on planning tonight that it was hard to let himself relax. His hands fidgeted with his fork, twisting the remains of his pasta into little spirals.
Simon noticed. He always noticed. “You’re awfully quiet tonight,” he said, tilting his head. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Wille said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just tired, I guess.”
Simon didn’t look entirely convinced, but he let it slide, shifting the conversation to a new topic. Wille nodded along, but the weight of what he wanted to do hung heavy in the back of his mind.
After dinner, they moved to the couch with mugs of tea. The candles on the dining table had burned low, casting a soft glow across the room. Simon sat cross-legged, sipping his tea, while Wille perched nervously on the edge of his seat.
Simon set his mug down, eyeing Wille with a knowing look. “Okay, spill. You’ve been acting weird all night. Did I do something?”
“No!” Wille signed, more abruptly than he’d intended. He winced, running a hand through his hair. “No, it’s not you. It’s me. Or, uh, something I’ve been wanting to do for you.”
Simon’s eyebrows quirked up in interest, his head tilted like a puppy. “What is it?”
Wille took a deep breath, his hands shaking ever so slightly. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I wanted it to be meaningful. And I’m terrified I’m going to mess it up, but...” He trailed off, standing abruptly to pace the room. “I just wanted tonight to be special. Because you’re special. And there’s something I’ve been wanting to give you. But I keep second-guessing everything, and—”
“Wille!” Simon lightly grabbed Wille’s wrists, effectively stopping his spiral and getting his attention, “You’re overthinking, just tell me.”
Wille froze, staring down at Simon, who was gazing up at him with those endlessly patient, kind eyes. His heart felt like it might beat out of his chest, but he nodded, letting Simon gently tug him to sit back down.
“Okay,” Wille signed, his movements slow and deliberate, though his hands trembled slightly. He exhaled deeply, setting his mug on the coffee table. “This is something really important to me. And it’s not something I’ve done often, so I wanted to get it right.” He met Simon’s curious gaze, his hands hesitating before continuing. “I… I have a sign name I want to give you.”
Simon’s eyes widened, his lips parting in surprise. “Really?” he signed back, his movements careful and tinged with awe.
Wille nodded, his cheeks flushing. “Yeah. It’s… it’s personal, and I just—well, I wanted it to reflect who you are. To me.”
Simon didn’t respond immediately, but the way his eyes softened and a small, fond smile tugged at his lips was all the encouragement Wille needed.
“It’s this,” Wille curled his hand into the letter “S” and brought it up to his cheek, tapping it just beside his mouth.
Simon’s hands hovered in the air, as though he didn’t know what to do with them. His expression was unreadable for a moment before it broke into something that could only be described as pure joy. “My scar.” he signed back, his smile trembling.
Wille nodded, a shy smile growing on his lips. “Back at Hillerska it was one of the first things I noticed about you. Aside from your voice and your overall insanely good looks of course.” That earned him a shove on the shoulder before he continued, “I know you didn’t like to talk about it back then because of your dad and all which is why I went back and forth so much because just because I thought it was something cute doesn’t mean you’d want that constant reminder attached to your name but it was one of the first things I thought of and it just felt so… right.” Wille paused. “I can always change it though. I had other—”
Simon didn’t let him finish. Instead, he surged forward, throwing his arms around Wille in a hug so tight it knocked the air out of him. Wille blinked in surprise, but then he melted into the embrace, wrapping his arms around Simon’s waist.
Simon pulled back just enough to sign, his movements hurried but precise. “It’s perfect, I love it. I love you.”
Wille’s breath hitched, warmth flooding through him. Even though those three words weren’t new between them, they still sent a thrill through his chest every time Simon said—or signed—them.
He grinned, his hands moving instinctively. “I’m glad. I love you too.”
Simon smiled back, that soft, familiar smile Wille had come to cherish. “You really overthought this, didn’t you?” Simon teased, his fingers brushing lightly against Wille’s cheek, just where the sign name would be.
Wille groaned, leaning his head back against the couch dramatically. “Of course I did. I mean, it’s you. I wanted it to be perfect. And it had to mean something, you know?”
Simon slipped one hand into Wille’s, squeezing gently. “It does. More than you know. But you could’ve done this in sweatpants over leftover pizza, and I’d still love it just as much.”
Wille laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t think I’m capable of that level of chill.”
Simon’s gaze softened, his fingers tracing small patterns on Wille’s hand. “Well, for what it’s worth, you got it right. It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
Wille’s cheeks flushed, and he bumped Simon’s shoulder with his own. “Now you’re just trying to make me blush.”
“Maybe,” Simon signed with a mischievous grin.
They stayed like that for a while, leaning into each other on the couch, their mugs of tea growing cold on the table. Wille had spent days agonizing over this moment, worried about getting every little detail right. But sitting there, with Simon’s head resting on his shoulder and the weight of the sign name already feeling like a natural part of their connection, he realized it wasn’t about the moment being perfect.
It was about them—just as they were. And that was more than enough.