Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Simon

“Ah, there you are, bro,” Ayub said as Simon hurried into Mamma Mia Pizzeria, looking flustered as he had run all the way to the restaurant from his house, afraid he was too late. It turned out that he had made it right on time. 

“Sorry,” Simon panted as he pulled on his waiter apron. “I was helping mama meal prep and just completely lost track of time-”

“No harm done, Simme,” Ayub said genially. “I think it's going to be another dead night tonight anyway.”

Simon snorted. “I bought a book just in case,” he said.

“Which nerdy book are you reading right now?”

Simon pulled out a brightly coloured book out of his backpack to show Ayub. “Surely You're Joking, Mr Feynman,” he said excitedly. “It's Richard Feynman's autobiography.”

“Who's that?” Ayub asked as they started to prepare the restaurant for the dinner rush, wiping down tables and cleaning plates. 

“He's only the biggest pioneer in quantum physics. He's the one who discovered the field of quantum electrodynamics, and then he created Feynman Diagrams-”

“Boys!” Ayub's father, the owner of Mamma Mia, called at them from the door that led to the kitchen. “Leo can't make it tonight, so it's just you two, alright?”

“Heard,” they both yelled back.

“I'm so glad that prick is not coming in,” Simon muttered as he cleaned cutlery with a clean cloth. “I hate him ever since he said physics is for sissies who will never amount to anything.”

“You know he was trying to get a rise out of you,” Ayub, ever the peacemaker, muttered. “Ignore him.”

Simon muttered under his breath, and then settled in behind the cash register to wait for customers. He pulled out a book, one eye at the door, ready to jump up at a moment's notice once someone walked in. Ayub sat in a booth right in front of him, scrolling through Instagram.

Weeknights at Mamma Mia were practically dead, except for a few men coming in from a late shift at one of the hardware manufacturing factories their little town, Bjarstad, was known for. Their town had started off as a small mining hamlet back in the 1800s, and had now grown into a robust little industrial town 60 kilometres from Stockholm, with companies like Atlas Copco and SKF setting up shop here in the 90s and employing nearly all of Bjarstad's working class population. However, most people still went to bed early on weekdays, and the streets looked like they belonged to a ghost town by eight. 

In the next hour, Simon served pizzas, beer and garlic bread to about three four-tops worth of people. The rest of the time he completed some worksheets from school, read his book, and watched tiktoks with Ayub.

At about nine thirty, a boy wandered in, looking like he had stumbled into their restaurant by accident. He was wearing a sky blue shirt (who wore just a shirt in winter?), a pair of solid jeans, and sneakers with the laces untied. His brown hair was ruffled like he was working his fingers through them, and his face- his face-

“Um, hi,” he said uncertainly in a deep voice that did nothing to Simon. “Is this place still open?”

“Hi,” Ayub said when Simon didn’t say anything. “We're totally open. Please take a seat.”

The boy sat down in Simon’s section, and Simon got up and mutely handed him a menu card. 

“Can I start you off with some water?” he asked mechanically.

“Yes, please,” the beautiful boy said, his large, puppy-like hazel eyes looking up at him. He had a cute nose, high cheekbones and a jaw and hands he would grow into. Right now, he looked awkwardly sized, like he had not learnt to fully inhabit his body yet. It was endearing.

Simon spun away to get a jug, and poured water into a glass as the boy seriously perused the menu.

“What's, um, what’s good here?” the boy asked.

“The kebab pizza with pizza salad on the side is our speciality,” Simon said, rattling off the words drummed into his head during his training. Also the kebab pizza truly was magnificent, not that Simon had much to compare it to.

“I'm not very hungry, so can I just have a slice of kebab pizza and a can of pepsi?” the boy asked, all prim and polite. He definitely went to Hillerska, though Simon had never seen him around before. He would have remembered him. Maybe he was a boarder who had snuck out?

“Sure,” Simon said, snapping his notepad shut and marching off to the kitchen, his cheeks burning. He yelled out the order to the chefs, and made sure the chef plated the freshesh slice of pizza for him. He then grabbed a cold can of pepsi and headed back out to the seating area. The boy was looking around at the vintage decor and the paintings on the wall with interest.

Cute. Simon shook his head and placed the food items with care in front of the boy.’

“Thank you so much,” the boy said gratefully, immediately opening up his can and drinking the soda deeply. “I was craving this like you won't believe,” he said after he finally slammed the can down. “It's not allowed in my house.”

Simon swallowed. “Do you want some more?”

“Yes, please,” the boy said with a pretty, close-mouthed smile, a little embarrassed. Simon quickly headed to the glass-fronted drinks fridge and pulled out another can and set it in front of him, and then retreated to the cash register. He pretended to read, peeking over his book to look at the boy occasionally. He was leaning back in his chair, savouring the pizza slowly, almost like he was prolonging his time in the restaurant. His long legs were crossed at the ankle and poking out of the opposite side under the table. Simon couldn't help but fixate on the untied shoelaces. He hated it when Sara didn't tie her shoelaces. 

He had just turned the page he had been stuck on forever when someone cleared their throat in front of him. He snapped up, his book falling from his hands, and stared at the boy as he smiled sheepishly in front of him, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “But I'm done eating and I wanted to pay the bill.”

“Oh, um, yeah, yeah,” Simon said, flustered and distracted as he entered the items the boy had ordered into the computer to generate the bill. The receipt printer printed out the small bill, and Simon slapped it down in front of the boy. The boy seemed startled at Simon's sharp movements, even as he quietly leaned forward to study the bill.

“Excuse me,” he said, sounding abashed, “but you seem to have charged me twice for the pizza slice.”

Simon snatched the bill back and groaned. “Sorry,” he gritted out as he made a fresh bill and handed it to the boy. 

The boy just smiled at him, opening up Swish on his phone. “That's alright. What's your name?”

Simon watched him scan the QR code displayed on the counter and pay the bill. The back of his phone was cracked and held together by tape. Strange, he had thought this boy was rich. “Simon,” he said, despite himself.

“Hey, Simon,” the boy said, his face falling into a beautiful smile that threatened to blind Simon. “I'm Wilhelm, but you can call me Wille. Thanks for feeding me tonight.”

“Y-you're welcome,” Simon said, feeling like he had been struck in the head by his father's heavy hand. But, of course, this felt different. Not quite as painful.

“Bye, Simon,” Wille said softly as he turned to leave. “Hope to see you again.”

Simon stared at his back as he left, and then the bell above the door jingled as he opened it, and he was gone into the night. Simon wondered if he would be okay in the cold without a jacket or any warm clothing.

“You’re so entertaining when you meet someone attractive,” Ayub chuckled from the side. He had, of course, watched the entire saga placidly from his booth.

“Don't start,” Simon groaned, dropping his head into his hands. 

At 10:30 pm, they started wrapping up. They pushed the chairs onto the tables and swept the floors, playing music on the speakers. Finally, they were done, and Simon waited as Ayub locked up.

Ayub clapped him on the back. “See you bro,” he said.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Simon said, saluting him and then setting off back towards home.

Bjarstad was deathly quiet at this time of night, but Simon revelled in it, breathing in the chill of the late winter and breathing out vapour. Simon and Sara like to pretend to smoke when they were kids, until their father started smoking things and letting out noxious air that stank up the whole house. After that, Simon stopped pretending to smoke.

He turned into the quiet street that he had lived in most of his life, with a neat row of houses on both sides of the street with lawns going wild. Sara and Simon tried to trim the grass in their small patch of lawn, but it was losing battle. Simon didn't want to give up, however. He wanted to keep at least some part of their living situations presentable and ordered. Giving this up would mean giving up his sanity as well.

The windows of the house were dark, except for a single square with orange light showing through the curtains. Sara was awake, then. 

Simon fitted his key into the lock, and winced when it clicked loudly and the door swung inwards with a creek. Simon would really have to grease the hinges this weekend. He stepped in softly, closing the door as softly as he could. The streetlight coming in through the window illuminated a large shape slumbering on their rundown sofa. Several bottles of alcohol littered the floor in front of the sofa, and the room stank of acrid smoke. Some sort of football game was playing on mute on the TV. Oh, so his father had made it home then.

Simon would have to air out the room tomorrow.

He went deeper into the house on socked feet, and knocked gently on Sara's door. He opened it when Sara hummed.

“Hey,” he said, poking his head in. Sara was in sweats and her Hillerska hoodie, scrolling on her phone. Her nails were long and painted artfully - she had probably gone with her friends to get her nails done. She didn't really like him coming into her room anymore, which was fair. A girl deserves privacy from annoying little brothers.

“Hey, Simme,” she said, her mouth twitching into a smile.”How was work?”

“Boring, as usual,” Simon said with a snort. “I managed to get homework done though.”

“Good, good,” Sara said distractedly, looking at her phone when it pinged with a new message. 

Simon sighed. Sara could at least look at him, couldn't she? Ever since she had started attending Hillerska, her back had straightened, her dreams were lofty, and there was a sparkle in her eye that had almost completely gone out. Simon was happy for her…but they used to be best friends. It used to be Simon and Sara against the world. He used to be her protector. Now she couldn't even look at him long enough for a short conversation.

“He didn't bother you, did he?” Simon asked quietly.

Sara dragged her eyes away from her phone, and shrugged. “No, just the usual. He came in, put on the game, and passed out pretty quickly. I've just been in my room.”

“Oh, okay, that's, um, that's good.”

Sara stared at him, and he got the message. He knocked twice on her doorway awkwardly and closed her door, and then passed through the cramped corridor with the humming dryer and entered his small sanctuary.

He switched on his string light and lava lamp, and then resisted the urge to collapse into bed, instead changing and freshening up. Finally, he lay down, and let out a sigh of relief as his body sank into the bed. He started at the Dream Big! poster plastered to his ceiling, and sighed. All he wanted was to leave this little town and all its little people (except his friends) and leave forever. Go away to some bustling cosmopolis where no one knew him and build a new life, completely anonymous and somehow safe. He thought of going to university, solving equations with other brilliant people, trying to calculate the trajectory of black holes and the energy of pulsars, partying in clubs, kissing a boy-

Unbidden, the face of the boy who had come in today - Wille - floated up in his mind. His big brown eyes, the light that reflected off his dark blond lashes, the rounded tip of his cute nose, his crooked smile that made butterflies erupt in Simon's belly-

Simon turned over and screamed into his pillow, allowing himself to thrash about in his bed in a tantrum. He had sworn off boys until he was safely in university and his path towards his goals was set. He didn't need distractions - he had to study and work and save money and get himself and his mother out (he knew Sara would take care of herself). He had to - he had to…

He thought of Wille's hands that had clutched his phone. They were so large, his fingers thick and knobbly. Simon imagined those hands holding his hands, his body, his-

Simon thrashed his legs some more, kicking his blanket off his bed. Eventually, tiredness swept over his body and he was dead to the world.

Wille

Wille hadn't intended to walk for three kilometres when he had left his house. Hell, he had just intended to go twice around the block before going back home, where hopefully his mother would have retreated to her room. He shivered as a cold wind blew down the street, chilling him down to his bones. But there was no way he was going back inside for a jacket. Walking around may warm him up.

The fight was nothing new. His mother was pissed about something some municipal counsellor had said to her. Of course, she couldn't show her anger at work, so where else to take it out than her most convenient target - her only remaining son. Today he had cut his steak the wrong way, and she was off, ragging on him over things Wille didn’t want to think of. There was a script to this drama that was strictly adhered to at all times - next day would be cold war and silent treatment, and then the day after that his mother would slide him an expensive new gift - maybe a tablet, a phone, or a limited-edition watch. It would strike her suddenly that she had only one heir left, and this was how she would make amends, by buying Wille's compliance and silence by throwing money at him.

Well, at least he'd get a new phone after she busted the old one when she threw it at his wall. This one was running on tape and prayers now. 

Lost in his thoughts, he had walked until he ended up downtown. The shutters of most shops were down, the streetlights casting an eerie gold glow on the streets. There was an open restaurant across the street though. The bright blue neon sign, proclaiming it as Mamma Mia Pizzeria, beckoned to him. The cold was just about settling into his bones as his sweat dried and cooled on his skin, and he knew he had to get somewhere warm.

Like a moth drawn to light, he found himself walking towards it. In the quiet of night, the pizzeria looked almost supernatural, like it was a waterhole for wandering spirits. 

Wille was a wandering spirit, in many ways, unmoored and without a place to rest.

A bell jingled as he opened the door. The restaurant greeted him with immediate warmth. It was vintage themed, with bright posters covering the walls. It was also completely empty, except for two boys. One of them was sitting at a cash register reading, only the top of his curly head visible, and the other was half hidden by a booth, watching videos on his phone.

“Um…hi,” he said uncertainly. “Is this place still open?” He winced. This place was obviously open.

The boy who was reading looked up, and oh. Oh.

This was probably what Renaissance painters thought of when they painted angels.

The boy was breathtakingly pretty. His head was covered with a mass of overlong curls, some of which fell into his eyes. His eyes were large and doe-like, almost sinful in their innocence, and his skin was smooth and tanned. His lips were full and dark pink, slightly pigmented at the edges. His face was small, and Wille imagined it would fit perfectly in  his cupped hands. 

Wille shook back to life when the other boy said “Hi, we're totally open. Please take a seat.”

The boy was glaring at him. Wille quailed. He was a total creep, wasn't he?

Against every instinct that told him to turn tail and run, he took a seat in the middle of the restaurant and sat. The boy set his book down and pulled a menu card out and headed to his table, armed with a notepad and pen. From up close, he could see that the boy looked tired. There were bags under his eyes and his hair was a little greasy. Wille’s heart ached.

Wandering spirits always recognised each other. 

Wille silently took the menu card from him and discreetly studied his hands. Dainty wrists, long, slim, elegant fingers. As delicate and pretty as the rest of him. Wille thought of how good they would look adorned with gold bracelets and silver rings-

“Can I start you off with some water?” the beautiful boy droned, looking annoyed. His voice was soft and lilting. Maybe he sang well.

“Y-yes please.”

The boy spun away and retrieved a jug of water. Wille appreciated the way the apron cinched in his trim waist.

The boy filled his water. Wille swallowed. He wanted to hear his voice again.

“What's, um, what's good here?” he asked.

The boy said kebab pizza was the speciality here. Now, Wille was rather partial to pepperoni himself, but there was no world where he wouldn't obey what this boy was telling him. So he ordered a slice - he had had dinner after all - and a can of Pepsi.

The boy nodded curtly and went to the kitchen to place the order. The boy still in the booth looked highly amused. Wille groaned and dropped his head into his hands. He couldn't believe that the first impression he made on this devastatingly pretty boy was that of a bumbling idiot who had interrupted his reading.

The boy soon came back and placed a plate with a huge slice of kebab pizza, steaming gently and smelling of cheese and grilled meat. He placed a can of cold Pepsi next to it. Wille got a bit excited when he saw the can, strictly disallowed at both home and school, and drank it down like it was the last cup of water in a desert. When he kept the can down, the boy was still standing there staring at him, looking bemused.

Shit, he had just looked like a gluttonous fool right now, didn't he?

Wille hurried to explain he didn't get to have a lot of soda, to which the boy offered to bring him another one, still bemused. He was so sweet. Wille wanted him to sit with him and talk for a bit. But the boy just retreated back to the cash register and disappeared into his book. Wille just took small bites of his pizza, trying to prolong his absence from home and stay in this beautiful boy's presence as long as possible. A car drove past, its headlights shining through the large windows and illuminating the boy in a flash of golden light. He was glaring down at Wille's shoes, which stuck out from under the other end of the table.

Suddenly self conscious, Wille coughed and straightened up, bringing his feet back under him. Maybe the boy didn't like sprawlers and manspreaders. 

The restaurant really had a weird, liminal space quality to it, a near perfect silence punctuated by the faint music from the other guy's phone and the chefs chatting behind the doors to the kitchen. The air was still, the pizza was delicious, and Wille just studied the soft curls that fell into the boy's face. He watched as slim fingers shoved the hair behind a pretty ear impatiently.

Finally, he was done and he couldn't loiter anymore without looking suspicious. He wiped his greasy fingers on thin tissues and went up to the register to pay. The boy didn't notice, still reading intently. Wille cleared his throat and the boy's head snapped up. 

God, his eyes were even more beautiful up close, even though they were a bit annoyed. Long, dark lashes framed his eyes, reminding Wille forcefully of Bambi. Maybe he could call the boy Bambi in his head.

Bambi printed out the wrong receipt, and when Wille gently pointed it out, his eyes went wide and he bit his lip, embarrassed. He looked like a nerd who wasn't used to making mistakes, and he huffed as he printed out another receipt.

Wilhelm was horribly endeared.

“Sorry,” Bambi gritted out. 

“It's alright,” Wille said, smiling as he pulled out his phone to pay. Hopefully his camera was okay to scan the QR code. It was, thankfully. “What's your name?”

Bambi was staring at Wille's phone with wide eyes. Wille wondered what he was thinking.

“Simon,” he said, eventually.

So. Bambi was named Simon.

“Hey Simon,” Wille said, delighted. “I'm Wilhelm, but you can call me Wille. Thanks for feeding me tonight.”

“Y-you're welcome,” Simon said, looking stymied, as if he wasn't used to people thanking him.

The clock on the wall behind Simon struck ten. Wille had to leave. 

“Bye, Simon,” he said softly. “Hope to see you again.”

Simon didn't say anything. Wille left, walking back into the night, which was somehow colder than before. The warmth of meeting Ba- Simon, however, carried him back home.

He was lost in the clouds in school the next day. Felice, of course, caught him drifting in class.

“You might want to listen to what Mister Eklund is saying,” Felice hissed next to him. “I'm not helping your sorry ass when you can't do a single question later.”

Wille shook his head like a puppy shaking of water, trying to focus. He looked at the derivates on the board and immediately thought of Bambi, ugh, Simon. He was reading a book covered with drawings of atoms and other science-y things. Simon probably did advanced math. He was probably a science nerd.

“Ok, what is wrong with you?” Felice asked later at workies as she watched Wilhelm doodle absently on his homework worksheet. “Did your mom say something again?”

“When is she not saying something?” Wille sighed, putting his pencil down. 

“Then what is it, Wille?” she asked, putting her soft hand on his arm and squeezing gently, comforting Wille immediately.

“I….I don't know. Um, I met someone last night,” Wille confessed. “And I want to see him again, but I don't know if he wants to see me.”

Felice cocked her head. “He?”

Wille rested his forehead on the table and groaned. Felice stroked his back gently. “Oh love,” she cooed. “It’s alright. Don't panic.”

Felice was a boarder at Hillerska, and she was the granddaughter of Sweden current Minister of Industry and Commerce. She and Wille clicked from the very first day of their first year of Hillerska, and had become best friends. They had tried to go the relationship route once, and Felice had patted his cheek after their first and last kiss and said maybe they were better off as friends. It was in her dorm room where Wille had had a drunken meltdown once, crying about how he liked girls and boys and if he ever dared to fall for a boy all of his mother' s remaining scraps of love would evaporate and he would probably get turfed out on the street. Felice had held him tight that night, and had softly confessed that she might feel something for girls too. 

That night had bought them inexorably closer, and now they were as thick as thieves. 

In the present, Wille turned his head, resting his cheek on the desk to look up at her. “I want to go and see him again today. Do you want to come with?”

Felice nodded enthusiastically, and they quickly packed up at the end of workies and they ran across the Hillerska lawn, giggling like children as they slipped through the gates and to the parking lot, where Wille's car, which came to drop him and pick him up everyday, waited everyday. 

“Um, a detour Stephen,” Wille said. “Can you take us to Mamma Mia today? We, um, we're in the mood for pizza today.”

Stephen just nodded and started off.

“Ok, tell me more,” Felice said excitedly.

“He, um, his name is Simon,” Wille said. “And he is a waiter there, and I think he's our age or maybe younger. I think he likes science. He probably goes to Marieberg, because obviously he’s not here.”

“And how does he look?” Felice asked slyly.

“Beautiful,” Wille blurted out. “I mean, ugh, Felle, stop!” he groaned when Felice burst out laughing. “I just want to be his friend.”

“Sure, dude,” Felice snorted. 

Wille shoved her, and then they bickered all the way to downtown. 

As their car slowed down to park, Wille was suddenly struck with a thought. “Um, I don't know if he'll have a shift today.”

Felice groaned. “Wille, why didn't you check that first?”

“How was I supposed to?” Wille said defensively. “And also, you'll get to have great pizza instead of whatever slop is bing served at dinner.”

Felice shrugged, conceding the point, and then they left the car to walk towards the pizzeria. Which was packed.

“Um.”

“It’s Friday," Felice groaned. “Of course it's packed today.”

Wille peeked in through the window next to the door, and caught a peek of curly hair winding among the tables, taking orders.

“He's here,” he said excitedly. “Come on.”

They went in, and found the only two-top that was empty. They sat down, and Wille discreetly pointed Simon out. 

“Oh, he’s like, model pretty,” Felice breathed. 

“I know, right?” Wille sighed, just as the boy who was watching tiktoks last night came up to them. 

“Hi,” he said brightly. “I am Ayub and I'm your server for today. Can I start you off with some water?”

Wille stared up at him, and then at Simon. Simon, who had been looking right at him and had whipped around when their eyes met, heading into the kitchen.

“Um, hi,” Wille said, still looking at where Simon had disappeared. “I'm so sorry, but can Simon be here?”

“Wille, what the fuck?” Felice hissed.

Shit, he had just been incredibly rude, hadn't he?

“Um, I mean-”

Ayub laughed. He looked so genuinely good natured that Wille couldn't even be really mad at him for laughing in his face.

“Well, that-” he gestured at the section at the left top corner of the restaurant “- is Simon's section. If you want Simon serving you, you need to sit at one of those tables, alright?”

“Okay,” Wille said, thoroughly cowed. 

They shared a full kebab pizza between them, which Felice enjoyed, and Wille kept an eye on Simon. He didn’t mean to - obviously he didn't want to look like a major creep and he should also pay attention to Felice. But also, well, he couldn't help how his eyes tracked Simon through the room, how he smiled at his customers and how he deftly handed out the food. Everyone seemed to know him and like him. His smile was sweet and close lipped, and his side profile-

When he turned back to look at Felice, she was smirking knowingly at him. Wille felt his face burn. 

Wille sent Felice back to Hillerska in his car, opting to walk back home despite Stephen and Felice's protests.

As the March wind blew through his hair, he was lost in thoughts of Simon and his smile and how it would feel for that smile to be  directed at him.

When he entered the house, he heard his mother talking on the phone. He tried to slink past her as she sat on the sofa, berating whoever was on the phone, when she called out to him.

“Wilhelm,” she said sharply. “Wait here.” 

Wille gulped and stood still in front of her. She finished her call and stood up. 

“Where were you?” she asked evenly. “Why were you so late?”

“Since when do you care?” Wille blurted out, genuinely surprised.

“I am your mother, Wilhelm,” she snapped. “It's my business to know where you went and what you are doing. You said school was alright, so imagine my surprise when Mister Eklund sent me an email about your below average performance in math.”

Wille winced. He had bombed the math pop quiz last week, and he had neglected to tell his mother about that. She was so busy, after all. 

“Um, I-”

“I expect your scores to improve drastically from next time, Wilhelm,” mother said. “You will come straight home from school and you will study. Erik never scored below an A- in his tests, Wilhelm. Why can’t you learn from his example?”

Wille gulped, white hot tears burning behind his eyes all of a sudden. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing them fall, however. He gulped back the anger that surged in his chest and nodded sullenly.

“There is no need for you to have dinner tonight, I think,” his mother said dismissively. “You can go up to your room. You're forbidden to come out until tomorrow morning. Also keep your bags packed for our Stockholm visit tomorrow.”

Wille nodded mutely and trudged up the staircases to his room, entirely resigned. This had happened so often that this had become his reality.

Nothing was the same after Erik left. It was like all the love and light in this house had left with him. Now his family were just three islands floating in a dark sea, bounded by a cold mansion that kept them together by necessity. Even in this conversation, Kristina couldn't even look Wille in the eyes.

He collapsed on his bed, grateful he was full with pizza. He turned his head into his pillow and thought of Simon's smile.

He had to see Simon again. 

Simon

Simon wiped down the tables sullenly, rubbing angrily at a spot of grease on the linoleum. 

“Jeez, Simme,” Ayub said. “What's that table done to you?”

Simon sighed and gave up, trying to relax his clenched jaw. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Simon said, trying to blink away the image of Wille with the beautiful girl with her pretty smile. He was smiling at her so sweetly, helping her wipe her fingers, being an absolute gentleman. Of course he had come on a date. Why would a guy like him want anything to do with a permanently sullen person like Simon?

“Right,” Ayub said knowingly. “And it's got nothing to do with Puppy Boy coming in with a pretty girl today.”

“Wille,” Simon blurted out absently, immediately biting his tongue.

“Aha!” Ayub exclaimed triumphantly.

“He can bring in whoever he likes,” Simon muttered, turning the chairs over the tables and slotting them in. “I don't even know the guy.” 

“I really think she was just his friend though,” Ayub said thoughtfully. “I didn't get any romantic vibe from them.”

“Whatever,” Simon said. “Let's just do our work.”

All thoughts of Wille were driven from his mind when he came home to his father in a drunken rage. He had to pull Sara away from the corner she was cowering in and into her room, and tolerated his father screaming at him for being a useless excuse of a son who can't even bring his father beer. Simon retreated into his room and locked it, and played Valorant on his PC with his headphones clamped tight over his ears to drown out the noise.

Wille didn't come in on Saturday or on Sunday. Simon was off on Monday and Tuesday. 

Maybe they were just ships crossing in the night, never to see each other again.

“Yo!” Ayub greeted him when Simon came in for his shift on Wednesday. 

“Hey,” Simon said, pulling on his apron and starting to pre-bus the tables. “Another busy day?”

“Another day of watching tiktoks,” Ayub chuckled. “Also, Rosh is coming in after football practice.”

“Oh, that's great,” Simon said, pleased. “I thought they would get a break though, considering her team won the match yesterday.”

“No rest for the wicked,” Ayub shrugged. 

As promised, Rosh came in after an hour to hang out with them, still dressed in her kit. Simon served her pizza salad and a plate of kebab pieces because she didn't want dough and cheese. Then he listened patiently as she ranted about how her ex had texted her yet again. 

“Don't go back to her,” Simon said sagely, when the door tinkled open. His heart leapt - it was Wille. Properly bundled up this time.

Simon got up slowly as he came in, waving a hello and heading straight to his section. He took off his puffer jacket and hung it primly on the back of a chair, and then sat down.

Simon walked up to him, feeling almost numb.

“Nice to see you again, Simon,” the boy said, smiling up at him. “It’s been a while.”

Where were you? “Yeah,” Simon said blankly. “What would you like?”

“Suggest something,” Wille said, looking up at him. His eyes were so intense, yet there was a softness to them that pulled Simon in.

“Um,” Simon said, trying to bring his brain back online. “You can try pepperoni pizza.”

“That's my favorite,” Wille said, delighted. “One slice of that and a water, please.”

Simon nodded and headed to the kitchen to place the order. Wille was here, he was really here. He could hardly believe it. Sometimes he thought he had dreamed up the boy, but he was here, in the flesh. He caught a flash of Ayub whispering frantically into Rosh's ear, and both of them staring at the side of Wille's face.

He was not looking forward to the teasing and interrogation. 

Simon again made sure that the freshest slice of pizza was ordered for Wille. 

He set the plate down gently in front of Wille, and a glass of water. 

“Um, do you not work on Mondays and Tuesdays?” Wille asked hesitatingly.

Simon hugged his tray close to his chest like a shield and shrugged. “Yeah, those days are off for me.”

Wille nodded. “Right, right.”

“How do you know?”

Wille instantly flushed bright red. “Oh, um, well….”

Simon just cocked his head at him. Wille fiddled with the edge of a pizza, tearing off crumbs. Simon noticed how his thumbnail was bitten down to the quick, and the skin around it was cut and jagged, barely healed. Simon ached to soothe it with ointment. He knew the best ways to calm cuts, bruises and irritated skin, after all.

“I, um…I've been coming here, you know. Just to, like, pick up some stuff. I just-” Wille cleared his throat. “I didn't see you.”

Simon felt his head start buzzing with static. “Oh, I see,” he said with a slightly strangled voice, and then he nearly ran away to the kitchen to sit in a ball in the pantry, hugging his knees tight. 

When he came back outside, Wille had left.

“He was asking where you went, you know?” Rosh said, with a smirk.

Simon rolled his eyes. “I was inventorying the pantry.”

Ayub snorted sardonically.

Wille came in again, and again, and again. Always on weekdays, never on weekends. He was there like clockwork on Wednesdays and Thursdays and Fridays, and on busy nights he would wait until he got seated in Simon's section. On Fridays he normally came in with his pretty date (Simon had eavesdropped and learned her name was Felice), and a few times he'd be with a group of people. But on Wednesdays and Thursdays he would come alone, turning up at the door at nine like clockwork, leaving at ten. He was studiously making his way through the menu, knocking off one menu dish at a time. On Thursday night only, he ordered a can on pepsi, which he drank slowly and with relish.

March rolled into April, and Simon loosened up around him. He found himself smiling when the tinkle of the bell and familiar footsteps signalling Wille's arrival sounded. Wille's jaunty wave always lifted his spirits, no matter how heavy his heart may be that day.

 He started hanging around longer and longer as Wille ate, hugging the tray to his chest as they conversed. He learned that Wille did indeed go to Hillerska, was a month older than Simon, was a member of the rowing team, and was the son of the Nyberg family who were very rich and owned half of Bjarstad (Ayub's dad paid rent to them for renting the restaurant space). His father owned the only law firm in Bjarstad and his mother was the Mayor, and she was planning to run for the Riksdag soon. 

Wille squirmed when he told him the details of his family though. So Simon, too, volunteered information. Yes, he went to Marieberg, he was a member of the choir (‘wait, Felice is too! You should meet!’), he was on the science track, he hated sports, his mother was a nurse at Bjarstad's main hospital, and his sister went to Hillerska, actually.

“No way,” Wille said, his eyes sparkling. “What's her name?”

Simon realised, too late, that he had pulled out a chair and sat down. His tray sat forgotten on the table and Wille's pizza was getting cold.

“I got the warmest slice of pizza for you, you know,” he complained. “The least you could do is eat it before it gets cold.”

Wille immediately stuffed half the pizza into his mouth, his cheeks puffing like a chipmunk.

“Oh my god, careful!” Simon exclaimed. “It’s hot!”

Wille chewed painfully, grimacing and showing him a thumbs up. “I’b fie,” he said, trying to smile through a mouthful of cheese. Simon knew his face was getting twisted up, but Wille's face was so adorable his heart was in danger of melting.

Wille finally chewed through the mass of cheese and bread and meat and swallowed it all down.

“Sorry you had to see all that,” Wille said, his neck starting to flush. “Um…what is your sister's name?”

“You probably won't know her,” Simon said, “she's a year older. Her name is Sara Eriksson.”

Wille looked thoughtful. “Rings a bell,” he said slowly. “Wait, is your sister the TA for the equestrian classes?”

“Yes,” Simon said eagerly. “She's a horse enthusiast.”

“Yes, Felice knows her. She mentions a Sara all the time. Now I know that's your sister Sara.”

“Yeah,” Simon said, grinning. Wille trailed off, and he looked a bit dumbfounded.

“Um,” Simon said awkwardly when Wille just kept staring, his eyes glassy. “Hey!” he waved his hand in front of his face.

Wille shook to his senses. “Oh, um, sorry, didn't mean to- anyway. Why aren't you in Hillerska then?”

“Well, Sara faced some problems in Marieberg which is why she wanted to go to Hillerska. I didn't have any problems and I stayed. I really don't want to mix with that uppity crowd anyway.”

Wille snorted. 

“Sorry,” Simon said remorselessly. “But it's true.”

“No, I agree,” Wille said. “They're very uppity.”

Sara was uppity. Simon held those words back behind his teeth.

Soon, Wille was done and he lingered, sipping slowly on his soda, playing games on his phone. 

Simon didn't really have the heart to make him leave, so he cleaned his table. Wille considerately stood up and leaned against the cash register table. 

He didn't have to pay the bill yet. Simon caught Ayub's eye. 

“Is he leaving?” Ayub mouthed.

“Later,” Simon mouthed back. 

They did their usual closing up checklist, and then Simon headed to the computer and rang Wille up.

“The bill is correct this time,” he said with a grin as Wille scanned the receipt.

“Gotta make sure,” Wille muttered. He took out his phone, a brand new iPhone.

“Oh, you finally got a new phone.”

“Oh,” Wille checked the back of it, like he had forgotten. “Right. Yes.”

“What even happened to the old one?”

“Dropped it,” Wille said, a bit too quickly. “You know me, butterfingers.”

“Okay,” Simon said, watching as the payment was registered on the computer. He then shut that down.

“Let's go, prep boy,” he said, leading Wille out. Ayub was already outside, waiting to close up.

Wille hung around as Ayub closed and then Simon and Ayub dapped each other.

“I'll see you tomorrow, man,” Ayub said, shaking Wille's hand and then pulling him into a shoulder bump.

He waved and left.

Suddenly, Wille and he were alone. Completely alone, for the first time. Simon felt nervous for some reason, butterflies bursting to life in his stomach. The golden light of the streetlamps highlighted the blond in Wille's hair, and in the low light his eyes looked dark and intimidatingly intense. 

“He lives just a block away,” Simon blurted out to fill the silence. 

“And which way do you live?” Wille asked, his voice deep and low. Simon tingled somewhere.

“I live down that way,” Simon said, pointing down the pavement the opposite way from Ayub. 

“And I need to go that way,” Wille said, pointing across the street.

“It's late,” Simon said. “Will you be safe?”

Wille smiled at him, and suddenly he wasn't so intimidating anymore. His teeth were crooked, his front teeth a bit too large. It was devastatingly cute. “Yes, don't worry.”

Simon scuffed the ground and stared at his feet, reluctant to let this moment end. But he really needed to get back home.

“I'll see you then, Wille,” he said, his voice coming out softer and shyer than he liked. 

“See you, Simon,” Wille said softly. Simon couldn't bear to look up at him, so he wiggled his fingers at him in a semblance of a wave and turned around and walked away. He didn't hear Wille's footsteps until he was halfway down the pavement. 

Wille

Mamma Mia had become his sanctuary now, a place for a wandering spirit like him to rest. He relished how Simon relaxed more and more around him, and his heart jumped a little every time he was on the receiving end of Simon's little, closed mouthed smile. He loved how Simon lingered to chat after he gave Wille his order, and then eventually began to sit with him, his cheek resting on his palm. The more he got to know Simon the more he liked him.

Wille's heart kind of stuttered when Simon smiled at him with his teeth showing when they talked about Sara. His teeth were very straight, perfectly set in his small mouth. His eyes crinkled a little when he smiled fully. He had such sparkly eyes, actually, when he was genuinely happy-

The hand waving in front of his face shook him out of his reverie. Wille felt his face and neck burn - how could he stare so blatantly at someone when talking to them?

When they started cleaning up, Wille hung around the cash register, scrolling on his phone and trying not to stare at Simon as his back flexed and he bent over to put the restaurant in order. Also, Simon hadn't yet rung him up, so he couldn't in good conscience leave without paying, could he?

After the restaurant was cleaned and smelled faintly of lemon cleaner, Simon finally printed his receipt. Of course, Simon clocked his brand new phone immediately. It was the newest iPhone, a silent apology of sorts after Wille weathered his mother's moods for an entire week. 

His heart beat loudly in his chest when Ayub left them alone outside the restaurant. The roundabout they were standing at was dark and empty, a cold wind rushed through the street, and Simon's eyes were brown and large and Wille just wanted to drown in them.

Wille was a ship in the dark, and it felt like Simon was his lighthouse, beckoning him safely to shore.

When Simon walked away, Wille yearned to follow. He kept his feet planted on the ground until Simon was a distant figure.

Wille missed Simon so much from Saturday through to Tuesday. Every Friday he waited eagerly for the next Wednesday. 

Memories of Simon carried him through the dreadful weekends he had to spend stuck with his parents, not allowed to leave the house or having to accompany them to government or corporate galas in Stockholm, where his mother would network and try to push him into the arms of high society daughters. 

He should ask for Simon's phone number.

The question died in his throat every time he wished Simon goodnight and watched him walk away.

Wille took to hanging around while they cleaned up, to the point Ayub told him to pull up the chairs and slot them over the tables. Ayub and him chatted while they worked, Simon silently mopping the floor and listening keenly. Ayub was nice, and Wille liked him a lot. Sometimes their friend Rosh came over, and she and Wille bonded over their joined disdain for the EPL, and excitedly discussed club matches. 

One particularly dead night, they even played UNO. The chefs and Ayub's dad joined them in the third round. No one minded that Wille hung around for so long. It was almost as if he had become a permanent fixture. 

Wille's heart leapt to his throat when Simon fell against his shoulder, laughing loudly as Rosh and Ayub's dad bickered over the +4 rules.

His laugh was like the sound of bells, or waves crashing over the shore, or maybe rain pelting against rock. None of this made any sense, of course, but Simon's laugh was like a force of nature battering against Wille's heart. His heart was already soft and bruised, could he even take it anymore?

All Wille wanted to do was to make Simon laugh like that again.

The nights were getting warmer, and they could now walk around without jackets. One night, halfway into April, when Ayub had already locked up and left and Simon and Wille were saying their goodbyes, Simon swayed on his feet, looking like he had to go but didn't want to.

“Um,” Wille asked uncertainly. “Do you- I mean, um-”

Simon's eyes sparkled when they looked at him, a teasing smile twitching to life on his face. “Hmm, what?”

“Can I walk you home?” Wille asked in a rush. 

Simon’s eyes widened, and Wille immediately backtracked. “Of course, you don't- I'm sorry, that was too-”

“Yes,” Simon said. “But won't it be too out of the way for you?”

Wille stepped closer. “No, not at all. I just want to accompany you.”

Simon swallowed, and a red flush burned at the high points of his cheeks. “If you're sure.”

“I'm sure.” Wille hadn't been more certain in his entire life.

Simon flashed him a little smile, and then turned away, beckoning him over his shoulder. “Come on, prep boy,” he said. “Let me show you how the working classes live."

Wille caught up with him, falling into step beside him. They walked in silence for a few minutes, until-

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” Simon asked.

“Lawyer,” Wille said automatically. “Like my dad.”

Simon looked at him from the corner of his eye.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked. “You seem like you memorised that answer.”

“I mean, yeah, why not?” Wille said, shrugging. “It's not like I have opinions of my own. From when I was a child, I was told all about the great legacy I have to uphold, and how being a lawyer would open all sorts of doors for me. So, lawyer.”

“Yeah, but like,  is that what you want to do?”

Wille…didn't know the answer to that.  No one had really asked him that.  What did he want to do?

“I mean, I guess,” Wille muttered. “Could be interesting.”

“I see.”

“And what about you?”

“Me? Oh, I…um-”

“What?” Wille asked, a grin forming on his face.

“You're not allowed to make fun of me.”

“Ok, I promise.”

Simon stopped and held out his pinkie, looking serious. 

“Are you being for real right now?” Wille asked incredulously.

Simon just looked at him, pinkie still held out.

Wille rolled his eyes and intertwined their pinkies, pretending as if he didn't have a massive rush of adrenaline that caused his arm to erupt into goosebumps when he touched Simon. 

“Pinkie promise, alright? Now tell me.”

“I want to become an astrophysicist,” Simon said softly as if someone would hear him.

“An…an astrophysicist?”

“Yeah. Someone who studies the universe.”

“That's so cool though. Why were you so cloak and daggers about it?”

Simon shrugged and started walking, Wille fell into step with him. 

“People…they kind of make fun of me?” Simon said. “When I first said it out loud in class no one knew what I meant, and then I got slapped around in the corridors because I sounded too smart. In this town, everyone has a level, and if you poke your head above that level, you get pulled back down.”

“The nail that sticks out gets hammered back in,” Wille said musingly. “It's a Japanese saying.”

“Yeah, kind of like that.” 

“It's really cool that you want to study stars,” Wille said eagerly.

Simon shrugged. “I mean the universe out there is so vast, maybe infinite, and we go around a burning ball of fire on a piece of rock that happens to have water and trees, and we can point huge lenses and mirrors at the sky and observe the pulsars at the edge of the universe and the black hole at the centre of our galaxy. Isn’t it wonderful?”

Wille drew a breath next to him. He turned around to look at him only to find Wille looking back, dazzled.

They turned a corner from the main road, and the streets here were slightly more unkempt, a little more run-down than his part of town. There were no neatly trimmed hedges or prettily kept flowerbeds, just wild lawns and an occasional piece of junk with creepers growing all over it. 

“Not too far now,” Simon said. “You can go back from here, Wille.”

“No, I want to see where your house is,” Wille said stubbornly.

Simon sighed, but didn’t stop Wille from following him. They walked under some blinking streetlamps until they were stopping near a gate that didn't latch properly. A rundown hatchback was parked near the gate. The patch of lawn in front of the house was neatly trimmed, and there was even an attempted flowerbed near the fence border.

“This is my house,” Simon said, gesturing to the house. “That's my mom's car, which means she's back from her shift...which is weird. She was supposed to have a night shift today."

“That's good though, right?” Wille said. “Maybe you can say hi to her in person before sleeping.”

Simon was staring at the house with wide eyes. He looked scared.

Wille tapped his shoulder. “Simon, is everything okay?”

Simon shook himself, and turned to give Wille a wobbly smile. “I'm fine, Wille. Will you be okay to go back home?”

“Yeah, I will,” Wille said, smiling.

“Okay, um. Bye, Wille.”

Wille waved, and Simon pushed open the gate and headed down the small path to his front door. Simon turned back to wave at him at the front door, and then unlocked it and went inside.

Wille didn't feel very cold that night at all, floating on clouds all the way to his cold, dark house. At least the light that spilled across the threshold of Simon's door was warm and welcoming.

He hoped Simon would sleep well and dream of skating the edge of a galaxy.

Simon

Simon knew that his mother was not supposed to be home today. Thursdays were night shifts, the schedule was taped to the fridge.

Stepping into the house felt like waking up from a beautiful dream to the nightmare that was reality. His mother was seated on the floor, her back to the armchair, still dressed in her scrubs, clutching her head in her hands and tugging at her own hair. His father was sprawled on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.

“Mama?” Simon ventured.

His mother looked up. Her eyes were bloodshot, and tears were running down her face.

“Your father was arrested for a brawl in that bar in Rasmusgatan,” his mother sniffed. Rasmusgatan was located in the most unsafe, dangerous part of Bjarstad. It had a parallel culture and economy, and was famous for open drug selling and fights. Of course, his father was drawn there like a magnet to metal. 

“I got a call at the hospital and I just bailed him out and got him home. I have to get back to the hospital in thirty minutes.” she continued even as Simon stood stock still, taking in the absurd picture. He found himself disassociating for a moment, and he almost felt like this tableau was a painting and he was looking at it in a museum. Subject, object, voyeur.

None of this made any sense.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

“Do I look okay?” she croaked. “Your father has gotten mixed up with the worst scum on earth, and now he's not just drunk and high, but has criminal charges on his record. So no, Simon, I'm not fucking okay!” She was screaming by the end, and Simon flinched.

“I regret coming to this fucking country. I thought I'd leave everything I knew and loved and come here and make a life for myself and this-” she waved her arms around maniacally, gesturing around the cramped, messy living room and the disaster that was her life “-this is the better life I got.” She heaved herself up and Simon flinched, backing away towards the door, but his mother was focussed on the man nearly passed out on the couch. She gripped him by the collar and shook him.

“You fucking ruined me, you worthless piece of shit. You gambled away all your money and now I have to raise a fucking family for salary that might as well be peanuts. It's all your fucking fault.”

“Get the fuck out of my face, woman,” his father slurred, weakly slapping her hands away. “You talk too fucking much.”

His mother looked murderous for a moment, and then she straightened up, grabbed her handbag and made for the door. Simon quickly stepped aside to let her through.

She stopped when she reached him, however. She raised a hand, and he flinched.

“Mijo,” she said, her brown eyes, exactly like his, flooding with hurt. “I'm not going to hurt you, mi corazon,” she said softly. “I'm sorry you had to see this. I didn't mean any of it.”

She meant every word she said. And why wouldn’t she?

“I'm glad Sara is staying over at Hillerska today,” she sighed. “She doesn't have to see all this, the poor dear gets traumatised.”

And I'm not traumatised?

She cupped his cheeks. “You're a strong boy, Simme. Now avoid your father and go to bed, okay? I love you.”

“I love you too, mamma,” Simon mumbled. She softly patted his cheek and left.

He stood frozen on the threshold for a second, staring at the lump that was his father, wondering why the good moments in his life felt so dreamlike and fleeting. 

He moved on auto-pilot and settled into bed. He stared at the poster on his ceiling. It seemed to be mocking him so he turned on his side to face the wall. He thought of brown eyes and a crooked smile and hugged himself. Tears ran down the corners of his eyes, over the bridge of his nose, and wettened the pillow.

He imagined a kiss on the nape of his neck, and strong arms coming around his body and holding him tight. He imagined he was on a raft set adrift, just him and this person wrapped around him, with nothing but the sky above them. 

“Float away with me, Simon,” a familiar voice whispered in his ear. “Nothing can harm you here.”

Simon obeyed and relaxed into sleep. 

Maybe Simon clung to Wille more than he should, but could you blame him? Wille was like a ray of sunshine in his dark life, and Simon yearned to bask in him. He hovered around Wille more than necessary, afraid he was being annoying but unable to help himself.

His heart fluttered every time Wille walked him home, which was everyday at this point, wondering why he bothered when his home was in the opposite direction, away in the affuent parts of town with prim Scandinavian villas and trimmed hedges and clean roads. Yet, Wille walked him right up to his gate, and they would pause there to finish their conversations.

And the conversations, well. They never ran out.

(‘Did you know cats domesticated themselves?’ ‘No way, why would they do that?’ ‘Because they noticed that humans have food, and like, they figured out the economic principle of exchange of goods and services and basically moved in and started hunting pests down for humans and then the humans gave them food.’ ‘I always knew cats are smarter than they look.’ ‘I mean, the Egyptians did think they were gods.’)

(‘Today I read a novel called Moby Dick, and, like, imagine if we had hunted whales to extinction by now.’ ‘Did you read it in English?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Are you very good at English?’ ‘I mean, I've been told I'm very good at it.’ ‘Did you know blue whales are the largest mammals to have ever lived on Earth?’ ‘What, even larger than dinosaurs?’ ‘Yep, even dinosaurs.’)

(‘What do you do when you go to Stockholm?’ ‘Oh, just like, networking parties and suchlike.’ ‘What networking do you do?’ ‘I don't network, my mom does. I just hang around and try to look like a model Swedish young man.’ *snicker* ‘Hey, you don't think I'm the picture of a traditional, sporty, athletic, scholastic, serious young Swedish man?’ ‘Well…you're Swedish.’) 

Simon longed to ask for his phone number so that they could text, longed to ask him to hang out sometimes when he wasn't on shift. But the words died on his tongue - would Wille want to be seen with him in front of others? Look at all the ways they differed; the class difference was obvious. They had a specific time. Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays, in the restaurant and on the way home, under the cover of dark. Simon felt those pockets of time were sacred. 

But nothing good ever lasted for Simon, did it?

It was a relatively balmy Friday night in the middle of April, and Simon took small, slow steps, slower than a stroll, just to stretch out the minutes he would have Wille to himself longer. After all, he wouldn't see Wille for four days. Wille was finding it hard to keep up because of his long legs, and he kept having to wait while Simon took three small steps. He didn't seem to mind, excitedly chattering about the rowing tournament he would be participating in in Gothenburg.

“Your parents must be happy,” Simon said.

Wille coughed. “I mean, yeah, I guess.”

“Are they, like-?”

“Hmm?”

“Are they the sort of parents who want you to only study and not play any sports?”

“Oh, no, no. Rowing for Hillerska is a family tradition. I kinda had to do it.”

“Oh, then why the lukewarm reaction?”

Wille waved his arm around dismissively. “They're just very busy people. They have better things to do than to keep track of my schedule.”

Simon shrugged and nodded. It was true, parents didn't really have time to look into their children's life. He figured it was a blessing in some ways. He wondered how the homes were of children whose parents kept track of their lives and kept their certificates in a neat folder and their trophies lined up on the mantlepiece.

The shouting reached them from the end of the street. 

Simon froze, staring at his house, all the lights ablaze in all the windows. His father was at the door, shouting drunkenly. His mother stood at the threshold, hands on hips, shouting back, screaming in his face in Spanish (something she tended to do when she completely lost her temper). Curtains in other houses were parted, the neighbours looked out of the window to watch the drama unfold at the Eriksson's. Of course, none of them tried to put a stop to it.

“Simon, what-?” Wille began, looking bemused. 

Simon jerked back to life, horrified. Wille had seen his biggest, darkest secret. 

Everything was ruined.

He turned and put his hands on Wille's shoulder and gave him an almighty push. Wille stumbled back, looking startled and horrified. 

“Simon, wait,” he said, “let me come with you.”

“Go away,” Simon said, tears gathering in his eyes and his voice coming out strangled. “Go away right now. Don't ever come here again.”

Simon tried to charge away, but Wille, that stubborn bastard, caught him by the elbow.

“It's dangerous, Simon,” Wille said desperately. “That man looks dangerous and you shouldn't- we should leave-”

“That dangerous man is my own father, alright?” Simon shouted. “Get the fuck out and leave me alone!”

Simon wrenched his arm away from Wille's grasping fingers and ran full pelt to his house, putting himself between his mother and father right when his father was about to shove his mother with his meaty hand. He took it on his chest and felt his ribs rattle. 

Two hours later, the house was quiet and he held a bag of frozen peas to his cheek, nursing the bruise that had started forming on his face. Even after all the terror and screaming and the hits he had taken on his person, the only thing he could think of were Wille's wide eyes and his horrified face, the way he wanted to go with Simon, the way he wanted to take Simon away. 

Simon wanted to go with him, but this was his mess, his circus, his monkeys. There was no world in which he wouldn’t take the beatings that were aimed at his mother and sister. 

But one thing he knew for sure. Like most people who discovered his reality, Wille was now lost to him forever.

Wille

He watched Simon run back to his house, and put himself between his parents and take a heavy hand on his narrow chest, which knocked him and his mother into the house. The father followed, looking menacing and like death. He winced and took a half step forward, and then stopped.

He was going to make it worse for Simon if he got involved. He thumbed at the phone in his pocket, thinking of calling the police. But then he imagined police cars outside Simon's house, his father being led out in handcuffs, his family becoming social outcasts. He thought of Simon’s face, the tears glistening in his eyes, his face red with terror and embarrassment. 

He stood frozen on the pavement instead, wincing as the shouting reached its crescendo and something broke. Through the windows he watched Simon push his father back with all the strength in his small body.

For all he looked small, cuddly and delicate, Simon had the heart of a lion. He was no quivering deer waiting to be eaten. Instead, he had been forced to grow up far before adulthood. He was a protector and a provider, a dreamer and an optimist, despite his cynical exterior.

But who would protect him? Who would shelter his fragile dreams and his small hopes? Who would provide for him?

He stood there until the shouting had quietened down and the lights around the house started to switch off. Soon, only the living room light was on, and through the curtains he saw Simon's father watching TV. It was only then that he turned away to begin the long trek back home.

It was almost midnight when he made it back. He opened the door slowly, trying to not make any noise. He crept through the living room, grateful his parents went to bed early.

“Where were you?” his mother's voice said out of the darkness.

Wille jumped. His mother was sitting on the sofa, in complete darkness, like a ghost.

“I- um, I-” Wille stuttered, completely taken aback. 

“Where. Were. You.”

“I went for a walk.”

“At midnight?”

“Yeah, well, I meant to come back long ago,” Wille said, his heart in his throat. “But, um, I got caught up-”

“Caught up where?”

His mother was interrogating him like he was a criminal.

“I - there was a fight, um-”

“Why were you involved in a fight?”

“I- I wasn't!” Wille protested. “I witnessed it-”

“You are grounded for a week. I forbid you to leave the house after you come back to school, do you understand?” his mother said coldly. “You will not step a toe out once you're in, and the only things you will do is go to school and come back. You will also apply for the advanced political science, economics and sociology courses in school.”

A week? He wouldn't be able to see Simon for a whole week, especially when he needed to reassure him that Wille was there for him, and Simon could trust him-

“You can't stop me from going out,” Wille gritted out. “I'm nearly an adult, I have rights-”

“You have the rights I say you do while you live under my roof,” his mother said, getting up and brushing non-existent dust from her dressing gown. “Now go up to your room.”

Simon

Of course, who would want to keep Simon around after they had seen what his life actually was like? It wasn't a jump to imagine that Simon, too, must have inherited his father's undesirable qualities.

Wille didn't come on the weekend, as expected, even though a stubborn flame of hope burned in Simon's heart, hoping that Wille would come to him against all odds, and tell him that of course, they would be friends, and nothing would ever change between them.

Simon was hardly able to pay attention in class. His heart jumped a little whenever a mop of dark blond hair, a rounded nose or a particular excitable tone of voice came anywhere near him, hoping to find Wille. But of course, he was not there.

Wille haunted his waking hours like a ghost, and his dreams like the most tantalising sleep paralysis demon.

He got a lot of math problems wrong that week.

Wille didn't come on Wednesday or even Thursday. Ayub looked at him with sad eyes, even attempted to ask what happened. Simon felt his throat tighten up with tears that he refused to shed. 

“I guess he remembered who I am and who he is,” he shrugged as he wiped a clean table. “It was just a bit of an adventure for him, now he's bored.”

“Simme,” Ayub sighed. “I'm sure that's not true.”

“Just, please drop it, Ayub.”

Ayub, ever considerate, obediently dropped it.

Wille

Wille languished the entirety of the week, longing to go see Simon. Stephen didn't stop the car at the restaurant when they drove through the square after school, and there was no getting past his mother's watchful eye at night. He lay awake at night, thinking of Simon, wondering what he was doing and if he would be okay. He didn't even have his phone number. He cursed himself for not getting Simon's number.

Would Simon think Wille had abandoned him?

Then, on Friday night, his mother was summoned to Stockholm by her political party's leadership urgently. She wouldn't be there all weekend. His father was working late, as usual (he hadn't actually seen his father all month, come to think of it).

He watched from his room as his mother's car drove around the corner of the street and out of sight. He raced downstairs and nearly ran all the way to Mamma Mia. He was wearing the tank top and shorts he tended to wear at home, but the run heated him up enough to ignore the nip in the April air. 

Mamma Mia was packed for the dinner rush, even more so because the game was on. People were cheering at the TV as Sweden played ice hockey against Finland, their sworn nemesis. From the glass windows of the entrance, Wille could see Simon busily weaving through the tables, serving pizzas and drinks and ice creams. 

Wille entered, and Ayub spotted him. 

“Wille,” he said, waving him down. “Come here, there is a spot for you!”

Wille approached him, one eye on Simon. Simon stubbornly kept his eyes down, refusing to look at Wille.

“It's okay, Ayub,” Wille said. “I'll wait for a spot to open up in Simon's section.”

“Um,” Ayub said shiftily. “I think Simon has got too much on his hands right now. He won't be able to chat.”

“That's okay, I just want to see him.”

Ayub looked deeply concerned, but then sighed and relented. 

“Look, a spot opened up. Go ahead and take it,” he said, walking back to his own section. 

Wille realised something was deeply wrong, but obeyed. He sat down, and Simon was immediately at his little two-top table, armed with a notepad and pen, looking genuinely annoyed.

“What do you want?” Simon asked blankly. It sounded like a ‘fuck off’.

“Um, I, Simon…I just wanted to-”

“Can you please tell me what you want to order?”

Wille gulped. Simon was angry. Perhaps Wille deserved it.

“A- a slice of pepperoni with a can of Pepsi please.”

Simon scribbled it down and spun on his heel, walking away without a word. Wille gulped, his stomach twisting into knots, his heart jumping into his throat. Had he lost Simon forever? 

Barely five minutes later, his plate of pizza clattered on to the table and Simon slammed the can of Pepsi next to it, the force almost popping the tab open. He didn't linger to say anything, taking off to serve another table immediately.

Simon never came to him again, studiously avoiding him. Of course, the dinner rush and the rowdy sports fans kept him pretty busy, but earlier Simon used to find the time to chat with Wille and Felice or whichever other group of acquaintances he brought to the pizzeria every Friday. It was clear he was avoiding Wille.

Wille tried to eat his food and drink his soda as slowly as possible, but all too soon his plate was empty.

Simon teleported to his table as soon as he had sucked down the last drop of his drink. “Do you want anything else?” he asked mechanically.

“Um, no, I-”

“If you're not going to order anything, you need to leave,” Simon continued, as if Wille hadn't even said anything. 

“B-but I get to stay on other-”

“Look, there are people outside, alright,” Simon snapped, finally showing some emotions. “You gotta vacate this table so that others can sit. Can you show some consideration or is that another thing you do only when it's convenient or you feel like it?”

Simon was glaring at him by the end of his tirade. Wille just stared at him with wide eyes, his mouth slightly open. 

“Please, just leave, Wilhelm,” Simon sighed. 

As if a puppet on strings, Wille got up, walked to the cash counter to pay, and then left the restaurant. The entire walk home, he replayed Simon's carefully blank face and carefully automatic voice, like a robot. It was as if the funny, cute, knowledgeable, sarcastic and giggly parts of him, all the aspects that made Simon  Simon, had been shoved into a casket deep inside his mind, never to be bought out again.

Wille's heart felt like an elephant was sitting on it, and the walk home fell like an uphill trek through chest high mud.

He went back on Saturday and Sunday. Simon completely ignored him on Saturday except to take his order and serve his food, and then hustle him out as soon as he was done. On Sunday, he was made to sit in Ayub's section despite his protests.

Wille had to change tack. Probably in the most graceless, creepiest way possible.

His mother had gone back to not caring what Wille did and where he went after she came back from Stockholm, too caught up in new roles and responsibilities. Wille could leave the house smoothly again, and he timed it so that he would reach Mamma Mia about ten minutes before closing time. 

Once there, he hung around beside the restaurant, hidden away among the shadows of the storefront next to the pizzeria. He wondered how long he would go to jail for if Simon decided to report him for stalking. 

Soon, Ayub and Simon stepped out. Simon wasn't chattering away in Ayub's ear the way he normally did when they used to close up for the night. Ayub quietly locked up the door, hugged Simon for a few long seconds, and then bid him goodbye and walked away. Simon stood there, watching Ayub's back, and then sighed and turned around to head home. 

Wille emerged from the shadows just as Simon was about to cross him, and Simon startled and jumped back. He opened his mouth to scream and Wille leapt forward, wrapping him up with one arm and clamping a hand over his open mouth.

“Shh, Simon,” Wille hissed, “it's just me!”

Simon glared at him with those beautiful, bambi eyes of his, and for a second Wille lost his breath, his heart pounding in his chest at having Simon so close again. 

The next moment, Simon shoved him away with an almighty push. Wille stumbled back and caught himself.

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” Simon yelled. 

“I'm here to talk,” Wille said, grounding his feet down and crossing his arms. “You've been avoiding me and I want to know why.”

“I don't have any obligation to talk to you,” Simon sneered. “Get out of my way and let me go home.” He started to walk.

“Not until we've sorted this out,” Wille said, stepping into Simon's path to block him. “I can do this all night, don't test me, Simon.”

Simon dropped his head back and groaned. “Ugh, can't you just leave me alone? You had a good time slumming it out with us peasants, now why don't you just run along to your mommy and attend your prissy galas-”

“You're being exceptionally rude, you know,” Wille said coldly, starting to get angry. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Simon shrugged, the careless gesture stoking Wille's anger. “You're the one stalking me and yelling at me, man,” he said listlessly. “Like, I really don't give a fuck, actually. Get out of my way.”

Wille took a step closer, starting to feel manic. Simon took an automatic step back. Fear flickered in his eyes. Wille recognised that all-too-familiar fear in an instant, and felt all his anger rush out of his body.

Simon was scared and hurting. Wille was here to reassure him, not scare him. The way he loomed over Simon didn't help.

So Wille sighed and relaxed, taking a step back and giving Simon space.

“I'm really sorry for everything, Simon,” he said softly. “It's just that- that, you're really important to me, and I don't want our friendship to end this way. I wanted to come here and explain. Please, if we were ever friends, can you hear me out just this once?”

Simon was visibly thawing, dithering on the spot. The battle of staying put versus running away played out clearly on his face, and then he relaxed and nodded.

“Why were you gone for a week?” he asked in a soft voice that just about melted Wille into a puddle. 

“I was caught by my mother that day when I dropped you home, because I got home at around midnight. She grounded me for a week and forbade me to go anywhere except school. You have to believe me, Simon, I had no desire to stay away. I came to see you the moment she was not looking. I- I really wanted to see you, Simon. I, um….I missed you. So much. And I worried about you.”

Simon's eyes glistened with moisture after Wille was done with his earnest explanation. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I thought you hated me,” he said in a trembling voice. 

“Simon,” Wille said, pained. “Why would I hate you?”

Simon shrugged again, not quite as carelessly as last time, staring at his scuffed, beaten-up sneakers. “Most people do when they find out the truth about my family. Only Ayub and Rosh have stuck it out with me; others just look at me like I'm trash after they see my father being the way he is. Th-they don't want to be friends with bottom feeder scum like me, you know?”

The way Simon said ‘bottom feeder scum’ felt like he was parroting someone else's words. Words that had pierced into his sensitive heart like a dagger, lodging itself deep and creating a festering wound.

“Simon,” Wille said, infinitely gentle. “How is any of this your fault?”

Simon looked up at that. Tears had started to spill out of his large eyes. “Is it not?” he asked softly. “My parents are a mess. Some of it has to be my fault.”

Wille stepped closer. This time, Simon didn't shrink away.

“They are adults. They are the ones who brought children into this world, and they are the ones who are supposed to keep it together and face the world and make a good life for their children. They are the ones who failed in their duties, Simon, not you.”

Simon sniffed, his face getting twisted up as he tried to control his emotions. 

“B-but…I'm supposed to-”

“You're supposed to be just a kid, Simon,” Wille said. “You're just a kid and the adults in your life failed you. You're not at fault…and you're still as lovely as ever. I will never stop being your friend, especially not for something like this.”

Simon squeezed his eyes closed. Involuntarily, Wille bought a hand up and cupped his small, soft cheek, the skin heated against his palm. He rubbed away a tear with his thumb. Simon nuzzled into his palm, looking achingly like a feral kitten who was experiencing a gentle touch for the first time. 

“Can I hug you?” Wille asked in a hoarse voice.

Simon half opened his eyes, looking like he was tipsy, and nodded against his palm. Wille stepped closer, cupping the back of his neck with one hand, the other going around his back, pulling him into his body. He felt Simon snuggle into his chest, one arm winding under and around Wille's upper arm, the other settling on his chest, right above his heart.

In the dead of the night, surrounded by nothing but silence and golden streetlights and the wind, they held onto each other like they were drowning in a dark sea. Wille pulled Simon in tighter - he was so soft, warm and small in his arms, made to fit into his chest as perfectly as a puzzle piece. Wille snuggled his nose into Simon's soft curls and breathed him in deeply. He felt Simon shake a little in his arms, small sobbing sounds escaping him. Wille held him until Simon had cried himself out.

All too soon, Simon gently pushed out of Wille's embrace, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and trying to smile. Wille, too, blinked away the pesky moisture that had gathered in his eyes. 

“Are we okay, Simon?” he asked.

“Okay as long as you resume your scheduled programming,” Simon giggled.

Wille burst into surprised laughter. Simon wanted him to become a permanent fixture in the restaurant, and indeed his life, once again. He was grateful.

After their giggles died down, Simon shyly kicked at the pavement. 

“Um, Wille,” he said nervously. “How about I walk you home today?”

Wille's heart sang at the suggestion. However-

“It's kinda far, Simon,” he said. “I don't want you to-”

“I don't mind,” Simon said quickly, far too earnestly. “You do it all the time, the least I can do is do it once for you.”

“But it may not be safe-”

“Wille, I'll be fine,” Simon said. “Please, can I?” He looked up at Wille through his eyelashes.

This was dangerous, very dangerous. How was Wille supposed to deny this sweet Bambi anything ever?

“S-sure,” Wille stuttered. 

Simon giggled and gestured. “Lead the way, sir.”

Wille smiled uncontrollably and set off. Simon fell into step next to him.

A comfortable, warm silence bloomed between them, their footsteps and the soft chirp of grasshoppers the only sounds punctuating the silence.

“I-I have, um, had, and elder brother,” Wille said, apropos of nothing, suddenly burning with the need to tell Simon something, to show Simon he trusted him by showing his soft belly, carefully guarded from the rest of the world. Simon turned to look at him with wide eyes.

Wille gulped, his throat closing up, but he kept talking. “His name was Erik. He was the best, you know. Kind, responsible, funny, somehow always had time for me. Of course, we fought a lot, and once I broke his precious model Ferrari. He beat me up that day.” Wille snorted a laugh, fond at the memory.

“He seems so wonderful,” Simon said softly.

“Yeah, he was. He was the glue that held the family together. He knew what to say to spark conversation at the dining table. He used to make my father and mother laugh together. He used to shield me from my mother. In fact, my mother didn’t bother with me much when he was around. He was the planned, desired child. I was an accident.”

“Don't talk about yourself like that, Wille,” Simon said, his voice pained. 

“It's true,” Wille shrugged. “My mom said that to me, to my face.”

Simon grasped Wille's elbow and squeezed, his eyes wide and sad.

“So, um,” Wille cleared his throat, “last year, Erik was back from university for Christmas break and he and I went on a joyride in his new car. He was driving too fast, and I-I was kind of egging him on. He lost control and-”

“Oh, Wille,” Simon said, stopping and pulling Wille into his arms, holding him tight. “I'm so sorry.”

Wille held on to him, resting his forehead on Simon's shoulder. “He ran the car into the tree and he- I, um, I was injured. Bleeding from my head and I was in a coma for a month. Erik was declared dead on arrival.”

Simon gently stroked his back. “I'm so sorry, Wille,” he said softly. “I can't imagine what you went through.”

“I hope you never have to go through it,” Wille said. “It's the worst feeling in the world.”

With supreme reluctance, Wille withdrew from Simon’s embrace. He needed to get home quickly so that Simon could get home sooner. They resumed walking.

“Everything fell apart after Erik was gone,” Wille said. “The light went out of my mother’s eyes. My dad…I don't even know him anymore. I think, on some level, mom blames me for living. I think if she had the choice, she'd swap us out.”

When he looked at Simon, he looked stricken and distressed. “No, Wille,” he whispered. “She can't. She's grateful you're alive.”

Wille shrugged. “Then she's not great at showing it. Honestly, I feel like a stranger in my own home, barely tolerated.”

Simon was silent, staring at his shoes, at a loss for words.

“I feel like that too,” he said quietly. “I feel like there's no place for me in this world.”

Wille sighed. “Like you're homeless, with a roof over your head?”

Simon nodded. “In a way. I have a house, but not a home.”

Wille nodded, intimately familiar with that feeling.

“I know it will get better, though,” Simon said after a while of silent walking. “Like, we're just seventeen. We have a whole life ahead of us. Soon, we'll be able to control our own lives. We can make a home where we feel like we belong.”

Wille nodded slowly. “I like the sound of that.”

“It's not going to be like this forever,” Simon said determinedly. Wille was so endeared with his stubborn little face.

They chatted about other things for a while, until they finally reached the gates of Wille's house. The gates were high enough to block the house out of sight.

“Whoa,” Simon said, looking a bit stunned. “You actually live in a palace.”

‘It's a mansion,” Wille said, wincing immediately. He sounded like an ass.

Simon laughed out loud. “Well, they're all the same to me. Also, the Nyberg family kinda owns Bjarstad. So that would make you the prince of Bjarstad.”

Wille protested, which only made Simon laugh more. He looked so lovely in the golden streetlight. Wille wanted to stay here forever, watching Simon laugh. But it was nearing midnight, and Simon needed to get home.

“Can I walk you home?” Wille blurted out.

Simon spluttered. “What's the point of me walking you home if you walk me home right after? We'll be bouncing around like ping-pong balls all night.”

Wille imagined them as ping-pong balls and burst into laughter. Simon snickered along with him.

“But, Wille, you live so far,” Simon said once they had stopped. “How do you come by everyday?”

Wille shrugged. “To see Ayub, of course.”

Simon slapped his arm. “Try again.”

“Oh my god, to see you obviously!” Wille exclaimed in mock outrage. Simon looked pleased. 

“Ok, then you'll come tomorrow?”

“I'll be there at nine ‘o’ clock,” Wille promised seriously. “And I'll walk you home, thank you very much. I’m getting a slight panic attack thinking of you walk all the way back home.”

“You do that all the time though!”

“It’s different,” Wille insisted.

Simon dropped it. He twisted the strings of his purple hoodie in his fingers - Wille was mesmerised by the motion.

“Okay,” Simon took a deep breath and looked down. “Areyoubringingyourgirlfriendonfriday?”

“What, sorry?”

Simon mumbled something again.

“I really can't tell what you’re saying.”

Simon huffed and looked up at him. “I'm asking if you are bringing your girlfriend on Friday.”

The question was so out of left field that Wille let out a bark of laughter. He hastily stopped when Simon immediately looked offended. 

“What girlfriend?” Wille said. 

Simon looked cautious. “Um…Felice? Aren't you two, like, dating?”

Wille scrambled to answer. “She and I are best friends and I love her with all my heart, but there's no world in which we’re dating!”

Simon's eyes were narrow and Wille's heart skipped a beat. Was he jealous?

“I promise you,” Wille said, reaching out to twine his pinkie with Simon's lax hand. “I'm single and there's no one I want to date.” 

Simon visibly relaxed, and then tried to look non-chalant. “Okay,” he said, trying to sound careless. “Whatever. I'll see you tomorrow, Wille.” He gave him a small wave and a smile, and then turned around, homebound.

Wille stared at his retreating back for a couple of seconds, and then lurched forward and caught Simon by the elbow.

Simon looked back at him curiously.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Wille said, slightly out of breath. “Can I have your number?”

Simon blinked at him with those large, large eyes. So innocent, so kind.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding, shy again. “Um, your phone?”

Wille mutely pulled his phone out of his pocket, unlocked it and handed it to Simon. Simon carefully entered his phone number, saved it, and then sent himself a message.

“Text me when you get home,” Wille said when Simon gave the phone back. Simon nodded and smiled softly, and then started walking away. Wille stood there, rooted to the ground, watching until Simon turned the corner and was gone.

Forty five minutes, Wille was snuggled in bed and wide awake, waiting. His phone pinged.

Simon

Got home safe!

See you tomorrow, Wille

Goodnight

Wille

See you

Sleep well

Wille turned on his back to stare at his ceiling.

Fuck, he liked Simon, didn't he?

Simon

Simon smiled at the ‘sleep well’ on his phone and turned onto his side, clutching his phone to his chest and nuzzling into his blanket.

He felt rather calm when the realization swept over him.

Of course he liked Wille.