Chapter Text
"Never regret thy fall, O Icarus of the fearless flight, For the greatest tragedy of them all, Is never to feel the burning light.”
- Oscar Wilde
Thur, 04.42 am
’Hey, you’ve reached Wille. If you have this number you probably know what to do.’
Beep.
’Wille! I don’t know how you managed to get away this quickly, I tried to catch up to you but you were already gone. I can’t really come find you, can I, so please call me back when you get this? It’s really important.’
***
Thur, 06.21 am
i’m guessing you’ve gone to sleep by now but please text me tomorrow. or call. anything. we need to talk.
***
It’s not that Wille expects to wake up to a world where last night had gone completely different, one where he’d managed to say the right things, convince Simon of the genuineness of his feelings. A world where the body occupying the bed next to him wouldn’t have long flowing hair fanning out across the pillow, but rather short and curly, messy stray curls to be carefully tucked away behind ears by his own fingers. A world where it had all been a misunderstanding and where Simon of course still wanted to be with him, even after everything.
Wille doesn’t expect that. Except there’s a tiny part of him that definitely does and is immensely disappointed when he finds himself tiredly squinting at sun rays filtering through the window, wishing to be somewhere completely different. Maybe someone completely different.
He presses the side button on his phone to check the time but finds it dark and out of battery. It’s probably better that way. He doesn’t have the energy to try and find a charger, just lets it slide out of his hand back onto the mattress.
There’s an empty tub of ice cream and wine bottle still resting on the crumpled sheets between them, an uncomfortable reminder of the horror show that had been last night. Where hope and forced bravery had been traded for disappointment and wet stains decorating Felice’s pillows once she’d fallen asleep and he’d been left alone with his thoughts once again. It makes for a sad picture, one that should be reserved for rom-coms with guaranteed happy-endings and not for real life princes fucking up their lives and reputations.
Wille would gladly fuck up both life and reputation if Simon had just wanted him back. A scary thought but a true one nonetheless. Oh if only his life had been a rom-com with the happy ending lurking just around the corner.
Felice is still out like a light, not quite as accustomed to late night/early morning awakedness as he is. She’s snoring softly and clutching a pillow tightly in her arms as he carefully wiggles out from under the shared blanket. The floorboards are cold against his bare feet as he pads across the room in search of the coat he finds carelessly thrown over a chair in the corner. He presses a chaste kiss to Felice’s hair, whispers a ’thank you’ before he tiptoes out the room, meets a bleary-eyed looking Malin blinking at him over a styrofoam cup of coffee in the hallway. She nods at him.
”You know, you didn’t have to stay,” he says, even though he knows that it’s like speaking to deaf ears.
”My job is to be where the Crown Prince is,” she replies, like always, like he’s dumb for even insinuating anything else and Wille sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose.
”Sometimes I’d like to not be where the Crown Prince is,” he says tiredly. If he was he probably could have had Simon right now, would probably have an actual job, one he’d know stuff about. Like the smiling men in the garden outside his window. Maybe he’d have a pet.
Something flickers behind Malin’s stony expression but she doesn’t say anything, simply lets him lead the way out to the car parked on the street outside Felice’s apartment and opens the door for him.
He contemplates charging his phone in the car but decides against it, can’t bring himself to muster up the courage to look at it, isn’t sure if he’d prefer there to be angry messages from Simon after last night or just the overwhelming void of nothingness, much like whatever used to exist between them has turned into. He wonders if Simon one day will be able to look back with fondness on what they used to have or if he’ll be reduced to a bad memory forever. The thought hurts no matter the outcome.
As he stumbles up the stairs towards his room, wanting nothing but to pull the covers over his head and escape from existence for all of the foreseeable future, he’s met with Alva. Because of course life won’t give him a fucking break. He’s a prince, that’s not in the cards for him. She’s impeccably dressed as always, not a hair out of place, sitting cross-legged on a chair in the corner. She looks up as he enters, expression shifting from one of mild annoyance to concerned in a heartbeat as she looks him over.
”I would ask you where you’ve been and perhaps even sternly reprimand you for missing our morning briefing, but from the look on you face I’m guessing you’ve got enough going on already,” she says and smiles sympathetically. Wille can feel himself melting under the warmness of her gaze, sympathy once again awakening all the feelings he’d carefully stowed away after last night, the water levels strictly maintained by the highest of barricades. But Alva’s blue eyes are gentle on him and he’s worn thin from overrun emotions and the ever-present sleeplessness. The barricades are leaking at the seams. He blinks against it.
She pretends not to notice, averts her gaze to the tablet on her lap. ”I’ve got your schedule for today,” she says. ”We can still make it on time if we hurry.” He’s grateful for the distraction, wipes the corners of his eyes with his coat sleeve as unnoticeable as possible, hums noncommittally.
There are two garment bags draped neatly over a chair and a stack of boxes next to the coffee table. Probably related to the plans they’re still gonna make it on time to. Wille doesn’t have the energy to ask what pointless circus event he’s supposed to be warded off to today, doesn’t really care. Instead he slumps down on the couch, bonelessly melting into the fine fabric. There’s something sharp poking at his back. Couches for royals are apparently not made for lying across, but rather designed to reprimand anyone daring to try other seatings than the graceful sit with the impeccably straight back. His mind dares to suggest in a whisper how Simon probably has a really nice couch, a soft and worn one perfect for napping and cuddling and-… There’s a leak in the barricade again. His sleeve is already wet when he presses it to his eyes.
”Wille?” As he looks up Alva’s now kneeling next to the couch, hand once again awkwardly hovering in the air between them. Close but out of reach, like there’s a magnetic force field between him and the world, preventing anyone from ever making their way through, from getting any closer to him than merely admiring the surface. There are cracks in it right now, water leaking from the poorly constructed barriers and yet the force field is preventing anyone from pulling him away from the impending flood.
”Wille, do you need me to get you out of today?” She asks concernedly and he can’t meet her gaze, can’t uphold the last of his barriers in the presence of her kindness. He blinks away a couple more tears, shakes his head no. Skipping his duties would mean having to explain himself to his mother and he’s most likely already in enough trouble as it is for his little solo adventure last night. It wouldn’t help in the long run.
”Just let me know if you change your mind, okay?”
He nods dutifully even though he knows he won’t.
She clears her throat a little. ”And- just- if you want to talk about it, just know you can. I’m here for you. And I care.” She sounds so genuine, so concerned that he can’t help himself but look up from the armrest of the couch and meet her eyes. He can feel a lone tear escaping, trickling down his cheek, drip down onto the fine fabric.
The hovering hand seems to have made a decision at last, a daring attempt to breach through the force field and it comes to rest gently on his forearm. Wille blinks against the tears pressing behind his eyelids. Apparently the breaching of the force field catalyzes an ever bigger impact on the dams and now he can’t hold it back anymore, can feel a muffled sob escape his lips. It should be embarrassing, should be inappropriate since he’s supposed to be her boss and her future monarch or at the very least someone with less openly portrayed emotions.
Except he’s not and now he’s crying again and somehow her arms make their way around him and he’s hugged tightly tightly in a way that would almost be nice if it wasn’t for the circumstances.
”Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay,” is whispered into his hair and he shakes his head fervently because he’s so very clearly not. He’s just someone destined for disappointment, for always, always falling short on everything he wants, of never quite meeting anyone’s expectations, not even his own.
”I just keep fucking everything up,” he mumbles. ”It’s like everything I touch just seems to break. And it’s like no matter what I do I can’t seem to do anything right.”
She tightens her hold around him, runs a soft hand down his back. ”Oh Wille,” she whispers. ”I know it may seem like it right now, but I don’t agree. I think you’ve done plenty right.”
”Tell that to my mother,” he mutters bitterly into the soft fabric of her blouse.
”Yeah maybe I should,” she says thoughtfully, shoots him a conspiratorial look as they at last pull apart and it’s enough to almost coax a smile out of him.
There are no more words needed and no further hugs warranted between a boy/prince/mess and his assistant/possibly-almost-friend, but there is however a photoshoot that they’re apparently increasingly late to. Despite the heaviness in his heart Wille feels lighter, can even muster up a smile as he lets Alva shoo him off to the shower to ’wash the sad smell off’ and then immediately starts fussing over his outfit and his hair once he emerges from it.
It’s okay. He’s okay.
Then there’s a photographer who tells him to think about happy things, how they want to convey a future king proud of his country, hopeful about the future and all Wille can think about is Simon’s dumb monkey jokes and how he always used to send Wille pictures of cute animals whenever he’d have a bad day. ’I said happy things, not sad ones’ the guy complains when Wille fails to deliver the right kind of vibe. Like it’s not a possibility for things to be both. ’Just smile, please,’ he begs. Wille tries to turn the corners of his mouth upwards.
The shoot seems to take forever. Wille only listens half-heartedly as he’s directed to look in different directions, change poses, outfits. Instead he’s preoccupied with thoughts on what song he’d pick if Simon for some reason would have reached out today, if he’d given Wille another chance to explain himself, maybe even asked him his song like before.
’I’m ’Golden’ by Harry Styles today’ he’d text back, he thinks. Try to again explain how it was never a game for him, never a matter of not trusting Simon but rather a fear of once again being alone when it eventually would dawn on Simon how hopelessly fucked up he was, a fear of shadowing Simon’s sunny warmth with his own darkness.
I know you were way too bright for me
I'm hopeless, broken
I don’t wanna be alone
You’re so golden
***
”Wilhelm, what is up with you today?” There’s a hint of concern on his mother’s face as she inspects him before their afternoon meeting. He’s tired from the day, from the never-ending photo shoot, from the plastered on smile just barely covering up the cracks in his facade. Apparently he’s not doing it well enough. She brushes some lint of his shoulder, smooths out the fabric of his jacket. It’s the closest they usually get to physical affection and Wille can feel himself subconsciously leaning into her touch.
He thinks about how Simon had angrily stated how Wille would never be allowed to date someone like him, wonders why he would think that and if there’s any truth to it. He doesn’t ask his mother though, is afraid of what her answer might entail. He supposes it would probably be something along the lines of his partner having to be of noble descent regardless of gender and in that case what does it even matter that he’d gone through the whole media circus of being the world’s first out and proud Crown Prince, if he still can’t be with the person he loves?
Not that it matters anymore since Simon so very clearly did not want anything more to do with him. But still. The word love doesn’t even feel that strange anymore as he thinks it, doesn’t fill his chest with panic or the pit of his stomach with dread. Love. It’s a whisper ghosting across his skin, an almost nostalgic longing for something had and lost. Even if he’d never had it, even if the nostalgia is more about a missed opportunity than anything else. A love promised but unclaimed, unloved.
”Wilhelm?” She asks again, looks at him expectantly, still at arms length’s distance.
”I- uh-” he stutters, shrinks under her gaze. ”Just an unfortunate romance, mum,” he mumbles, tries to not seem too affected, remain on the right side of the line for appropriately expressed feelings for royals. (There really should be a handbook for that.) He remembers how she’d told him about being part of one of those herself once, years ago. ’Before I met dad’, she’d said with a wistful look in her eyes. So maybe she’ll get it, maybe she’ll understand and at the very least go a little easier on him for the rest of the day. The suit is stiff and uncomfortable and the tiredness makes his head feel like he’s stuck under water, just barely keeping up with the real world.
He doesn’t expect the way her arm suddenly curls around his shoulders, the unexpected soft look in her eyes as she leans in for a stiff embrace, their bodies not quite accustomed to this kind of proximity. But trying nonetheless. He can feel himself melt into it, once again revert to that little boy who just wanted a hug from his mother, only he couldn’t because his mother was the Queen and that kind of softness a luxury only reserved for others.
”I’m sorry to hear that, Wilhelm,” She offers. Nothing more than that, no comment on its appropriateness or how he’s expected to behave to honor his role. For once she’s almost like the mother he’d always wished for, the one he never had.
Then there’s someone clearing their throat and she’s swiftly beyond arm’s reach again, nodding curtly at him before leading the way down the hall, heels clicking rhythmically against polished marble. Wille trails behind, wondering perplexedly what had just happened, if he’d possibly reached the point of sleep-deprivation where his mind starts making things up. Alva nudges his elbow, offers him a small smile and a questioning raise of eyebrows as she falls into step with him. He shrugs at her, doesn’t understand it either. But he’s not in a place to scrutinize things for once working out in his favor, especially not ones concerning his mother.
They exit the meeting three long hours later and he grudgingly trails back to his room. Alva’s dismissed for the day and he’s once again left alone with an overwhelming myriad of thoughts and feelings and bone-aching tiredness. In a moment of weakness he turns his phone back on with the only intent to send a quick text to Felice to thank her again for last night and propose another sleepover in the weekend. Instead he’s met with Simon’s name on the screen, the little heart he’d added next to it when they’d finally moved from Instagram dm:s to actually exchanging numbers only a few weeks ago. The heart tugs at his own and he can’t help the way he impatiently unlocks the phone to see the messages, trembling finger swiping across the screen. Like he can’t wait to once again get burned, allow himself a sliver of hope only to have it violently torn out of his chest.
What if what if what if-
***
Simon ❤️: missed call
Simon ❤️: 5 new messages
Thur, 2.45 pm
look wille, i don’t know if you’re not getting these or if your phone is off or if you just never want to see me again. just know i’m sorry for letting you leave like that last night. it took me a second to wrap my head around what you said and by then it was too late to catch up to you.
you were gone so soon i didn’t get the chance to say everything i wanted. i think maybe we misunderstood each other. like big time. please call me back?
Thur 4.25 pm
and i shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that, i’m sorry
text me back when you see this, please
Thur, 6.13 pm
please listen tonight?
***
Wille doesn’t know what to make of this, is familiar with his own bad habit of immediately jumping to (usually the wrong) conclusions, of always being his own biggest critic, of always thinking and overthinking every little thing. Is there a chance that maybe, just maybe, he’d been getting it all wrong? That Simon does still want him, that whatever happened between them can be resolved and that those feelings, that something they’d been building can still be achieved?
The possibility seems slim, especially given last night, but he did find himself lost in an emotional whirlwind of overwhelming dejectedness, one where hastily making his escape had seemed like the only option. He did leave before finishing their conversation since he’d assumed there was nothing more to say, since his heart couldn’t have taken Simon taking his ’i love you’ and tossing it aside, deeming his words insufficient to make up for his previous actions.
But now Simon is pleading for him to get in touch, apologizing even. Wille doesn’t know what to think, what to do.
Maybe he’d made a mistake. Maybe he’d once again let his thoughts run wild, alienating him from reality. Maybe there’s still hope.
And hope is again a flower sprouting in the winter of his heart.
***
Thur, 8.01 pm
felice
i think maybe possibly i’m a dumbass
Well what else is new.
Yes
you don’t even know what i’m referring to?
Well actually… He kind of reached out to me today since someone wasn’t picking up his phone…
wait what?? are you talking about simon?
Yeah
He’s a really good guy Wille. And he seems to really like you. Can you try to be less of a drama prince this time and actually give this a chance to work?
well i obviously know that already, he’s the best one there ever was. and i thought he did but then everything happened you know and i screwed it all up
You just freaked out a little, it’s fine. Still fixable. Just talk to him again, I’m sure he’ll understand.
but what did you tell him?? and what did he say??
Nothing he didn’t already know.
You should listen to the show tonight, let him tell you himself.
okay yeah, i will
I expect updates!
***
Midnight can’t come quick enough.
’Hi everyone, this is Simon on The Vibe FM and you’re listening to ’Late Night Vibes with Simon’, a show where we talk about anything and everything and only ever play good music. Today’s show will be a little bit different though. We’re going to talk about love, about finding that person out there that just gets you and the great kind of lengths we’ll go in order to be with them. Even if there are misunderstandings, even if both parties say or do things that are hurtful. Maybe one of them gets scared and bails. Maybe the other gets hurt and jumps to the wrong conclusions. Sometimes you just have to take that leap, trust your own worth, trust that the other person will accept you for who you are and hope for them to do the same. Hopefully it will be worth it. Speaking hypothetically of course.
I’m not usually the guy who goes on and on about love on air. I’ve never been him and I probably won’t stay him, but just for tonight our theme will be love through obstacles. Call in to tell me your stories of how you and your special other person beat the odds. Maybe the stories of your bravery will be enough to tip the odds in my favor too. So call in or send us a text. As always song requests are more than welcome, maybe you’d even like to dedicate it to your special someone. We’re gonna start with a song of my choice though. Here’s ’Come Give Me Love’ by First Aid Kit. I hope the person I’m dedicating it to hears this, you know who you are.’
The song fills the room, his eardrums, his fluttering heart and Wille can’t believe what’s happening. It’s the song, the same one Simon had dedicated to him all those weeks ago when Wille had drunkenly called him on air to profess his feelings. The song that was Simon’s response to Wille’s first anxiety-induced attempt at putting distance between them. The song that sparked Wille’s first apology, the one that was kindly met with a ’Wille, i really like you too’ the next morning, just another example of Simon’s never-ending patience with little princes and their overwhelming emotionally driven poor decision-making.
The sunshine from Simon’s words, from his song choice, from the tentative hope in his voice as he’d confessed to wanting a love to defeat the odds, is defrosting the rest of the winter Wille has spread through his own heart, warming him to his very core. The lone flower of hope in his heart suddenly multiplying, thin stems sprouting colorful petals.
He doesn’t know what to do with the overwhelming sensation of love, adoration, tentative hopefulness that’s washing over him, a force large enough to move mountains, to knock him dead of his feet.
Except he can’t be knocked over, doesn’t have time for lying down, rest for even a second in the incredulous realization that there’s still hope, that he gets another opportunity to make things right. Because somewhere out there in this city is Simon, beautiful wonderful Simon who Wille has to apologize to probably a thousand times more. Simon who he was never supposed to hurt and yet he did and now he’s on the radio still offering up his entire heart to Wille on a silver platter, almost daring him to stab a knife through it again, trusting him not to.
Wille won’t. Will spend the rest of his life protecting Simon’s heart, cradling it gently in his hands and shielding it from the world, keeping it safe from harm. If he gets to that is. If Simon will have him.
Simon who is everything Wille wants and everything he needs and maybe this time he should stop listening to the part of his brain that has deemed itself the ’logical one’, maybe this time he’ll let his heart lead and leave the anxiety-ridden, insomniac remnants of a brain behind in the gutter. His heart is filled to the brim with flowers, telling him to go, to claim, to love. Now it says with every beat. Hurry.
His steps are hasted as he paces around the room, trying to find his coat, his keys, his last remaining shred of sanity. Simon takes another call on the show. Niklas from Uppsala apparently met the love of his life on the other side of the Atlantic. They made it work in the end. Simon thanks him, plays ’The way to your heart’ by Soulsister.
Wille needs to go. Needs to close this impossibly big distance between them, for once let actions speak louder than words. He thinks maybe words are overplayed at this point, has done them more wrong than right.
The coat is found at last, tossed in a sad pile in the corner next to the window. His hands are shaking as he tries to slip it on. Simon’s next song is ’I Just Called To Say I Love You’ by Stevie Wonder. Wille really needs to go.
He tries the secret closet door again, hoping for a repeat of yesterday’s smooth getaway, but is immediately stopped by Malin standing on the other side looking unimpressed. No escape to Narnia today it seems.
”Look- um- Malin I just wanted to- needed to,” he stutters, looks at her pleadingly.
Her steady gaze doesn’t falter but the ghost of a smile tugs at her lips. ”The Crown Prince has urgent media matters to tend to, is that not so? I’m here to take you.”
Wille could kiss her. Not that he would, he’s pretty sure that neither of them would enjoy that, but he could just out of sheer gratitude.
”Thank you Malin,” he says sincerely, feels warm inside when she offers him the tiniest of smiles in return.
”Follow me.”
He does and soon enough they’re in the car, speeding out the gate for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. For once Wille is grateful for the royal immunity, grateful for the fact that they won’t get stopped, won’t get written up for speeding, because every fleeting second seems like an eternity, every meter of asphalt under the black car’s tires feeling like an entire mile. He’s squirming in his seat, leg bouncing anxiously. Why aren’t they moving faster?
”Would the Crown Prince like the radio to be on while we drive?”
Malin’s voice cuts through the chaotic mess that is his thoughts and oh, of course. Simon is still on the air, he’d almost forgotten in his haste to once again escape the castle. He meets her eyes in the rearview mirror and nods. As she reaches out to turn on the radio, perfectly manicured fingernails on the glow of the touch screen, Wille can’t help the surprised burst of laughter that escapes him as he registers the last notes of the song playing.
”Simon you idiot,” he mumbles, affection surging in his chest.
’Hi to everyone just tuning in. If you’re joining us just now and are wondering what kind of radio station this is, I’m happy to inform you that this is Late Night Vibes with Simon on The Vibe FM, 104.6, the station where we play good music only. Based on this latest song you might be thinking that last part is a lie, but it’s all for a good reason, I swear. That was Trey Lewis with ’Dicked Down in Dallas’ and it was dedicated from me to you, monkey. I really hope there are no children listening tonight or I might be in a lot of trouble. Get your kids to bed parents, please.’
’Now I believe we have a caller on the line! Hi, you’re on with Simon on The Vibe, what do you want to talk about tonight?…’
The car is not moving fast enough. Wille drums his fingers anxiously against his knees, tries to get swept away by the listener’s request of ’Just the way you are’ by Bruno Mars, hum along to the familiar lyrics but it doesn’t work.
And then they’re finally finally there, the car pulling to a stop in the now-familiar back alley and Wille is out of it before Malin even has the chance to park, rushing across the street on shaky legs.
The glass door on the fourth floor is open this time and Wille almost falls flat on his face as he trips over the threshold in his haste to get closer, rushing into the hallway, trembling legs steering him towards the door with the ’On air’ sign on it. He slowly pushes it open.
Ayub is on the phone, headphones on over a ball cap in the corner of the studio, but he grins as he spots Wille in the doorway, gives him an encouraging thumbs up.
Wille’s eyes dart around the studio, scanning, searching, wanting and all of a sudden Simon is right there, perched on a high stool facing the windows, still talking, still so painfully unaware of Wille’s presence. There’s no time for waiting around, no time to wait until the commercial break or the next song or the next fucking century. Wille has waited long enough and so he’s across the room in five long steps. He’s not scared anymore, brain left behind in a ditch somewhere, courtesy of Malin’s hasty speeding along empty roads. He’s not scared, he’s brave. Most of all he’s late.
As he approaches, gently taps Simon’s shoulder, time seems to be moving in slow-motion. Every second an eternity, every trembling beat of his heart in his chest a lifetime. Like the whole world has slowed down to take a deep breath before it all changes. Like the calm before the storm. Except this time there will be no storm, Wille’s almost completely sure of it. There’s no time for dark clouds or icy winds anymore, now’s the age for spring and warmth and sunshine and Simon.
Simon, who jumps a little at the sudden touch, head turning swiftly to look over his shoulder. As he takes in Wille’s presence there’s evident surprise on his face, dark eyes growing wide and his ongoing sentence trembling out into nothing. But he doesn’t have time to react, to think, to talk because now Wille is taking his headphones off and he’s kissing him kissing him kissing him.
Finally
It’s like time is standing still or spinning around or possibly rushing steadily faster into a haze of oblivion and Wille doesn’t know what day it is anymore, what week, what year. All he knows is he’s holding the sun in his arms, letting its light paint him golden with color, lapping up every sliver of its warmth with the soft brush of lips, the stroking of tongues.
He’s Icarus and he flew too close to the sun, except this sun isn’t consuming him, isn’t scorching his wings, making him fall. This one immediately wraps long arms around his torso, pulls him closer until everything is light and warmth and there’s no room for darkness anymore. No room for fear or doubt or anxious thoughts when there’s gentle fingers carding through the hair at the nape of his neck, leaving a trace of tingling pleasure behind every touch. No room because the flowers are spreading everywhere, sprouting new leaves with the sunshine filling his entire body. If he’ll eventually fall, plummet to his doom into the dark waves looming underneath once his wings give out, it will all be worth it. It will be worth it because he got a taste of the sun and he’s never letting go.
Simon’s arms are strong around him, his body so close that Wille can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest matching his own, two sets of trembling breaths into eager kisses, ones making up for every previous word coming between them, kisses whispering all the things that should have been said a long time ago. It’s like everything that could possibly go wrong for once hasn’t, like he’s suddenly exactly where he should be, inhabiting the exact spot in the universe that’s supposed to be his.
It’s everything.
Except he still hasn’t said the words out loud, still hasn’t made things right the way he’s supposed to, the way he needs to. And so he pulls away a little, tries to force a little bit of space between himself and his sunshine, except Simon won’t let him, follows along.
”I’m so sorry,” Wille tries to breathe out against eager lips but Simon is too close, swallows the apology down with another kiss.
”I was scared,” he tries again and Simon responds with anew crashing their lips together, fingers tangling themselves deeper into his hair.
”Simon- I- Simon,” He pleads, because if he doesn’t say this now he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to break apart from the kiss long enough to coherently form words.
Simon reluctantly breaks the kiss, leans back to look at him softly, so different from the anger and hurt that had painted his features yesterday. Now his expression is warm, patient. ”I know, Wille, I get it.” He says. ”I know you, remember? I just forgot for a second, I was hurt and then I got caught up in thinking I wouldn’t be good enough for you. It made me frustrated and angry and I lashed out when you tried to apologize. I’m sorry too.” He bites his lip, averts his gaze a little.
”Simon, no- don’t think that, that’s not- you’re not-” Wille stumbles over the words in his haste to explain, to make Simon understand how completely untrue that is, how it’s the complete opposite.
Simon smiles crookedly. ”I’m not?” He asks, curiosity tinting the words. Wille can feel his cheeks turn hot. The way words keep failing him in Simon’s presence is really not helping his whole apology mission.
”You’re more than enough, you’re everything,” He manages to whisper at last, gently leans forward to rest his forehead against Simon's and lets himself again get swept away by the sensation of his sunshine wrapping itself around him, melts into the touch that’s more than he could’ve ever wished for, one where there’s no room for darkness or winter anymore.
Ayub plays five songs in a row and does a commercial break before finally tapping Simon on his shoulder and saying that ’while he’s happy about this, it will not do wonders for their listening numbers’ and that he ’please please needs to stop making out and go back on air.’
Simon reluctantly loosens his tight grip on Wille, the sudden lack of contact making him shiver, once again crave Simon’s warmth. There’s a lingering kiss pressed to his cheek, a ’later, monkey’ whispered in his ear, the familiarity and deja vú of it making yet another shiver run down Wille’s spine, a pleasant one this time. He doesn’t mind the wait.
***
Fri, 3.32 am
you look really good in those headphones
There’s a buzz from the phone on the table. After shooting a quick glance at it Simon looks up to meet Wille’s gaze across the table. He shakes his head amusedly but there’s a fond smile tugging at his lips. Wille wants to taste it again, has to clench his fingers around his own phone to stop from reaching out to touch. Simon taps something on his phone while trying to remain interested in the conversation he’s having with a listener.
you’re losing me listeners dummy
The way his smile reaches his eyes says he doesn’t really mind. Wille hurriedly taps out another text, grins at the way Simon can’t keep himself from glancing at his phone.
i can’t wait to kiss you again
Simon trails off in the middle of a sentence and Ayub shoots him a pointed look from his spot across the room. ’Behave’ he mouths towards Wille who ducks his head apologetically. The blush spreading across Simon’s cheeks is worth it though. Even as Ayub makes a show of coming to collect Simon’s phone for safe-keeping, whispers pleadingly in his ear to ’keep it together for just two more hours goddamnit’.
Just two more hours. Wille smiles.
He finds a stack of yellow post-its and a pen, pretends not to notice Simon sneaking him curious glances, even as he tries to remain professional, keep up his end of a conversation with a woman talking about meeting her wife in high school but only years later, after one failed marriage and two children each, realizing their friendship was something more, that there had been deeper emotions on both ends that both had been too afraid to admit to themselves. It’s a beautiful story, one Wille wishes he had the mental capacity to listen to more than half-heartedly, but he’s distracted with the hasty scribbling of a message on a yellow post-it, a gentle nudge of the stack across the table towards Simon.
I want to hold your hand - Beatles
play my song?
He can feel his heart racing as he watches Simon read it, his responding soft smile and nod awakening a myriad of butterflies in his stomach.
’Thank you so much for that story Clara, it was very heartwarming and I’m so happy the two of you managed to find your way back to each other in the end. I will play Laleh’s ’Goliat’ for you in a minute, but first I have a very special song request from a very special listener. This is Late Night Vibes on The Vibe FM, 104.6. Here’s the classic ’I want to hold your hand’ by The Beatles.’
As the first notes fill the studio Simon reaches his hand across the table, gently turning Wille’s own palm upwards before clumsily interlacing their fingers. It’s a bit of a stretch to reach, not really a position to sit in comfortably, yet neither of them pull away, are content to exist in the moment where suddenly touch is a thing they can do, after months of wishing and wanting. A little bit of uncomfortable is okay, doesn’t matter. Simon rubs his thumb softly along the back of his hand, sending tingles of electricity running wild across bare skin. Wille can’t help the happy grin taking over his face and seeing it mirrored on Simon’s is enough to send his heart into another spiral of love-struck arrhythmic fluttering in his chest. Maybe that cardiologist appointment is a topic to revisit. After tonight that is. Or today. It’s very late and very early and nothing seems to be even slightly real anymore. If he’s dreaming he doesn’t ever want to wake up.
For once the feeling of insomnia-induced surrealism is nice.
***
It’s four thirty am and Wille is sitting in an uncomfortable chair in a small studio on the fourth floor of an office building in Solna.
It’s four thirty am and the promise of a sunset has started painting the city skyline a vibrant pink and yellow, swirling colors backlighting the high buildings, reflecting in the steel and glass of their tall figures.
It’s four thirty am and the boy with the headphones sitting across from him is once again in his element, animatedly discussing the importance of respecting your co-workers preferred pronouns with someone who’d called in asking for advice. He gestures with his hands in the air as he speaks, even though neither the person on the phone nor his listeners can see him. The little habit is another spring blossom inside Wille’s chest, one among many he wishes to notice and plant and treasure forever.
The sun will soon be climbing up the skyline outside the window but the promised warmth of it is nothing compared to the boy in front of him, it’s glow nothing in comparison to the radiating warmth from Simon.
As Simon starts wrapping up the show, wishing his listeners a good weekend when his replacement shows up to start the early morning show, Wille takes to hiding in the break room next door for a moment, curling up in the corner of the same couch he’d been nervously sitting on just short of 24 hours earlier, his eyes at last growing heavy with sleep. It’s been a long night, a long month or year even. He’s allowed just a little nap as he waits. Just a very quick one on the uncomfortable couch. He’s halfway there when Simon at last appears in the doorway, smiling softly and gesturing for him to follow.
There’s the soft presence of a hand next to his, the gentle brush of a pinky along the edge of his own. A silent ask for permission and Wille doesn’t waste a second in intertwining their fingers again, basking in the sense of touch and closeness he’s been missing for so long. Simon gently squeezes back, spares a tingle of his sunshine and warmth that makes it’s way down Wille’s spine, roots itself in his heart.
”Bye guys!” Ayub calls out to them, looks down at their intertwined hands but says nothing. He shares a look with Simon that Wille can’t understand, but he’s too tired and deliriously happy to give it much thought. Instead he just gives Ayub a nod and a grateful smile.
”I’ll see you around Wille,” Ayub says kindly, offers out a hand for a fist bump. Simon giggles at Wille’s stumbled attempt to reciprocate it.
After saying their goodbyes they take the stairs down, Simon supporting some of Wille’s weight as he tiredly stumbles down the steps.
”Easy there, monkey. We don’t want you falling and breaking that pretty face of yours now, do we?”
Wille tries to think of a witty retort but comes up short and instead simply allows the hand around his waist to hold him a little closer. Simon’s whole body next to his a warm, soft presence and he wants nothing more than to melt into it, to be wrapped up and held and safe.
Malin, bless her heart, already has the car pulled up in front of the door as they exit. If she’s in any way surprised by the way they’re tightly clinging to each other as they stumble out the door, she hides it well, just offers a swift nod as she holds the door open for them. Simon, on the other hand, makes wide eyes at both Malin and the black car before silently sliding in next to Wille.
”Where to now?” He asks, looks at Wille, face open and earnest and full of trust and adoration. Like he’d follow Wille just about anywhere, just like Wille would for him. Like he’s not ready for there to again be space between them just yet either.
”How about your place?” Wille suggests shyly, looks down at their intertwined fingers. ”I mean- if you want. If not we can call it a night and just drop you off on the way, that’s more than okay-” He’s cut off by a chaste kiss pressed to the corner of his mouth.
"I’d love for you to come home with me,” Simon says.
He gives Malin the address when asked and wraps his arms tightly around Wille once again, holds him closer as his head lands on Simon’s shoulder and his eyes at last fall shut. Closer closer closer. Like the mere idea of having any amount of space between them is an outrageous one, an outdated concept never to be heard of again. Wille wouldn’t have it any other way.
He can feel the ghosting of lips against his hair, the soft press of a kiss against his temple and he sighs contentedly.
”Sleep, monkey, I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Wille sleeps.