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Simon is tired. But he’s also running the high of performing. Final night. 12 stops. 12 stops on his very first tour through Sweden, Norway, France and Germany. He’d never expected anything like this, if he was honest. They aren’t huge venues, the biggest one was maybe 800 at full capacity, and he knows he hadn’t sold out every single show, but it was real and it was his hard work that got him there. Making music had always been his way to express his feelings, his emotions, those inner turmoils and hard-to-understand nuances, all channeled into lyrics and melodies. And then he had shared that music, and other people had connected with those words, the way he put his heart out into the world, his soul echoing its way to thousands of monthly listeners.
And some of those listeners had come to his shows. They had come, and they had danced, sung with him, cried, laughed, gone through seemingly every single emotion that was humanly possible. And it was because of him? Simon’s mind boggles. He’s grateful, humbled, blown away by the reception of his music, but the way his career has grown in barely three years, he will never truly grasp.
“5 minute call, Simon,” comes a gentle voice. Simon turns his head to see Mel, headset on, clipboard in hand, giving him a reassuring smile.
“Thanks Mel,” he says, and then hastily adds, as she goes to leave - “Oh! And, uh, have…have you seen Wille?”
Mel shakes her head. Simon rolls his lips, confused.
“Okay, all good,” he says quickly. “Thanks.” Mel gives him another smile, and disappears down the hall. Simon goes back to his reflection, finishing up his attempt at minimal make up. He just needs to not look washed out under the stage lights, and if he achieves that, he’ll take it as a win.
He isn’t worried that Wille isn’t there. He’s been at most of his shows, following Simon from stop to stop through Germany and France, but had had to return to work in Sweden for the last handful of shows. And now, with closing night in Stockholm, Wille had promised he’d be there.
But then, where is he?
Simon checks his phone, wondering if he’d somehow missed a notification; he hasn’t. He sighs, shaking his head lightly, and puts it down again. He can’t let this bring down his mood, not on closing night, not at his home show. He’s been nervous for the whole tour about the closing show. He almost wishes it was literally anywhere else. But there seems to be some kind of extra pressure to doing a closing show in the city that you’ve lived in for the last few years. He feels…lonely. Which is an odd thing, really, considering he can hear the buzz of a few hundred fans in the venue, people that are there for him, to see him, hear him. And yet…where is Wille? The one person that Simon always looks for. The one person who sees him for who he really is, looks at him with that intense stare that makes Simon feel like he’s the only thing in the world, and makes his worries and fear melt away.
Simon sighs. He has to focus on the show, the set. Put on the show of his life, and no one would even think to wonder where the hell Simon’s fiance is.
“Hey,” comes a quiet voice. A quiet, gentle, instantly recognisable voice. One Simon could tell from a crowd of thousands.
“Wille,” he rasps out, and tears immediately burn in his eyes as he stumbles off his chair and into Wille’s waiting arms. Wille envelopes him in a tight hug, pressing kisses to his hair, his cheeks.
“Where were you?” Simon asks, voice muffled in Wille’s coat, giving him a feeble shove to indicate annoyance.
“I’m sorry, Simme, I’m so sorry,” Wille is rambling. “I got on the wrong fucking train, I ended up going in the wrong direction, and by the time I realised, I was already so late. I had to go all the way back and then when I finally got to the right station I couldn’t find the damn exit because it’s under construction, and -”
Simon is giggling, pulling back a little to look Wille in the face. “How long have we lived in Stockholm?” he asks lightly.
Wille huffs. “Four years.”
“And you still get lost on the T-bana?”
Wille rolls his eyes. “It’s confusing, okay?” he protests, a definite indignant whine to his voice.
“If you say so, darling,” Simon sighs, smiling fondly at Wille as he shakes his head. “I’m just glad you made it. If you knew you were late, why didn’t you text me?”
Wille bites his lip, avoiding Simon’s eyes.
“Wille?” Simon pushes, though his voice is mostly teasing.
“Phone died just as I realised I was going the wrong way. I had to navigate back using a paper map I found in one of the carriages,” Wille mumbles.
Simon snorts. “You’re so silly,” he says. “A silly li’l guy.”
“But I made it,” Wille says feebly.
“You did,” Simon murmurs, and he presses a soft kiss to Wille’s lips. “Plug your phone in over there. I’m meant to be on stage in like, 30 seconds probably.”
“Are you nervous?” Wille asks, after plugging in his phone and following Simon down the hall towards the corridor that would lead them to the wings.
Simon pauses. He had been nervous, worried about performing in his home town. Final night, and it’s all coming to an end. But now…
“No,” Simon says firmly, and Wille beams. “You’re right here with me.”
Wille nods, squeezing Simon’s hand. “Right with you,” he murmurs. “I’m so proud of you.”
Simon blushes; he’ll never stop blushing whenever he receives praise from Wille. In that way, he is still a lovestruck teenage boy falling in love for the first time. “I love you,” he says.
“I love you too.”
Simon kisses Wille once more, takes the microphone from Mel, checks his in-ears one last time, and steps out onto the stage, the super trouper immediately blinding him. But it’s okay. Because Wille is right there, always at his side, forever.