Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

August realizes how fucked he is when Sara shows up at his door accusing him of posting the video. The socialist’s weird sister is somehow the first one to figure out it was him, and while his mind is racing to figure out how, he remembers the glance they shared the night he uploaded it. She’s not even accusing him at this point, she’s telling him that he posted it. August knows he shouldn’t feel threatened by this freak, but his heart is pounding as he tries to deny her words. Why did she come to him first? Why does she seem so calm? The questions bounce around his head.

August’s mind is racing but he does his best to collect himself. He steadies his trembling hands. A vacant smile molds itself onto his face. It’s like he literally snaps it into place the way his head cocks to the side and his expression does a complete 180. The change makes Sara feel uneasy and she shifts her weight between her feet, swaying back.

“So, what do you want?” he asks with a vapid stare, “You're still here, so obviously you must want something.” August bites his lip in frustration. He can’t believe he’s bending to her will so easily. Practically groveling. “You can have whatever the hell you want. What’s your biggest dream?” he inquires with an airy voice, scoffing a bit at the situation.

Sara pauses and looks down at her feet.

“To be like you.” she replies, turning her head away to avoid him.

August is taken aback. His brow furrows with confusion.

Sara peers back up at him with a stoic look. “To live at Hillerska and have a life here.” she mumbles.

August takes a step back from her. “You mean...” he begins but is stopped by the grin spreading on his face. He forces his lips into a small smile and nods his head, “Alright. That can be easily arranged.”

Sara gives him a hopeful look, almost like she didn’t expect this to work.

“I can get you a spot in the Manor House. Me and the prefect are close,” he emphasizes his words with crossed fingers, “I’ll help you skip the line.” He’s still smiling at her, but she turns away again.

“I can’t afford it,” she squeaks.

August moves closer. “People like you get free grants. Everything would be free,” he chimes, “I’ll help you apply.” Sara can’t help feeling annoyed at the statement of “people like you”, but she stares up at August with big eyes as he continues to speak. “And in return, you don’t tell anyone,” he asserts in an icy voice. He raises his eyebrows at her to see if she understands.

Sara gazes at him and suddenly she’s leaning forward, fluttering her eyes closed. She moves up to reach his mouth and kisses him. August is stunned as she pulls back. With his jaw stuck open a little, he put his hand under her chin and goes in again. He doesn’t know what it is. If it’s just boredom or the thrill of someone showing interest in him. Maybe it’s the ego boost from hearing her say she wants to be like him. Whatever it was that prompted him, he continues, pushing her against the desk as their lips meet. His lips trail down her neck as her fingers awkwardly dance along his shoulder. He pauses when he feels her bury his face against his.

Planting one last kiss against her neck, he pulls away. She’s gaping at him, and it makes him feel exposed. She listened to him grouse about Wilhelm and act so envious. So childish. And now here he is acting like a horny animal.

August puts his hand over his mouth and clears his throat. “I’ll, um... bring you those forms,” he murmurs stiffly.

Sara jerks her head in agreement and steps away from the desk. She opens her mouth to speak but opts for a quick “bye” instead. With a wave, Sara leaves the room.

August stands in the center of the space, his eyes locked onto a spot on the ground as he zones out. He snaps out of it when he hears his phone buzz. It’s a notification from some news app. Another headline about the royal family. August takes a seat at his desk and begins swiping through every website and social media post he can find about the video. His grip tightens each time he sees Simon’s face on a headline. August throws his phone down, pushes his chair out, and leans his head back.

Simon has ruined everything.

August promised Erik that he would take care of his brother, and now this commoner has Wille in deep shit. August chastises himself for not noticing it sooner. The glances exchanged followed by cheeky smiles. The two of them happening to slip out of the room at the same time and coming back together. He’d seen Wille go into the music room while the tramp practiced piano and close the door behind him.

God.

August rubs his eyes with the balls of his hands. He didn’t need Sara coming into his room right now. Every whisper in the hall or notification on his phone sends him into a panic. The constant paranoia is taking a toll on him. If it weren’t for the fact that Wille is actually insane, maybe August would have come forward already.

If it was Erik...

The thought trails off into static. He can’t keep mourning his cousin and he can’t keep freaking out about Wille. August has a job to do. He’s the prefect, a top student, and training for the rowing team. There can’t be this many distractions. Luckily, August knows exactly how to get rid of them.

The medicine cabinet beckons him closer as he jumps out of his chair to get his pills. He grabs the bottle and shakes two out onto his hand, swallowing them with a gulp of sink water. Water drips down his chin and his hands grip the sides of the sink. August grimaces at his tired reflection. He needs to relax. He’s going to get Sara that grant, and Wilhelm will stay oblivious.

As Wilhelm stomps down the hall, all he can hear is his own heartbeat reverberate between his ears. Part of him is still desperate to believe that maybe it’s all a coincidence. Maybe Felice is wrong. Maybe, in a weird twist, the two of them will end up laughing at such a silly accusation. Another part of him wants to grab August and beat him until he’s lying in a puddle of blood.

Wille watches his reflection come into view and immediately locks onto August. The squeak of his sneakers against the wood flooring comes to a halt.

“What’s up?” August greets as he throws his legs off the side of the rowing machine, sweat dripping down his neck as he tries to catch his breath.

Wilhelm feels a heat surge through his face at August’s casual tone. He squeezes his hands into fists and narrows his eyes. “I trusted you,” he seethes.

August shifts uncomfortably on the seat. “What are you talking about,” he asks in a nervous tone.

Wille repeats it again. “I really trusted you,” he states, clenching his jaw, “Why?”.

August gets up and begins to approach Wille. He’s trying to hide how scared he is right now. He would never admit it, but Wille’s eyes are absolutely terrifying. His intense stare makes August afraid to speak.

“I’m sorry.”

Those were the two words Wille was afraid to hear. August didn’t even try to deny it and, somehow, it’s more upsetting that way. “You’re sorry?” Wille mutters. He still hasn’t blinked, and he feels the sides of his nose wrinkle.

“What can I say? I’m sorry,” August throws his arms up in exasperation.

Wille is aghast at August’s response. “You fucking told me I could always come to you,” he barks, “Whenever I had a problem!”. He can tell there are tears filling his eyes, but he doesn’t care anymore.

August looks away and Wille is fueled even more by his cowardice. Where was this when he was perched outside the window with his phone? He wishes August would argue back even a little bit, just so he could prove he had somewhat of a spine. Wille doesn’t want to think someone as pathetic as this is the one to ruin his life.

“You were the only one I could trust,” he shouts, the words echoing through the room. August keeps his head towards the ground. Wille pauses. Anger settles in his chest, and he knows what he needs to say.

“You’re no longer part of my family,” he rasps, each word dripping with contempt.

August finally lifts his head towards Wille. He chokes out a sound, but Wilhelm is already turning around and leaving.

“This can’t be real,” is all August thinks.

Chapter Text

It doesn’t take August long to realize what Wilhelm is doing. He could tell from the moment Wille stepped up to him at the party and said, “Challenge me,” with a cold look. It became even more apparent at the year’s first luncheon when the first years stormed the buffet table with their plates, laughing at the dismay of the third years, feeling invincible with the prince’s authority. August still can’t believe he allowed Wille to bitch him like that. To make him look so pathetic amongst his peers. The look that Vincent and Nils gave him made him want to crawl under the table and never come out again. Walking into a hallway full of upperclassmen was even worse. Believe it or not, most people aren’t very happy when they have to stand around in their pajamas because the showers are all taken up by children.

It's only when August walks into the lounge full of people he thought were his friends saying Vincent has been voted the new prefect that he realizes it has gone too far. Having to share privileges with first years? He could handle that. Losing the position he has worked years for? Absolutely not.

August returns to his room and pulls out his phone.

Coming back to school has been hell for Simon. He spent his whole break wallowing in despair over Wille, but he’s not sure what’s worse: being without Wilhelm or having to see him every day. Even though Ayub and Rosh constantly chant “rebound!” and he jumped Marcus like a dog in heat, he can’t get Wilhelm out of his head. Marcus might be nice, but he’s just being kept around to keep Simon somewhat sane. The run through the woods definitely didn't help Simon try to get over Wille. The moment was oddly intimate and for a second, he forgot all about the Wilhelm’s offer before Christmas break. Also, even though he knows it’s wrong, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel some excitement at Wilhelm’s jealous tone while talking about Marcus.

Wilhelm isn’t good for him. He needs to find someone else. And not someone like Marcus, not someone Simon will feel guilty about hurting. He just needs someone that will make him forget all about the heartbreak.

Simon stares at his fish tank. How nice must it be to be a fish. To just swim in circles all day, not thinking about much else than... nothing, really. Simon assumes fish probably don’t think at all, they don’t need to.

That sounds nice right now.

Simon’s envying of his fish is interrupted by the buzz of his phone.

AUGUST

Hey. What are you doing right now?

Simon immediately sits up on the side of his bed. The last time he messaged August was to ask for his money. That’s the only reason he even has his number. Simon debates whether he should reply. He hates this guy, but at the same time, this could be important with the amount of shit August has on him.

SIMON

What do you want.

...

AUGUST

I need to talk to you. ASAP.

Simon squints at the text. What the hell could August need right now? There’s no way he wants more pills after not even being able to pay for them the first time. And after Alexander got in trouble, August should have half a mind to stay out of that kind of thing. Turning off his phone, Simon elects to ignore the message. August has brought nothing but trouble, there’s no reason to keep talking to him.

Simon silences his phone after hearing another vibration. He goes back to staring at the fish tank. The tank’s light brings back memories of Wille coming over. Of his breath on Simon’s neck and the hands searching underneath his shirt. Simon fights back the urge to put his hand under the band of his shorts. This is terrible and he feels worse by the second.

Simon lays back, closes his eyes, and wipes at tears yet to fall. He shuts off his lamp and turns over. It’s only 7 but he’s tired. So tired. He’s ready to just stop thinking for a few hours and find some amount of peace.

“Hey.”

A calm voice behind Simon interrupts him on his way to math. As he turns and sees August, he immediately turns back and continues walking.

“Hey, hold on,” August calls, “You didn’t respond to me last night.”

Simon stops walking and shuts his eyes, considering whether he should even engage right now. He whips around and faces August.

“You’re right. I didn’t. So why do you think I would want to talk to you now?” he snaps.

August raises his eyebrows and gives that unsettling grin. “Calm down. I just want to talk to you,” he looks around, “Maybe somewhere more private?”

The corner of Simon’s lip curls up in disgust. His gut is telling him to run as far away from him as possible and tell Wille his cousin is being a creep. But he also knows that Wilhelm wants nothing to do with him. He knows that following August would probably piss Wilhelm off, and that is all the reason he needs to start walking towards an empty spot of the courtyard. Something about rebelling against Wille, even though he is completely unaware of it, makes Simon feel a little less pathetic. It’s like he’s saying, See, Wille? I really am over you.

Even though he’s proud of himself for not deciding based on what Wilhelm would want, Simon forgot to consider what he wants. And what he wants is to be so far away and uninvolved with any member of the royal family or any of these rich snobs in general.

Still, he continues to follow August.

“Was last time not enough, August? Do you want me to beat you into the ground again?” Simon sneers. He tries to sound tough, but the shake of his voice is unmistakable.

August turns his head back to look at Simon. He’s smiling.

Simon brings up his shoulders and looks at the ground.

The two finally come to a stop. Simon didn’t even realize they were on the trail now, in between tall trees. Simon gives an anxious glance at his surroundings, wondering if he can see any other students, or if any other students can see him. He’s trying not to make it obvious how nervous he is. Or how he’s calculating whether he or not he could outrun August from here. It’s silly for him to be scared of August, the one who Simon was on top of and brought to tears, but a lot has changed since that night. Simon always tries to avoid looking him straight in the eyes, but not right now. Right now, he needs to be brave.

“What do you want, August?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“You’re going to come to my room tonight,” August states matter-of-factly.

Simon’s head jerks back in surprise. “Like Hell I am,” he barks out in a laugh, “Who do you think you are?”

August’s smile slowly drops. He looks down at Simon almost like he’s disappointed. He huffs out a breath and puts on a lopsided frown.

“Yeah, I thought you’d say that,” he sighs, “I guess you can go to class, then. I have nothing else to say.”

August looks up into the trees as he waits for Simon to walk away. Simon quirks an eyebrow at the strange conversation. Either way, he just shakes his head and starts to head up to the classrooms. If August is letting him go, he shouldn’t push it.

“Oh wait,” August shouts, “I actually wanted to ask you something else!”

Simon pauses once again, this time not turning around and just waiting for August to speak.

“Your sister... Sara right?” he begins.

In an instant Simon is walking back down the hill. He is already up in August’s face with a hand balled up in the collar of his jumper.

“You stay away from her,” he snarls, “Why the fuck are you asking about her?”

August raises his eyebrows at Simon’s outburst. He almost flinches, but this is all part of his plan. It’s going perfectly.

August looks off to the side and puts his hands up defensively. “Sorry, sorry. I just wanted to know if she’s single,” he smirks, “She looks pretty cute riding Felice’s horse.”

Simon’s grip tightens as his eyes widen. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I should beat you again right now,” he snarls, “I’m serious, August, back the fuck off.”

August’s face is so punch-able right now, but as Simon’s hand trembles, he slowly releases August’s sweater and exhales a large breath.

“Actually, you know what, August? You’re not worth it. I’m not worried about you being around Sara. She can stand her own and she has zero interest in you,” he scoffs.

Once again, Simon is walking off. August rolls his eyes and speaks again.

“Alright. That’s fine. But um... before you go,” he reaches into his jacket, “I think you’re forgetting this.”

Simon tries to ignore him, but a familiar rattle catches his attention. He apprehensively looks over his shoulder to see August holding a pill bottle between his thumb and index finger.

“Micke... Eriksson. Hmm...” August taps on his chin mockingly, “That must be your father, right?”

Simon is frozen on the spot.

“It would really be unfortunate if the headmistress saw this, right? I mean, it is undeniableproof that you’re the one who supplied us with those pills,” he taunts, “Or maybe not undeniable proof that you did it. He’s Sara’s father, too. And I’m sure she would do anything to fit in with her new Hillerska friends.”

Simon tries to speak but his mouth has gone dry. He slowly makes his way towards August.

“August... what exactly do you want from me,” he asks cautiously.

“I’m glad to see we’re on the same page now,” August beams, “As I said before, all I want is for you to be at my dorm, tonight. By 9 PM, preferably.”

Simon’s eyebrows knit together. “Okay, fine, I’ll be there,” he stutters out.

"Good choice" August praises. He reaches out a hand and ruffles Simon’s curls. Simon tugs his head away and continues to avoid looking at August.

“I need to go to class, now, though... so... if you’re done,” Simon mumbles.

August nods and waves him off. He watches as Simon slinks away with hunched shoulders and shaky legs. He stumbles through the leaves and is soon out of view. August wipes a hand over his mouth. His mouth is starting to hurt with how wide he’s smiling. To see Simon lose the fierce façade so quickly over the mention of Sara and the drugs was interesting.

Wilhelm sits in class, his foot tapping impatiently as he stares at the door. Class started 10 minutes ago, and Simon is still not here. Usually, he is the first one in there, pulling out his pencil case and placing his notebook neatly on his desk. But now, Wille is the one trying to save a seat for him with his bookbag slung over the back of Simon’s chair. He pinches his forehead and drums his pen even faster against the table.

A psst from the back of the room catches his attention. Looking over his shoulder, Wille can see Felice’s concerned expression. She mouths a question to him, “What’s wrong?”, and Wille motions his shoulder towards Simon’s chair. She catches on quickly and gives an understanding nod. As soon as he turns back towards the front, Simon comes through the door. He has one strap of his bag over his shoulder and looks like he’s clinging onto it for dear life. Wilhelm can see the quick rising and falling of Simon’s chest and the way he struggles to not gasp for breath in front of the class. Simon blurts out a quick apology for being late and hurries to the only open seat, his head downcast and gripped hand visibly quivering. He clumsily sits down next to Wille and tries his best to pull out his supplies. Wilhelm watches him struggle to get the zipper and leans over.

“Do you need help?” he whispers.

Simon snaps his head towards Wille with an irritated look. “No,” he grits out.

Wilhelm is surprised and moves back into his chair. He can recognize when Simon needs his space, but he still continues to peek at him throughout class. “Are you okay?” is probably not the smartest question to ask. There’s no need to, anyway, as he can see the shaky handwriting in Simon’s notebook and the multitude of mistakes that Simon wouldn’t usually make.

Wille decides that maybe he should say something, but when he opens his mouth to speak, his teacher is already shushing him. Wille glares at the teacher and sucks his teeth. Still, he continues to give worried looks at Simon. He can’t read him right now. Simon looks angry, and upset, and frustrated, and annoyed, and maybe even a little close to crying? But also deep in thought and confused.

By the time class ends, Simon has calmed down somewhat. He’s taking slow and deep breaths as he packs his items back into his bag. Wille stands behind his chair awkwardly, trying to figure out whether it’s a good time to ask him what’s up.

Simon side-eyes him. “You look like you want to say something,” he smirks.

“Well yeah,” Wille scoffs, “Where were you?”

Simon darts his eyes away at the question, “The bus came late, you know. Not all of us get to live on school grounds.”

Wille’s nose scrunches up at the sudden animosity. Simon seems to process what he just said and immediately feels guilty. He finishes zipping up his bag, throws it over his shoulder, and speeds away from Wilhelm.

“Hey, what’s your problem?” Wille shouts after him, trying to keep up.

Simon straightens up and flips around, “What’s my problem? What’s your problem?! Why are you so interested in my business, huh? First you want nothing to do with me and now all you ever do is try to insert yourself in my personal life!”

Wilhelm is thankful that the hall is mostly empty, because this is definitely not a good look for him. “Oh, right. I forgot how badly you need your space,” Wille quips.

Simon gives him a scornful look and shakes his head at the snide comment. Wilhelm purses his lips to the side, staring straight back at him. The two stand like that for a few second in the hall before Simon just turns away and walks off. Wilhelm wants to call him back, but he also doesn’t feel bad for what he said. Maybe it was a bit childish, but Simon had no reason to snap at him like that.

Chapter Text

Literature is awkward, to put it simply. Simon kind of wishes they didn’t sit next to each other in all their shared classes, because he can feel Wilhelm’s stare burning into the side of his head. Wille is not one for subtlety, as Simon has learned. Maybe that’s just the brazen confidence you gain from being in the royal family.

He is considering looking at Wilhelm, just to tell him to pay attention to the teacher, but he knows he’ll falter under his gaze immediately. Simon just keeps his face towards the board. And even though Wille mocked what Simon said about needing space, again, he sure doesn’t seem to get the message.

“Why are you staring at me,” Simon asks without looking.

“Why are you ignoring me,” Wille whispers back.

Simon closes his eyes and sighs out a breath. “I’m not doing this with you, Wille.”

“Then don’t do this with me,” he sasses.

The response almost makes Simon look at him, but he just flops his head down and wipes his hands over his face. Wille bites his lip when Simon stops talking to him, and his foot taps rapidly underneath the desk. He only stops when he feels Simon’s hand on top of his thigh.

“We’ll talk after class. Just chill out,” he murmurs. Luckily, that seems to placate Wilhelm.

Simon finally turns to meet his eyes with an encouraging smile, and he beams right back.

Unfortunately, the nice moment is cut short when Simon’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He isn’t sure if he wants to check it. It’s either Marcus or August, neither of which he wants to talk to right now. After a bit of thinking, though, he pulls it out.

MARCUS

Hey, I haven’t heard from you in a while. Want to come over tonight? (:

Simon holds the phone underneath the table, trying to shield it away from Wille. Simon can’t help but smile a little. Although he’s not serious about Marcus, he enjoys the attention.

“Did your boyfriend text you?” Wille hisses.

Simon snaps his head up and turns towards Wilhelm. “What?”

Wilhelm is resting his head on his hand as he looks to the front of the class. Now he’s the one avoiding eye contact.

“You heard what I said,” he mumbles.

All Simon can do is glare at him incredulously. Literally what is Wilhelm talking about? He sees Wilhelm’s eyes dart towards him and then back to the board.

“I saw Ayub’s story. You lied to me about you and that guy,” he bites.

“Where is this all coming from? You were fine a minute ago,” Simon snapped.

“A minute ago, you weren’t texting someone else,” Wilhelm grits out.

Simon leans back in his chair, genuinely in disbelief. All he can do is scoff at Wille’s little tantrum and go back to the message.

SIMON

Sorry, already have plans tonight. Maybe Friday?

The Friday part is a lie. Simon is already planning to break this situationship off, and hopefully he can do it before then. But he thinks about the plans part, again, because this time he actually does have something else to do.

 What could August possibly want tonight. Is Simon going to walk into a room full of third-years ready to jump him? Is this just a set-up to get “revenge” for the royal family? Whatever it is, against his better judgement, Simon is going.

He looks back at Sara, who smiles at him and the two wave at each other.

He can’t let her down. She actually seems happy now that she’s out of the house and making friends, and he has betrayed her enough by going to Micke’s apartment. There is no way he’s going to let her life get ruined by their dad again. Especially since it will be Simon’s doing this time.

Class finishes, and Wille waits next to Simon. All of them filter out of the door, and Wille is grabbing Simon’s arm. He pulls him through the halls and into the library. The two find a quiet spot in between bookcases, and Wilhelm doesn’t realize he’s still holding onto Simon. Simon places his hand on Wilhelm’s wrist, making him flustered as he quickly releases him.

“Did I do something wrong,” Wille asks.

Simon looks dumbfounded, “Besides freak out at me during class? No.”

Wilhelm rolls his neck the side and averts his gaze. “But, you've been acting weird since math. And, I didn’t mean to.. freak out... It’s just... I don’t...” he stammers incoherently. Simon watches him with crossed arms. “I just... I didn’t think you’d move on that quickly,” he finally says.

“I didn’t move on. I told you I’m not dating him, and I wasn’t lying,” Simon defends, “Whatever you saw on Ayub’s story was just us hanging out. Am I not allowed to have friends now?”

Wilhelm scrutinizes Simon with a furrowed brow. “I think we both know he’s more than just your friend,” he retorts. Simon just rolls his eyes.

“Okay, and so what? What if he is, Wille? You have no say in who I spend my time with. You lost that when you spoke up about the video,” Simon’s heart feels heavy as he spills out the words. He can tell it hurts Wilhelm, too, based on his expression.

Wilhelm takes a step away from Simon. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he whispers after some time.

The two stand awkwardly between the bookcases, and only disperse once another student asks Simon to get out of the way so he can grab a novel by his head. Simon clutches his backpack strap and scurries out of the library.

The day finishes quickly and before he knows it, Simon is seated in the back of the bus, Ayub and Rosh turned around in their seats looking back at him. Simon’s bag is pressed against his chest, and he doesn’t realize that he is staring into space until Rosh speaks up.

“You good, man?”

Simon jerks his head up, “Huh?”

“Aw man, he’s totally losing it,” Ayub laughs.

Rosh and Simon join in, but Simon isn’t entirely sure what they’re laughing about.

“Dude, did something happen today? Was it Wille,” Rosh asks cheekily.

Simon smiles and waves his hand at her, “Nah, just a long day.”

“I think every day is a long day with Hillerska kids,” Ayub states. Rosh giggles at the joke, but it goes over Simon’s head once again.

Ayub and Rosh look at each other concerned. Simon is staring out of the window, completely oblivious to their usual banter.

“Simon? Hello, Earth to Simon,” Rosh leans forward and taps on Simon’s knee.

“Oh, were you talking to me,” he replies.

“Is there another Simon,” she teases.

Simon smacks at her hand and the three of them burst into laughter. Rosh begins to talk about football practice, and Simon nods along, using Ayub as a queue for when to laugh. He knows he’s there, sitting right in between them, but part of him is far away. His mind is consumed by his talk with August. He is thinking up every possible scenario, whether it’s a 5v1 fight or a stupid hazing ritual. Simon wants to be prepared.

“I think I might get jumped tonight,” Simon interrupts.

Rosh and Ayub immediately crane their heads towards him.

“By who!?”

“Remember that dude I made you guys come with me to confront?”

They gawk at him. “You mean that kid who was all like ‘Waaa I’m broke I can’t pay you blah blah blah’” Ayub mocks.

Simon laughs and nods his head, “Yeah. Basically, he pulled me aside today and told me I have to come to his dorm tonight”.

Rosh tilts her head, “Or what?”

Simon stops laughing and leans back against the bus seat. He rubs the back of his neck and turns his head. “Well... he still has the pill bottles... and, my dad’s name is on them... and he said if I don’t come then he’ll report Sara for selling him drugs...” Simon’s voice trails off as he feels more and more guilty.

Ayub and Rosh have their mouths stuck open and worried expressions. “Dude, that’s like, really, really bad.” Ayub chimes.

“Really, Ayub? Is it, really?” Rosh asks sarcastically. She turns her attention back to Simon. “What are you going to do, man?”

Simon throws his hands up and shrugs his shoulders, “I mean, I’m gonna go obviously!”

“Why does he want you to come to his room, though,” Ayub ponders.

“Does it seem like I know,” Simon raises his voice. He immediately feels bad. “Sorry, I’m just stressed out about it. I don’t think he’s gonna do anything serious. And even if he tries me, I’ll fight back. I’m more worried about him having the bottle.”

Ayub nods at him, reassuring him that there’s no hard feelings. “Didn’t you say Hillerska kids do like some hazing shit. Maybe they’re gonna try and fuck with you like that, like, him and his friends.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Simon agrees, “And the thing with the pills is just to trick me into coming.” He twiddles his hands together and stares down at his shoes.

“Well, in any case,” Rosh blurts, “Me and Ayub will come and beat their asses if they gang up on you.” Simon grins at her and she daps him up. The three continue the bus ride making up crazy theories about what will happen. Simon calms down by the time he gets home. Ayub and Rosh’s jokes made him realize there’s nothing to worry about.

AUGUST

When you get here, wait by the bus stop. I’ll let you into the dormitory.

SIMON

OK.

Simon’s fork is dancing around his plate as his mother chides him for being on his phone.

“I only get to have one of my kids home for dinner and you’re going to spend the whole time on your phone?” she scolds jokingly.

“Lo siento, mamá. Es Ayub. Vamos a salir esta noche.”

Linda flicks her hand at him, “Aaay, tú y Ayub.”

Simon smiles at her and puts down his phone. He picks up the remote.

The news doesn’t interest him anymore. Especially not celebrity scandals where they’re forcing cameras into peoples’ faces. He changes it to a random TV show that’s halfway through the episode.

“How is Sara,” Linda asks worriedly. “She barely responds to me now. Has she been coming to class? Does she look like she’s been eating enough. Is she- “

Simon cuts her off by grabbing her hand. “Mamá,” he begins, “I promise you she’s doing great. You don’t need to worry about her. The girls at Hillerska are taking great care of her, and she’s taking care of herself! Honestly, I haven’t seen her this happy... ever, probably.”

Linda nods at him and stacks her hand on top of his, giving it a strong squeeze.

“What time are you and Ayub going out,” she questions.

“Like, around 9 or something,” Simon answers between a mouth full of food.

“9? On a school night?” she pipes.

“Yeah, I don’t know. It’s like, Marcus’ friend group and stuff,” he evades.

“Oh, well, Marcus is a nice boy. If it’s with him then I don’t mind,” she praises.

Simon just nods, already struggling to swallow his food. He’s silent for the rest of dinner, trying to avoid lying any more to her. He forces the rest of the meal down and gets up from the couch to clean the dishes. It’s only 6, and the thought of waiting until 9 is making him restless. He just wants to get it over with, whatever stupid Hillserka tradition this is. He wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a decades-old tradition called “Beat the Peasant” or “Pin the Tail on The Non-Res”.

His mom slips a dish into the sink and pats him on the shoulder. “If you’re going out, make sure you tell Marcus I said hi.”

Simon smiles at her, “Por supuesto.”

The second she leaves the kitchen; Simon exhales a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He shuts his eyes and tries to calm down. This isn’t something to get so freaked out about. August was probably bluffing, anyway, about the pills and Sara. It’s all part of the game, he’s sure. Simon lets the sponge sink down in the soapy water. He glides his hands through it, feeling relaxed by the sensation. His mom passes by the kitchen, and he can hear her giggling at his strange behavior. Simon titters along with her and puts the cleaned dishes on the drying rack. He dries his hands with the kitchen towel and heads back into the living room. When he opens his phone, he sees notifications from Wilhelm.

WILHELM

I’m sorry about earlier.

WILHELM

You’re right. It’s not my place to tell you what to do and I should stay out of your business. Sorry.

The world goes silent for a moment, or at least it does for Simon. His heart drops into his stomach, his thumb trembling over the screen. Simon’s throat feels tight, which might be the only thing keeping his dinner from coming back up. He turns the phone off and drops it back onto the couch. This isn’t how it’s supposed to feel. Simon should be overjoyed that Wilhelm is finally getting the message, finally giving up on him.

But it doesn’t feel good at all. It’s devastating. Simon runs his tongue along the back row of his teeth. His lips are parted, and he can feel a wet sensation in the back of his nose. His eyes sting and his mouth is dry.

Simon grabs the phone back and heads to his room before his mom passes through again. There’s already a little snot running out of his nose, which he quickly wipes away with the back of his sleeve. He pinches his nostrils with a covered hand and rubs his eyes with the other. He shouldn’t be getting this upset over a text message.

In his room, Simon leaves the phone on his desk and pulls out his keyboard. It helps him pass the time and not think about... other things. He grabs a random slip of paper that his teacher gave him to help him practice reading sheet music. Positioning it against the wall, he practices each row multiple times until he gets it (almost) perfect. The practice turns into him playing by ear and he sits on his bed vocalizing each note. And the vocalizing turns into him frantically pulling on a hoodie when he realizes he needs to get to the bus stop soon.

“¡Ciao, mamá,” he calls out as he grabs his shoes and jacket.

“¡Ciao! ¡Ten cuidado ahí fuera!”

Simon considers taking his bike, but at this time of night, he doesn’t want to leave it at the bus stop. Since he still has some time to spare, he opts to walk.

The bus ride was nowhere near as nerve-wracking as standing at the bus stop waiting for August.

SIMON

I’m here.

AUGUST

Ok I’m coming down now. Be patient.

Simon cringes at the message. “‘Be patient’? How about, don’t make me come out to Hillerska at 9 PM without giving me a reason and blackmailing my family.”

But Simon doesn’t have to be patient for long. August is waving at him as he walks up.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” he remarks.

“And what? Let you get my sister expelled and charged with drug possession? Can we just hurry this up,” Simon pushes past August and walks toward Forest Ridge House.

The two of them make it to the dormitories, and suddenly Simon gets nervous.

“Wait, what if someone sees me?”

“Just put your hood up and keep your head down,” August replies nonchalantly. He acts so relaxed that it’s making Simon dizzy.

Simon follows his directions, only finding his way by watching August’s steps. Fortunately, it seems that everyone is asleep by now. Is that fortunate, though? Are they even asleep? Or is this part of the set-up?

Simon feels the urge to run away from August and go straight to Wille’s dorm. It’s so close and he really could if he wanted to.

But then he thinks about the text message and his eyes stays cemented to the floor.

“Alright, we’re here,” August says.

Simon looks up at the door to his room. August quietly opens it and ushers Simon inside. He was a bit surprised at the size. He knew that Wille got an especially big room because of his status, but he didn’t think the singles would be this cramped. Still, August has obviously made the most of the space. It’s organized and clean, but not completely lacking personality. There’s a few keepsakes, trinkets, and photos adorning the shelves and bulletin board.

But Simon is more surprised at the fact there’s nobody else in there. That doesn’t mean he’s in the clear yet, just that this hazing isn’t starting how he expected.

“You can take your jacket off,” August smiles as he steps past Simon.

“I’m alright,” Simon asserts.

August turns to look at him, still smiling. “No, really, I insist.”

Simon claps his fingers together, “I’m good.”

Suddenly, August grabs the lapel of his windbreaker. “Take it off,” he commands.

Something about his tone makes Simon not want to push him any further. He stares at August as he slowly takes off his jacket. Simon throws his jacket down on a chair and awkwardly puts his hands in his pockets, continuing to inspect the room. He pushes the bathroom door open a crack, just to see if maybe there’s someone hiding in there. “So, are you going to tell me what I’m here for, or...” Simon trails off as he watches August. He’s turned away, but Simon can see his arms moving.

“Oh, of course,” he replies.

There’s a clink and a zip. Simon takes a step back. He starts to feel even weirder and looks back at the door.

Simon begins to speak, but his words are cut short as he turns to August.

Chapter Text

Simon is frozen on the spot. His eyes are wide, and he is forgetting to breathe right now.

August is stood in front of him with his pants undone, thumb hooked into the band of his underwear.

“I want to see what you can do.”

Simon stumbles back a couple steps, pressing his back against the door. “Okay, I don’t know what kind of weird fucked up traditions you guys have here, but this is too far, even as a joke.”

August looks at him confused, but also endeared at Simon’s naivete.

“What are you talking about,” he scoffs.

Simon explains with a quivering voice, “The reason you told me to come here? It’s like some hazing thing, right?”

Somehow, August seems more bewildered than Simon. “Oh, you really are interesting,” he grins.

August walks closer to Simon until they’re only a foot apart. He puts his hand over the doorknob, turning it the opposite way to emphasize the chk of the lock. Simon’s chin is nearly touching his chest, but he still keeps his gaze on August. He’s practically panting from fear.

“August, I don’t know what you’re doing right now, but just stop,” he whimpers.

“You heard what I said the first time,” August growls, “I want to see what you can do.”

Simon’s head shoots up and he stares at August in disbelief.

“I-I... I don’t know what you mean,” he shudders.

“Well obviously you keep Wille entertained somehow. Show me how you keep the prince happy.”

Simon slides to the ground against the door and brings his knees to his chest. August crouches down right in front of him.

“Come on, don’t act like this is your first time doing something like this. We all saw that video.”

His heart is pounding, but Simon has a wild look in his eyes. He moves forward and winds his arm back. This time, he wasn’t fast enough, though. August is able to dodge out of the way of the punch Simon throws.

“Did you just try to hit me,” August laughs malevolently.

Simon just glares back at him as he tries to move away from him. August grabs Simon’s arm tightly.

“Now you’re really in for it,” he hisses. He pulls Simon all the way to his bed and forces him down.

Simon quickly sits up and turns his head up to August. “What the fuck do you think you’re going to do to me?”

August waves his hand around, “It’s not what I’m doing to you, it’s what you’re doing to me.”

Shaking his head, Simon chuckles incredulously, “You’re fucking crazy if you think I’m doing anything to you.”

“Am I fucking crazy? Or do I have multiple pill bottles with your father’s name on it? And did Sara tell you that I’m the one who got her to the top of the grant list? Wrote her a letter of recommendation?

This was new information for Simon. Since when was she all buddied up with August of all people? Simon shakes his head as he rests it between his hands.

“I’m sure that’s tough for you to hear,” August sighs, “But those are the exact reasons why you’re going to do what I tell you.”

Time freezes and Simon just keeps sitting with his head down. He slumps forward off the side of the bed, elbows digging into his legs. He considers what’s at risk right now. He thinks about his family, his dad, his sister. How hard his mom has worked to help them get in here.

Simon swallows down a lump in his throat and nods. “Fine, August.”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” he hums, “Now take your hoodie off.”

“Do I have-” the question is cut short by the look August shoots him. He looks away shamefully and slowly pulls it off.

August sits down on the side of the bed and motions for Simon to move. “What are you doing? Get in front of me.”

Simon slides off the bed and stands in front of August.

“On your knees, obviously.”

Simon parts his lips to protest but realizes it will be in vain. His legs tremble as he kneels down. He is still as far back as possible, though it’s difficult with how small the room is. Simon keeps his head faced away.

“Now you’re really gonna have to work to get me up after that little stunt you just pulled,” August remarks in a dark voice.

The gravity of the situation is slowly settling on Simon. It still feels like some kind of nightmare, or like the second he moves to touch August that a group of upperclassmen will pop out of nowhere with their phones recording.

“Did you not hear me? Get to it,” August grouses.

Simon looks towards August. He stares in between his legs as he thinks about what to do. He could probably punch August in the balls right now and run away, but that’s not a realistic solution. August will just report him for drug dealing and assault. Though, Simon’s the one getting assaulted, right now.

A shaky hand reaches out to August’s crotch. Simon touches the bulge, hesitantly moving his hand back and forth. August frowns.

“Stop acting like some holy virgin. I know you know what you’re doing,” he reprimands bitterly. August leans back on his hands, goading Simon to come closer.

Simon shuffles forwards on his knees, still keeping his head back a little farther than his body. He continues the apprehensive rubbing as he averts his gaze. Suddenly, August grabs his wrist and moves his hand faster. Simon attempts to pull out of his grasp, but evidently, August’s intense workout regimen has been paying off. There’s no use in fighting, so he matches the speed until August lets go.

Simon squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth when he feels August get harder.

“Don’t close your eyes,” August chides, “It’s rude to do that when you’re about to jerk someone off.”

Simon slowly opens them into a squint as he watches August pull his boxer-briefs down, just enough for his erection to pop out. It’s not Simon’s first time seeing another man’s dick, but the sight fills him with another wave of panic.

“Touch it,” he mutters.

With his hands glued to his legs, Simon sits motionless. He is starting to question how bad it would really be if August reported the pills. Going back to Marieberg isn’t the worst thing in the world.

But, of course, he’s not doing this to save his own ass. His whole family is at risk.

“Hold on,” Simon stutters out.

It takes him a minute, but he finally wraps a trembling hand around August’s member. Simon is struggling to even look at the scene before him, much less give a world-class hand job. “Fortunately”, the basic movement appeases August. Simon can see that his head is back, and his eyes are shut, lips parted and letting out quiet pants. The intimate sight makes Simon appalled. That isn’t the sort of reaction you should have when you’ve blackmailed and manhandled someone into doing sexual favors. It’s so genuine and guiltless.

“Go faster,” August moans hoarsely.

Simon reluctantly obeys, increasing the speed. He’s a little surprised. August didn’t want lotion or anything. Usually, Wilhelm makes him put lotion on.

Except this isn’t with Wilhelm. This is devoid of any of the love the two shared in bed.

The thought of Wilhelm isn’t making this easier, either. In fact, it fills him with so much guilt and shame that his chest feels like it’s about to seize up. It takes him out of this reality and into an even worse one. One where Wilhelm finds out about this and rejects Simon entirely. Finally throws him away for good, but not before calling him every horrible name possible and humiliating him in every sense of the word. Simon swallows down a sob, avoiding letting August see him any more vulnerable than he already is.

As he continues the repetitive movement, he feels August’s erection stiffen up completely. It shakes back and forth as he finishes, until finally dropping back down. Simon looks up to August, who is now leaned back even further, huffing out breaths. It’s hard to tell what’s worse, the drops of semen on his hand or the fact he made August finish. One is disgusting, and the other is unbelievably soul crushing. Simon falls back onto his bottom and rests his head on the edge of the desk. He stares up into the ceiling. He doesn’t even realize August is up and walking around the room, grabbing tissues to wipe his tip with.

“Do you want one?”

Simon’s head lulls to the side. There’s not much to say, so he just nods gently. August flashes a smile and holds one out for Simon. His body must be shut down right now because he can’t even attempt to grab it. August resolves to crouch down and place the tissue on Simon’s lap, patting him on the head before standing back up. Simon’s head cranes down to look at the tissue. He takes it and wipes off his hand in a robotic manner. Everything he does at this point is robotic. He pulls himself up to his feet, eyes still unfocused and staring off into nothing.

“What’s wrong,” August asks, “You shouldn’t be so upset. It wasn't too bad.”

Simon finally reconnects with reality and turns towards August. He can’t tell if this is a joke or if August is genuinely that inhuman.

August turns his arm and looks at his wrist. “You should probably get going. It’s almost 11,” he remarks.

“The bus has stopped already,” Simon whispers.

“Did you say something?”

Simon just shakes his head. He grabs his hoodie and pulls it on. He folds his jacket under his arm.

“I can’t walk you out,” August says absentmindedly as he enters the bathroom.

Simon nods.

He pulls his hood up and unlocks the door. He shuffles out into the hallway, slowly making his way downstairs and out the front of Forest Ridge. He prepares himself for a long walk home.

It’s almost 12 when Simon gets back. He can tell through the curtains that the TV is on, and he prays his mom isn’t still awake. He opens and closes the front door as quietly as possible. When he makes his way to the living room, his mom is fast asleep on the couch. She was probably waiting for Simon. Or maybe so full of anxiety about both her kids being gone that she couldn’t sleep. Any other time, he would wake her up and tell her to go to bed. But right now, he is just thankful she’s asleep.

Simon trudges through the hall to his room. He shuts the door and goes straight to his bed. He sits at the end of it, staring into the fish tank. There’s so much to think about with what just happened that Simon’s brain completely shuts down.

It starts with choppy breaths and shaky shoulders. He brings his one good hand up to his face and over his eyes. Without warning, Simon is heaving out sobs. He tries to keep his mouth shut, maybe to not alert his mom or maybe to save himself from having to hear the pained noise. The attempt fails, though, and soon he is open-mouthed bawling. He can feel a bubble form in his mouth as he cries even harder. The sounds desperately claw their way out, and it sounds like a million different voices. It comes from the back of his throat and then from his nose, and then his chest. His throat burns from the intensity of it and his whole airway is tight. He struggles to catch his breath and at some points feels like he can’t breathe at all. Those moments don’t scare him because he kind of wishes he stopped breathing altogether right now.

Probably an hour later it finally subsides. The sobs reduce to flinching shoulders that shudder randomly. As his vision unblurs, he could almost swear that his fish are staring at him. He feels guilty that they have seen him like this, and he can’t even explain why. He can’t tell his fish, “I just came home from giving a hand job to the only-person-I-have-genuinely-loved’s cousin against my will because he is threatening to ruin me, and my family’s lives if I don’t”. Even if he could, they probably still wouldn’t care because that type of thing is meaningless to fish. Fish don’t have drug addicted parents or blackmail or fancy classist boarding schools.

Simon heads into the bathroom when he is calmed down. He looks right at his reflection, in all its swollen-eyed glory. He is surprised he can even see out of them with how puffy they are. It almost makes him laugh, but nothing is very funny to him right now.

Chapter Text

The mirror is either one of August’s most favorite and also most dreaded places in his dorm. Right now, it’s the former.

It’s only a few minutes after Simon has left. August is filled with excitement and striking every pose and flex possible, eyes glued to the details of his muscles in the reflection. August has not felt this alive in a minute. The adrenaline of dodging Simon’s punch, of dragging him to his bed and making him get down on his knees, the hint of tears in his eyes during it all. August didn’t know how much of a turn-on it was to see someone on the brink of crying. But the most exhilarating part of it all was knowing Simon is Wilhelm’s.

August is good at reading people even though he lacks empathy, and he can tell Wilhelm is beyond enamored with Simon. There’s plenty of relationships at Hillerska, but August has realized through his observations that they all lack depth. They might think they’re in love with each other, but the moment shit hits the fan, it’s over. Wilhelm has stuck by Simon. Even after the video, and what August can only assume was a falling out, he still follows Simon around like a lost dog. He barely tries to follow Kristina’s orders of staying discreet. Everyone at school sees the way Wilhelm chases after Simon. He knows about them sitting together in classes and walking together in the halls. He saw them run together during rowing practice. If Wilhelm is trying to hide his feelings, he’s not very good at it.

August almost gets more excited thinking about Wilhelm’s reaction. When he finally finds out about this, which August is going to make sure he will, it will flip his world upside down. If Wille thought taking away prefect and the respect of his peers was “revenge”, then this will give the word a whole new meaning. Not to mention, it’s a pretty sweet deal for August. He is putting Wilhelm in his place and now has someone who can’t say no to anything. After his breakup with Felice, it has gotten hard to find any hookups because of that stupid “girl-code”. Evidently, Sara doesn’t abide by that rule, but she’s not very exciting, either.

Waking up in the morning is the most difficult feat in Simon’s entire life. He can barely keep his head up because apparently it became 10 pounds heavier overnight. His eyes are dry, and his eyelids are like sandpaper every time he blinks. His throat feels raw in the back and his nose is crusty. There are dried tears smeared all over his face.

Getting up is one thing, but Simon’s second challenge is walking out of his room. He knows he’ll have to face his mom and he’s dreading every step he takes to the living room.

“Simon?” Linda calls.

Simon cringes, “Yes, mamá?”

“Come here right now.”

Simon shuffles into the kitchen where she sits with a mug of coffee.

“What’s up,” he tries to greet casually. Evidently, Linda is not having it.

“What time did you get in last night,” she inquires.

“Um... like... probably...” he begins. Simon is considering making up a time but knows it’s useless. “...12, mama,” he mumbles.

“12, Simme. You came home at midnight. On a school night. You didn’t even tell me what you were doing or when you’d be home! Do you know how worried I was,” she reprimands.

Simon bows his head at the scolding and nods. “I know, I know. I’m really sorry. Things just ended up going longer than expected.”

Linda scrutinizes him with a look that shows she wants to interrogate him further but decides to let up. “Don’t do it again,” she finishes.

Simon nods his head vigorously and pats her hand. Linda can’t help but smile at him and ushers him off to get ready.

Simon spends the rest of his morning on autopilot. His senses are dulled, and his emotions are numbed. The second he was out of his mother’s view his smile had dropped, and now, he can’t muster up any other expression. His blinks feel minutes apart and his vision randomly blurs when his eyes unfocus. Every once in a while, he takes a deep inhale and exhale because he forgets to breathe.

Trying to get dressed is a struggle because he constantly stops in between each item of clothing, just staring at the floor and forgetting what he’s doing. When he’s finally done, he can barely get himself out the front door, but he also can’t miss the bus. Somehow, Simon prevails and makes it all the way to the bus stop.

Wilhelm has been staring at the text message he sent since last night. He rolls over in bed, chewing on his nail as he continues to regret sending it in the first place. It’s making him more anxious that Simon hasn’t replied. At this point even a “K.” would be alright. He tried to assert himself and act like he wasn’t concerned about Simon. But he really, really was. All he thinks about is how much he wanted to just pull Simon into a hug and squeeze the life out of him. He knew Simon was upset about something, and knowing he couldn’t comfort him made him hurt. The message was Wilhelm getting defensive and trying to save his ego.

He is debating whether he should send another text, or would that be too pushy? Maybe just an, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean what I last sent.”

Wilhelm sighs and puts the phone down. He taps it against his chest as he stares at the ceiling. He knows he’ll see Simon today, of course. But how is he supposed to act? Is he supposed to act the way he wants to, all apologetic and sweet? Or should he stand by his original attitude and save his pride?

Wilhelm chooses the first option and heads to breakfast. He knows that self-sabotaging attitude just makes it harder for him to win Simon back. There’s still some food on the buffet table even though breakfast ends in five minutes, so he takes what’s left and puts together a little sandwich with crispbread and whatever toppings he can find. He wraps it with a green cloth and puts it in his bag.

Wille speed-walks to class, trying to keep his backpack from moving too much so the sandwich doesn’t get ruined. The door is open, and he catches a glance of Simon. Wilhelm can’t help but smile seeing that he’s in class before him. That’s the Simon he knows and wants to see. Wille walks in and heads to his seat. He notices that Simon doesn’t acknowledge him at first. He’s staring off into the front of the class. Regardless, Wilhelm walks to his chair and stands next to it awkwardly. He looks at Simon, and Simon just keeps staring forward. Wille sits down and starts to rifle through his backpack. He pulls out the green cloth and places it on the desk, slowly sliding it over towards Simon. He glances over and smiles as he waits for Simon to notice.

Simon doesn’t notice. He doesn’t seem to notice anything. The teacher comes in, and when everyone gets up to greet him, Simon is still seated staring forward. It’s starting to scare Wilhelm. When they all sit back down, he decides to tap on Simon. As his fingers brush Simon’s shoulder, Simon’s whole body jolts as if he’s been woken up. He jerks his hand towards Wilhelm’s and suddenly the two are looking at each other, both very surprised. Simon stares at him, lips parted, and eyebrows slightly raised.

“What was that,” Wille whispers.

Simon looks embarrassed when he realizes what he’s been doing the past few minutes. They continue to stare at each other’s faces, until Wilhelm starts giggling and soon, Simon joins in. Mr. Englund scolds the two for making so much noise and they both apologize with red faces. They exchange a glance and cough out a few more laughs, pursing their lips to hold back smiles. Simon starts to pay attention to the lesson, but Wilhelm still looks at him out of the corner of his eye, happy to see Simon being himself.

Chapter Text

By the time lunch comes around, Wille and Simon have been getting along perfectly. So perfectly that Wille is wondering if Simon saw the text message in the first place. He had been preparing for Simon to completely ignore him or tell him to go fuck himself, which he wouldn’t have blamed him if he did. Even Felice noticed the good atmosphere. She got Wilhelm’s attention in class to give him a thumbs up and an enthusiastic nod.

Wilhelm feels on top of the world as the two of them head to the dining room. Simon seems a little disinterested in eating, but Wille chalks it up to how late he ate the sandwich. He ended up eating it during literature because Mr. Englund was already on their asses for laughing in math. But then, Simon’s disinterest turns into obvious discomfort when they walk into the hall. The third years are already seated, and Simon keeps his head ducked as he walks to the end of the table. Wille goes around the other side to sit across from him, giving him a curious look. As they all wait for the headmaster to come in, Wille can’t help but notice Simon shooting nervous glances down the table. Wille follows Simon’s eyes to wherever he’s looking and...

It's August. And August is staring right back. Nils and Vincent are none the wiser, continuing to chat amongst themselves, occasionally taking back August’s attention to ask him a question or tell a joke. Wilhelm’s eyes bore into August, and apparently, he does notice that. He stops looking at Simon and makes eye contact with Wille. Then he smiles. Wille’s face screws up in confusion and disgust. What is August doing? Wilhelm whips his head back to Simon, who is also looking at him through his eyelashes. Before he can ask what’s going on, the headmaster walks in, and they begin the usual routine. Once they pray, Wille gets up and heads to the buffet table, with Henry and Walter tailing right behind him.

“Hold on,” August commands. The group of first years stop in their tracks and turn to him. Even the third years look surprised. “Third years get served first.”

Wilhelm scowls at him and puffs out his chest. “Says who, August,” he retorts, “We’ve already decided that we’re not doing that anymore.”

August shakes his head, “I think you need to be reminded again that this is not a democracy.”

Vincent seems amazed that August is speaking up, and when he realizes what’s going on he grins. “Right. All of you need to go sit back down,” he reinforces.

Wilhelm glowers at him, “Or what?” He stands his ground in front of the first years.

“Or any of you first and second years who think you make the rules can say goodbye to your spots on the rowing team,” Vincent barks, peering down the table at the second years who had also begun to stand up.

Wille shakes his head, “That’s not fair to abuse your power. You can’t do that.”

August laughs, “He’s the prefect, Wille, of course he can. After all, you guys are the ones who voted for him.”

If looks could kill, Vincent and August would be dead right now. Wille looks back at the first and second years for support. They avoid his gaze, slowly returning to their seats. Wilhelm scoffs at their cowardice and storms out of the dining room. He’s not hungry anymore.

“Wille, wait,” Simon calls. Wilhelm turns to see Simon running up behind him.

“Simon, you didn’t have to come after me. You should eat lunch,” Wille insists. Simon shakes his head.

“I don’t want to be in there without you,” he grins.

Wille can’t help but smile, but then remembers the strange sight at the table. “Is it because of August,” he asks.

Immediately, Simon looks anxious. He tries to cover it up with a smirk, but the change in expression was evident. “Uh, what do you mean,” he simpers.

Wilhelm frowns, “I saw that he was staring at you at the table... you were looking back, too. Is he bothering you again?”

Simon shakes his head, “No, no, it was just, like, an awkward moment. He probably wasn’t even looking at me, but just in that direction.”

Wille purses his lips, displeased with the explanation but not wanting to prod any further.

“Alright, well...” Wilhelm looks around nervously and puts his hands in his pockets, “Since everyone’s eating do you want to... hang out, maybe?”

Simon finds his flustered expression endearing and can’t help but say yes. He knows that between Marcus, August, and Wille’s text message he should probably say no. He should keep his distance and protect his peace. But Wille is cute, and things have been good today.

“Sure,” he replies softly.

The two head to Wille’s dorm room, and Simon can’t help but notice how Wilhelm looks around to make sure there’s nobody else wandering about to see them. He tries to ignore how it makes his chest feel tight. When they get to his room, Simon ducks his head at Malin and flashes her a small smile.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been in here,” Simon chuckles as he closes the door behind them. Everything is the same from what he remembers. Even the open curtains.

Simon walks over to the desk and taps his fingers along it. Looking out of the window makes him nervous, only reminding him of bad days.

Suddenly, he senses Wilhelm standing right behind him. Wille moves closer, pressing against Simon’s back and placing an arm around his waist. Simon keeps his head tilted to the side, and Wille fills the crook of his neck with his face. His eyes slip shut while he lets Wille breathe him in.

“What are you doing,” Simon mumbles wistfully.

Wille moves his head down, resting his forehead on Simon. “What I’ve been wanting to do.”

The answer is painful, but exactly what Simon was hoping to hear. It’s the reassurance he’s been needing to know Wilhelm still wants him, even if it’s a pointless endeavor.

Simon flips around to meet Wilhelm, leaning back with his hands on the desk. They gaze at each other, until Wille moves forward. He reaches his arms out past Simon and closes the curtains behind his head. Their faces are barely an inch apart, so Simon takes the opportunity to kiss Wille. The moment their lips meet, and it feels like it has been an eternity since they last did this.

Wille deepens the kiss, sliding his hand from Simon’s arm up to his cheek. Wille holds Simon’s face with both his hands, and Simon clutches Wille’s wrists. Simon wraps a leg around the back of Wille’s knee and pulls him in closer, which doesn’t seem possible at this point. He stumbles forward, and his hands shoot out on either side of Simon to catch himself. The two laugh in between kisses.

Simon leans back and they pause. He grabs Wille’s arm and steps backwards to the bed. He falls back onto it, pulling Wilhelm down with him. It’s all soft giggles and heavy breaths when they land on the blankets. Simon stares up at Wilhelm, going silent as he examines the other’s face. When his eyes land on Wilhelm’s lips, he props himself up on his elbows to reach them. It’s like a magnetic pull draws them closer as Wilhelm leans down.

Their breaths tickle each other’s faces and their eyes flutter closed. Wilhelm presses his lips against Simon’s, and he is immediately met with a moan of relief from the other. It’s clear that Simon has been waiting for this. A heat travels from Simon’s face down his entire body. It makes him a little uncomfortable and he shifts underneath Wille. When Wille picks up on it, he slips a hand under Simon’s shirt and rides it up his chest. He feels the corners of Simon’s mouth tilt up and that’s all the permission he needs to continue.

Wille breaks away only to pull Simon’s shirt off completely. Simon returns the favor, pulling up Wilhelm’s sweater over his head and throwing it to the floor. It’s getting hot in the room, and the gentle kisses turn into them hungrily smashing their faces together. Simon runs his hands along Wilhelm’s chest and wraps them around his neck.

Hungry kisses turn into tongue and teeth clashing. They continue to reposition until Simon’s back is against the wall and Wille is between his legs. Wilhelm places a hand on Simon’s side, gliding it across his stomach and then down to the top of his jeans. He stops the kiss and presses their foreheads together. He taps his fingers on the button of Simon’s pants, and Simon nods. The boy can’t speak because he’s busy gasping for air. Wille grins and their mouths crash back together.

He fiddles with the button, and Simon laughs into his mouth. Wille finally gets it and, luckily, the zipper is much easier. Once he gets them open, Simon thrusts up to let Wille pull them down. Wille gets to his own pants and practically rips them off. Simon can hardly wait to have Wille’s hands on him. The anticipation builds as his peeks down to see Wilhelm’s hand slowly reach down. His hand goes to Simon’s crotch and...

...It feels wrong. It feels really really wrong. Simon thinks he just needs time to adjust, but the more Wille’s hand moves around the worse he feels. His stomach twists from the sensation and the pleasure of the moment is overpowered by disgust and shame.

“Wille-” Simon gasps between kisses, “I- Wille—". He gently presses his hand against Wilhelm’s arm.

“Wille, hold on,” he pants. Wilhelm recaptures his mouth and seemingly ignores Simon.

Simon’s face screws up in agitation. He seizes Wilhelm’s arm with a tight grip and only then does Wilhelm pull back.

“Simme, what-”

“I said hold on, Wilhelm,” Simon huffs.

“But I thought it was okay... I thought... I thought you wanted me to-” Wille explains.

“I thought I wanted you to, too, but that just... it was too much. You didn’t stop,” Simon fumes.

Wilhelm looks at him with a guilty expression, obviously upset to think he had ignored Simon’s protests. Simon just keeps his eyes downcast as he heaves. Wilhelm backs away and stands up from the bed.

“I’m sorry, Simon,” he murmurs. Simon nods and pulls his knees up.

“Can you hand me my shirt?”

Wilhelm grabs the shirt from the heap of clothes on the floor and hands it to Simon. Simon puts it back on and Wille sits down beside him.

“What made it too much this time,” he asks.

Simon glances at him and bites his lip. “I don’t know. It’s just been a while and it all happened too quickly,” he replies.

He knows exactly why it was different this time, but he can’t tell Wille the truth.

Wilhelm gives an understanding nod and eases his hand next to Simon’s. He tests the waters by overlapping their pinkies, and when that seems alright, he places his hand on top of Simon’s. Simon spreads out his fingers so that Wilhelm can interlink their hands. He squeezes tightly.

“Shit,” Wille curses under his breath when he hears voices down the hall. Lunch must be over.

Simon looks at Wille with a pained expression. “Do I have to sneak out? Again?”

Wille hesitates to say yes. “I’ll walk out first,” he replies, “And I’ll let you know when it’s clear.”

Simon turns his head away.

“Hey, don’t be like this. You know what I said. If we’re going to be together, we have to be discreet.” He can see that Simon is shaking his head.

“And that’s exactly why we’re not together,” Simon scoffs.

Wille slips his hand away. “Right,” he mumbles.

The rest of the day rolls by slowly for Simon. Being reminded of Wille’s conditions never feels good. It puts a damper on his already shitty mood. Not to mention, getting along with Wille was the only thing distracting him from thinking about August.

Simon’s phone vibrates.

Speak of the devil.

AUGUST

Where did you go during lunch?

Simon cringes at the message.

SIMON

None of your business.

AUGUST

There’s no need to be nasty. I know you left with Wilhelm.

Simon rolls his eyes and flips the phone over. He picks his pencil up when there’s anther buzz.

AUGUST

Did you two have fun?

The message infuriates Simon immediately.

SIMON

Shut up. Leave me alone.

SIMON

Wille saw you staring at me during lunch. Stop before he figures out something’s up. Then you’ll really regret this.

AUGUST

Let him figure out. What’s he going to do?

He pauses. He considers August’s message.

What would Wilhelm do?

AUGUST

That’s exactly what I thought. Have any plans tomorrow night?

SIMON

No.

AUGUST

You do now. Come over at 8.

Simon shudders.

SIMON

No. I’ve already done what you wanted.

AUGUST

Ok. Don’t show up. Watch what happens.

...

SIMON

Fine.

Chapter Text

Friday is usually the day of the week Simon looks forward to the most. He gets to be home all day, spend time with Rosh and Ayub, and there’s no Hillerska kids.

He doesn’t feel that way now, though.

Simon’s face is lit up in the darkness of his room by his phone screen. The message from August is pulled up, and it’s all Simon has thought about tonight. He constantly switches between the conversation with August and Wilhelm. His thumb wavers over the text box for Wille. He considers what would happen if he texted Wilhelm right now.

Simon flips over. Wilhelm would be disgusted by him. He should have known better than to follow August onto the trail. He should have stayed far, far away. And, at this point, he can’t really play victim. It’s his fault for bringing the drugs to school.

Simon cringes when he thinks back to it. How he was so easily bought out and turned into a drug dealer just for some tutoring cash. Stupid private boarding schools. All it took was 5,500 Kronor to betray his family. To go behind his mom and sister’s backs. To steal from his dad. This must be some kind of divine punishment, like karma or retribution. But Simon would rather have a swarm of locust rip through Bjärstad than go to August’s dorm again.

It's too late to be doing all this. He has a long day tomorrow. Today was stressful enough after what happened in Wille’s room.

That was even more embarrassing. Simon cringes, again. He totally freaked out and probably scared Wilhelm. There’s no way he can let August have this much power over him.

Getting called to the palace was nerve-wracking. August was sure Kristina was going to excommunicate him from the royal family.  Punish him in some way under the table.

He was not expecting to be put next in line for the crown.

The entire ride home August is all smiles. The work he has done to protect the royal family is finally paying off. While Wilhelm tries to paint August as the villain, August is the one coming out on top.

August is even more excited as he thinks about tonight. Simon’s coming over, and August already has plans for what they’ll do. It’s all working better than expected. It started as revenge, but now, if he can truly destroy Wilhelm, make him lose faith in the crown, and take away his motivation, then he is destined for the throne. If he could get away with the video, he could get away with this.

He is able to arrive back at school by lunchtime. He heads straight to the dining hall. When he walks in, his eyes dart straight to Simon.

“Simon, can I talk to you for a moment?” he calls out across the table

The rest of the room is chatting about and hardly pay attention to August. Except for Simon and Wilhelm, of course. Simon jerks his head towards August with a confused look, and then turns back to Wille. Wille mouths a question to him that August can’t hear, and Simon shakes his head.

When Simon doesn’t make a move to get up, August calls out again as he heads to the doorway. “Now, Simon.”

Wille glares in August, but it softens into concern as he watches Simon walk away. Simon nervously heads into the next room. When he’s standing in front of him, he realizes August has them positioned in a way that he is still slightly visible from the dining room.

“Can we just- move over here,” Simon suggests as he starts to move more towards the back. August catches his wrist.

“No. We are going to talk right here,” he finalizes. Simon glowers at him but stays put. When he looks to the table, he can see Wille is locked onto him. His eyebrows are knit together, and he looks worried. Simon puts up a reassuring hand and smiles at him. He really doesn’t want Wilhelm to watch this.

Simon keeps his head down. “What do you want, August,” he bites out.

“Just wanted to make sure we’re still on for tonight,” he replies cheekily.

The response makes Simon sick. “Stop fucking with me,” Simon grits through his teeth, “What are you playing at. Why are you doing this to me?” He nervously turns back to the dining room. Their conversation is kept at a whisper since the other boys are praying. Regardless, Wille is still looking at him. His hands are clasped in front of him, and he’s mumbling the words, but his gaze is fixed on Simon. From his point of view, he can only see half of Simon from the side. August is hidden behind the wall.

“Stop looking at him, I’m talking to you,” August commands.

Simon listens and turns back with an angry expression. August chuckles.

“Don’t try to intimidate me. It’s not going to work. But, like you were asking,” he hums, “I think you know exactly why I’m doing this.” He reaches out a hand and brushes Simon’s crotch.

Simon jumps back and stares at August with wide eyes. But before he begins to curse him out, he remembers how visible he is and looks to his left.

Wille is gawking at him with the expression of someone ready to kill. Simon’s head flips between the two of them and his mouth is stuck open. He’s sputtering out sounds and tries to think about what to say. What even is there to say? He’s too shocked to figure it out.

Wilhelm begins to get out of his chair, but Simon puts up his hands and ushers him to stay seated. Wille’s reaction gets Walter and Henry’s attention, and Simon starts to panic at more people noticing.

Simon runs a stressed hand through his hair and puts a hand on August’s chest. He leads the two of them farther back in the space. The open hand turns into a fist that he balls into the material of August’s sweater.

“What the fuck are you doing?! They could have seen us,” Simon squeaks out. August smiles.

“But isn’t that what you want? You want to be seen,” he growls.

Simon pulls August closer, “Not with you, asshole. Never with you.”

August smirks at his impudence and snatches his forearm, “Don’t worry, Simon. I wouldn’t dream of it. I actually have a reputation to uphold.” He pulls Simon’s arm and makes him release his grip on the sweater. August ruffles his hand in Simon’s hair, “Now, be a good boy and go sit down at the table.”

He shoos Simon away and waits until he has left. He wipes the hand he put on Simon’s crotch on his pants. The things he’ll do to make a point.

When August walks back in the room, he sees Simon sitting with his head down, supported by his hands. Wille is across the table trying to get his attention. He doesn’t even notice August walk past him.

“What were you talking to the socialist about,” Vincent inquires. Him and Nils are staring intently.

August waves the two of them off as he grabs his plate. “Don’t worry about it,” he replies.

Vincent and Nils look at each other and then start to smile.

“Are you planning another party? Were you asking for more booze,” Vincent whispers. August looks at the two of them and shrugs light-heartedly. The group laughs and Nils smacks him on the shoulder.

At the buffet table, August glances at Wille. But the second he turns his head, Wille is already looking right back at him. His menacing expression makes August’s smile falter, and he struggles to maintain eye contact.

Turning back to the food, he tries to collect himself. He’s not afraid of Wilhelm. Wilhelm should be afraid of him. The moment serves as a reminder of Wille’s insubordination, and August is irritated, but that will just fuel him even more tonight.

Nearing the end of lunch, Wilhelm is struggling to decide whether he should stay back and check on Simon, or if he should follow after August and confront him.

Looking at Simon fills Wilhelm with red hot rage and, suddenly, the latter becomes a lot more appealing.

He watches as everyone files out of the room. He walks over to Simon and momentarily places a comforting hand on his back. “I’ll see you next class,” he leans down and whispers. Simon faintly nods and Wille rushes out of the room. When he sees August in the crowd of students, he rushes up behind him and grabs him by the shoulder. August flips around.

“Oh, Wille, hey,” he greets cordially. “I’ll catch up with you guys in a second,” he says to his friends. The hallway empties out and Wilhelm is inches away from August’s face.

“What did you do,” he growls.

August raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies dismissively.

The corners of Wilhelm’s nose twitch and he squints his eyes. “Why were you talking to Simon,” he seethes.

August claps his hands together as if he just now understood. “Oh, that! Well, it’s not really any of your business. But if you need to know, it was about rowing.”

His sly expression is vexing to Wilhelm, and he wants to throttle August, but both of them are distracted by Simon walking out of the dining room. He’s rubbing his eyes and ambling down the hall. Simon drops his hands when he notices the two of them. He looks surprised, and all he can choke out is a small, “Ah.”

Wille gives August one more distasteful look before he rushes over to Simon. August tugs at his collar and watches the pair. He prepares to say something but gets interrupted by a group of third years calling him for a game of cards.

 “Simon are you okay,” he asks softly.

Simon turns to him with a weary expression and nods his head. “I’m fine, Wille.”

Wilhelm doesn’t fully believe the answer. “What was he saying to you? I saw you jump back.”

“It was about, like, rowing, I guess,” he dodges. Wille’s eyebrows scrunch together.

“You guess?”

“Yes, Wille. I guess,” he scoffs. “Are you done?”

Wille frowns at him. What’s this attitude for? He can’t even prod further because Simon is already walking away.

Apparently Wille got the message that Simon isn’t in the mood to talk because the rest of their classes go by silently. He hardly even looks at Simon, which is unusual. Even on their worst days, Wille can’t help but glance at him. Simon is hungry for his attention, but also wants to be left alone, and the indecisiveness is driving him crazy.

Simon’s phone is face up on the desk when he gets a text. It’s from August.

The second he reads the contact’s name, Simon snaps up the phone before Wilhelm sees it. He nervously side-eyes him to check if he noticed, but luckily it seems like he didn’t.

AUGUST

I’ll sneak you in like last time. There might still be some people awake. Be careful.

I wish someone saw me, Simon thinks. For August to be caught sneaking in the only openly gay student into his dorm. How humiliating would that be.

Simon puts his phone back down, this time not facing up, and continues his work. Now is the first time Wille looks at him. He eyes Simon suspiciously, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Luckily, Simon is saved by the bell and wastes no time leaving the classroom. He just wants to go home, study, maybe even take a nap. Anything to ignore his impending doom.

Ayub and Rosh aren’t on the bus, which Simon doesn’t mind this time. He wouldn’t have been able to even try and act normal in front of them. And he doesn’t want to make them worry, too. That’s something he hates. He hates Wilhelm being worried. He hates his mom being worried. He hates the tone of concern and sad eyes. He hates knowing it’s his fault that they get that way.

The minute he’s in the house, Simon quickly greets his mom and putters off to his room. He checks on Olle, Oski, and Felle, and drops in a few flakes for them. Exhausted, Simon flops onto his bed. Whatever plans he had for studying are thrown out of the window. The nap sounds better.

Chapter Text

Simon’s on his knees in front of August, his hand wrapped around August’s dick. August stares down at him, but his expression is unreadable. The room feels surreal. It’s dark, but it’s almost like there’s a spotlight on the two of them. Anywhere past the two of them is just black, like a void. He’s working his hand up and down, putting in a bit more technique than last time to hopefully get this over with quicker.

There’s a noise, and Simon knows there’s another person in the room.

He freezes, but August doesn’t react. The noise repeats nearly perfectly like a recording. Simon sits there helplessly, staring out into the black just waiting for someone to come forward.

And so, someone does.

It’s Wilhelm. And right behind him is Sara. And then mom, dad, even Felice. Simon immediately fills with panic. He tries to pull away from August, but his body moves in slow motion and his limbs have a mind of their own.

The group circles around him. Wilhelm shakes his head as Felice wraps an arm around him. Sara stares apathetically, maybe even slightly disgusted. His parents are embracing each other, which might be the strangest thing happening right now. Linda hides her face in Micke’s chest, and he can hear a soft, distant sobbing.

Simon tries to explain himself, but as he speaks, nothing comes out. He’s mouthing all the words without sound. His hand is still glued to August’s cock.

Wilhelm steps forward from the lineup. He examines the sight with crossed arms. He looks at August, then at Simon, then back at August.

“I told you,” Felice jeers.

Simon snaps his head back to her and tries in vain to defend himself.

“I’m not surprised,” Wilhelm replies.

Their voices echo through the room. The sound makes Simon dizzy.

He turns to Sara.

“It’s your fault.,” she says, “How could you do this to us?” Sara turns around and walks back into the void.

His dad nods in agreement and follows after her.

“Simon, what have you done,” his mom cries. “Simme? Simme? SIMON?”

“SIMON!”

Simon jolts up out of bed. He’s drenched in sweat and his heart is pounding wildly, to the point Simon’s convinced it might beat right out of his chest. Linda is standing in the doorway giving him a strange look.

“Dinner’s ready, Simme. Come eat,” she laughs.

Simon nods and tries to steady his breathing. Despite how ridiculous the dream was, it was so real in the moment. With it fresh in his mind, it almost feels like a distant memory rather than a nightmare. Simon runs a sweaty palm through his hair and wipes his face with the back of his hand. When he checks his phone, it’s already 6.

It’s 6 and all he has done is sleep. It’s 6 and in two hours he’ll be in an actual nightmare.

Simon slowly rolls out of bed. Walking to the kitchen is more like a stiff waddle since apparently Simon slept in a weird position. His back is sore and no amount of stretching helps.

“Did you sleep well,” Linda quips with a smile while Simon is practically bending in half backwards. He straightens up at the question and laughs softly.

“Yeah, just had a long day,” he replies.

Linda nods and places down a bowl in front of him: a small portion of Pabellón Criollo. Simon has been getting sick of Swedish food recently, and Linda has been coming home from work too tired to make something like this. He grins at her and thanks her for the food.

“Is there a special occasion,” he jokes. Linda sends back a playful expression before sitting down across from him.

“What, does it have to be? Maybe I just wanted to cook something nice for my son,” she says coyly.

Simon giggles before he starts to eat. The first bite almost makes him start singing. It’s absolutely perfect.

“Is it good?”

With his mouth full, Simon nods vigorously with a pursed smile. Linda is delighted by his reaction and reaches out to pat him on the shoulder.

Dinner goes by quickly, unfortunately. He hopes his mom didn’t notice, but his leg shook incessantly throughout the whole meal. Watching the clock is like watching a countdown to a tragedy he can’t do anything about. It’s a helpless and empty feeling that he tries to not let on to his mother. The two are sat on the couch for some post-dinner channel surfing. Simon looks down anxiously and fiddles with the loose thread on the hem of his T-shirt.

“Ehhh... mamá. Voy a salir con Rosh y Ayub... eh... esta noche,” he stumbles out apprehensively. Linda turns to him with a curious look at his weird tone

She pauses for a moment. “OK,” she replies, after a moment of thinking, “Pero, por favor, si llegas tarde a casa, avísame.”

“Por supuesto, mama. Por supuesto.”

Linda smiles at him and rubs his back comfortingly. “I haven’t seen them in a while. Tell them to come by.”

Simon nods in agreements before excusing himself to get ready. There’s an immediate change in Simon’s demeanor as the mask slips. The dinner he just ate turns into a rock in his stomach. There’s not much for him to do before he leaves. He’s not trying to pretty himself up for August. He switches out his sweat-covered shirt for one from his pile of laundry. He grabs the same hoodie from last time, puts his phone in his pocket, and heads to the front door. After slipping on his shoes, he calls out to his mom before leaving.

“¡Chao!”

And with that, he’s walking to the bus stop.

AUGUST

Are you on the way?

SIMON

Yes.

Simon clicks off his phone and places it in his lap. He clasps his hands together on top of it and stares out of the window. Going out at night used to be exciting. Watching Rosh’s football games, getting pizza with Rosh and Ayub, even just strolls around Bjärstad when he needed some air. Now, all he can think about is the first night he went to see August. It makes him nauseous and suddenly staring out of the window is giving him motion sickness. Squeezing his eyes shut, Simon leans his head back on the seat and taps his nails on his phone case. By the time the bus arrives at Hillerska, the feeling has mostly passed. But it comes right back when he opens his phone.

SIMON

I’m here.

August must have been waiting close by because he arrives quickly. He greets Simon with another casual smile as if they’re good friends who’ve been planning to hang out. It makes Simon cringes and grit his teeth at the creepy display.

“Come on. Some of the boys are still awake, so be careful,” August directs. As he gets close to Simon, he puts a hand on his lower back to guide him up the road. Simon immediately lurches away, jerking his arm in a threatening motion.

“The fuck, August. Don’t touch me,” he barks.

August stares at him before bursting out laughing. “Don’t touch you,” he chuckles in disbelief, “You draw the line at me touching your back?”

Simon’s face scrunches up in a scowl. The implication that Simon was okay with giving August a hand job or that he didn’t oppose to it infuriates him. That it was ever his line to draw.

“You- I can’t even-” Simon struggles to argue back. He’s so mad that he can’t form a coherent thought.

August nods condescendingly. “The more time we spend out here the longer I’m going to keep you,” he threatens.

Simon purses his lips and furrows his brow in frustration. He hunches up his shoulders and stomps down the road to Forest Ridge. August follows closely behind. A little too closely.

When they get up to the dormitories, Simon remembers what August said. There are still some lights on. He isn’t exactly sure what goes on at this time since he doesn’t board, and the anxiety of someone seeing him becomes overwhelming. The two are at the front door but Simon shrinks back, shaking his head and stiffening up completely.

“What are you doing,” August asks impatiently.

“I can’t go in there. Someone will see me. What if Wilhelm is awake?”

August rolls his eyes at the mention of Wilhelm. “So, what if he does?”

Simon snaps to August with a panicked look. August observes his expression before looking away and sighing.

“Come on.”

He grabs Simon’s arm and pulls his hood up tightly. Simon can feel his curls getting flattened from how far forward it is. August opens the door, shutting it behind him just as quietly. As they sneak through the hall to the staircase, Simon can hear the distant laughter and chatter of the other residents. He keeps his head down, but the sound of it slowly becomes overpowered by his own heartbeat. A pressure builds in his ears from the intensity.

They successfully make it up the stairs and all the way to August’s door without crossing paths with anyone. Simon is slipping past August into his dorm when he hears another door in the hall open. From behind the door, Simon hears someone else.

“Hey August, what’re you-” the voice cuts off quickly. “Oooh.”

Simon whips back and sees August leaning against the open door, shielding him from view. He has a finger placed over his lips as he grins at the other boy in the hall.

“You better keep it down,” the person laughs. August nods at him before pushing Simon into his room and shutting the door behind them. Simon can’t really read him, but despite how easily he handled the situation, August seems a little spooked.

“That was close, huh,” August jokes. But Simon is in no mood for jokes. He responds with a spiteful glare.

It may only be the second time, but Simon already knows to take his jacket off the moment he enters. He pulls it off and places it on the same spot on the chair. He stands awkwardly next to the desk and keeps his eyes fixed on the floor. When he hears August step next to him, he closes his eyes and holds his breath. August reaches out, which Simon struggles to not immediately flinch away from it. A hand grasps his chin and gently pulls his face up. August stares at him with abhorrence. It’s dead silent in the dorm as Simon still refuses to exhale.

August’s slides from Simon’s chin to his bottom lip. He rubs it back and forth.

“You have a nice mouth. Like a girl’s, almost.”

The disgusting comment makes Simon suck in his lower lip. He bites down on it determinedly and glowers up at August. August’s face twists annoyance at Simon’s disobedience and he tries to get Simon to release by digging his thumb into the corner of his mouth. When that doesn’t work, he clutches Simon’s jaw and jerks it down. Simon’s mouth pops open and Simon yelps from the pain. He puts both of his hands on August’s wrist and attempts to pull it off.

“Don’t fuck with me Simon,” he spits.

Simon is breathless as he stares back at August with repulsion. He relaxes his hands but keeps them hanging off of August’s arm.

“Wha’re you d’ing,” he slurs, hardly able to speak with the way August is propping his mouth open.

August doesn’t reply, his face is enough of a response. Simon can tell exactly what he’s thinking by the way he completely ignores Simon, eyes locked onto his lips. The realization makes him start to panic, and he tries to shut his mouth. August darts forwards, slamming his mouth against Simon’s. Simon freaks out, immediately pounding his hands against August’s shoulders. August captures his wrists, forcing them down to his sides. He shoves Simon against the desk as he continues. August is practically shoving his tongue down Simon’s throat, and Simon feels like he’s choking. He tries to ease his mouth closed, but each time he gets close to biting August, August squeezes his wrists even harder. The pain makes him wince, which August takes as an opportunity to force his tongue in further.     

The sounds of it churn Simon’s stomach. His eyes are squeezed shut so hard that a pressure builds behind his eyes. The outer corners of his lashes are wet, but he doesn’t dare to let himself cry. August’s tongue gags his screams, only allowing out a muffled whimper. This isn’t what kissing is supposed to be like. It’s not supposed to hurt. He’s not supposed to be on the verge of crying. It’s supposed to be gentle. It’s supposed to feel good. It’s supposed to be Wilhelm.

The thought of Wilhelm makes Simon rip away from August. He whips his face to the side and quickly heaves in air. When he turns back, August is panting excitedly and staring hard. As if he can see straight into Simon. Simon can hardly keep his eyes open, feeling completely exhausted by the attack. He continues to breathe heavily, coughing and choking on August’s saliva.

“Fuck... you...” he wheezes.

Simon’s resentment only seems to fuel August more. A grin spreads across his face as he leans closer.

“I’m sure you two have done that before,” he pants, “But have you used your mouth any other way?”

The second the question leaves his mouth, every ounce of Simon’s being is screaming in terror. Simon pulls against August’s grip even hard than before, his entire torso flailing wildly.

“No, August, you can’t,” he begs, “I won’t- I can’t. Please, just stop.” Even though his helplessness definitely turns August on, it’s impossible to keep his cool right now.

“I didn’t even say anything,” he scoffs, “But, I don’t think I need to.”

A slew of distressed bargains and frantic pleading fall on deaf ears as August coerces Simon down onto his knees. They switch places, with August now leaned against the desk and Simon in front of him. He grips the desk and stares at Simon as he reluctantly crouches lower and lower. The sight arouses August, smirking twistedly at the other. Simon’s knees feel weak, and he can’t catch his breath. Air comes in short, choppy gasps making him even more lightheaded. Still, he refuses to cry. He chews his lip every time he feels a sob bubble up in his throat.

“August, please, you don’t have to go this far. I’ll do anything else. I’ll bring you more pills. I’ll get you liquor. I won’t even expect anything in return, I’ll even give you money,” Simon barters desperately.

“This is all you can do for me.”

Simon turns his head down and squeezes his hands into tight fists. The din of August’s zipper is like nails on a chalkboard. He can see August’s pants fall between his ankles from where he’s staring at the carpet. The muscles in his neck constrict with fear and he can’t bring himself to look up.

“Come on. Look at me.”

Simon slowly turns his head up, only to be met with August’s cock inches away from his face. It makes him grimace and nearly fall backwards. It’s already halfway hard. How August is aroused at all right now is boggling to Simon, but trying to dissect that just sickens him more. When Simon doesn’t move, August groans.

“Don’t tell me this is your first time doing this,” he complains.

Simon jerks his head up with an expression that confirms August’s suspicion.

“You’re kidding. I thought gay dudes were practically born knowing how to do this,” he taunts.

Simon glares. “Did you get that idea from personal experience,” he snaps.

One of the hands gripping the desk suddenly jolts forward and seizes Simon’s hair. His curls are clenched tightly between August’s knuckles.

“Do not imply for even a moment that I’m gay. I’m nothing like you fucking degenerates,” August snarls.

Simon could almost laugh from the absurdity of that statement, but the pull on his hair is too painful. He lets his head be lifted to alleviate some of the pressure. His jaw is clenched tightly to keep himself from talking back.

“Now, if you’re done trying to act brave, I’ll help you figure out how to do this.”

August pulls Simon up even higher by his hair until he’s on his knees. With his other thumb, August presses in between Simon’s lips until he opens his mouth.

“I’m sure you have an idea on what to do from all of your depraved pornography. But you better not let any of theseget near my dick,” he illustrates his point by running his thumb along Simon’s teeth. “I don’t need you to pull any special tricks. Just keep it in your mouth and go as deep as you can.”

Simon tries his best to follow the directions. The sensation is repulsive, and Simon feels like he can barely breathe around the foreign object. It’s like he’s constantly choking on something, with the air coming through his nose being the only thing to convince him otherwise.

“You know,” August grounds out between pants, “I can’t believe I got this before Wilhelm did. With how much he seems to like you, I thought you must’ve been keeping him pleased somehow.”

The mention of Wilhelm breaks Simon’s focus. He slips up, and his teeth graze August. The moment he realizes what he’s done, the hand on his head grips tightly and wrenches his head back. Simon lets out a choked-off shriek.

August stares at him wildly. “What was the one thing I said,” he barks, “Did I hit a nerve when I mentioned Wille?”

Despite the fist in his hair, Simon glowers at August, silently challenging him to do his worst. August accepts the dare. He forces Simon’s mouth open with an ironclad grip, still keeping his other hand wrapped in Simon’s coils. Simon attempts to argue, but it comes out as incoherent whines. August thrusts forward, and Simon nearly loses the contents of his stomach.

There’s a ringing in Simon’s ears. He’s curled up in bed, knees all the way to his chest and arms wrapped around his middle. The trashcan next to his bed has a bag full of vomit. Simon smacks his lips to try and get rid of the taste, and the smell makes him want to throw up, again. He can see his mom enter his room from the corner of his eye, and as she nears him there’s a cold sensation against his back.

“Here’s some water, Simme. You need to drink it,” she murmurs in a soothing tone. He looks back slightly but makes no attempt to turn around. Linda frowns worriedly and places the glass next to his bed. “I’ll leave it here,” she resolves, “And I’m going to clean out your trash, okay?”

Simon nods faintly, eyes still glued to his bedroom wall. Linda rubs his back before getting up to take the bin out. He shivers after she walks away. Simon had fought the urge to vomit from the moment he left Hillerska until he got to the front door. He walked to his room, tried to resist it, but ended up sick, anyways. His mom heard him, which was the one thing he didn’t want to happen. Since then, she’s been in and out of his room to check on him.

The last time he remembers throwing up, it was Sara cleaning him up, trying her best to not wake their parents. She’d tell him to stop crying, trying to hush his wails before dad heard them. It was probably also the last time Sara was the one taking care of him.

Linda comes back into his room. “Simme, baby, can you talk to me,” she implores, “What happened?”

Simon sighs and clears his throat. He finally rolls over to meet his mom’s anxious gaze. She only looks more worried from his drained appearance.

“I think I have a stomach bug, mamá,” he replies hoarsely.

Linda nods sympathetically, “Ay, it’s been a while since you’ve been sick. ¿Comiste algo malo con Rosh y Ayub?”

Simon shrugs. “Tal vez.”

She runs a hand over his hair, a usually comforting gesture that now sends shivers down Simon’s spine. His scalp is still sore.

“Duerme un poco,” she hums. Simon nods once again, smiling at her weakly. Linda leans down and presses a kiss on his forehead.

The bed shifts as she gets up and leaves. The door clicks, and Simon is left to his thoughts. Remembering the glass of water on his nightstand, he grabs it and attempts to drink it while still laying down. After nearly drowning himself, Simon finally gets up. He pulls off his now-wet shirt and throws it down next to his bed. Even though he hasn’t showered and there’s still a sour taste lingering in his mouth, Simon gets under his sheets and drifts off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Saturday at Forest Ridge is as mundane as ever. Wille is cooped up in his room reviewing notes and finishing up homework. It’s hard to focus, though, as a certain memory from yesterday eats away at him. He tried to not be obvious, but the second Simon’s phone lit up with a notification during class, he read the contact. Originally, he thought it would be Marcus. Wille was prepared for that annoyance. The last person he expected, though, was August. What business does he have texting Simon? Combined with their supposed talk about “rowing”, Wilhelm is becoming more and more suspicious.

Unable to do his work, Wilhelm grabs his phone and scrolls through Instagram as a distraction. He likes a post from Felice: a selfie of her and Sara. It makes him smile, but seeing Sara reminds him of Simon, and thinking of Simon reminds him of this whole confusing situation.

Malin knocks on the door to call Wilhelm out for lunch. He snaps out of his brooding and gets up, walking out of his dorm with Malin trailing behind from a distance. When he gets to the lunchroom, all of the dorm’s residents are finding their seats at the tables. The first years are as loud and talkative as always at the end of the table, and all he can hear from the third-years’ side is August’s usual obnoxious boasting.

When Wille finds his spot and everybody’s seated, there’s a sudden clanging from the opposite end of the table. Vincent is stood with a glass and metal spoon, clinking them together. He quickly gets the attention of the room.

“Everyone,” he begins loudly, “it seems that one of the third-years saw something last night... now, I won’t say who told me, but apparently...” Vincent trails off and turns to look down at August. August looks at him a bit confused. “Apparently, someone was sneaking a girl into his room last night...” Vincent calls out, “August... get on the table!”

The entire room breaks out into a chant and gradually slam their fists harder and harder on the table. Wilhelm leans back from the vibration and rolls his eyes at the display. August has a bashful smile and laughs along. Wille, on the other hand, is not smiling and he’s not participating. August steps up onto his chair and then onto the table. He puts his hands up to placate the boys’ shouting.

“Alright, alright. Let’s just say, I had a good night in,” he chuckles. The room erupts in clapping and cheers. People are shouting out tasteless questions about the supposed mystery woman. Asking about her looks, her body, how far along August got.

August is surveying the room, gloating from the attention and admiration of his peers. But then his gaze lands on Wilhelm.

And the strangest thing happens.

He can’t tell what it is, but there’s something off about August’s expression when he makes eye contact with Wilhelm. August is smiling, but not in the same way he was while bragging about last night’s escapade. It widens at Wilhelm’s vexed demeanor, reveling in his agitation. August’s eyes gleam with twisted amusement.

His entire expression tells Wilhelm, “I know something you don’t’.”

And that alone is enough to send Wille out of the dining hall. He abruptly pushes his chair out and leaps from his seat. With the majority of the table still distracted by August, Wilhelm storms out without much fuss from the first-years.

WILHELM

I need to talk to you. Right now.

SIMON

What do you mean?

WILHELM

I’m coming to yours.

SIMON

What???

Wilhelm doesn’t reply to the last message. He just finds Malin and tells her to bring the car around. She tries to ask about why he’s not in lunch, but he ignores the question and presses for the ride as soon as possible.

The message from Wilhelm gets Simon right out of bed. He jumps up and scrambles to find something to put on. It’s making him nervous that Wille didn’t respond to his last message. But he’s disgusting right now, so he decides to go in the bathroom instead of pondering it any longer.

The reflection in the mirror is unfamiliar. Simon looks sickly, and his eyes have bags underneath them. As someone who prides himself on his appearance, it’s startling. Maybe it really was a stomach bug because there’s no way one night did this to him.

But then again, when Simon thinks of that “one night”, it’s not too unbelievable.

Trying to ignore his disheveled look, Simon speeds through his usual routine and quickly brushes his teeth. It’s a good thing he was fast, because as soon as he’s dressed there’s a knock at the door. Simon waves his mom off from answering it and goes to open it. And there Wilhelm is, in his fancy little jacket and absolutely unnecessary scarf. It really does feel like a royal visit.

“Uhm, hey,” Simon breathes with a small smile. Wilhelm does not return it. The lack of reaction is discouraging.

“We need to talk. Outside.”

Simon looks confused. “For what? You can’t just show up here and not tell me why.”

“I’m telling you why. We need to talk,” he explains. Simon kind of rolls his eyes at the response but follows Wilhelm out regardless. Malin is stood by the car when they walk out. She makes Simon a little uneasy.

The two walk around to the side of the house and Wilhelm stops. Simon stands by him awkwardly, hands behind his back and foot digging into the ground.

“Sooo, what-”

“I know what’s been going on,” Wille seethes.

Simon freezes and his heart picks up. He suddenly feels exposed and it’s uncomfortable. But regardless, he tries to play it off. He attempts to laugh, but instead it’s an awkward string of noise.

“Eh, what do you mean? What’s been going on,” he titters, a shake in his voice betraying him.

“Don’t try to act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Simon is taken aback by the tone of Wille’s voice. He sounds so unfamiliar, and Simon hates it.

“Wille, I don’t-” Simon tries to defend.

“You’re dealing to August again, aren’t you,” Wilhelm sneers.

The accusation is so out of left field that all Simon can do is stare back, shocked. That wasn’t what Wilhelm was hoping for.

“So, you’re not even going to try and deny it,” he scoffs, “I thought you told me it was just that once. Why, Simon? And you know he’s bad news. You know what he almost did to you, and you know what he did to Alexander.”

Thoughts rush through Simon’s head so quickly that he’s still struggling to reply. The simple fact Wilhelm would jump to this conclusion makes him so upset that he can’t even try to respond rationally. It’s the kind of overwhelming feeling where you just want to start screaming because no words could convey what you feel.

Simon tries to form a defense. “I- I- ,” he stutters. It’s cold outside but he’s starting to sweat.

Wilhelm frowns at him, almost like he’s disappointed. “Why would you not come to me? If it’s about the money... Simon, I could help you.”

That sets Simon off even more. One of his biggest fears when he started a “relationship” with Wilhelm was being turned into a charity case. For Wilhelm to imply for even a moment that Simon needs his help just because he has money.

“I am not dealing,” Simon fumes. Wilhelm shakes his head.

“Sure, you aren’t. So then why is August texting you? Why is he pulling you aside in the middle of lunch? And why did you lie about what he said?” Wilhelm is throwing question after question and it’s making Simon dizzy.

Rage builds inside Simon. “How about, it’s none of your fucking business, Wille? Why do you care so much,” he barks, “I told you we were talking about rowing, why can’t you leave it at that?!”

“Stop lying to me,” Wilhelm cries, “Do you know what they were just talking about at Forest Ridge?”

“What,” Simon bites back defiantly.

“One of the third year’s saw August taking a ‘girl’ into his dorm. It was you, wasn’t it? You were in his room giving him pills.”

The memories of last night flash through Simon’s head, and he remembers the slip-up while sneaking in. His mouth is gaping, and his throat tightens with panic. He knows.

Apparently, it was a mistake to let on his emotions like that, because Wille takes it as an admittance of guilt.

“I thought so. I didn’t want to believe it but... but, wow. “

Fight or flight hits and as usual, Simon picks fight.

“What the fuck do you care, like actually? What if I’m dealing. You don’t want me in your life anyways, so why do you care what the fuck I choose to do and who I’m around,” he bristles.

Wille doesn’t like that response, either. It obviously strikes a chord because he gets even more red in the face.

“Because, Simon,” Wille shouts. Simon is surprised at his volume and pulls back a little. “Because you need to stay the fuck away from him! You don’t even know-” Wilhelm catches himself and doesn’t finish the sentence.

Simon takes a step back. “Know what, Wille?”

“Nothing, I didn’t- I don’t know what I was going to say,” Wilhelm stammers, suddenly much less assertive than before.

For a moment, Simon considers pushing for an answer. But he doesn’t want to answer Wilhelm, either. And he just wants this whole conversation to be over. His adrenaline begins to drop and his breathing steadies.

“Uhm, okay,” Simon mumbles. Wilhelm runs a hand through his hair in an effort to collect himself, looking the opposite direction. After a while, he turns back to Simon. The two stand in awkward silence, neither really wanting to look at the other.

Wilhelm sighs. “Did you really mean what you said. Like, that you’re not dealing to him,” he asks nervously. The annoyed look that Simon shoots back says enough.  “Oh, alright... that’s good.”

Simon raises his eyebrows and nods sarcastically.

“Okay. I’m sorry,” Wilhelm blurts. Simon is a little surprised, he wasn’t expecting an apology so quickly. But he gives Wille the space to feel it out. “I just... I feel like we’re so distant. And thinking about you and like, him fucking you over. And me not being there. It just... it really gets to me. I don’t think you know what he’s really capable of, but I do so I just come up with all of these fucked up things in my head and I start to freak out and-”

“Wille,” Simon interrupts, “I get that you want to play the hero and ‘protect’ me or whatever, but how the fuck could you come to myhouse and say this shit to me. You stand here and scream at me that I’m a drug dealer. My mom is right fucking there. What if she heard you?!” Simon shoots out a hand in the direction of his home.

Wilhelm looks ashamed and a bit embarrassed. He realizes maybe this wasn’t the best way to react to a hunch.

“I can’t handle your outbursts, like this, Wille. You get so mad and think an apology fixes everything,” his eyes are cold, “I think you should leave.”

Wilhelm’s eyebrows knit together in regret, and he bites his lip before saying anything else. He just nods his head woefully and trudges back to the car.

Simon stays in place, face dropping to the ground. He shields his eyes when he feels the tears approaching. This time, he lets them spill out. He’s done it again. He pushed Wilhelm away. It’s not like Wille is completely blameless, seeing as he flipped out on Simon over an assumption, but Simon pushed him away. Simon told him to leave, but that’s not what he really wanted. Really, Simon wanted to jump into his arms and squeeze Wilhelm tightly like clinging to a lifeboat.

He wanted to tell him everything that’s been going on. He wanted to pour out apologies and beg for forgiveness. He wanted to hear Wilhelm say it was all going to be okay.

Instead, Simon is crouched to the ground digging his nails into his forehead as all the sobs he held in last night come pouring out. There’s so much that it’s scaring him. Like he might never stop. It’s less of a cry and more of a howl as he continues. The heaving makes him feel like his throat’s going to turn inside out and fall right out of his mouth.

Part of the uncontrollable sobbing was also fear. The post-terror reaction of thinking he was finally caught. And then the slight disappointment that he wasn’t.

The ride back to Hillerska is suffocating. Wille rests his chin on his palm while staring out the window. His eyes are red, and a few tears drip down silently. He can see Malin look back in the rear-view mirror every now and then.

“Crowned Prince Wilhelm, are you alright?”

Wilhelm’s eyes dart to the mirror and he nods. He’s far from alright.

He doesn’t believe Simon’s answer at all. And honestly, with how defensive he got, Wilhelm is wondering if he has gotten into even deeper shit. Wille knows that August can push people to do some unbelievable things. And August has always had an addictive personality. Who knows if he’s just taking Vyvanse at this point. Like, what if he’s making Simon bring him harder stuff? The kind of stuff people get caught selling and then go away for a long time. Wille’s lip trembles at the thought.

He shouldn’t have charged Simon like that. Now Simon’s mad and that makes it even harder for Wilhelm to help him. Wille doesn’t even care if Simon hates him for it, he wants to keep him safe. That’s why his next stop is going to be the dorm lounge.  

Shops and sidewalks turn into tall, thick forest. The closer they get to Hillerska, a fury bubbles up in Wilhelm faster and faster. He’s practically vibrating in his seat, his entire body shaking with anger. His leg bounces impatiently, nearly ordering the driver to speed up. When they are finally parked, Wilhelm practically flies out of the car. He doesn’t wait for anybody to get the door for him, just jumps out and heads immediately to the dorm. Wille rips the front door open and stomps down the hall. He can hear Malin behind him frantically trying to keep up. He darts around corners before coming to the glass-paned door of the lounge. Just as he expected, August is laid out on an armchair with a deck of cards in hand. His posse surrounds him, laughing and arguing over the game.

Wilhelm swings the door open, immediately stealing the attention of everyone in the room. He steps around the boys seated on the floor and past the ones on the couch. When he’s in front of August, he grabs the shoulder of his sweater.

Leaning down, Wilhelm glares at August. “In the hallway, now,” he commands in as calm of a voice as he can muster.

August raises an eyebrow, still trying to look cool in front of his friends. He looks around at them before looking back up at Wilhelm. “Alright,” he agrees. August places his cards face down, and as the two of them walk out he turns back around to shrug at his audience. The boys are whispering and giggling.

The two exit the room. Wilhelm steers them away from the door and August pipes up. “What did you want to-”

Before he can finish, he’s getting slammed against the wall. Two fists are balled up into his shirt collar, and Wilhelm is peering up at him with pure hatred. It catches him off guard.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing,” August flares.

“You stay the hell away from Simon, August, or I swear I’ll-”

“You’ll what,” August cuts in, “What exactly are you going to do? Ruin the family name even more? Over someone you’re not even with? And for what?”

Wilhelm’s nostrils flare. “I know you’ve been buying off of him again,” he mutters, “Leave him alone.”

August rolls his eyes. “Whatever do you mean, Wille? I told you, him and I only speak as teammates,” he snorts.

Never in his life has Wille wanted to punch somebody more. But the only way he can help Simon is if he controls himself and doesn’t get thrown out of this school. With a scoff, Wilhelm releases August and backs away.

“I know what you’re doing, August. And I promise to make sure the crown does, too. Just wait.”

With that, Wilhelm storms off towards his room. It took a lot out of him to not beat August right then and there. To completely rearrange his smug face.

Malin beats him there, already posted up in front of his door. She eyes him suspiciously as he slips past her. When Wille is alone, he finally lets it all out. With open palms he swipes across his desk, sending all of his papers, books, and pens flying. They slam against the wall and his bed. He rips the chair out and throws it behind him. He tears up the nicely made bed opposite his, slamming the pillows against the mattress and shoving the bedding onto the ground. Wille buries his head into the cushion and lets out a piercing shriek. It’s intense, but luckily, it’s muffled enough to not rouse Malin’s concern and send her running in.

He sinks down to his knees, still gripping the pillow. A wet spot forms from his screaming, and the feeling of it irritates Wilhelm. He sends that across the room, too. It narrowly avoids hitting the door, instead thumping against the wall, and sliding down to the floor. With his back against the disarranged bed, Wille breathes hard and quickly. He’s barely catching his breath, only aggravated, and trying to not scream any more.

Though as angry as he is, Wille is at a complete loss. He was really just bluffing when he confronted August. There’s nothing his mother would do about this. She has defended August this entire time. Telling her about the drugs would just give her a better opportunity to sweep it all under the rug. But Wilhelm will stop this if it’s the last thing he does.

Chapter Text

Simon shuffles back inside to a very confused Linda. She has a laundry basket against her hip, her hand resting on the other side.

“Was that Wilhelm,” she asks. But once she fully takes in Simon’s red, puffy face, her expression shifts into concern. Linda places down the basket and quickly walks towards him. “Mi amor, ¿qué pasó?”

Simon tries to avoid his mother’s hand coming up to his cheek, but she follows his movement and catches his face. It’s not that he doesn’t want his mom’s comfort right now, it’s just that he’s scared it will break him again. And it does. His attempt at answering and the warmth of her palm opens up the floodgates. Simon tries to speak but clamps his mouth shut at the feeling in the back of his throat. Instead, his lip pokes out and that does it for Linda. She immediately grabs him, not even needing a response. With her arms wrapped around him, Simon starts hiccupping out little cries. His voice is so hoarse from earlier that the noises are hardly a rasp. But somehow, he still has tears to shed, all of which end up drenching Linda’s shoulder. She doesn’t mind, only squeezing him even tighter.

“Simme, amor mío, ¿qué te dijo?” the question comes out between the circles she rubs in his back. Linda feels Simon shake his head against the crook of her neck. She decides to not push it.

It takes him a while to calm down, but Linda finally gets him to settle down on the couch. She offers the usual: cookies, juice, soda. He smiles appreciatively but turns them down.

“Estoy bien, mama,” he croaks. She smiles at the irony of his answer.

“¿Quieres hablar de ello?”

“No.”

Simon feels bad for shutting her out, keeping her in the dark on this. But he has to. There’s nothing else for him to say. And he doesn’t want to make up a lie, either. Every moment he doesn’t tell her, the worse he feels. He can’t add to that even more. His mom rambles off to the kitchen to escape the tense atmosphere. Simon leans his head back, squeezing his eyes shut and huffing. He wipes his knuckles against his eyelids before wiping his nose. He sniffles a couple times, trying to get rid of the stuffy feeling. It’s so early, but Simon is already exhausted.

“I think I might take a nap, mom,” he calls out.

The nap turns into hours of sleep. Simon only gets up to eat dinner and goes right back to his bed. He tries to ignore how worried his mom looks. He ignores everything. He sees missed calls and unread messages from Rosh and Ayub. Even Marcus. But for some reason Simon just can’t bring himself to do anything about it. He’s not even upset anymore, just listless. So listless that those hours of sleep turn into even more hours of sleep, so many hours that Simon wakes up the next day around noon.

This time, Linda looks more vexed than worried. When he groggily shambles out to the kitchen, she is standing with a fist on one hip and a hand on the counter. Her lips are pursed to the side. “Simon. ¿Qué pasó? Hablo en serio. ¿Sabes lo extraño que es esto para ti?”

Irritable and clouded, Simon can’t help but give her a sideways glance as he walks past her. That absolutely doesn’t fly with her. She crosses her arms and flips around to where he’s rifling through the cabinets.

“Simon Eriksson. You do not ignore me when I’m talking to you,” she chides. Simon is still turned away. She taps her foot impatiently, unsure of what to do.

Simon never acts like this, and he never sleeps for nearly 24 hours straight. Linda knows she could bring the hammer down on him right now. She also knows that her child doesn’t act like this without a reason. Placing a hand on his shoulder, Linda grips his shirt and steers him into the living room despite his protests.

Simon finally rips away from her as she guides him down onto the couch. He folds his arm close to his body and looks up at her bitterly. “Mom, what are you doing,” he groans.

“Listen to me. You need to tell me what’s wrong. This isn’t like you,” she leans down, “Baby, what happened yesterday?”

Simon shifts uncomfortably against the cushions. “I...” he starts, “I don’t even know. It wasn’t even that serious. Wille came and told me some stuff that was... upsetting.”

Linda looks at him skeptically. “Upsetting? Just upsetting? Simme, you’ve been sleeping for so long. That’s not something you do when something’s ‘just upsetting’.”

It’s becoming more and more frustrating that Linda won’t let Simon excuse himself out of this. Simon is getting veryirritated.

“What do you want me to say? It was upsetting. That’s it. I’m sorry I don’t tell you everything,” he snaps back. Simon feels like complete shit talking to his mom like this.

Linda is undeniably mad at Simon right now. He can tell she’s fighting it, though. It takes her a while before she replies. “Alright,” she sighs, “If you say that’s what happened, then alright.”

Simon tries to ignore how disappointed she sounds. Linda looks off to the side before leaving to her own room. Something is tight in Simon’s chest. He ignores that, too.

Having slept through half of his Sunday and spending the other half on schoolwork, Monday comes unsurprisingly fast. Oversleeping during the day led to not sleeping enough at night. Simon took a half-lidded trip to Hillerska on the bus, nearly forgetting his backpack when he got off. From the bus stop, Simon wanders sluggishly up the path to math class. Simon has always believed that if you look good, you feel good, which is exactly why his lack of time to fix his hair and put on a somewhat cohesive outfit is already putting a damper on his day. He knows just by feeling it that the curls on the back of his head are sticking up, and no amount of smoothing them down helps. They bounce right back. If it weren’t for him already being later than usual, he would go to the bathroom and try to fix this. Unfortunately, class starts in about two minutes and Simon is hauling ass as much as someone half-awake can.

Luckily, Simon is able to slip into class with about 30 seconds to spare. The close call has woken him up some, and he darts to the seat next to Wille.

Oh, right, Wille.

Simon had almost forgotten about Saturday. He almost forgot about the yelling and the accusations. About falling to the ground sobbing. About basically telling Wille to fuck off out of his life. Simon doesn’t dare to even glance in Wille’s direction, even though the second he sits down he knows Wille is staring daggers into his head. Instead, Simon focuses on the pictures of Garfield on his pencil case. He rereads the three-panel comic strip a million times, just waiting for the teacher to come in. And Simon knows Wilhelm never stopped staring because he’s a couple beats late to greeting the teacher, obviously distracted by something. Simon stifles a giggle at Wille scrambling out of his chair. It stops being funny when he remembers they’re not supposed to be cool right now.

The class sits back down, and the teacher begins writing something on the board. Simon isn’t paying much attention. He’s more focused on the fact that they’re about 5 minutes into class and Wille is still staring at him like an owl. Not even trying to be discreet, either. His entire body is turned to Simon.

Simon swears he can even hear Felice in the back trying to tell him off.

When he realizes this seriously isn’t going to stop, Simon raises his hand to be excused to the bathroom. As he exits, he messages Wille.

SIMON

Come out here.

It doesn’t take long. Wilhelm is out of class in a minute. Simon is further down the hall to make sure the teacher doesn’t hear them. He watches Wille from a distance as he wanders cluelessly. It doesn’t take long for him to notice Simon and head straight for him. By the time he has walked up to Simon, he is uncomfortably close. Simon stumbles back a little.

“Why’d you call me out here?”

Suddenly reminded that he actually had a reason to call Wille out here, Simon straightens up to meet his gaze.

“Because uhm...” Simon thought he had a reason. Now that he’s face to face with Wille, his mouth runs a bit dry and he’s strangely nervous. It doesn’t help that Wilhelm is still staring intensely while Simon avoids eye-contact.

Simon feels his face redden a little. “Don’t stare at me like that,” he blushes. Apparently Wille likes that reaction; his face trying, and failing, to hide a smile.

Wilhelm steps closer.

“Like what,” he breathes.

This is a lot harder than Simon imagined. He forgot that Wille’s magnetic pull never fails to rope him back in. Simon peers up through his eyelashes.

“Like that.”

Wille grins. He reaches out a greedy hand and captures Simon’s fingers. His thumb rubs across the knuckles.

“You don’t want me to stare at you,” he asks airily. Simon is too engrossed in the sensation of Wille’s rough palm wrapped around his hand. It takes him a moment to realize Wille has said something.

“Well, not like how you were staring just now,” Simon chuckles softly. “I think even Felice was concerned... like you were really staring.”

Wille laughs along with him. But it fades off along with his smile. His expression becomes apprehensive.

“About, Saturday...” he mutters, “I’m really sorry. Not just sorry like I think it will fix everything, but like I’m sorrysorry.”

Simon bites his lip. It’s funny how a bit of handholding and giggling can make him forget all the things Wille does to piss him off. But he hears Wille. He hears how genuine Wille sounds. He sees Wille’s usually sharp eyes go soft, full of Simon’s reflection. Simon turns his head down, focusing on Wille’s ever-wandering fingers. He lets his arm go limp and get pulled towards Wille.

A held-in breath is finally released in a sigh. “I don’t know if I should say it’s ok. That was... really, really upsetting. Like, I couldn’t even begin to explain to you how that made me feel.”

He looks up at a slightly hopeful, slightly desperate, slightly disheartened Wille.

“But I just can’t stand it being like this. After you left, I was so mad. And even more sad,” he explains, “I couldn’t stand feeling that between us. I hate arguing with you and I hate fighting. I just want to be good.”

Wille nods along. “I was never not good with you, Simon. I just needed to know you were good with me,” his voice drops even quieter, “And that stuff I said about the drugs... that was just me being scared. It wasn’t okay for me to take it out on you.”

Simon is a little surprised at Wille’s emotional intelligence in this moment. Wilhelm isn’t some hard-headed barbarian, but he definitely isn’t always this good at expressing his feelings. Simon decides to just take it for what it is and enjoys it.

He clutches places his other hand over Wille’s and gives him a little squeeze.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” he whispers.

Simon slowly untangles his hand and walks back to class before he gets in trouble. He looks back over his shoulder to an awfully pleased-looking Wille.

August spent his weekend obsessing over Wilhelm’s outburst. Who exactly does he think he is to pull August out of a game to threaten him in the hallway? The boy must have lost his mind. It has been eating away at August since the moment he went back to the lounge and tried to play it cool. Not even the pills have helped him focus. Every thought just goes back to Wille.

August needs something stronger than ADHD meds. He doesn’t need medicine, he needs an outlet. August actually considered Sara for a moment. She has been trying to get his attention ever since he got her the grant. But he has no interest in her after she disregarded their agreement. No, of course there’s a better option. Something to kill two birds with one stone.

In between classes, August catches Simon at his locker. This is the first time they’ve seen each other during school since the little “affair” started. August runs a hand through his hair as he approaches Simon, who is busy putting away books. Once he’s close, August places a hand above Simon’s head and leans against the lockers. Simon hardly moves his head to look before he’s completely frozen on the spot.

“Hey, sosse,” August greets in a low voice.

Simon slowly turns to him with wide eyes, a book clenched in his hand. He’s silent.

August raises an annoyed brow. “I said, ‘hey’.”

Chapter Text

August’s irritation builds with every second Simon stands there gaping at him. The timid look on his face doesn’t help, either.

How hard is it to greet someone back?

All August has done is walk up to Simon and he acts like there’s a gun pointed to his face. Moving to rest his body against the locker, August crosses and taps his foot impatiently. Simon’s mouth is stuck open, lips connecting slightly like he’s about to speak. He start to stutter something out when another voice calls out.

“Hey, Simon--” Wille trots up to Simon, words dying on his tongue when he sees August. The cheerful look on his face is replaced with pure ire.

August acknowledges Wille, an impish smile spreading across his face. He steps back from the lockers and positions himself between the two boys.

“Well, hi, Crown Prince. How funny for all three of us to be together like this,” he throws his hands up sprightly, one landing on Wille’s shoulder and the other planted on Simon’s upper back.

With a disgruntled look, Wille sternly shrugs off August’s hand. He brushes his shoulder off in disgust. Amused, August throws his hand up defensively with a playful look. His other hand creeps further down Simon’s spine, sending chills up to Simon’s face and a crook in his posture. Wille notices Simon’s reaction but can’t see anything from his perspective. August practically shields Simon with his body.  

“Simon, what’s going on,” Wille asks pointedly. It sounds like a genuine question, but Simon knows it’s more like an accusation. Like another piece of evidence to add to his case. The question catches him off guard.

“Oh, uh... August was just...”

“Pulling Simon aside. I need to talk with him. Privately,” August grins, “You know, teammate to teammate?” His words drip with contempt.

Wille’s eyebrows crease together, “Are you for real?” His head jerks to Simon, “Simon, can I talk to you?”

August replies for him. “No, Wille, you can’t. We were just about to leave. Right, Simon?”

All eyes are on him. Simon shakily closes his locker, an arm still tightly wrapped around his textbook. He nervously looks between the two of them. The tension is so heavy that Simon feels like he’ll be crushed any moment.

He doesn’t know what to say, but the answer is obvious. Simon drops his head and sighs.

“Sorry, Wille. I already told August that... I... that...” He can hardly bring himself to lie right now. He grits his teeth. “I’m going with August, okay?” The last sentence shoots out venomously.

Even August is taken aback by Simon’s tone, turning his head around to look at him. But the surprise shifts to what Simon can only describe as pride, an arrogant expression spreading across August’s face.

“Hear that, Wille? Simon doesn’t want to talk to you,” August proclaims haughtily, “Now if you’ll excuse us.”

Simon doesn’t dare to look at Wille, but he catches a glimpse before they leave. Wille has that soft, torn expression. The one that makes Simon’s stomach turn with guilt. That same guilt floods Simon’s chest as they walk away, fear bubbling up right beneath it. August guides him away with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“August- August! I seriously can’t today. I have class! I’ll get detention if I don’t--”

“Shut up,” he interjects, “Just shut up. I don’t need the whining today.”

“The fuck? Whining? Are you kidding me, August,” Simon fumes, “You just made me act like an ass to Wille and now you’re dragging me off to do God knows what to me.”

August rolls his eyes. “I didn’t make you do anything. You chose to be rude to Wille. You chose to come with me.”

“You say that like I have a choice. How the fuck can I say no when you--”

August snatches Simon’s wrist, spinning him face-to-face. The vice-like grip makes Simon cringe in pain. There’s barely an inch of space between their faces when August pulls him closer.

“Listen,” he growls, “Quit pushing it, or I can make this much, much worse. I promise you that.” His eyes flick between Simon’s and his mouth tightens into a thin line.

Intimidated, Simon surrenders to August’s grasp and relaxes his arm. He turns his head to the side with a resentful expression.

“That’s more like it. Come on.”

August practically drags Simon up to Forest Ridge. Simon watches his paranoid body-language, constantly keeping his head on a swivel looking out for any staff. He’s less worried about other students since everyone should be in class right now. August opens the front door of the dorm, still checking for anyone walking by. Simon is ushered into the foyer before August places his hand on his shoulder, again. He steers Simon to the staircase, which Simon nearly falls down the steps of while struggling to keep up with August’s pace. They get to the next floor and scamper down the long hallway. At the end of the hall, August opens his door, putting out a mocking hand to guide Simon in. Simon glances at him, repulsed, and slinks past.

The room looks a lot nicer in the daylight. It’s almost peaceful. The sunlight filtering in through the window lights it up pleasantly. A lack of dust floating through the rays of light accentuates the cleanliness of the space. Simon wonders if all the boarders at Hillerska keep their rooms this orderly. He knows Wille doesn’t.

The door slams shut behind Simon and he fights back a shudder. August enters, stretching his arms with a satisfied groan.

“Take your clothes off. Your little boyfriend pissed me off and I need to blow off some steam,” he sighs, beginning to take off his watch.

Simon can’t decide if he should protest the order or ask what the hell Wille did to upset August even more. It doesn’t matter, though, because August doesn’t give him a moment to think about it. He’s already unbuckling his belt and staring at Simon.

“Well? Hurry up,” he nags.

“Wait, what are we- August, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like? You know, it’s been really hard to get any action after breaking up with Felice. That girl-code bullshit ruins everything,” he seethes, “And you know what I want?”

Simon stares at him, mute.

“I want to fuck.”

It’s like all the air gets sucked out of the room. Simon feels a pressure build in his head and sweat start beading on his temple. There’s no way he heard that right.

“You want to... to...” Simon repeats the words in disbelief.

“To have sex, Simon, if that’s the way you’ll understand it. I’m sure you’ve heard of it before. I’m sure you’ve seen it before,” he murmurs.

“But-- you’re not... August, you’re not gay,” Simon stammers, attempting to reason his way out of this. His lips turn up nervously, betraying how truly sick he feels.  

August shrugs. “Yeah, I’m not. Though, it can’t be that different from anal with a girl, right?”

Simon genuinely can’t believe the words coming out of August’s mouth. This feels like a TV show, like a prank, like a nightmare, like one huge bizarre daydream that Simon is yet to snap out of. Maybe he’s so tired that he has finally lost it. But August is already crossing the room to close the curtains, turning to Simon expectedly.

“Do you need help getting undressed or...” he asks condescendingly.

Simon jolts back to reality.

“I’m not doing this August, I’m not. I don’t care, I’m not doing this. Threaten me all you want but this... No. It’s not fucking happening,” he protests.

August sucks in air between his teeth, looking disappointed at the reaction. He sits down on the carefully made bed, belt still unbuckled, and now his polo unbuttoned. He rests his hands on his knees, clearly deep in thought. Simon stands there nervously, unsure of what exactly August is about to do. He didn’t react with anger like Simon expected him to. No, this is much scarier.

There’s a sigh after a moment.

“Alright,” August finally settles, “I thought you’d say that.”

Simon is disturbed at how calm August is.

“It’s okay, though, I already had something else in mind,” he smiles.

Simon watches anxiously as August pulls his phone out. When he hears a tone dial, he squints with confusion. Who would August be calling right now?

August brings the phone up to his ear.

“Sara? Hey, it’s August.”

The minute Simon processes what August has said, he leaps towards him, reaching out his hand to try and grab the phone. August quickly pulls away, putting a hand up to keep Simon back. He looks at Simon with a wicked grin.

“What are you doing right now... Oh you’re about to head to class? Nice.... Yeah, I know we haven’t spoken in a while, sorry...”

Simon is frozen in place, entire body vibrating with rage. August glances between the window and Simon as he talks.

“So how is it at The Manor House... Oh, cool...”

Simon is becoming desperate. He has his hands up, waving them at August. He mouths out pleads for him to stop, shaking his head vigorously.

August returns his terror with an even bigger smile.

“Yeah, I was just calling because I was wondering if you were busy... I was going to ask if-”

August pauses at the sudden grip on his forearm. He looks up at a distraught Simon.

“Sorry, could you give me a moment?”

August mutes the call, turning his attention to Simon.

“Do you need something,” he asks impassively.

Simon’s jaw struggles to move.

“I-I’ll do it— I’ll do it please just— Just stop,” he begs with wet eyes, the last words coming out in a strained voice.

August is repulsively smug. He unmutes the phone and brings it back to his ear.

“Sorry about that. Actually, I just remembered I have practice so there’s no point in asking, anyway. Just, uh, ignore what I said. But I’ll see you around... alright, bye,” he holds the phone out for Simon to see as he hangs up.

“What. The. Fuck, August are you fucking insane,” Simon barks hysterically.

August laughs softly. “I just thought I needed to show you that this is not a negotiation. You don’t pick and choose how far you’re willing to go. You agreed to this in the first place and there’s no going back.”

“I should beat the shit out of you,” Simon fumes.

“Do it and see how well that goes,” August jeers, “But until you actually do, in the meantime, take your clothes off.”

Simon shakes his head, “You don’t even know what you’re doing. You can’t just order me to have sex with you, there’s preparation and—”

“And I don’t care. You’re going to make this work for me.”

“That’s not how this works,” Simon mutters.

August pulls his shirt over his head, waiting for Simon to do the same. Simon wraps his arms around himself, stepping back from August. August groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, a hand on his hip.

“Alright, whatever.”

He approaches Simon, pulling Simon’s arms apart and upwards. He grabs the hem of his shirt and begins to pull it up. Simon tries to bring his arms back down, but August puts them right back with a firmer hand. August finally gets it off, throwing it down between them. His gaze fixes on Simon’s chest.

August slowly brings a hand up, cupping it around Simon’s pec. The feeling makes Simon flinch back, and he returns a bizarre look at August. But August isn’t looking at him. His expression is a mix of intrigue and offense. Offense at the lack of curves on Simon’s torso. August’s hand slides down lower and Simon’s breath catches in his throat. He stares at the palm examining his lithe body.

August squeezes his side, inspecting whatever bulk is there. Simon recoils from the fingers digging into his stomach. That catches August’s attention.

“Do you work out? Besides rowing, that is,” he asks. And the question is so earnest that Simon is caught off guard.

“Wha—Uhm... No?” Simon replies uncomfortably. August is still staring at Simon’s body with blank eyes, nodding though it seems he barely registers the answer.

“Oh. Alright,” August clears his throat awkwardly.

His hand continues to roam. He brings his body closer to Simon’s, his hand gliding around to Simon’s lower back. Simon wonders if he can feel the sweat on his neck drip down, or if August notices the way his entire being trembles. His hands stay balled up at his sides.

August lands on the waist of Simon’s jeans and leans forward.

“Take them off,” he whispers.

And maybe Simon would, but he’s convinced that if he bends down right now, he’ll just throw up all over the floor.

It takes a while, but he finally undoes them with quivering hands. He slowly slips his legs out, nearly falling over in the process. Standing in front of August, he feels more exposed than he ever has before. Maybe not ever, but this moment is definitely in contest with the video. He clasps his hands in front of his crotch. The reality of this sets in more and more with each stage.

August takes off his own pants, thankfully. He grabs Simon by the bicep, pulling him down to the bed. He positions Simon in front of him as he lays back.

“You have to get me up,” August instructs coolly.

It only takes a few minutes of tense rubbing through cloth for August to be up. Simon sits gracelessly on his heels, immediately pulling his hand back when the job is done. When August begins to pull his underwear off, he tells Simon to do the same. And that is the exact moment Simon is truly comprehending the weight of this situation. He shakes harder than ever before, beginning to pick at his nails and head practically twitching.

“We can’t—Ehm, you need lube. We can’t do this without that,” Simon explains. But it’s not genuine advice, it’s his attempt at finding a way out. Something to push this back. A “maybe next time” before he books it out the door.

August smirks. “Obviously I have that.”

Simon shrinks back. “Oh, well, you need protection t-too.” The stutter on the last word makes Simon cringe, but he prays that he’ll catch August on that part. But August rolls his eyes.

“Why would I not have condoms,” he chuckles.

“I’m not even prepared, though. You can’t do it if I’m not prepared, it’s disgusting. You’ll be disgusted,” Simon rambles.

“Relax, I’ve done anal with plenty of girls before. I know how it works.”

Simon rubs his arm anxiously. “August, I don’t—I can’t do this. I really can’t,” he squeaks, feeling tears build in his eyes. “Please I know you don’t want to do this, we can stop. I won’t tell anybody.”

August’s face twists with displeasure. “Yeah, I know you’re not going to tell anybody. But you’re also doing this.”

He leans close.

“Or I can call Sara again. Maybe she’d take your place.”

“Okay! Okay, August, okay, fine I’ll—Okay,” Simon responds frantically.

Chapter Text

The sadistic expression on August’s face makes Simon’s stomach turn.

“Yeah? You’ll do it,” August repeats callously, grinning at Simon’s distress.

Simon nods hesitantly, curling in on himself. The older boy moves forward on the bed with a creak, wrapping a hand around Simon’s ankle and tugging him closer. Simon nearly falls backwards but catches himself on his elbows.

“With all those things you were saying earlier... you must be pretty experienced,” August chuckles, “Does Wille know you’re some Bjärstad slut? I mean, it’s kind of obvious just looking at you. So how many has it been, Simon?”

His hand creeps higher on Simon’s calf, staring up at Simon expectedly. But Simon’s lips are sealed, mouth pursed tightly, and brow furrowed.

“Don’t be embarrassed, we’re all guys here,” August coos sarcastically. An answer never comes, though. Simon just looks around awkwardly, avoiding the question.

“Do you not want to tell me because you don’t like me or...” August stretches out the last word as he thinks, and suddenly it’s like a lightbulb goes on over his head, “Or is it that you’re still a virgin?” When Simon’s body becomes even tenser, August practically howls with delight.

Simon tries to pull back his leg, feeling more exposed than ever. His cheeks are hot and he covers his face with the back of his hand.

“You’re kidding,” August barks, “The Crown Prince hasn’t fucked you, yet? He’s doing all this for someone who hasn’t even put out! What kind of a pussy is he!” August practically keels over laughing at Simon’s predicament. Simon just wishes the ground would open up and swallow him.

“Our relationship isn’t dependent on physical intimacy,” Simon defends

August nods condescendingly. “Right, right. So why, though? Is it because you ‘haven’t gotten the chance’. Or, maybe, Wille realized he couldn’t walk the walk when it finally came down to it. What part freaked him out?”

Simon’s face screws up in anger. “Nothing freaked him out! We’ve been wanting to but assholes like you haven’t made it very easy.” Simon clutches the sheets tightly as he jerks forward to get in August’s face. He can’t even believe he’s trying to justify his relationship right now.

“Yeah, sure,” August rolls his eyes.

Suddenly, with a quick fwump of the duvet, August is on top of Simon. His hands are spread out on either side of Simon’s head, who looks up with wide eyes.

“Don’t worry. I’ll do what Wille’s too scared to.”

August dives down to Simon’s neck, grazing the skin with his teeth. Simon squirms beneath him, attempting to squeeze his way out. He places his hands on August’s chest, trying his best to push him off. He feels the way August’s heart is hammering as it reverberates throughout his entire body. The sensation of a mouth against his throat gives Simon the chills. A mouth that isn’t Wille’s. Simon protests to no avail.

Watching as August moves further down his body, tears well up in Simon’s eyes. It’s sort of like what Wille does, just much more impatient and much less gentle. August doesn’t take the time to dot kisses along his sternum and down to his stomach. No, he just moves his mouth down along Simon’s body in a rapacious display, no concern for anything but getting himself off. There’s a trail of saliva that feels like it’s seeping into Simon’s skin, corrupting him to the bone. Not to mention the way August dry-humps his leg is revolting.

August goes down even further, and even though Simon isn’t looking anymore, he can tell August pauses when he’s face-to-face with Simon’s crotch.

The shame is overwhelming. August shifts up a little to get the offending member out of view.

“I’ll be right back,” he pants.

August jumps off the bed and heads into the bathroom. Simon stays laying down, not even sure if he could move anyways. Every part of him shakes and his stomach turns. Simon has heard of fight, flight, or freeze, but this is just ridiculous. He knows he should be taking this opportunity to run out, instead he just listens stilly to the opening and slamming of a cabinet. He shifts his head slightly to watch August walk back into view. The glint of a golden wrapper catches his eye, and he looks to the opposite hand to see a travel-sized bottle of lubricant.

In any other situation, Simon would probably laugh at how silly it looked. Right now, though, the sight makes his throat tighten and mouth go dry. August positions next to the bed, right next to Simon’s face.

“Augh, can you jerk me off,” he groans as he struggles to open the condom. Simon nods stiffly, his arm feeling weak as he lifts it towards August. He stares at the ceiling while his hand moves back and forth robotically. It’s like he’s watching himself in third person while he does this. None of the sensations register in his brain, his senses are numb.

“There we go,” August sighs triumphantly. Simon listens to the squelch of lube in August’s palm as it travels along his length. August laughs as he runs the lube-slicked hand across Simon’s clavicle. The cold sludge makes Simon shudder, eyes still glued to the ceiling regardless.

It’s when his view is obstructed by August hovering above him that he snaps out of the daze. It’s when he sees August that he remembers this is all real.

Simon looks down between their torsos at August’s cock hanging down above Simon’s thighs. A large hand stretches down to tug at the waist of Simon’s underwear, to which Simon crosses his legs defiantly. August digs his nails into Simon’s thigh.

“Stop,” he growls lowly, Simon wrinkles his nose, staring right back up at August with willful eyes.

“Or I can always call Sara, again.”  

Simon’s heartbeat thunders in his ears, knuckles turning white as he grips the sheets tighter.

“Fine,” he grits out between his teeth.

August looks at him smugly. His hand slips between Simon’s thighs, finally parting them with some difficulty. Simon takes in a shuddery breath as he watches his legs come apart.   

Sweaty hands grab Simon, pushing his shins up as close to his chest as possible. August positions himself between tan legs, trying his best to ignore the phallus laying limply in front of him. Simon’s hands are shoved over his genitals to hide them from view. It’s humiliating.

“I’m putting it in,” August pants headily.

And Simon panics when he sees the other boy dip closer and closer down.

“Wait, wait, no, no, no, n--”

Simon’s words are strangled off with a choked noise. It’s like the wind is knocked out of him as August pushes in. Simon scratches at the sheets frantically as he tries to breathe. A few gasps later and he’s finally able to speak.

“That fucking hurts,” he cries, hot tears running down his face and onto the bed. “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts,” he whimpers hysterically.

August groans with frustration. “Fuck, hold on,” he orders.

After pulling out, he grabs the tiny bottle and spreads more lubricant onto his dick, surmising that he was too dry before.

“Ok,” he huffs.

Simon pleads for him to not try again, though he’s nearly incoherent between sobs. A hand caresses the side of his face.

“Just relax,” August soothes. The intimacy is jarring, and the fact August could tell him to “just relax” infuriates Simon.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he snarls. The soft hand turns into a flattened palm roughly pressing the side of his face into the bed, an awkward position straining Simon’s neck painfully.

“I’m putting it back in,” August states flatly.

And he does. And it’s just as painful as before.

Only this time it’s much harder to scream with the hand shoving his face down. But that doesn’t keep Simon from trying, letting out a distressed shriek. He blindly scratches at the firm chest above him.

August pushes in farther and farther. A throbbing sensation surges up Simon’s spine. And when he feels a sudden warmth drip down the cleft of his cheek, he doesn’t dare to try and find out what it is.

When the thrusting starts, Simon is sure he might actually die. It pulls out inhuman grunts from him, noises Simon has never heard himself make. August must be enjoying himself, though, because Simon hears him moan with each movement. Simon, though, sounds like a dying animal, like a dog hit by a car making its final yelps and screeches as passersby cover their ears to try and ignore it. Something too pathetic and upsetting to deal with.

Simon wishes he was that mutilated dog in the street. It would be more merciful than this.

But the noises catch in his throat, releasing after every other impalement. Cut-off guhs and euhs escape from parted lips dripping with tears and snot. The pain is too much to bear. Simon fears he’ll be split in half, be turned inside out, disfigured for life. His body will be spoiled. Nobody will want something this ruined. This ugly.

Surely not Wille.

No, definitely not Wille.

And somehow Simon cries harder. Sobbing turns to loud wailing as Simon brings up his arm to cover his face. He bawls into his forearm, open-mouthed and drooling.

August picks up on the extra tears and slows down a bit. “Does it still hurt,” he asks annoyedly.

Simon shakes his head, which isn’t very easy with a hand still pushing his face to the side.

“Then why are you still crying,” he grouses.

“It’s not supposed to be you,” Simon whispers hoarsely. August doesn’t catch it the first time. He leans down.

“What?”

“It’s not supposed to be you,” Simon bellows, “My first time- my first time-”. The words clog up in his throat.

“My first time was supposed to be Wille,” he manages.

Simon had dreamed of this moment since the two of them met. He’s watched romance movies, the cute “morning-after” scenes and heady nights that came before in short, obscured cuts. He’s always wanted that moment afterwards, laying side by side just staring at each other in bliss. To tousle Wilhelm’s hair absent-mindedly, brain somewhere off in space as he processes the mind-blowing experience. The two of them giggling with each glance.

This is more like a horror movie than a rom-com. August is the axe-murderer ripping his intestines out and playing in his blood.

A long groan is drawn out of August. “Are you kidding? You really thought he’d fuck you? You’re delusional.”

He slides back in as slowly and excruciatingly as possible.

“I mean, he’ll definitely never fuck you now,” he chuckles darkly.

And Simon knows he’s right. He squeezes his eyes shut while coming to terms with that truth.

“Hey,” August spits, “I’ll make you forget all about him.”

He squeezes Simon’s jaw roughly, forcing his head to face him.

“Look at me.”

Something about what Simon said must have really gotten under August’s skin, because now he really isn’t holding back. He pounds into Simon relentlessly, ignoring every scream and gasp and whimper, every gag and choke. The hold on Simon’s jaw is practically dislocating it.

August notices the warm feeling down below but chooses to ignore it.

Wilhelm clutches his phone anxiously in class. He tries his best to keep it hidden under the desk, praying the teacher doesn’t notice the suspicious movement of his arms. Wille has probably sent about 20 text messages by now, desperately trying to get a response from Simon. A multitude of “Where are you?” and “What’s going on?”. The occasional “Are you okay?” between just plainly stating Simon’s name to grab his attention. His nerves make him feel nauseous and Wille considers asking to go to the bathroom so he can empty his stomach in the toilet. But he needs to stay. He needs to be here when Simon eventually walks through that door.  

WILHELM

Felice, have you seen Simon between classes?

FELICE

No, what’s wrong?

WILHELM

He walked off with August earlier and I haven’t seen him since. I’m freaking out.

FELICE

You let him leave with August??????????

Wilhelm groans.

WILHELM

Yes. I know. It was stupid of me, but he wasn’t listening, and he got mad at me. I didn’t know what to do.

FELICE

Hmmmm....

FELICE

It’s probably fine but... I’ll keep an eye out. I’m sorry. ):

WILHELM

It’s ok. Thank you <3

FELICE

<3

Wilhelm shuts his phone and wipes a hand over his face. This has been stressing him out to no end. How can Simon expect him to believe there’s nothing going on and then is MIA for 20 minutes? Not to mention Simon never misses class. Especially not while also ignoring Wille’s messages.

Though, that could be unrelated. After all, things have been kind of tense between them. Wille feels like it’s always a gamble whether their conversation will turn hostile with both of them leaving hurt or if it will be smooth sailing with them getting along perfectly.   

That doesn’t matter right now, though. Right now, Simon could be in serious deep shit. Maybe he's working out a drug deal right now. Or maybe Simon is in the headmistress’ office because he got caught with booze and pills already. The possibilities spin around Wille’s head. A strange feeling roams the pit of his stomach, and it's not just the bile threatening to spill out. Something's wrong. Really, really wrong. 

Chapter Text

Light seeps through the thin curtains of August’s room. It weakly illuminates the curve of a boy in August’s bed, soundly asleep and tucked nicely under olive sheets. August sits at his desk with a large case of royal documents, listening to Simon’s faint snoring. He flicks through every folder, pamphlet, envelope, and book in the cardboard box repeatedly, trying to decide which one to start with. Jan-Olof told him to go through all of it, but looking at the mix of colorful spines and manila envelopes makes August’s head spin. It’s a daunting task, even after taking his pills.

August finally settles on a folder marked with a red paperclip. He pinches the top of it and slides it out, pulling back the clip to open it. As he flips it open, the snoring suddenly stops and the rustling of sheets behind him catches his attention. August lays an arm over the back of his chair, turning around expectedly.

Simon is looking right back at him with half-open eyes. Soon as they’re face to face, Simon brings a hand up to his eyes and rubs them groggily. When August is still there, he wipes them again. He raises his eyebrows before knitting them together, trying to comprehend his situation. It almost comes across to August like he’s forgotten what happened, until Simon suddenly bolts upright. Now, he’s fully awake. August notices the rapid rising and falling of his chest, and the panting breaths he takes in quick succession. When he scoots his chair closer to the bedside, Simon scuttles back until he hits the wall. The hasty movement is clumsy, with the sheets wrapped around his legs and a furtive wince as his shoulders meet the structure behind him.

“Alright, alright, calm down,” August cautions with a placating gesture.

Simon places his hand atop his head, distraught. He smacks his mouth to get rid of the dryness.

“Why am I still here, what happened,” he questions dazedly.

“I don’t know. You just fell asleep afterwards.”

Simon jolts forward. “Fell asleep? Do you mean I passed ou-”

The pain from the frenzied movement finally hits him, and Simon sucks air in through his teeth sharply. Simon realizes where the pain is radiating from and lifts his hips slightly. Looking down between his legs, he sees pieces of toilet paper lazily packed between his cheeks, adhered to his ass with a dark, red, discoloration. With a shaky hand, Simon reaches down to pull at the paper squares.

“Oh, yeah, I put those there,” August chimes in, “You were kind of... bleeding.”

“Bleeding,” Simon repeats in disbelief.

“Yeah, but all virgins bleed their first time,” he asserts coolly.

Simon responds with an incredulous grimace. “That’s not how that works, especially not for men,” he spurns bitterly, “And it fucking hurts, August.” His voice cracks on the last sentence and Simon begins to feel choked up. It really does hurt, badly.

“I need to get the fuck out of here,” Simon mutters, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

August rolls his eyes. “What’s wrong with me? I’m only doing this because you and Wille don’t know your place. You two think you can just threaten and undermine me all you want,” he comes closer to Simon, “But if you hit me, I’ll hit back.”

Simon feels chills up his spine. “Just-just give me my clothes,” he squeaks nervously.

With his lips pursed into a condescending smile, August nods. “Alright, but you might want to check your phone, too,” he turns to grab Simon’s phone off of the desk, tossing it at the other boy.

Confused, Simon grabs it from where it landed on the bed. His eyes widen as he sees his home screen. Besides the fact he’s already missed class and break, it’s the notifications that catch his attention.

42 missed texts. 23 missed calls. All from Wille.

Simon scrambles to unlock his phone and pull up the conversation. He scrolls through what feels like hundreds of, “Where are you”, “What are you doing”, “What happened”, “Where did you go”, “Are you okay”. Simon’s heart pounds as he pulls up the call log. Wille left him one voicemail. Shakily, Simon brings the speaker up to his ear and plays it.

The sound of Wille’s voice immediately makes his chest hurt.

“Hey, Simon. Um... where are you? I’m getting really worried. Our teachers are asking where you are and... yeah, I don’t know what to tell them. I’m trying to cover for you, but it’s freaking me out. Like... I’m just worried. Yeah. Please call me back. I just want to know you’re okay. I’m not mad at you. Just... just call back. Come see me. Okay... bye.”

Simon bites his lip as he feels tears build. Wille sounds scared. Scared and maybe even disappointed. The thought of facing him is terrifying. He can’t disappear for hours and then saunter back like it’s all good. Simon doesn’t even know what the right response is to the texts.

I’m okay? No. I’m in August’s room? Absolutely not. Don’t worry? You should.

Simon just stares at the messages, overwhelmed with guilt. He hardly notices August in front of him with a neatly folded stack of clothes.

August is greeted with watery eyes.

“What the fuck do I do,” Simon whimpers.

August shrugs. “Are you asking me? Because I think you should put your clothes on and leave.”

“I—I can’t. Wille is freaking out, I just know it. He can’t see me like this he’ll know something’s wrong he won’t leave me alone,” he babbles anxiously.

A hand touches his head.

“Don’t worry,” August coos, “I’ll cover for you.” He runs his hand gently over Simon’s hair, sorting out the messy curls from his sleep.

Simon grits his teeth. “Yeah, no shit you’ll cover for me. If you don’t, you’re fucked too.”

He slaps August’s hand away and rips the clothes from his arm. As he starts to dress, the pain shoots up his back again and he freezes.

“Fuck,” he yelps.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” August jeers, and Simon holds back the urge to choke him out.

Simon slowly gets dressed on the bed, avoiding moving too much or too suddenly. When he finally gets ready, he gingerly slides off the bed to stand on wobbly legs. The second he’s supporting his own weight, he realizes just how bad this is going to be. Everything down there is burning, going all the way up his spine. Only two steps and Simon is gripping the desk to support himself.

“Need any help,” August purrs in his ear. Simon flinches away, turning with a disgruntled look.

“Get... the fuck... away from me,” he grits out through clenched teeth. Despite his obvious resentment, August grabs Simon’s backpack and hands it over to him, even attempting to slide Simon’s arm through it.

“I can do it myself.”

He hobbles to the door, and luckily August stops trying to interfere. Opening the door, he peeks down the hallway and listens closely for anyone else in the building. With the coast clear, he limps away from the nightmare that is August’s room.

Felice struts through the courtyard with Madison, trying her best to hide a queasy feeling in her stomach. Wille’s panicked messages have made her equally worried. She isn’t exactly Simon’s best friend, or even a very good friend at that, but Wille cares about him. And for that, Felice does, too. Felice also knows that any time August is involved, something is probably wrong.

“Basically, I’m just trying to decide whether I should go to New York at the end of the year or go with Stella to Verbier. But like, Nils might be there? Which would be so awkward. I mean, I’m not scared of seeing him, but he might want a round two and I’m not really-”

“Wait,” Felice interrupts, “Is that Simon?”

Down near the forest trail, Felice spots an extremely familiar figure stagger by.

Madison tilts her head. “Uh, I think so? He looks weird...”

Felice smacks Madison on the arm. She jumps back with a yelp. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Just because,” Felice sighs.

Felice begins to head down the hill towards Simon.

“Simon! Simon! Heeey, Simon!”

The calls seem to catch his attention, so Felice continues jogging to him. But as she continues to shout his name, she could almost swear he begins to walk faster. He stops looking back at her, instead opting to keep his head down.

“Simon! Wait up!”

He picks up his pace even more, speed walking with all the grace of a newborn deer. Felice watches him stumble a few times, disturbed at how painful his gait looks.

“Simon, hold on! Come here,” she shouts again.

Realizing it’s a futile effort, Felice stops to catch her breath. Madison soon appears behind her, equally out of breath.

“What was that,” she whines.

Felice stares in Simon’s direction quietly. “Hold on,” she utters, “I need to call Wille.”

Pulling out her phone and pressing Wille’s contact, Felice brings the phone up to her ear. She sways back and forth as she waits for him to answer, ignoring Madison’s questions.

“Wille? Hey... I just saw Simon... yeah on the trail,” she looks at Maddie with a concerned expression, “He looks—okay? I guess?... Alright... Let me know how that goes... No worries, bye.” Felice drops the phone to her side with a groan.

“What’s wrong,” Maddie asks softly.

“Something with Simon. Wille was worried about him but it’s probably fine, now,” Felice explains gently, the worry still etched into her face.

Madison nods with a sympathetic expression, grabbing Felice’s hand reassuringly. The two head back to the classrooms, though Felice can’t help but glance back at the woods.

Chapter Text

A wave of relief washes over Wilhelm as he flips his phone closed. He’s okay. Felice saw Simon and he’s okay. Or at least she guesses he looks okay, which is enough for Wille. Grabbing his scarf and bag, Wille jumps up from his seat at the small table in the hall, pushing it in with a loud screech. He races down the corridor, darting between groups of students giving him curious stares. That doesn’t matter to him right now, though. The only thing on his mind is finding Simon. He needs to see with his own two eyes that his boy is alright.

Pushing through the last door to the courtyard, Wille wraps his scarf around his neck when he meets the cool air. He treads hurriedly down the staircase and off the cement platform. Only once he’s down the hillside does Wille realize he doesn’t even know where Simon was heading. He glances down each end of the empty, tree-lined path. Running a hand through his hair, Wille pulls out his phone to message Felice. Luckily, she responds soon after, informing him that Simon is headed towards Wille.

Wilhelm trots down to the dirt trail, beginning to jog down it. It doesn’t take long before he sees a shambling figure coming his way. Wille waves his hand in the air frantically.

“Simon! Hello,” he shouts excitedly. A grin spreads across Wille’s face when Simon lifts his head towards him. But it’s immediately evident Simon isn’t very happy.

Simon’s blank face morphs into one of panic and he stops in his tracks. He begins to step backwards, before fully turning around and toddling away in the opposite direction. Simon looks over his shoulder at Wille before picking up speed.

Wille pauses with confusion. “Hey, wait up,” he calls. But when it’s obvious Simon isn’t waiting for anyone, Wille begins to chase after him.

The sound of footsteps behind Simon pushes him to try and run. It only takes him a couple feet before he trips forward, landing knees-first into the tough ground. He catches himself on his hands, which immediately sting from the hard contact.

He hears a voice yell behind him. “Simon, are you okay?” Soon the footsteps are right behind him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Simon sees Wille leaning down towards him.

“Are you alright,” he asks worriedly.

Simon gaze is fixed on the ground, trying to avoid Wille’s scrutinous look and ignore his distraught tone. The emotion in his voice makes Simon’s chest tight

“I’m fine,” Simon mutters in a mousy voice. It sounds weird and high-pitched. Simon barely recognizes it as his own.

Wille stretches his hand out, offering it to Simon. Still trying to shield his face, Simon slightly tilts his head in its direction. Despite knowing he doesn’t deserve the small act of kindness, Simon places his palm on Wille’s and pulls himself up. He dusts the dirt off of his knees, head still turned away. Simon inspects the balls of his hands, red and scratched up just like he expected. Wiping them on his shirt, Wille suddenly grabs Simon’s wrist.

“Let me see,” he states calmly.

Simon reluctantly allows Wilhelm to pull him closer and examine the scrapes. He’s completely taken off guard when he feels lips touch the broken skin, nearly jumping away from the sensation.

Wille lightly presses a kiss to his injured palm. He looks at Simon with soft eyes, moving his grip down to Simon’s biceps before swiftly pulling him into his chest. Wille wraps his arms around the back of Simon’s neck, shoving his face into the crook. Simon feels the way Wille inhales deeply.

“I was really worried,” Wilhelm mumbles, his breath giving Simon goosebumps across his back.

Simon’s arms lie limply at his side before he carefully drapes them around Wille’s midsection. There’s an immediate warmth throughout his body, a sudden calm coming over him. He squeezes Wille tightly and Simon angles face up closer to Wille’s ear.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. And a whisper is all he can muster. If he spoke any louder, Simon knows he would fall apart in these strong arms. But he can’t put that type of burden on Wille, not right now.

Simon purses his lips into a tight line when he feels a sob bubble up in his throat. The apology leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. They embrace for the shortest minutes of Simon’s life, and he has to restrain himself from clinging to Wille when he finally pulls away.

Wilhelm runs his hands over Simon’s face, a touch Simon leans into hungrily. He closes his eyes, just letting Wille feel.

Wille stops for a moment, hand paused on Simon’s cheek. Simon opens his eyes, staring up into Wille’s.

“What happened,” Wille finally asks. The one question Simon has been fearing the most.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Simon shakes his head. He leans his forehead under Wille’s chin.  

“Please, ask anything but that,” he chokes out.

And, surprisingly, Wilhelm doesn’t push it. He strokes the curls on the back of Simon’s head silently.

There are a million things Wille wants to ask, but none of them seem to be the right ones, now. He also decides to not say anything about the obvious tears he can feel drip down his neck, or the way Simon’s shoulders tremble.

Simon steps back after a few minutes, wiping his eyes with the back of his arm. His nose is a bit red, eyes a bit puffy. The pitiful expression is contrasted with a faint smile.

“I think I’m going to call my mom,” he sniffs, “I’m not feeling well.”

Wille nods, grasping Simon’s fingers and rubbing his knuckles.

“Alright,” he replies gently, “Do you want me to stay with you while you wait?”

Simon shakes his head, suddenly feeling awkward after realizing they just did all of that in public. Thankfully it doesn’t seem like many people can see them from their spot on the path.

“No, it’s okay. You should go back.”

Wille doesn’t seem pleased with the answer, but respects Simon’s wishes. They part with a short kiss, and Simon wonders if Wille can taste the bitterness, too.

Wilhelm practically stomps into class. He pulls his chair out roughly, the legs scraping across the floor. He plops down into the seat, immediately running a disgruntled hand across his face. Felice enters the classroom after, a troubled look on her face when she sees Wille. She urges her friend to go sit down without her, instead heading to the conspicuously empty seat next to Wilhelm. She settles down next to him, placing her bag on the table.

Felice lightly taps him on his leg.

“Wille?”

He turns, acknowledging her with a slight nod before burying his face into his hands.

“Wille, what’s wrong,” she questions tentatively. He responds with a long, drawn-out groan as he leans back.

“I caught up with him,” he states discontentedly.

Felice quirks her head. “Isn’t that a good thing?

“It should have been,” he responds defeatedly, “But, I’m even more worried now. I asked him what happened, and he told me to not ask that. Like, what kind of answer even is that?”

Felice sighs. “It’s not an answer, Wille. What did you say after that?”

Wille throws his hands up slightly with an exasperated look. “Nothing. I just didn’t ask anything else. I should have, and I didn’t. And then he was all like, I’m going to call my mom and go home. And he told me not to wait with him. Why didn’t I wait with him!”

“Because you respect his boundaries, Wille. That’s what you’re supposed to do. Pushing him won’t help.”

The conversation is cut short when the teacher enters. Felice scurries back to her usual seat after they all greet the teacher, and Wille can hear her whisper hurried excuses to her tablemate. There was really no point in even showing up, with the entire lesson going in one ear and out the other. He literally cannot bring himself to care about what’s going on, not when he knows something is deeply wrong with Simon.

Simon doesn’t actually call his mom. He can’t, anyways, because he knows she’s at work. Instead, he took a long trip to the bus stop. Simon doesn’t even know when the next one is coming. He doesn’t really care, either. He just needed to get away from Wille. The bench is painful to sit on, with Simon opting to sit with one leg raised, supporting most of his weight with his hands. It doesn’t help that the dried pieces of toilet paper are definitely causing some chafing down there.

The sound of the bus approaches after a while. Simon gingerly rises from the bench, wobbling over to the bus’ door and up the steps. He slowly makes his way to the back, finally collapsing down on the cushioned seat. The entire trip home he fights against heavy eyelids and long yawns.

Stepping into the house, Simon is thankful to finally be alone. Although all he wants is to sleep, he knows he needs to take care of his “situation” first. Simon limps into the bathroom, warily sitting down on the closed toilet. He unbuttons his pants and slips them down to his ankles before pulling down the back of his underwear. Reaching back, Simon feels around for the paper stuck to his skin. It’s absolutely mind-boggling how this is August’s idea of first-aid, or that he thinks he did Simon any service.

Now, Simon has to awkwardly rip of pieces of bloodied toilet paper that are practically glued to him. Each piece pulls at his skin, and he tries to not look at them. But he can’t help himself, and the sight makes him sick. When it’s finally all gone, he stands up carefully and starts the shower.

Steam fills the bathroom while he pulls off the rest of his clothes. Simon steps in, water spraying down on him harshly. But the water isn’t hot enough. In fact, Simon thinks it’s a bit cold. He turns up the hot water, more and more until it’s all the way to the side. It’s soothing, cleansing, even. It runs down his back onto his sore bottom, easing the pain. Unsure, Simon doesn’t know what to do with that whole thing.

Is he supposed to scrub the crusted blood off? Does he need to use soap in case of an infection? Or would that all irritate it more?

He ends up deciding to take a soft washcloth with the tiniest bit of body wash. His face scrunches up in discomfort as he slides it between, rubbing with small, constricted movements. It stings, but it’s manageable.

Afterwards, he pulls his loofah from the shower wall and begins to scrub himself completely. Oddly, even though he cleans himself from head to toe, something still feels dirty. As if there were a fine layer of grease across his entire body. And so, Simon scrubs himself all over again. And again. And again, until the film is gone.

He’s nearly panting by the end of it, not even realizing how hard and frantically he’d been doing it. Throwing the loofah down frustratedly, Simon turns the water off and steps out. Standing on the bathmat, he looks down at himself. Though tan, Simon can see an underlying redness across his skin. A splotchiness from his legs to his torso. He wraps a towel around his waist, avoiding his reflection as he exits the bathroom.

Tired, Simon can only bother to throw on a pair of pajama pants. He doesn’t even care to dry himself; he just flops down in his bed, creating a spot of wetness around him. Up until now, Simon feels like he’s been in autopilot. Purely fueled by survival instinct and adrenaline.

But now, there is no threat. There are no distractions. It’s him and the near silence of his room, the only noise being the filter of the fish tank and a continuous buzzing from somewhere unknown. And it’s with that sudden break in Simon’s chaotic day that he cries. He cries like he’s never cried before. Everything finally begins to process: August defiling him, being ripped open, passing out, waking up, leaving, seeing Wille, leaving Wille. He hadn’t realized the severity of it all. Of course, Simon knew it was bad. He knew all of it was terrible. He just didn’t realize it would hit him like this. It’s not even a punch to the gut; it’s a battering ram.

Simon curls in on himself, clenching his stomach. He wails loudly, snot and tears pouring down his face. He sobs until his mouth is just stuck open silently. His entire body shakes and shudders, limbs practically vibrating. At some point he just starts to scream. He screams until there’s no air left to scream with. Then mucus drips down his throat, causing him to gag and choke. He coughs it up before he nearly vomits onto his pillow.

Alongside the despair is an anger boiling up. An anger at himself for letting it all happen, and an anger at August for doing it. His fists are balled, and Simon suddenly rises from his position. He grabs his pillow, beginning to punch and strike it with zeal. He picks it up and slams it repeatedly against the mattress, even attempting to rip it though that proves ineffective.

Finally, he smacks it away onto the ground, still kneeled on the bed. Simon heaves laboriously, mouth open and gulping in breaths. As the air reaches his brain, he begins to calm down. The excitement fades out, and Simon is drained, mentally and physically. He slowly collapses down onto his bed. Simon is done fighting the exhaustion and closes his eyes.

Chapter Text

If it isn’t the pain down his backside that wakes him up, it’s the sound of Simon’s name being shouted from the other side of the house. The sound is like nails on a chalk board as it drags Simon out of his rest. Slowly, he cracks his eyes open and turns his head sluggishly. Simon is a bit disappointed to be woken up. Not because his sleep was that good, though it sort of was, but because he was hoping to never wake up again. He was hoping that such an unreal day would end like a movie, with him passing out from exhaustion and the screen fading to black. That would have been a happy ending to him.

But of course, that would be too merciful. Now, Simon feels as his heart suddenly goes from a steady pace to a rapid pounding in his chest. Realizing that his life is still going and that all of that stuff actually happened is like another blow to the head. And based on the tone of his mother’s voice calling his name right now, Simon’s mind is racing with what more suffering his God could be bringing down on him.

“Simon, you better get out here right now,” Linda yells from the front door.

Simon wants to respond, but his mouth is bone-dry from his nap. He’s not even sure any words would come out if it wasn’t, though. Instead, he groans as loudly as he can from his place in bed, curled up on his mattress without a pillow or blanket. It comes out whinier than he wanted, and even without speaking he can feel a strain in his throat. Simon hears his mom’s purse loudly hit the kitchen table and her quick footsteps stomping towards his room. Seeing the corner of his blanket, Simon hurriedly pulls it up and over himself just before she opens his door.

“Why am I calling for you and you’re not answering,” Linda asks angrily. “Your school is calling me while I’m at work saying you didn’t show up to class.”

Simon stirs a bit under the blanket, his head hidden underneath it.

“Hmph,” he responds. He can tell by the sigh she lets out that she doesn’t have much patience for him right now.

“What? Simon, you better start talking. Now.”

And as much as he wants to, it’s not going to happen.

“Hrmm,” he replies once again.

“You know,” she begins, “I was talking to Lottie.”

The name makes Simon’s body feel rigid.

“And she told me you and Marcus haven’t hung out in weeks. And Ayub? He said he hasn’t seen you in a while. Said he’s ‘worried’ about you.”

Simon feels her come closer, leaning down to the bundle of sheets he’s shielded by.

“Should he be worried, Simon? Because I know I am,” she snaps.

The words feel like venom, and Simon curls in on himself even tighter. He can’t tell if it’s the sudden fear of being found out or the fact he’s buried under a blanket that’s making him so hot right now. As his anxiety rises, Simon feels the mattress by his feet dip down and a sudden weight on top of his suffocating cocoon.

“Simme,” Linda sighs, voice much softer than before, “Baby, please talk to me. I’ve been really concerned about you recently. You just seem so—distant.”

The worry in her voice is like a noose around Simon’s throat, so tight that he struggles to breathe. He didn’t realize until now how much he needed this—how much he needed her. It’s like he’s a child all over again, hiding under his sheets as his mother tries to comfort him after another one of his dad’s bouts. Her endless pleading for him to come out, bribing him with sweets and toys.

Simon parts his lips, because now a response really feels necessary. Instead, a bubble forms in the back of his mouth. He snaps it shut quickly, knowing that the next word he speaks will be followed by an endless flow of tears and sobs. Simon grabs onto the blanket, pulling it down slightly, just enough to reveal his eyes. Linda is sat in front of him, shoulders slouched forward and a despondent look on her face. Simon’s eyebrows knit together, and his eyes start to sting. That crying from earlier must have really left a mark because Linda immediately moves towards him with a troubled look. Her hand shoots up to his temple, thumbing at the edge of his eye.

“Simme, ¿qué pasa, mi amor?” As tears begin to dot his waterline, she wipes them away with the side of her finger.

Simon yanks the blanket down to his chest and his lip trembles. With his chest bobbing up and down and only the sound of his labored breathing filling the room, Simon finally decides to speak.

“Mamááááá,” he cries, fully breaking down into a crying mess. Linda gasps, quickly leaning down to wrap her arms around his shoulders. Simon raises himself up slightly to let her fully hold him, embracing her as well. She squeezes tighter feeling the way his body trembles.

“Simme, please, just tell me what’s wrong, baby. Whatever it is, we can fix it, okay?” Her attempt at reassurance falls flat, with Simon burying his face further into his neck and continuing to sob louder. She tries to turn towards him when she feels him start to shake his head.

“No, mom, no. No. I can’t—we can’t fix it. Mom, I can’t—I can’t s-say it,” Simon blubbers.

Quickly, this situation is becoming much scarier than Linda expected. She pulls back quickly. Clutching Simon’s arms.

“Simon... what do you mean?”

Simon shakes his head again, covering his face with his hands.

“Mom, I messed up. Really, really bad. I—I don’t kno-ow what t-to do anym-more.”

Linda raises her eyebrows in terror.

“Baby, this is really important. I need to know what you did,” she begs desperately.

Simon chokes on the tears running back down his throat, coughing viciously. “I—he—I don’t know why—I didn’t want—but—and,” Simon cuts himself off, turning his head up to look straight into Linda’s eyes, “You’re going to be so mad.” The last sentence sends him into another fit of crying. He puts out a hand to keep a distance between them as he turns away.

Linda wraps her hand around his, interlinking their fingers as she forces it down.

“Simon, it doesn’t matter what it is. I will not be mad at you. You need to understand that, and you need to tell me, honey. You’re really scaring me.” Linda’s hands shake as she pleads with him.

Simon knows he must look absolutely insane to her right now, and that his behavior is nothing short of extremely concerning, but it is physically impossible for him to tell her the truth. There’s a barricade in his throat, specifically keeping out any mention of August and what they’ve done together.

The two ended up sitting on Simon’s bed for what felt like hours. Simon’s head rests on Linda’s shoulder as she strokes his hair. He has calmed down somewhat, but there’s an occasional stutter in his breathing accompanied by droplets falling onto Linda’s arm. Her hand drops from Simon’s head to his arm, rubbing it soothingly.

“¿Quieres hablar de ello ahora?”

Simon’s breath catches in his throat, and he tenses up for a moment. He takes a few minutes to respond.

“Sí.”

Linda nods. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Simon scoots off to the side, away from his mother. He turns his head away, preparing for her disappointment and the embarrassment of this whole ordeal.

“Mom, I—I slept with someone,” he mutters. He looks at her from the corner of his eye, Linda nodding at him as she listens.

When he doesn’t speak for a while, Linda pipes up. “Is that all? My love, why did that upset you so much?”

Simon shrugs, his lip beginning to tremble once again. He chews on it to calm the oncoming tears.

“I didn’t really want to,” he whispers.

Linda shifts closer. “What do you mean, Simme?”

“We did it, but... I didn’t ever want to do it. Not with that person,” he explains.

She quickly grabs his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Baby, then why did you,” she asks softly.

Simon’s leg begins to shake. “Because—Because if I didn’t, he was going to do something bad. And I would get in—in trouble.”

Linda’s grip becomes vice-like. “What are you saying, Simme? Did this person threaten you?”

Simon shrugs. “I guess, yeah. But... it’s all my fault,” he whimpers ashamedly.

There’s a jitter throughout Linda’s palm. Her tight clutch loosens momentarily out of surprise.

“Your fault? Simme, that’s not—if someone forced you to do something that is not your fault.”

Linda feels like it’s her turn to cry this time. Her voice shakes even after clearing her throat. “I need to knowexactly what happened, mi amor. Please.”

Simon faintly shakes his head, face turned to the floor and red-hot with embarrassment.

“I don’t think... I don’t think I can,” he mumbles.

A million alarms have been going off in Linda’s head the moment she saw him begin to cry earlier. But now, with all these cryptic “explanations”, she feels like she might have a heart attack at any minute. Linda brings a hand up to the side of her face, rubbing the side of it as she considers what to do.

“Simon, if somebody hurt you, I need to know. This is not something to keep secret from me.” It’s not on purpose, but her voice comes out cold and intimidating. Simon peeks at her with a frightened expression. When Linda catches his eyes, she places a rigid hand on his shoulder.

“Did someone hurt you, Simon?”

A beat passes, and Simon is nodding his head. He dives towards his mother, wrapping his arms around her so firnly that she thinks her ribs might crack.

He wails with his chin resting on her shoulder. “Mamá, me dolió. ¡Me dolió tanto! ¡Pensé que iba a morir!” Simon’s words shatter Linda’s heart in an instant.

There are a million questions she wants to ask, but she quickly realizes that the best thing she can do—the only thing she can do—is hold him; hold him as tight as she can to keep him from falling apart in her arms. With his shuddering form against her body, Linda feels like if her grip loosens for a moment that he will slip away and disappear like sand between her fingers.

Linda quietly props the door open as she exits Simon’s room. She finally got him down after another hour of crying and incoherent shouts. A damp towel is folded up in her arms, one that she picked up from his bedroom floor. Stepping into the hallway, she shakes it out, grabbing each corner and holding it up. It’s then when she sees it—the dark streaks of blood scattering the bottom of the white towel. Linda squeezes her eyes shut and bites her lip, containing a gasp of shock and distress. Her legs nearly go limp beneath her and Linda leans on the wall for support. She slides down to the floor, head tucked between her knees as tears silently slip down her cheeks. The towel lay crumpled at her feet, and when she feels the material on her toes, she kicks it away violently. Running her hands through her hair, Linda’s mind is in chaos.

There’s been cases like this in her hospital; young girls coming in with a blank look and blood between their legs. She has looked after those patients.

But this isn’t a patient, it’s her own son.

 Suddenly, all of her medical knowledge and experience in the field goes out the window. Linda has never felt so helpless. There isn’t time for helplessness, though; her son needs her.

Linda scrambles up to her feet. A quick deep breath gives her the strength to walk to the table she left her purse on. She rummages around the bag, finally finding her phone buried at the bottom. If there’s anybody who might have a clue about what’s been going on with Simon at that damned school, it’s Sara.

Except, it’s not Sara. She’s sat in the passenger seat as Linda grips the steering wheel with white knuckles. Linda’s face is twisted up in frustration after an uneventful conversation with her daughter.

“How do you not know what’s been going on with him, Sara? He’s your brother!”

Sara shrugs defensively and sighs out an exasperated breath. “Yeah? That doesn’t mean I know about everything he does. We’re siblings, not conjoined twins,” she states bluntly.

Linda groans. “Well, you used to. What happened? You two have always been so close! Telling each other everything,” she chides.

“Maybe when we were kids, mom. We have our own lives. I thought you of all people would know, seeing as you and Simon spend so much time together,” she snaps back bitterly.

Linda veers off to the side of the road, stopping abruptly and causing both of them to jolt forward in their seats. She puts the car in park, turning to Sara with a finger pointing in her face.

“Do not act like this. You don’t even—you don’t even know-“ Linda’s scolding is cut short as she chokes on her words. Sara’s stoic face slowly morphs into worry. Linda squeezes her fist and closes her eyes as she collects herself. “This is a very serious situation, Sara. And all I am asking of you right now is to have compassion for your brother and work with me here,” she explains calmly.

Sara’s eyebrows scrunch up in concern. “Serious? Mom, what’s going on with Simon?”

Linda sighs, turning back to the wheel and putting the car back in drive. She merges back onto the road and exhales. “Sara... Simon got—hurt. Somebody at school hurt him. He won’t tell me who or what happened, and I pulled you out of class because I was hoping you’d have some idea,” she clarifies, “Are you sure you haven’t noticed anything? People picking on him, maybe? Giving him a hard time?”

Sara slowly shakes her head. “No, not that I’ve seen. He seems fine to me. I only really see him during class.” She pauses to think. “I mean, I guess I noticed he hasn’t visited me at the stables in a while.”

Linda nods. “Alright. When you do see him in class... how is he?”

Sara shrugs. “He’s fine,” she eyes Linda curiously, “What about at home?”

“At home he’s... he has been strange, Sara. He goes out late, lies about who he’s with, comes home exhausted and snappy.” Linda pauses. “You don’t think... it could be...”

“Wille,” Sara blurts, “You think Wille hurt Simon? No. Him and Felice are friends. She would definitely know if he was doing something bad to Simon and would tell me.”

“You’re right. I don’t know what I’m thinking,” she sniffles.

An awkward silence fills the car. Sara has never been one to comfort people and stressful situations make her shut down. She anxiously plays with her hair as she thinks about Simon. When mom says “hurt”, what does she mean? Was he punched? Smacked? Beat up? Stabbed? Someone getting “hurt” is not very specific. Sara hates vagueness.

Chapter Text

Linda and Sara spend hours together in silence, each of them staying perched in their seats on opposite sides of the dinner table, rarely sparing the other a glance. Originally, when they got home, Sara immediately advanced towards Simon's room, but Linda caught her by the sleeve of her coat and pulled her back.

“ No . Not yet” she had advised, and, reluctantly, Sara listened.

It’s an oddly awkward scenario. Sara would think that in a time of family crisis, they should be at least speaking to each other. Maybe her mom should be offering a comforting hand with a thumb that rubs across Sara’s knuckles. Something like what Linda did on Sara’s worst days. Instead, the house feels like a waiting room. But, at least in a waiting room there is no expectation of familiarity with the other people in there. There’s no way to be let down by their withdrawn demeanors. 

Focusing on her mom’s strange coldness is just a distraction, though. It’s easier to think up reasons and rationalize Linda’s behavior than it is to ruminate about what’s going on behind Simon’s bedroom door. Linda hasn’t given much else information after their conversation in the car came to a standstill. 

Sara tilts her head up towards the ceiling and scans the room absentmindedly. Sara decides she’s tired of sitting around. The sudden scraping of her chair makes Linda jump, and Sara spares her mother a glance before padding off to the hall. 

The hallway is eerily quiet. Usually, anytime Sara passed by Simon’s room there was some sound leaking out from underneath his door. Whether it was Rosh and Ayub’s laughter, a barrage of shooting sound effects from his video games, or the scattered melodies of him practicing his music; Simon’s room was almost never silent. It’s so intimidating that Sara’s body freezes up before she can knock. 

She takes a deep breath and shakes her arm out, finally tapping on the door. “Simon? It’s me,” she calls softly.

Sara presses her ear against the door, and there’s a sudden rustling of sheets. He must have been asleep.

“Simon,” she calls out again.

Sara takes a step away and waits for a response. When the silence carries for a few more moments, she moves away from the door.

“Sara?” 

A groggy voice answers her. Sara jumps towards the door and pushes her face into the crack of it. 

“Hey, Simon, it’s me,” she replies hurriedly, “Can you let me in?”

Simon goes back to being silent, and Sara isn’t sure if that’s supposed to be an answer or a reluctance to speak. She becomes nervous again, rubbing the tips of her fingers.

A loud thump against the door makes her flinch. She can see at the bottom of it that something’s on the other side. Sara slowly crouches down, finally falling down onto her bottom.

“Simon, can you hear me,” she questions in a timid voice.

“Yes,” he responds raspily.

“Is this how we’re going to talk,” she questions again.

“Yes,” he responds again, giggling softly. 

A small smile spreads on her face, and she can tell Simon’s smiling too by the tone of his voice. 

“So… what’s up? Mom took me out of school… she’s worried about you.”

She hears his muffled giggle behind the door. “She was that worried? Sorry… I didn’t think she’d do all that.”

Sara shakes her head even though Simon can’t see her. “Don’t be sorry. I want to know if my little brother is going through something,” she reassures. That reply draws out another laugh.

“That sounds so corny,” he replies. Sara laughs with him, but it’s a bit uneasy. He sounds kind of delirious, and she can’t understand how he can be joking around right now. 

That last statement brings the conversation to a halt. The two sit silently on each side of the door, simply enjoying one another's company. Sara’s eyes slide closed and she tilts her head back, trying her best to listen for Simon’s breathing.

“Hey Sara,” he suddenly pipes up in such a sweet tone. Sara jerks forward at the invitation to speak.

“Yes,” she replies, grinning at his endearing voice.

“Fuck you.”

Sara’s smile falters. She must not have heard him right.

“Ehm– what was that?”

“Fuck you. Get the fuck out of our house.”

Simon isn’t sure what causes it. Maybe it's the delirium of crying for hours and generally being in the aftermath of a traumatic event. Or maybe it’s just always been in him. But suddenly his misery is replaced with hatred. Pure hatred and anger bubbles up in his chest at the sound of Sara’s voice. His mind is consumed with a single thought– that this is all Sara’s fault.

 The liquor he sold to get Sara into a party, August being the one to get her into the dormitory, Simon knowing he would have never associated with that man if it weren’t for the fact he was trying to help Sara.

And all she does is move out and act like she was never part of their family. That she was never a poor socialist out of Bjärstad like the rest of them. And while she enjoys the perks of hanging out with all the richest girls of Hillerska and living her boarding school dream, Simon is killing himself to protect that. But now she comes to him acting so concerned? Simon isn’t falling for it.

“Simme what are you talking about,” she replies heatedly.

“I’m talking about you getting the fuck away from me. Go back to school. We don’t need you here.”

Sara starts slamming her fist on the door. “Simon, open this door right now,” she shouts. 

But she can shout all she wants. It makes no difference to Simon. He gets up and walks back to his bed, flopping down and pulling his sheets over his head. He ignores the pounding, and pretends he can’t hear Linda’s voice joining in the hall. He ignores their frantic voices calling for him. He ignores the way his face heats up and his chest pulls tightly with every breath. He ignores the sudden sweat overcoming his entire body. He ignores the building pressure in his head. He ignores everything.

Hours later Simon opens his eyes to a pitch black room. It’s so dark he can’t tell if his eyes are open or closed. He realizes he must have fallen asleep waiting for Sara to leave. Simon has a foggy memory of her and their mom arguing with one another and the front door slamming. It’s fine if they argued, Simon doesn’t care. He just wanted her gone. 

Dragging himself out of bed, Simon stumbles through the dark to his fish tank to turn their lamp on. The three fish are suddenly illuminated and begin to dart around the tank. Simon takes it like a greeting and smiles at their excitement. He pops open part of the lid and drops in a couple flakes. The fish become even more frenzied as they race to get the food. 

After watching them for a while, Simon walks right back to his bed. He flips onto his stomach to look at his phone. There’s a couple notifications from Instagram— probably Ayub and Rosh sending him posts. Wille texted him a sweet message hoping Simon feels alright. 

He cringes at Wille’s earnestness.

What catches his eye is a message from August. Simon’s thumb quivers over the contact and short preview of “I just had the…”, but he finally presses it.

AUGUST

I just had the most interesting conversation with your sister. ;)

Simon shoots up out of bed, his previously hazy brain immediately going into adrenaline-overdrive. The shaking in his thumb moves all the way down his arms, and continues until his entire body is shaking. 

He stares at the screen unblinkingly until the conversation is replaced with August’s name flashing across it. Simon hovers over the red icon before quickly jerking his finger to the other side and accepting the call. He presses the phone against his ear, and before August can even speak Simon is berating him.

“What the fuck are you talking about? August I’ll fucking kill you if you did something I swear to God I’m not messing around right now you fu-”

“Can you relax,” August interjects, “I said we had a conversation; plus, I wouldn’t go back on our deal so easily. What kind of a man do you take me for?”

Simon can think of a few words to describe what kind of man August is: a rapist, an abuser, a blackmailer, human trash, a monster, inhuman, a pedophile– if you want to get technical– and many other terms that Simon doesn’t even have the vocabulary for. 

So Simon decides to save his breath, huffing deeply to contain himself.

“What did she tell you,” Simon grits through his teeth.

“Well, by the time I saw her she seemed pretty upset. She started telling me all about how you cursed her out when all she wanted to do was be there for her brother. That’s pretty fucked up, Simme ,” the last word slips through August’s teeth with venom. 

“You don’t call me that. And why would she even tell you all of that,” Simon questions keenly. 

“Why wouldn’t she? She has a little schoolgirl crush on me,” he titters.

“You make me sick,” Simon spits through the phone. “If she knew what kind of person you are she’d despise you just as much as me.”

“That’s probably true,” he sighs, “But wouldn’t she despise you too?”

“What are you even–? What?”

August sighs again condescendingly. “I mean, you slept with the guy she likes, you dealt drugs. There’s plenty I could tell her if you want her to know so badly.” 

Simon chokes at the first part. “ Slept with ? Did you forget the part where you forced me to? You’re pathetic ,” he seethes. 

“I didn’t forget. I don’t think I could ever forget. It wasn’t bad, honestly, if it makes you feel any better.”

Simon laughs bitterly. “August, when I see you at school I’m going to rock your shit.”

“And Sara will be there to fix me up. Bye,” he ends the call quickly. 

The phone bounces off the mattress and hits the floor with a hard thump after Simon slams it down.

Chapter Text

Hello everyone! I wanted to drop this author's note just to make sure everyone knows I have not dropped this fic.

I live in Florida so some of you may be aware of how our hurricane season has been this year. Shortly after posting my last chapter there was Helene, which took our power for quite a bit. After that I was more focused on returning to normalcy in my job and at school. And then most recent was Milton which caused a pretty huge panic and sort of took me out of my regular routine because of the stress. Luckily, we didn't have any damages at my house, but I didn't have power for a few days and then there was still no wi-fi and my data was hardly working half the time. I also have zero motivation now because it was a draining experience. The lines at every grocer and restaurant, gas stations with no ETA on when they'd have gas, people generally acting pretty crazy, the destruction throughout my area, etc. took away my focus. I may not upload for a bit while I get situated back into my life. I'm pretty sad because I work at a school so it has been closed as per the county for a week and won't reopen until Wednesday. I just think about all my little babies and how things were for them during the hurricane. My college is also closed until Saturday so there were probably some fairly extensive damages to the campus.

Basically, I am still going to work on this but there's a lot I have to do at the moment in my personal life. I hope all of you understand.

Thank you!