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Chapter Text

The situation Wilhelm had found himself in wasn’t exactly most ideal. He would even argue that this situation could’ve been avoided and was completely unnecessary. But if the royal family had a say in it, Wilhelm wouldn’t dare argue.

Here he was, trekking the streets of Stockholm, the place he was born, grew up in and still currently lived in, with the worst company one could ask for. His mother had insisted that Wilhelm get outdoors, take a look around some of the historical and important parts of the city and get a feel for the place because Wilhelm had always felt detached from Stockholm, and clearly his mother had picked up on it.

But with exploring came security measures, but not just any security measures, no it was never that simple at all. Instead she recruited August, his annoying second cousin who he would much rather not touch with a ten foot pole, to take him around and keep an eye on him. Like he needed keeping an eye on. He was an adult and Stockholm was relatively safe.

But that’s life as a Prince, Wilhelm thought to himself. 

Wilhelm knew better than to think he could ever move through the city unnoticed. Even here, walking a step behind August, there were still flickers of recognition - the slight pause of a passerby, the double-take from a shop window reflection. A glance held too long. A whisper behind a gloved hand. August was talking. Wilhelm wasn’t listening.

“-such a waste if they shut it down. Hillerska’s history is bigger than any scandal, you know? My dad always said-”

Wilhelm barely heard the rest. The words blurred into the hum of the city, drowned out by the rush of traffic, the distant music spilling from store doorways, the voices of people who weren’t afraid to be loud. It was different from the curated quiet of the palace, or the stiffness of Hillerska’s hallways. It was messy. Unpredictable .

It made Wilhelm feel untethered.

“Are you even listening?” August’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and expectant. Wilhelm blinked, pulling himself back into the moment.

“Yeah,” he said automatically.

August scoffed. “Right.” He adjusted his coat, glancing around. “Come on, let’s cut through here. Less traffic.”

Wilhelm didn’t argue. He let August lead the way, weaving through side streets and past dimly lit storefronts, the kind that didn’t try too hard to be inviting. It was quieter here, but not empty. A group of people stood huddled outside a cafe, smoking and talking, their laughter curling into the cold air.

Wilhelm shoved his hands into his pockets. He could feel the outline of his lighter, but he didn’t reach for it.

Then, just for a second, he lost sight of August.

It wasn’t intentional. He just hesitated at the curb, and when he looked up, August was already halfway down the block, his figure swallowed by the movement of the crowd. Wilhelm exhaled, watching the distance grow between them. He could have jogged to catch up. He could have called out.

He didn’t.

Instead, he stepped out of the flow of people, pressing himself into the alcove of a doorway. The air smelled different here - musty, warm, with the sharp scent of vinyl and something faintly metallic. Wilhelm glanced up.

A record store.

The kind he’d never been inside before. The kind that looked cramped and chaotic, the window display cluttered with albums that had real wear on them, not just polished collectors’ editions. A sign was propped against the glass in uneven lettering: NEW STOCK – ASK FOR RECS.

The door was open just enough for him to hear the music playing inside.

Wilhelm didn’t recognize the song, but it was deep and raw, a voice circled the atmosphere of the small street, almost pulling Wilhelm closer towards the store.

Without thinking, he stepped inside. The door creaked as Wilhelm pushed it open. A bell above the frame jangled, but no one looked up.

The air inside was thick - warm, a little dusty, carrying the scent of old paper, plastic, and something faintly burnt. Maybe incense. Maybe just the ghost of a cigarette someone had put out too close to the door.

It was smaller than he expected. Not empty, but not exactly busy either. Shelves crowded the walls, packed tight with vinyl records, the album covers warped at the edges from years of handling. A few posters were haphazardly taped up, curling at the corners - David Bowie, The Clash, Madonna . One of them was ripped straight down the middle, two halves barely clinging together.

Wilhelm stepped further inside, letting the door close behind him. The floorboards groaned under his weight.

Music hummed low from the speakers - something slow, but not soft. It had a kind of aching sharpness to it, the singer’s voice stretching over guitar chords that sounded like they were trying to pull themselves apart. Wilhelm didn’t recognize the song, that was okay. It wasn’t exactly the same music that they played in the Palace. 

At the far end of the store, a girl sat behind the counter, flipping lazily through a magazine. She barely glanced up at him, uninterested.

Good .

Wilhelm exhaled, shoulders loosening just slightly. He wasn’t sure what he was doing here, only that it was better than being out there.

Better than following August. Better than being seen.

He reached for the nearest stack of records, letting his fingers skim the edges. The cardboard sleeves were worn, the ink faded in places. It was nothing like the pristine collections back home, where records were more for decoration than playing. These had been touched, used, lived with.

For the first time all day, Wilhelm felt like he wasn’t holding his breath.

Then a voice from the other side of the store. Flat, dry and amused. 

“You look lost.”

Wilhelm turned toward it. The voice had come from the other side of the store. Wilhelm turned, and there he was. Standing near the back, leaning against one of the shelves like he belonged there, was a boy.

Not just any boy. Dark curls, slightly tousled, like he’d run his hands through them one too many times. A sharp jawline softened by the way his lips curled - not quite a smirk, not quite a smile. His sweater was slightly oversized, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing the kind of forearms Wilhelm shouldn’t have noticed but did anyway.

But it was his eyes that caught Wilhelm off guard the most. Dark brown and focused.  Like he was already seeing through him.

The boy didn’t move from where he stood, one hand resting on the shelf, fingers tapping absentmindedly against the spines of the records. He looked relaxed, but his gaze was too steady, too deliberate.

Wilhelm realized, suddenly, that he hadn’t answered. He cleared his throat. “I’m not lost.”

The boy raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. Then he shrugged, glancing back at the record in his hand. “If you say so.”

Wilhelm didn’t know why that irritated him. It wasn’t dismissive, not exactly. But there was something about the boy's tone - like he’d already made up his mind about him. Like Wilhelm was predictable.

He shifted his weight, gripping the edge of the record in front of him without really seeing it. “Do you work here?”

The boy let out a quiet laugh, like Wilhelm had just asked something stupid. “Obviously.”

Wilhelm glanced toward the counter. The girl was still flipping through her magazine, uninterested. No sign of an actual owner.

“So, what?” Wilhelm asked, tilting his head slightly. “You judge every customer that walks in, or just me?”

The boy met his eyes again. This time, there was definitely amusement.

“Just the ones who look like they’ve never touched a record in their life.”

Wilhelm exhaled through his nose, tilting his head down to glance at the record he’d grabbed at random. The wrong record. He didn’t even have to read the title to know it was something August would have picked.

The boy must have noticed, because he huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Thought so.”

Wilhelm should have walked away.

But instead, he lifted his chin slightly, holding the boy's gaze. “Alright, then.” He tapped his fingers against the record bin. “What should I be listening to?”

The boy blinked, just for a second. Like he hadn’t expected that. Then, slowly, he grinned.

Wilhelm took a glance down at the boy in question's name tag. Simon . Interesting. 

Simon’s grin widened, just slightly. Wilhelm realised, belatedly, that this wasn’t just a question to Simon. It was a test. Simon turned back to the shelf, running his fingers along the spines of the records, like he was making a show of considering it. Then, without looking, he grabbed one, flipping it toward Wilhelm.

ABBA .

Wilhelm blinked. Simon’s face was perfectly neutral, but there was something behind his eyes.

Wilhelm raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Simon shrugged. “What? You don’t like ABBA?”

That wasn’t the point. That wasn’t the point at all. Wilhelm could hear it already - August’s voice in his head, sneering, mocking. He could picture the headlines, the teasing at school. He could picture the exact kind of person Simon thought he was. Wilhelm held Simon’s gaze for a moment, deliberately. Then, he reached out, took the record from Simon’s hand - and held it firm. Simon blinked. Not what he expected?

Wilhelm smirked, just a little. “Alright,” he said, voice steady. “I’ll take it.”

For a second, Simon didn’t say anything. Then - a laugh. A real one, this time. Not sharp. Not mocking. Just surprised.

“Okay,” Simon said, tilting his head. “Not bad, Your Highness.”

Wilhelm stiffened. There it was . The recognition.

But Simon was already turning back to the shelf, flipping through the records again. “But if you actually want something good, here.” He slid another album out and handed it over.

Wilhelm glanced down. The Smiths.

He exhaled slowly, running his thumb over the edge of the sleeve. He wasn’t sure why, but this felt… different. More real. More like something Simon actually meant.

He glanced up. Simon was watching him, head tilted, like he was waiting to see what Wilhelm would do next.

Wilhelm tightened his grip on the record.

“How much?”

Simon’s smile was slower this time. Less of a smirk. More something else.

“On the house,” he said, before turning back to his work.

Wilhelm stood there for a moment, gripping the album like it meant more than it should.

Wilhelm took the record to the counter, setting it down next to the register. The girl behind the counter barely glanced up from her magazine.

“You paying?” she asked, flipping a page.

Wilhelm hesitated. His hand was already in his pocket, fingers brushing against his wallet. But Simon had said on the house.

Before he could answer, Simon appeared at his side, leaning casually against the counter. “I got it,” he said, reaching over and sliding the record toward him. “Just ringing him up for inventory.”

The girl shrugged and went back to her magazine, clearly not interested.

Wilhelm raised an eyebrow. “Do you actually work here?”

Simon smirked. “Most days.”

Wilhelm huffed a quiet laugh. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

Simon didn’t reply, just flipped the record over and inspected the tracklist. Something about the way he did it felt intentional. Like he was giving Wilhelm a moment to speak.

Wilhelm crossed his arms. “You’re just giving this away?”

Simon shrugged. “Call it a cultural donation.”

Wilhelm narrowed his eyes slightly. “So what - you think I have bad taste in music?”

“Oh, no,” Simon said, voice perfectly serious. “I know you have bad taste in music.”

Wilhelm scoffed, but before he could respond, Simon slid the record back across the counter. “But there’s hope for you,” he added, nodding toward the album. “The Smiths is a good start.”

Wilhelm glanced down at the record, then back up at Simon. “And if I come back?”

Simon tilted his head, pretending to consider it. Then, after a beat - a grin.

“I’ll have to work a little harder to fix you.”

Wilhelm should have rolled his eyes. He should have picked up the record, turned, and walked out without another word.

Instead, he leaned against the counter, just slightly, just enough to make it clear he wasn’t leaving yet.

“And what makes you think I’m coming back?”

Simon’s smirk deepened. “Because you wouldn’t be asking if you weren’t already thinking about it.”

Wilhelm held his gaze. It was annoyingly hard to look away.

He felt something shift between them, something unspoken but there nonetheless. Simon wasn’t wrong. Wilhelm knew he wasn’t.

The bell above the door rang as someone else entered the shop. The moment stretched - then snapped.

Simon pushed off the counter, turning away. “Names Simon, by the way. Like you'll remember anyways," that kind of stung, "See you around, Your Highness ,” he said over his shoulder.

Wilhelm frowned. “Don’t call me that.”

But Simon was already gone, disappearing into the aisles. Wilhelm stood there for a second longer before finally picking up the record.

He left the shop feeling like something had shifted - and he had no idea what.

Yet Wilhelm hadn’t planned on seeing August again. After losing him in the city, he had considered it a fortunate accident. He had no desire to chase after August, to ask where he had been going or why he was adamant on showing Wilhelm around the place he already knew like the palm of his hand.

And yet as Wilhelm rounded the corner onto a quieter street, there he was. August stood near the entrance of an upscale cafe, deep in conversation with an older man in a sharp suit. They were speaking in hushed voices, their postures tense.

Wilhelm slowed his steps, keeping a distance. There was something off about the way August was holding himself - rigid, like he was being lectured. The man gestured toward him sharply, and August nodded stiffly in response.

Wilhelm narrowed his eyes. Who was that?

Before he could get any closer, the man clapped a hand on August’s shoulder, murmured something final, then turned and strode away. August stood there for a moment, rubbing his jaw, his expression stilled.

Then, as if sensing Wilhelm’s gaze, he turned and their eyes met. For a second, neither of them moved.

Then August straightened, mask slipping back into its rightful place. He rolled his shoulders, fixing Wilhelm with a tight-lipped smile. “Well, well. Slumming it in the city, are we?”

Wilhelm exhaled through his nose. “Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.”

August chuckled, but it was forced. He glanced past Wilhelm, like he was checking to see if anyone else had seen him. “What are you doing here?”

Wilhelm raised an eyebrow. “I could ask you that.”

August’s jaw ticked, but his smile remained. “You could. But you won’t.”

Wilhelm studied him. The tension in his shoulders. The way his hands stayed buried in his pockets.

Something was wrong. But Wilhelm didn’t ask. Not yet. Instead, he tilted his head slightly. “Who was that?”

August’s smile finally slipped. Just for a fraction of a second, but Wilhelm caught it.

“No one important,” August said.

Wilhelm didn’t believe that for a second.

But before he could press further, August clapped a hand on his arm - the same way the man had done to him. “Enjoy your little adventure, cousin,” he said lightly. “But do try to be careful. The real world isn’t as forgiving as your palace.”

Wilhelm held his ground, watching as August stepped past him and disappeared into the crowd. He exhaled slowly, his mind already turning.

No one important.

Wilhelm wasn’t sure why, but he had a feeling August had just lied to him.

The Smiths album sat on Wilhelm’s desk, untouched.

He had set it down when he got back to his apartment, intending to listen to it. But now, hours later, it remained where he had left it. He wasn’t sure why.

Wilhelm exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. It was stupid. Just some random boy in a record shop. Just a conversation that shouldn’t have meant anything.

Wilhelm leaned back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling. His mind replayed the interaction, over and over. The way Simon had spoken to him. The way he had looked at him - sharp, amused, like he saw right through Wilhelm and didn’t care who he was.

Because he doesn’t , Wilhelm realized.

Most people, when they figured out who he was, changed. They either treated him with fragile, careful respect, or with shallow, eager admiration. Either way, it was a performance. But Simon - Simon had been the same. Even after calling him Your Highness , his tone hadn’t changed. There was no reverence, no eagerness to impress. Just a boy in a record shop, grinning at him like he was a puzzle he wasn’t sure he wanted to solve.

Wilhelm sat up, shaking his head. It doesn’t matter.

He turned to the record player in the corner of his room, dust gathered in the grooves. He barely used it. He had always liked music, but it had never been something deeply personal to him. He reached for the album before he could think too much about it, slid the vinyl out of its sleeve and set it onto the turntable.

A soft static, then - music.

Wilhelm leaned back again, closing his eyes. The melody was slow but deliberate, the voice raw. Wilhelm let it settle into his chest, let it dig its way in.

A soft knock at the door.

Wilhelm barely stirred, lying motionless beneath the heavy sheets. The morning light filtering through the curtains was muted, casting long, cold shadows across his bedroom. Too big. Too quiet. Too much like a place that had never really been his. He hated waking up here. 

The knock came again - firmer this time. Wilhelm sighed, pushing himself upright. He already knew who it was before she even spoke.

“Wilhelm,” his mothers voice was calm but expectant. “I’m coming in.”

The door opened before he could protest. His mother stepped inside, poised and immaculate, like she always was. Her expression, however, was unreadable - watchful in that way that made Wilhelm feel like a child again, like she was trying to decode him.  For a moment, she just looked at him. Taking in the unmade bed, his slouched posture, the faint exhaustion still clinging to his face. Then, with a sigh, she closed the door behind her.

“You were wandering the city alone yesterday,” she said, not a question, just as a matter of fact.

Wilhelm tensed, but kept his voice steady. “I wasn’t alone the whole time.”

Kristina’s lips pressed together. “You had no security. Anything could have happened.”

There it was. Not anger. Not disappointed. Worry . But Wilhelm wasn’t in the mood for it.

“I can take care of myself,” he muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Kristina exhaled, stepping further into the room. “You know that’s not true.”

Wilhelm clenched his jaw. Not true?

“I walked around, I went into a record store, and I got back in one piece. Is that really such a scandal?” His tone was sharper than he intended, but he didn’t care.

His mother studied him for a long moment. Then, to his surprise, she sat down on the edge of his bed. An unusual closeness. A rare moment of softness.

“You remind me of your father sometimes,” she said quietly.

Wilhelm blinked. “What?”

Kristina gave a small, almost wistful smile. “He never liked being told what to do either.”

Wilhelm had no idea how to respond to that. For all the things he expected this morning, this wasn’t one of them.

She smoothed an invisible crease from her skirt, her expression shifting back to something more controlled. “I just wish you’d think, Wilhelm. You’re not Erik.”

Wilhelm flinched. There it was . The shadow Erik always cast, the comparison he could never escape. The day he wasn’t compared to Erik would be the day he found peace, and today was seemingly not that day. 

Kristina softened again, though only slightly. “Just… be careful.”

It almost sounded like she meant it.

Then, just as quickly as she had come in, she stood, smoothing down the front of her dress, her usual composure sliding back into place.

“Breakfast is in fifteen minutes,” she said, already heading for the door. “Don’t be late.”

Wilhelm sat there, still caught in the flurry of the conversation, as the door clicked shut behind her.

His mother was never the affectionate type. She was actually the furthest away from affectionate as one’s mother could get. She definitely had a strange way of showing her affection but the sad reality of it all was that Wilhelm was used to it. He’d never be Erik, nor did he want to be Erik. He wanted to be just Wilhelm. Was it too much to ask for? 

Clearly. 

The palace dining room was too grand, too formal and too silent.

Wilhelm sat at the long table, staring at his plate but not really seeing it. The spread before him - fresh bread, neatly arranged fruit, perfectly poached eggs - felt excessive, like everything else in this place.

Across from him, Erik ate quietly, methodical as always. Their mother sat at the head of the table, her focus on a stack of papers beside her plate. Even at breakfast, she was working. Always working.

Wilhelm picked up his fork, but his appetite was nonexistent. The room was too still, the kind of stillness that made him want to get up and leave.  He could feel Erik watching him. His older brother didn’t say anything at first, just let the silence stretch between them. 

“You should eat,” Erik said lightly. Not a command nor a suggestion. Just a quiet concern.

Wilhelm forced a bite of bread into his mouth. It tasted like nothing.

Kristina finally glanced up from her papers. “Your schedule for today is the same as usual,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Hillerska, lessons, and then your riding practice.”

Wilhelm barely suppressed a sigh. “I’m not going to practice,” he said.

Kristina’s expression didn’t change, but the air shifted. “Yes, you are.”

Wilhelm dropped his fork. “I have other things to do.”

Kristina exhaled, as if she were already tired of him. “Wilhelm, if you continue like this—”

“Like what?”

Kristina’s gaze sharpened. “Reckless.”

Wilhelm set his jaw. “I went out for a few hours. That’s not reckless.”

Kristina’s lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t raise her voice - she never did - but her words were enough. “It is when you do it alone, without security. You cannot just disappear whenever you feel like it.”

Wilhelm scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “Why? Because I’m an embarrassment?”

A flicker of something crossed Kristina’s face. Gone in an instant. “Because you’re my son.”

Wilhelm’s stomach twisted. He didn’t know what to do with that.

Erik, who had been silent until now, set down his knife and cleared his throat. “Maybe Wilhelm just wants some space.” His voice was calm. 

Kristina exhaled through her nose but didn’t argue with Erik. She never did, funnily enough. Instead, she turned back to Wilhelm. “If you must go out, at least take August.”

Wilhelm’s grip tightened around his fork. Take August just for him to lose me again, or force me into places I have no interest in visiting. 

He didn’t respond.

Kristina took his silence as reluctant agreement and returned to her papers. The conversation was over.

Erik gave Wilhelm a small, knowing look, like he wanted to say something. But he didn’t. He just nudged Wilhelm’s plate toward him again, a reminder to eat. Wilhelm sighed and took another bite.

The food still tasted like nothing.

The car rolled to a slow stop, its tires grinding against the gravel of Hillerska’s pristine driveway, and Wilhelm exhaled sharply, bracing himself. The school loomed ahead, standing tall like a monument to everything Wilhelm had learned to resent. Duty. Discipline. Tradition . It was all here, waiting for him like a vice closing around his ribs. He had spent the summer convincing himself that one more term - just one more - was manageable. That he could endure the stares, the whispered judgments, the weight of a crown he wishes he didn’t wear still felt pressing down on his head.

But all of that - all of the careful bracing, all of the exhaustion he had already made peace with - was obliterated in an instant. Because there, just a few meters away, standing at his locker like he had every right to be there - because he did have every right to be there - was him .

Wilhelm froze, his pulse lurching violently, his grip tightening around the strap of his bag.

No, this couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be here. But he was.

Simon looked just as he had in the record shop, just as effortlessly himself , like he belonged in every space he stepped into without needing permission. Dark curls unruly from the wind, a small furrow in his brow as he stuffed a book into his bag. He looked like he had always been here, because, Wilhelm realized with a cold shock, he had .

Almost the entire school year. 

All that time at Hillerska, walking these halls, sitting in these classrooms, existing in the same space, and Wilhelm had never noticed him. Not once. He had been too wrapped up in his own world, too preoccupied with escaping his fate to ever look twice at the scholarship students. And now, in some cruel twist of fate, Simon had been plonked right in front of him, forcing him to look, forcing him to acknowledge that he was real and here and had been all along .

Wilhelm could hardly breathe.

The moment Simon’s gaze lifted, locking onto his, the air thickened. There was a flicker of recognition - brief but undeniable - and then, to Wilhelm’s absolute horror, Simon’s lips twitched into something amused. Not quite a smirk, but close .

“Well, well,” Simon drawled, slinging his bag over his shoulder with a slow, deliberate ease. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon, prinsen .”

Wilhelm’s stomach flipped. His collar suddenly felt too tight, his skin too hot, and he willed himself not to react, not to give anything away. But his body betrayed him, stiffening like a cornered animal.

“You-” His voice cracked slightly, so he cleared his throat, schooling his expression into something neutral. “You go here?”

Simon raised an eyebrow, as if the question itself was ridiculous. “For almost the entire year now.” His tone was light, but the pointedness beneath it was unmistakable. Then, with an amused tilt of his head, he added, “But I guess you don’t tend to notice the scholarship students, huh?”

Wilhelm’s stomach sank. There was no malice in Simon’s voice, but the words still hit like a slap. And the worst part? He wasn’t wrong.

“I-” Wilhelm started, but no excuse came.

Simon hummed, watching him flounder. Then, after a beat, he took a slow step forward. Not close enough to invade Wilhelm’s space, but enough to feel deliberate. His eyes glimmered with something unreadable, something Wilhelm wasn’t sure if he wanted to dissect.

“Guess you’re stuck with me now,” Simon murmured, voice lower, more teasing.

Wilhelm’s breath caught in his throat. A flicker of heat curled in his stomach - unfamiliar and unwanted. And then, without waiting for a response, Simon turned on his heel and strolled off, disappearing into the sea of students.

Wilhelm stood frozen, his heartbeat slamming against his ribs. How the hell did he not realise that record store Simon, the same Simon he was so infatuated by, (reason still unknown) was at his school?

Wilhelm shook his head out of his looming thoughts as he pulled his bag further onto his shoulder and dashed for his next lesson, and if the thoughts of a certain curly haired boy was circling his mind, well… that wasn’t anybody else's business but his own. 

Wilhelm sat stiffly at his desk, his notebook open but blank. The professor droned on about something historical - probably important, but Wilhelm couldn’t focus. His pen was poised over the page, but the only thing circling his mind was him.

Simon.

The way he had smirked at him. The way he had spoken to him - like he was just any other person, not a prince. The way he had looked at him - bold and sharp.

Wilhelm twirled his pen between his fingers, staring blankly at the front of the room. It wasn’t like he’d never had people look at him before. Everyone looked at him. Teachers, students, the press, strangers on the street. But it was never like that. Never like…

He frowned, gripping his pen tighter. What the hell was wrong with him?

A soft tap, tap against his arm pulled him from his thoughts. He blinked and turned to the source. Felice gave him a knowing look, eyebrows raised.

“You look like you’re having an existential crisis,” she whispered, leaning closer.

Wilhelm sighed, straightening in his seat. “I’m fine.”

Felice hummed, unconvinced. “Sure. That’s why you’ve been staring into space for the last fifteen minutes like you just uncovered the meaning of life.”

Wilhelm glanced at the professor to make sure they weren’t being watched before whispering back, “I was just…thinking.”

Felice’s eyes sparked with interest. “Thinking about what?”

Wilhelm hesitated. No way in hell was he telling her.

“Nothing,” he muttered, turning back to his empty notebook.

Felice snorted. “Right. And I’m the Queen of Sweden.”

Wilhelm shot her a flat look, but she only grinned.

“What’s her name?” she teased.

Wilhelm choked. “What?”

“Oh, come on.” Felice leaned her chin on her hand, watching him like a hawk. “You get like this whenever someone gets under your skin. It’s painfully obvious.”

Wilhelm scowled. “That’s not true.”

Felice rolled her eyes. “Okay, sure. But if I had to guess… it’s someone new, isn’t it?”

Definitely felt new. 

Wilhelm didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The utter fact Felice had said ‘her’ was everything he needed not to say anything. His face must have done something because Felice’s grin widened.

“It is someone new.”

Wilhelm exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “No- it’s not.. Felice-”

“Who?”

“No one.”

Felice narrowed her eyes. “So defensive.”

Wilhelm clenched his jaw. “Because there’s nothing to talk about.”

Felice studied him for a long moment, then smirked. “Okay. If you say so.”

But she didn’t sound convinced. Not at all.  Wilhelm tried to refocus on class, on the professor, on anything other than the feeling still buzzing under his skin.

But it was impossible. It was impossible because the lingering feeling in the back of his mind trying to tell his best friend about a person, and the said person being a guy and Wilhelm not knowing what the fuck he was feeling was making him anxious. It was impossible because every time he closed his eyes - he saw Simon.

Wilhelm stepped outside, inhaling the afternoon air as he adjusted his blazer. The winter air was chilly, but it was a welcome change from the suffocating walls of Hillerska. His driver was already waiting by the car, engine running, but Wilhelm didn’t rush. He needed just a second . A moment to clear his head and to shake off the lingering frustration that had followed him all day.

His thoughts had been a mess. A constant loop of things that shouldn’t have mattered - a  look and a smirk and a voice that dripped with something he couldn’t quite name. It was annoying and quite frankly, Frustrating. And if he had any sense, he’d push it aside and forget about it.

“Skipping out on dorm life already, Your Highness?”

Wilhelm froze mid-step. That voice.

He turned - and there was Simon, of course. Leaning casually against one of the stone pillars, arms crossed, that same smug glint in his eyes, cigarette between his lips. Wilhelm tried not to stare at the way he inhaled the smoke around him, the cigarette propped perfectly between his two fingers. But if he stared longer than necessary then on his head be it.

Wilhelm forced his expression to be neutral. “I don’t live in the dorms.”

Simon scoffed, pushing off the pillar and extinguishing the cigarette on the wall beside him. “Oh right. Of course. Can’t have royalty mixing with the common folk.”

Wilhelm narrowed his eyes. “That’s not what-”

“I’m joking, Your Highness.” Simon stepped closer, too close. “Relax.”

Wilhelm inhaled slowly, trying to steady himself. “Don’t call me that.”

Simon smirked. “What, Your Highness ? Why not?”

Wilhelm exhaled sharply, his jaw tight. “Because it’s annoying.”

Simon raised an eyebrow, moving lazily into Wilhelm’s path. “Annoying?” He tilted his head, eyes flickering with amusement. “Funny. I thought princes were supposed to like being worshipped.”

Wilhelm shot him a look, sidestepping him. “I don’t.”

Simon hummed, falling into step beside him. “Not even a little bit?”

Wilhelm ignored him, quickening his pace toward the car. But Simon - persistent, smug and insufferable Simon - kept up effortlessly, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, moving like he had all the time in the world.

“Where’s your entourage?” Simon teased, glancing around exaggeratedly. “No security to drag you away from the terrifying scholarship student. who, by the way, has been in your English class for the last - what is it - ah yes, almost a year?”

Wilhelm gritted his teeth. He felt like an absolute idiot. He definitely was an idiot.  “I don’t need security at school.”

Simon grinned. “So you do think I’m dangerous?”

Wilhelm turned his head sharply. “That’s not what I—”

“Relax. I know I’m not a threat.” Simon’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “Unless, of course, you’re scared of me.”

Wilhelm stopped walking. Simon stopped too, watching him with a smirk that was almost a challenge.

Wilhelm shouldn’t entertain this. He should just get in the car and leave. But something about Simon’s expression - so smug, so sure of himself - made his skin prickle.

He squared his shoulders. “I’m not scared of you.”

Simon’s lips twitched. “Good.” His gaze flicked over Wilhelm’s face, assessing, before he took a step back. “Wouldn’t want to give the prince nightmares.”

Wilhelm clenched his jaw. Infuriating . He tore his gaze away and strode to the car, wrenching the door open.

But just before he could climb in, Simon called out. 

“See you tomorrow, Wille.”

Wilhelm stiffened. Tomorrow. 

Simon didn’t wait for a response. By the time Wilhelm turned back, he was already walking away, whistling under his breath. Wilhelm sat back against the car seat, his pulse annoyingly uneven.

What the hell was that? This was so bad for him. 

Wilhelm barely makes it through the front doors before a butler stops him.

"Your mother is waiting for you in the drawing room, Your Highness."

Not even a welcome home . Not even a chance to breathe. His grip tightens around the strap of his bag as he makes his way through the palace. Of course she’s waiting. Of course there’s something to discuss. It’s always something.

When he steps inside, the Queen is already seated, back straight. A cup of tea sits untouched on the table beside her. The picture of restraint.

"Sit."

It’s not a request. Wilhelm lowers himself into the chair opposite her, feeling the weight of her gaze before he even meets it.

"How was your day?" she asks, voice level.

"Good."

Then, she slides something across the table toward him. A newspaper.

Wilhelm doesn’t even need to read the headline to know. His own face stares back at him, printed in bold black ink.

‘ Prince Wilhelm spotted distracted and out of place at Hillerska - Has he lost his sense of duty?’

A scoff builds in Wilhelm’s throat before he can stop it.

"Are you serious?" He picks up the paper, waving it slightly. "It was one day. One. And they’re already lurking around a school for-" he stops himself before he spits out the word teenagers , but the implication is clear.

"Wilhelm." His mother’s voice is cool, but there’s a warning edge beneath it. "This is not just about one day."

"No, it’s about them having nothing better to do," Wilhelm snaps, tossing the paper back onto the table. "It’s pathetic. Following me around a school, speculating on my life like I’m some- some- " he gestures sharply, unable to even find the right word.

His mother watches him. "You are a public figure."

"I’m an adult."

"And you are still the prince."

Wilhelm clenches his jaw.

"You should know better than to be careless," his mother continues, adjusting her posture. "You know how this works."

"I know how it works," Wilhelm grits out, voice low. "But maybe I shouldn’t have to."

A muscle in the Queen’s jaw tightens, just slightly. "What you should or shouldn’t have to do is irrelevant. This is the life you were born into."

Wilhelm exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "So what, am I just supposed to - walk around with my head down? Never talk to anyone? Never be seen?"

"You are supposed to be careful."

"I was!" His voice spikes, frustration bleeding into it. "I went to school. I sat through class. I ate lunch. That’s all I did."

"And yet here we are," his mother counters, tone never rising, never wavering. "The press will always find something, Wilhelm. That’s why you need to be smarter than them."

Wilhelm lets his head drop back against the chair, staring at the ceiling for a moment. It’s exhausting. It’s the same conversation, the same rules, the same weight on his shoulders, and the worst part is - he’s not even surprised.

"You need to remember who you are," his mother says after a beat.

"I don’t think I’ll ever be allowed to forget."

Silence . Then, after a moment, she stands, smoothing down her jacket. "Get some rest."

Wilhelm doesn’t move until the door closes behind her. Then, finally, he exhales, pressing his palms into his eyes, heart still hammering.

And all he can think about - all he can hear, looping over and over in his mind:

"See you tomorrow, Wille."

Shit.

Chapter Text

Wilhelm sat at the breakfast table, stirring his coffee absentmindedly. The quiet clinking of silverware against porcelain filled the otherwise still room. Erik sat across from him, cutting into his toast with precision, watching him carefully.

“You look like shit,” Erik remarked, though his voice was softer than his words.

Wilhelm huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Thanks. That helps.”

Erik leaned back in his chair, sipping his own coffee. “Long night?”

Wilhelm didn’t answer immediately, just stared at the dark liquid in his cup. Finally, he sighed. “Mother summoned me the second I got home.”

Erik didn’t look surprised. “Let me guess. Something about keeping up appearances? Not drawing attention?”

Wilhelm scoffed, rubbing his forehead. “More like a reminder that I should already know better. That it doesn’t matter what I do, only how it looks.”

Erik hummed, nodding slightly. “She’s stuck in her ways. Always has been.”

“Yeah, well, I think she forgets I’m eighteen,” Wilhelm muttered.

“She doesn’t forget,” Erik corrected, setting his cup down. “She just expects you to act like you aren’t.”

Wilhelm looked up at him, something unreadable in his gaze. He wasn’t sure what he wanted Erik to say - that she was wrong? That he didn’t have to live like this? That there was a way out?

But Erik was realistic, and more than that, he was the Crown Prince. He didn’t have the luxury of hypotheticals.

“Listen,” Erik continued, tone steady, reassuring. “I know it’s a lot. And it’s unfair, but it won’t always feel like this.”

Wilhelm exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair. “You really believe that?”

“I have to.” Erik smiled faintly, then reached for another piece of toast. “It does get easier, in a way. You learn what matters, what to tune out. You learn how to be careful.”

Wilhelm frowned slightly. “You mean how to hide.”

Erik sighed, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant. I just - I don’t want you to think you have to carry all of this alone.” He paused, studying Wilhelm for a moment. “And I don’t want you to let it change you.”

Wilhelm hesitated. He wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust that it would get easier, that it wasn’t always going to feel like suffocating. But right now, it was hard to see past the immediate. Past the press breathing down his neck. Past the fact that he couldn’t even have a normal day at school without it turning into a headline.

And past the way Simon had looked at him yesterday - challengingly, like Wilhelm was just some guy who walked into a record store instead of literal royalty. Like he wasn’t a prince at all. The thought made something coil in his stomach, something warm and strange and unfamiliar.

“Just be careful,” Erik added, his voice quieter now. “I know you want to live your life. And you should. But Mother isn't wrong about one thing - people are watching. They always will be.”

Wilhelm clenched his jaw, fingers tightening around his cup. “Yeah. I know.”

“I mean it,” Erik pressed. “I see how restless you are, how much you want something different. But you have to be smart about it. One misstep, and they’ll tear you apart.”

Wilhelm’s stomach twisted. He wasn’t naive; he knew how it worked. He had seen what the press did to people who didn’t fit into their picture-perfect narrative. And yet, for the first time in a long time, he felt like he had a choice. Like maybe there was something worth taking the risk for.

Like maybe that something had curly hair and a sharp tongue and eyes that saw right through him. Pull yourself together.

“I get it,” Wilhelm murmured, though he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Erik or himself.

Erik sighed, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he offered Wilhelm a small smile, nudging the plate of toast toward him. “Eat something. It’ll make you look less miserable.”

Wilhelm managed a small smile back. It wasn’t much, but for now, it was enough.

He didn’t know what compelled him to go there, he just knew he needed to see Simon again. And why? Well, he didn’t know.

Wilhelm slipped out of the palace just before four, the late afternoon light already beginning to stretch long shadows across the streets. He kept his head down, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, his heart hammering in his chest as he moved quickly toward the city. It wasn’t exactly sneaking out - he had a driver waiting, but he had been deliberately vague about where he was going. He just needed some air, some space. And, apparently, to see Simon.

The record store looked the same as it had the day before, the neon sign buzzing faintly in the window. Wilhelm hesitated at the door, swallowing hard before pushing it open. The bell above jingled, and for a moment, everything felt the same. The scent of old vinyl, the dim lighting, the faint hum of music playing from the back.

And then there was Simon, leaning over the counter, flipping lazily through a music magazine. He looked up at the sound of the door, his expression shifting from indifference to mild surprise before settling into something far more amused.

“Well,” Simon drawled, setting the magazine down. “Look who’s back so soon.”

Wilhelm rolled his eyes, stepping further inside. “I was in the area.”

Simon smirked, tapping his fingers against the counter. “Sure you were.”

Wilhelm ignored the warmth creeping up his neck and turned his attention to a nearby shelf, running his fingers along the spines of various records. He wasn’t even looking at the titles, just trying to seem casual.

“Are you actually here to buy something this time,” Simon continued, “or just to lurk like last time?”

Wilhelm shot him a look. “I wasn’t lurking.”

“You were definitely lurking.” Simon grinned, tilting his head. “But hey, no judgement. Must be boring up in your castle or whatever.”

Wilhelm exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It’s a palace.”

Simon’s grin widened. “Right, right. My bad.”

Wilhelm didn’t know why, but the way Simon said it - teasing, not reverent - made his stomach do something strange. He picked up a random record, turning it over in his hands just to give himself something to focus on.

Simon leaned his elbows on the counter, watching him with an infuriatingly knowing expression. “So, what are you actually doing here?”

Wilhelm hesitated for half a second too long.

Simon’s smirk deepened. “You don’t know, do you?”

Wilhelm scowled. “Does it matter?”

Simon hummed, clearly enjoying himself. “Not really. I just think it’s funny.”

Wilhelm rolled his eyes. “I thought I’d see what else you have.”

Simon tilted his head, eyeing him with something unreadable. “Mm. Okay” He straightened, setting his drink aside. “Alright, let’s get one thing straight before we start - do you actually listen to music, or do you just want to look at the covers?”

Wilhelm huffed a quiet laugh. “I listen.”

Simon grinned, but for once, he didn’t push further. He just turned toward the shelves, already scanning through them. “Alright, then. Let’s see what you really like.”

He moved with ease, fingers skimming across the spines of the records before pulling one free. He held it up without looking at Wilhelm. Prince – Purple Rain.

Wilhelm raised a brow. “Really?”

Simon snorted. “What, you too royal to listen to royalty?”

Wilhelm exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he took the album. Simon didn’t wait before he grabbed another, pressing it into Wilhelm’s hands. Bronski Beat – The Age of Consent.

Wilhelm blinked.

Simon just smiled, tapping the record with his finger. “You should listen to this one. Trust me.”

Wilhelm swallowed, his heart skipping a beat as his gaze fell on the cover. Bronski Beat. The realization settled in his chest like a slow-burning ember. He knew of them. Knew what their music represented.

Simon didn’t say anything, just watched him, his expression unreadable. Wilhelm’s grip tightened around the records. He knew he should say something, should brush it off, but there was something about the way Simon was looking at him that made his throat feel tight.

Before he could find the words, Simon was already moving again, flipping through another section. He pulled out The Smiths – The Queen Is Dead and shoved it toward Wilhelm with a teasing grin. “This one just felt appropriate.”

Wilhelm let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Very funny.”

“Extremely.”

They stood there, flipping through more records, the air between them lighter despite the undercurrent of something unspoken. Every so often, their fingers brushed as Simon passed him another album, and Wilhelm tried not to think too much about the way it sent sparks up his spine.

After a while, Simon glanced at the clock and sighed. “I’m locking up soon.” Then, after a beat, he added, “But if you’re not in a rush to get back to your royal duties, you could come with me. You look like you need a bit of fun.”

Wilhelm narrowed his eyes. “Where?”

Simon’s smirk widened. “Underground music club. Just round the corner. Has some of the best live performances and karaoke sessions. It's also nice to be around my sort of people for the night, you get me?”

Oh he definitely got the memo. 

Wilhelm hesitated. His heart pounded faster in his chest, because of course he knew what that meant. He knew the kind of places Simon was talking about - places where music was raw, where people were unfiltered. 

He should say no.

But Simon was watching him, waiting, and Wilhelm - who had spent years living under a microscope, suffocating beneath expectations - felt something dangerous and thrilling curl in his stomach.

“…Alright,” he said, voice quieter than before.

Simon grinned, grabbing his jacket and heading to the store bathroom to, presumably, change outfits. “Try to keep up, then.”

Wilhelm didn’t question it, he didn’t try to think about what the media outlets would say if they saw Wilhelm in a place like that. 

Media outlets be damned. Wilhelm would follow Simon without hesitation.

The evening air hit Wilhelm the moment they stepped outside. The streets were quieter now, the occasional car humming past, headlights streaking across the pavement.

Simon, with the practiced ease of someone who’d walked these streets a thousand times, lit a cigarette as they stepped out. The orange glow flared briefly before he took a drag, the smoke curling up into the air. He exhaled slowly, watching the clouds of smoke dissolve into the darkness.

Wilhelm walked alongside him, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, glancing nervously around. He ignored it again, knowing it was just paranoia.

Simon, noticing the tension in Wilhelm’s shoulders, raised an eyebrow. “You sure you don’t want one?” he asked, holding the cigarette loosely between his fingers.

Wilhelm glanced at the cigarette, the smoke curling around Simon’s face. There was something oddly captivating about it, the way Simon smoked with such effortless confidence. But Wilhelm shook his head. “I don’t smoke.”

Simon gave him a sly grin. “Your loss. It’s better than a stiff drink sometimes.” He took another drag, blowing the smoke out to the side, as they continued walking down the street.

Wilhelm found himself stealing glances at Simon as they walked, the way the streetlights caught the edges of his features, the subtle flicker of his cigarette. He didn’t know why, but something about this felt different. Something about Simon made everything seem less suffocating, less like he was being constantly watched. It was the freedom in Simon’s movements, the way he didn’t care who saw him, didn’t care who knew what.

As they walked further down the street, Wilhelm felt his pulse quicken. The underground music club was only a few blocks away, but the closer they got, the more the reality of where they were going settled in.

He’d heard of places like this, the ones whispered about in rumors and half-jokes, where queerness wasn’t something to be hidden. It was celebrated. Free .

But Simon didn’t seem nervous. He just kept walking, cigarette dangling from his mouth, unaware - or maybe not caring - that Wilhelm’s heart was beginning to race.

“Something on your mind, Your Highness” Simon teased, glancing sideways at him, clearly noticing his discomfort.

Wilhelm rolled his eyes, trying to brush it off. “Nothing.”

Simon shrugged. “It’s all right if you’re nervous. I’m sure this whole ‘being yourself’ thing is new for you.”

At the mention of “being yourself,” Wilhelm felt his chest tighten. He knew Simon was right. He had always been told what he had to be, what he had to represent. A prince. A symbol. But here, with Simon, none of that seemed to matter.

Suddenly, Wilhelm found himself standing in front of a low, dimly lit building. The neon sign above the door flickered, announcing the name of the club in bold, electric letters: The Den. The sound of music spilled out from the cracked door, mixing with the murmur of voices.

Simon stopped walking and took one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it to the ground and crushing it under his boot. “Well, here we are. Don’t let the door hit you on the way in.”

“You really think I’m going in there?” he asked, his voice a little breathless from the nervousness twisting in his stomach.

Simon deadpanned. “You came all this way, didn’t you? You’ve got nothing to lose.”

Wilhelm hesitated for a moment, then nodded. The fear in his chest was still there, but it was quickly fading, replaced with an odd sense of curiosity. Maybe Simon was right. Maybe there was something about this that could be… freeing.

As Simon pushed open the door, the music got louder, and a rush of warmth greeted them. The inside was dim, almost underground in feel - smoke filled the air, and the glow of the stage lights cast strange shadows on the people dancing, talking, and living.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Wilhelm felt like he wasn’t being watched. Like he wasn’t expected to act a certain way. He could just be… him.

Simon led the way through the crowd, and Wilhelm followed, unsure of what to expect. He was out of his depth, but for once, he didn’t mind.

As they reached the bar, Simon turned to him, his expression softening a little. “You good?”

Wilhelm nodded, feeling something stir inside him - something strange and new and almost scary. Maybe it wasn’t just the freedom of the place. Maybe it was Simon, too, making him feel like he could breathe for the first time in ages.

“Yeah,” Wilhelm said quietly, his voice steady. “I think so.”

They made their way to the bar, the atmosphere inside the place thick with the hum of bass, conversations interspersed with bursts of laughter, and the occasional shout of joy. The lighting was low, but the flashes of neon colors gave everything a dreamlike quality - like the whole place was drenched in the glow of a shared secret.

Simon gestured to the bartender, ordering two drinks before sliding onto one of the high stools at the edge of the bar. Wilhelm sat beside him, his back stiff, trying to calm the erratic beat of his heart. He had never been in a place like this - never been allowed to be in a place like this. It was a strange mix of exhilaration and discomfort.

Simon handed him a drink - a dark, smoky concoction - and Wilhelm took it, not really knowing why. He didn’t drink often, but tonight felt different, the edges of his carefully constructed world blurring just a little more.

“So, what do you think?” Simon asked, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he swirled the drink in his hand.

“I’m not sure,” Wilhelm admitted, looking around at the people dancing, their bodies moving with the rhythm of the music like it was a language they all spoke. They were free, lost in the moment. There was no judgment, no expectation - just pure, unfiltered release.

Simon followed his gaze, glancing at the people on the dance floor. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It’s something, huh?”

Wilhelm didn’t respond at first, his mind caught up in the conflicting emotions swirling inside him. Part of him wanted to join them, to let go the way they were letting go. But the other part of him - the one raised to be measured and composed - felt so out of place, like he was wearing a costume that didn’t fit.

Simon seemed to sense it. He leaned in closer, his voice quieter, more sincere. “You don’t have to dance if you don’t want to. But you know, you’re welcome here. No one cares who you are, or what you’re supposed to be.”

Wilhelm’s fingers tightened around the glass, his throat tight. Who I’m supposed to be . That phrase lingered in his mind, and he wanted to scream it out loud, to let someone else hear just how tired he was of playing the part.

But he didn’t. Instead, he offered a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe later,” he said. 

Simon seemed to accept that, though a flicker of mischief danced in his eyes. “Your loss,” he teased, setting his drink down and standing up. “I’m going to dance. You’re welcome to join, but don’t feel like you have to.”

Wilhelm watched Simon walk away, the music growing louder as Simon moved through the crowd with ease. His outfit tonight was understated but effortlessly cool. A black leather jacket, now folded over the back of his chair, faded jeans that clung just right and hung quite low, and a simple white T-shirt that contrasted sharply with the dark tones of the club, slightly riding up and revealing the smallest part of stomach. His hair was tousled in a way that looked like it had been styled just enough to appear messy, and Wilhelm couldn’t help but notice the confident sway of his walk.

When Simon reached the dance floor, he didn’t hesitate. He melted into the crowd, his body moving to the rhythm with fluidity and ease. Wilhelm watched, captivated, as Simon danced with an intensity that seemed to draw everyone’s attention. His body was in perfect sync with the music, the way he moved almost hypnotic.

Then, as if the music called to him, Simon found someone else - a guy who had been watching him for a moment - and, without a word, they began to dance together. It wasn’t just casual swaying. Simon pressed himself against the other guy with an abandon that made Wilhelm’s breath catch in his throat. The way he moved, so free, so unapologetic - it made something shift inside Wilhelm. He was captivated by it. Not just the way Simon danced, but the way he was, so unashamedly himself in a space that seemed to exist only for people like him.

Wilhelm’s chest tightened again, and he realized with sudden clarity that it wasn’t just the music. It wasn’t just the freedom of the moment. It was Simon, this guy who seemed so confident in who he was, so sure of his place in the world. It was… new, the feeling stirring deep inside him. Confusing, but undeniable.

He didn’t know what he was feeling, but it was so much stronger than anything he’d experienced before. It made him feel warm and anxious all at once. It was like he wanted to dive into that confidence, to let it consume him, to be swept up in it the way Simon was being swept up in the music. But it felt like he was too much of a spectator, too caught up in his own mind, to really let go.

He watched Simon move across the floor, the way his body was pressed so intimately against the guy. And Wilhelm couldn’t stop watching. The way Simon’s eyes sparkled with mischief, the way his lips curled into a sly smile, how his body seemed to be completely in sync with someone else’s.

It made Wilhelm feel something he couldn’t quite articulate. His mind raced with thoughts that he quickly pushed aside, not wanting to acknowledge them, but they lingered, heavy and persistent. Maybe it wasn’t just the music or the club - it was definitely Simon.

Wilhelm wasn’t sure how to navigate it.

But for now, he stayed where he was, leaning against the bar, staring at Simon with a mixture of admiration and something else. Something deeper. Something he wasn’t ready to understand yet. Maybe he never would understand it, but this felt right for now. 

The music pulsed, filling the room with a heavy, steady beat. The lights flickered in rhythm with the pounding bass, casting sharp, colorful shadows on the walls. Simon was lost in the crowd, his body moving effortlessly, the energy surrounding him so contagious that it was impossible not to be swept up in it. His smile was magnetic as he danced, his laughter mixing with the music.

And then, the guy from earlier - the one Simon had locked eyes with - pulled him closer. There was no hesitation as Simon leaned in, their lips meeting in a brief, heated kiss. For a moment, everything seemed to still. The music, the movement, the world around them - everything faded as Simon pressed into the guy, deepening the kiss. It was raw and full of abandon, just a spark in the dark, but it didn’t last long.

As quickly as it had begun, Simon pulled back, a playful smile flickering across his lips. The guy looked at him, a bit surprised, but Simon just winked before pushing him away gently. Without missing a beat, Simon strutted across the dance floor, his confidence radiating, and made his way straight toward Wilhelm, who was still sitting at the bar, a drink in hand, eyes wide.

“Hey, you,” Simon called out with a grin that was so effortlessly charming. “You’re up.”

Wilhelm’s heart skipped, his chest tightening at the sight of Simon - wild, free, and intoxicating. He wasn’t sure what to say, his mouth suddenly dry, his thoughts clouded by what he’d just witnessed. But Simon didn’t give him time to react.

“C’mon, don’t be shy,” Simon teased, extending his hand. His fingers curled like an invitation, but it wasn’t just for the dance floor. It was a call to join him, to become part of this world - the world Simon had no problem stepping into.

“I- I’m not much of a dancer,” Wilhelm said, his voice almost lost in the volume of the club. He could feel the heat of Simon’s gaze, the way Simon’s eyes never left him, like he was daring him to be someone else for just a moment.

“Doesn’t matter,” Simon said, his grin widening as he took Wilhelm’s hand. “I’ll teach you.”

Before Wilhelm could protest again, Simon led him out into the middle of the floor, guiding him through the crowd. His movements were smooth, practiced, a contrast to Wilhelm’s stiff, unsure steps. Simon’s hands settled on his waist, gently pulling Wilhelm closer, adjusting his stance.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” Simon said, his voice low, almost soothing against the music’s beat. “Just move with me.”

Wilhelm tried to follow, but the rhythm didn’t feel right in his body. He wasn’t a dancer - he’d never been. The way Simon moved, so natural, so fluid - it felt like he was a world apart. And yet, here he was, standing on the dance floor, Simon’s body pressing against his, their feet shuffling to a beat Wilhelm couldn’t quite catch. His throat tightened, his breath shallow as he tried to adjust, the warmth of Simon’s body too close, too suffocating.

Simon’s smile didn’t fade, though, not even for a second. “Relax,” he murmured, his lips brushing Wilhelm’s ear as he leaned in closer. “You’re doing great.” The words were laced with something soft, a reassurance that only deepened the fluttering unease in Wilhelm’s chest.

Wilhelm tried to keep the space between them, but Simon wasn’t having it. Every time Wilhelm tried to pull away, Simon brought him back in, the closeness of their bodies, the heat of it, making Wilhelm feel out of control, making him feel exposed in ways he hadn’t known were possible.

Simon pressed closer still, his breath warm against Wilhelm’s ear, his voice teasing. “You know,” he whispered, “you’ve got this prince thing down. But maybe… you could let loose just a little.”

Wilhelm froze. The words hit him like a punch to the gut, a rush of heat surging up his neck. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think - everything felt too close, too overwhelming. His heart pounded in his chest, faster and faster, as if it might explode. Simon’s presence was like fire, and Wilhelm felt like he was burning up from the inside out.

Before he could think, before he could stop himself, the panic took hold. His vision blurred, his breath caught in his throat, and he couldn’t catch it. Everything felt suffocating - too much, too fast.

“I- I need to go,” Wilhelm gasped, his voice tight and unsteady. He pulled away from Simon, his chest heaving as he turned and bolted for the exit, ignoring Simon’s call behind him, feeling the cold air hit him like a slap as he pushed open the door.

The street outside was no better. The lights blurred in front of him, his legs unsteady as he stumbled down the pavement, heart hammering in his chest. The weight of everything - his mother’s expectations, the suffocating life he was supposed to lead, the feelings he didn’t understand - crashed down on him, and his breath came in sharp, panicked gasps.

He didn’t know where he was going, didn’t know how to stop the racing thoughts, the spiraling feeling that overtook him. His legs gave out as he collapsed against a brick wall, his breath coming faster, faster, until the world felt like it was caving in on him. He wanted to scream, to disappear, to escape the weight of his life and the weight of Simon’s eyes on him.

But instead, he just sat there, alone in the dark, gasping for air, trying to hold himself together.

Wilhelm’s head spun. The world still felt like it was swirling, a hazy mess of sounds and shapes that he couldn’t quite make sense of. His chest ached with every breath, every inhalation, a reminder of how out of control he was, how little he understood what was happening to him. He blinked hard, trying to shake off the wave of dizziness that clung to him, forcing himself to focus on the dark street ahead.

Then, as if from nowhere, a shadow loomed in front of him, blocking his view. He startled, his body tensing, but when he looked up, his breath caught. There, standing in front of him, was Malin. The security guard who had always been there - quiet, composed, always a step behind him. She wasn’t just a professional, though. Over the years, Wilhelm had come to trust her more than he did anyone else. She had always been there, never judging, never asking too much of him. She was the one person who, in a way, understood what it was like to feel trapped.

She looked at him with a mixture of concern and exasperation, her arms crossed over her chest, her posture both protective and demanding.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Malin said, her voice firm but not unkind. “Your mother’s sent everybody on a wild goose chase, looking for you.”

Wilhelm didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to deal with it. All of it, his mother’s control, his responsibilities, it all felt like too much. And now, the mess with Simon - it was all too much.

“I don’t… I don’t want to deal with her right now,” he mumbled, his voice thick, cracking as the tears threatened to spill again. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Malin stepped forward, her expression softening just a fraction, but she stayed at a respectful distance. She never overstepped the boundaries of her role, always the professional, but even now, Wilhelm could feel the care in her. It was like she understood - more than anyone else could - what it was like to be suffocated by expectations, by a life that wasn’t his own.

“Wilhelm,” she said, her voice low and steady, “it’s okay. You don’t have to have it all figured out right now. But we need to get you back to the palace. Your mother won’t give up. She’s waiting for you.”

The comfort in her words made something inside of him crack. It wasn’t enough to fix everything, but it was enough to let the tears finally break free. They came in a rush, hot and fast, as Wilhelm’s body shook with emotion he couldn’t keep in anymore. His walls, the ones he’d so carefully constructed, came crashing down, and for the first time in days, Wilhelm let himself feel it all. The confusion, the fear, the isolation.

Malin didn’t reach out to touch him, but she stood there quietly, a steady presence. She let him cry without judgment, without trying to fix him, just offering a silent kind of support. It was a comfort he hadn’t realised he needed. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t expected to be the perfect prince, the dutiful son. In this moment, with Malin, he was just a person - a young man who was lost, unsure, and struggling.

Eventually, his sobs slowed, and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, trying to regain some semblance of composure. He felt raw, his chest tight, but the worst of the storm had passed.

“Do we have to go back to the palace?” he asked, his voice quiet, hoarse. “I don’t want to face her, but… I don’t know what else to do.”

Malin nodded, her expression softening as she stepped aside to let him stand. “Unfortunately we do, but everything will be okay, Wilhelm.”

She didn’t make him walk too far. Instead, she guided him toward the car, her steps steady beside him. They didn’t speak as they walked, but Wilhelm could feel her presence beside him. It wasn’t comforting in the way his mother or Erik might have offered, with all their expectations, their demands for control. No, it was comforting because it was simple. Malin didn’t need him to be anyone but himself. And Wilhelm felt like he could breathe.

When they reached the car, Malin opened the door for him. He slid into the back seat, leaning his head against the cool glass of the window. The city outside was a blur as they began their journey back to the palace. The engine hummed softly in the background, and Wilhelm closed his eyes for a moment, just trying to shut out the world.

“Your mother won’t give up, you know,” Malin said, breaking the silence as she sat beside the driver. “She’ll keep trying to find you.”

“I know,” Wilhelm murmured, his voice distant. He could feel her expectations already pressing down on him, even from miles away. “But I don’t know how to face her right now. Not after everything. I don’t even think I can walk back into the palace yet”

Malin didn’t press. She just nodded in understanding. “When you’re ready, you’ll figure it out. But we must return back.”

Wilhelm didn’t answer. Instead, he let his head rest against the seat, his eyes drifting shut again as the car drove through the quiet streets, the city lights flickering past. He wasn’t sure what the next step was - he wasn’t even sure what he was feeling, but for now, being with Malin, in this quiet space, was enough.

The silence in the palace was suffocating as Wilhelm walked through the grand halls, his thoughts a storm of emotions. He could feel the anger rising in him, but it was only when he reached the royal wing that his mother’s voice hit him like a slap.

“Wilhelm!”

He froze, his heart skipping a beat. Queen Kristina stood there, arms crossed and eyes hard, like a predator waiting for its prey.

“Where the hell have you been?” she snapped, voice cold and cutting.

“I needed some air,” Wilhelm replied, his voice tight. “I’m not a prisoner.”

“You think I don’t know what you’ve been up to?” she hissed, taking a step toward him. “You’ve been out there, gallivanting around, without a word, without anyone knowing where you are. You don’t just disappear for hours - no , scratch that - for a night without telling anyone. Do you understand how irresponsible that is? Do you?”

“I don’t care!” Wilhelm shouted, his temper flaring. “I’m not your puppet, Mother. I’m not Erik! I’m not the heir. I don’t have to follow your rules like he does.”

Her face contorted with anger, but she didn’t let it show for long. “This is exactly why you’ll never be fit for the throne. You think you can just throw tantrums and run off without any consequences? The people will eat you alive if you can’t get a grip on yourself. You have no idea what it means to be in this family, to have a title that means something.”

“You’re right,” Wilhelm bit back, eyes blazing. “I don’t know what it means to be in this family. All I know is that I’m always second, always the fallback, and if I screw up, it doesn’t matter because I’m not Erik. But guess what? I don’t want to be Erik! I don’t want to be anyone else, and I don’t want to be in this cage you’ve put me in.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “You think you know what’s best for you? You think this is just about you being some teenager rebelling against authority? You don’t get that luxury. You are a prince, whether you like it or not. You will respect that. You will act like it.”

“Respect it? You don’t get it, do you?” Wilhelm’s voice cracked with frustration. “You never let me be myself. I’m always walking on eggshells around you, around Erik, around the palace. Everything is about him, and I’m just supposed to follow in his shadow, pretending that none of this suffocates me.”

Kristina’s expression shifted into something colder, and for a brief moment, Wilhelm thought he might’ve gone too far. “You have no idea what it’s like to be in my shoes,” she said, voice laced with something Wilhelm couldn’t place. “But you will. You’ll learn what it means to be royal, to carry the weight of our family on your shoulders. I won’t let you ruin that.”

Wilhelm couldn’t take it anymore. With a growl of frustration, he turned on his heel, storming toward his room. He didn’t care if she followed or if anyone saw him. All he wanted was to be left alone.

But the door to his room slammed behind him, and he didn’t even give it a second thought. He collapsed on his bed, hands clutching the pillow as he buried his face into it, trying to muffle the rush of emotions threatening to break him.

A knock came at the door just a few minutes later. Wilhelm ignored it at first, his heart still pounding in his chest. The door creaked open, and he heard Erik’s voice, calm and steady.

“Wilhelm, can I come in?”

Wilhelm didn’t answer at first, but after a moment, he heard Erik enter the room, the door closing softly behind him. He sat down on the edge of the bed, close but not too close, his presence a steadying force.

“Can we talk?”

Wilhelm sat up, wiping his face with the back of his hand, trying to hold it together. His throat felt tight, his chest heavy. “She doesn’t understand,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “She’ll never understand.”

“I know,” Erik replied, his voice full of sympathy. “But you have to understand something too, Wilhelm. It’s not just about her. You’re not the only one caught in this. She’s under a lot of pressure too, and sometimes that makes her act… well, like that.”

Wilhelm snorted, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “You always protect her. You always side with her.”

“I’m not siding with anyone,” Erik said softly, his tone patient but firm. “I’m just trying to help you understand. You can’t fight this alone. She’s your mother, and you’re part of this family, for better or worse. You have to try and find a way to work through this, because if you don’t, you’ll be stuck in this endless cycle of anger and resentment.”

“I don’t know how,” Wilhelm confessed. “I don’t know how to make her see me, Erik. I don’t know how to get out from under all of this.”

Erik sighed and placed a hand on Wilhelm’s shoulder. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now. But you don’t have to do it alone either. I’m here. You’ve always got me, little brother.”

Wilhelm stared at Erik, feeling a strange comfort in the sincerity of his words. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to lean into his brother’s words. Maybe for once, he could just be Wilhelm, without all the expectations and pressure that came with being royal.

“I’m sorry,” Wilhelm whispered, guilt creeping in.

Erik smiled softly, his thumb rubbing circles on Wilhelm’s shoulder. “You don’t have to apologize. You’re allowed to feel frustrated. But just remember, you’re not alone. And you don’t have to be perfect.”

Wilhelm closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath, the first real release he’d felt all night. “Thanks, Erik.”

“You’re welcome. Now get some rest. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

As Erik stood to leave, Wilhelm sank back into the bed, the day finally started to lift, if only for a moment. He had Erik, even if it felt complicated at times. 

As for Simon, Wilhelm wasn’t sure if he could keep doing what he was doing. It was too much, too intoxicating, it was scaring him and making him act impulsively. Perhaps a time would come where he could be vocal about it, but now wasn’t the time. 

Chapter Text

Wilhelm walked through the halls of Hillerska with his head down, shoulders tense, each step feeling heavier than the last. His body was here, but his mind was still stuck in last night - Simon’s hands on his waist, his voice low against his ear, the press of his body so close it had burned. And then the panic, the suffocating spiral, the argument with his mother that still echoed in his skull.

He barely remembered getting back to his room, his face still hot with shame, Erik’s voice calm and steady as he tried to talk him down. His brother had stayed with him for a while, grounding him, reassuring him that everything would be fine. That their mother was just upset, that he’d get over it, that Wilhelm needed to be smarter about the choices he made.

But what even was the choice? He hadn’t done anything. Hadn’t meant for anything. He just…

“ Wilhelm .”

Felice’s voice cut through his thoughts, and he blinked, turning to look at her. He had almost forgotten she was beside him, her voice a steady hum of chatter that he had tuned out completely.

“Huh?” he mumbled.

Felice rolled her eyes. “You’re not listening.”

“I am,” he lied automatically.

“Oh, really? What was I just saying?”

Wilhelm hesitated, racking his brain for anything, but it was just static. Felice sighed, nudging his arm with her elbow. “I was talking about Maddie. She’s being dramatic again.”

Wilhelm hummed noncommittally. He wasn’t even sure who Maddie was, or maybe he had just forgotten.

Felice studied him, her teasing expression fading into something more serious. “Are you okay? You look…” She hesitated, searching for the right word.

“Like shit?” Wilhelm supplied dryly.

“I was gonna say tired, but sure,” she said. “What’s going on? Is this about…” She lowered her voice. “Is it your mom?”

Wilhelm’s jaw clenched. “It’s nothing.”

Felice didn’t believe him - he could tell by the way she exhaled, slow and knowing - but she didn’t push.

The corridor around them was buzzing with life, students filing into classrooms, conversations overlapping in a blur of noise. Someone brushed past Wilhelm’s shoulder, and his stomach twisted sharply. For a second, he thought - Simon? - but when he looked up, it was just some random student hurrying by.

Wilhelm exhaled, his fingers tightening around the strap of his bag. Felice was still watching him.

“You know,” she started, more careful now, “if you ever want to talk, I-”

“I don’t,” Wilhelm cut in, sharper than he meant to.

Felice’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but she only nodded. “Alright.. noted I guess.”

Wilhelm sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

But he was sorry. He was sorry for snapping, for shutting down, for being here at all when he didn’t want to be. He told himself to keep moving, to just make it through this day.

One more term . That was it. One more term, and he’d be free from this place, from all of it. And if he could avoid Simon in the meantime, maybe - just maybe - he could survive.

Then - a slap in the face.

Wilhelm barely had a second to steady himself before his eyes landed on him.

Simon was at his locker, lazily stacking books inside, curls a little messier than usual, a loose sweater hanging off his frame over his uniform like he hadn’t quite decided if he cared about dress codes today. He looked so effortlessly gorgeous that Wilhelm’s breath hitched, his throat tightening like a fist had just wrapped around it.

His first instinct was to look away, to pretend he hadn’t seen him, but his gaze betrayed him - lingering too long, catching on the slope of Simon’s neck, the way his fingers moved deftly through the pages of a book before slipping it onto the shelf.

Felice must have noticed.

He could feel her gaze flicking between them, curiosity brewing in the air beside him. He could already hear the question forming on her tongue, already imagining the smirk she might give him - wait, have you befriended the socialist?

Wilhelm hated that word. Socialist .

That’s what people at Hillerska called Simon, like it was a label instead of a person. A neat little box to shove him in, a way to make him smaller, easier to ignore, easier to dismiss. Wilhelm hated how easily everyone went along with it. How easily he went along with it.

So he played his part, kept his mouth shut, and forced himself to move like nothing had changed.

But then - eye contact.

Accidental, but still  there.

Wilhelm’s stomach lurched as Simon’s dark eyes met his for a fraction of a second, piercing but unreadable. No smile. No raised brow. No teasing remark. Just a glance. And then - nothing .

Simon turned, slammed his locker, and walked past them like Wilhelm was just another background noise in his day.

That stung.

Wilhelm felt it in his ribs, deep and dull. It was ridiculous - why did it hurt? They weren’t anything. They had never been anything.

But last night…

He clenched his jaw, gripping his bag tighter as he forced himself forward. Felice was still watching him. He didn’t give her a chance to ask. Didn’t give himself a chance to look back.

But Felice wasn’t stupid.

Wilhelm could feel her gaze burning into the side of his face as they walked, her curiosity practically vibrating off her. She’d been chattering about something before, but now? Now she was laser-focused on him.

“What the hell was that?” she finally asked, tilting her head toward where Simon had disappeared down the hall.

Wilhelm ignored her, adjusting the strap of his bag and keeping his eyes forward.

Felice huffed, clearly unimpressed with his lack of response. “No, seriously. Since when do you and the socialist make prolonged eye contact?”

Wilhelm’s stomach twisted. “Don’t call him that.”

Felice blinked. “Oh? Defending him now?”

“I’m not-” Wilhelm exhaled sharply. “I just think it’s a stupid label.”

Felice raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you care about labels?”

Wilhelm didn’t answer.

She narrowed her eyes, studying him, the gears turning in her head. “Wait.” A slow smirk crept onto her face. “Did something happen?”

“No.” Too fast. 

Felice gasped, grabbing his arm. “ Oh my God, something did happen.”

“Nothing happened.” Wilhelm yanked his arm free, pushing forward, but Felice was relentless.

“Wilhelm. Come on. You’ve been weird all morning, and now Simon walks past and you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Wilhelm clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to talk about it. Especially not here, in the middle of the hallway, with nosy students brushing past them.

Felice wasn’t backing down though. “Seriously, what’s going on? Did you guys-” She gasped dramatically. “Oh my God, did you hook up?”

Wilhelm nearly tripped over his own feet. “ What ? No!”

Felice burst into laughter. “Okay, okay! Just checking.” She gave him a side-eye, still smirking. “But something did happen.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling beneath his skin. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just- I went out last night, and he was there, and-” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Felice, to her credit, didn’t immediately pounce on that. Instead, she tilted her head, observing him more closely.

“You like him.”

Wilhelm’s stomach flipped. “No, I don’t.”

Felice let out a dramatic sigh. “Wilhelm, you suck at lying.”

He groaned, speeding up his pace, but she easily matched it.

“Okay, fine. Maybe you don’t like him yet ,” she conceded, “but something’s going on in that head of yours. And it’s making you act all moody and weird, so either you deal with it, or you’re gonna be miserable for the rest of the term.”

Wilhelm didn’t respond again. He was getting quite good at this silent treatment stuff.

Felice nudged him. “So?”

He exhaled, staring down at the floor as they walked. “…So what?”

“So, what are you gonna do about it?”

He had no idea.

Instead of answering, Wilhelm just pulled his bag tighter over his shoulder and kept walking.

Felice sighed, shaking her head. “God, you’re hopeless.”

Wilhelm clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around his pen as he stared down at his blank notebook. His stomach was a knot of frustration, unease curling in his chest like something rotten.

He knew what people said about guys like that. About people like Simon.

Wilhelm had spent his whole life hearing it - the mocking jabs, the whispered slurs, the casual disgust in the voices of politicians, of family members, of classmates who smirked whenever they talked about the “other kind of men.” The ones who didn’t fit. Who didn’t act like they should.

And Simon - Simon was the embodiment of all of it.

He sang loudly. He dressed however he wanted. He danced with whoever he wanted. He kissed whoever he wanted.

And Wilhelm had watched him do it. His stomach twisted violently at the memory, his throat tightening like a noose. It made him sick. Not because of Simon.

Because of himself . 

Because some dark, ugly part of him had looked at Simon and - God , he couldn’t even think it. Couldn’t even put words to the feeling creeping through his veins like poison.

Because what did that make him?

The thought sent a cold spike of fear through his chest. He wasn’t that. He couldn’t be.

He had spent years making sure of it - standing straighter, lowering his voice, laughing along when the other boys sneered at “those people.” He had played his part, done everything right, stayed normal.

And yet…

His gaze flickered up against his will, landing on Simon’s back. Probably the same as it had done every other time when he didn’t realise it was Simon. The way he leaned slightly to the side, whispering something to the girl next to him, grinning when she laughed. So easy and so effortless.  

Like he wasn’t constantly monitoring every move he made. Like he wasn’t terrified of someone noticing something wrong with him. Wilhelm felt what could only be explained as a pang of jealousy.

Wilhelm forced himself to look away.

It didn’t matter .

Simon could afford to be like this. He was no one. No expectations and certainly no press breathing down his neck, waiting for him to slip up. Wilhelm was someone. Someone who had to be careful. Someone who had to be perfect. And perfect meant normal . Perfect meant not this.

His stomach churned. Is that really what he wanted?

The universe had to be mocking him. That was the only explanation.

Wilhelm had spent all week avoiding Simon. Or at least, he had tried to. But Hillerska wasn’t big enough, not when fate seemed intent on forcing them into the same spaces, over and over again, like some cruel cosmic joke. No matter which corridor he turned down, no matter which classroom he entered, Simon was there . Not acknowledging him, not even looking at him, but there . Existing.

And Wilhelm didn’t know what to do with that.

He kept his head down, pretending to listen to whatever Felice was saying as they walked to their next class. She was talking at him, not to him, because he wasn’t giving her anything back - not even the occasional hum of acknowledgement. His brain was too fogged, still too wrapped up in the night at the club. In the way Simon had danced. The way he had kissed that guy. The way Wilhelm had felt watching it. The way his chest had tightened like a vice, his stomach knotting with something too complicated to name.

And the way Simon had strutted over to him, eyes dark with mischief, words dipped in something that made Wilhelm’s skin prickle. He still felt suffocated thinking about it.

His thoughts spiraled in circles, clashing against each other, making it impossible to focus. He told himself that it didn’t matter. That Simon was just some guy, that whatever strange pull he felt toward him was just leftover intrigue from their first meeting. That what he had felt at the club - what had sent him running - was nothing .

But then he’d see Simon again.

In the corridors, leaning against his locker with his headphones on, Walkman clipped to his belt, fingers idly tapping against the strap of his bag. A world away, completely untouchable. Pretending the rest of them didn’t exist. Pretending Wilhelm didn’t exist.

It shouldn’t have bothered him. But It did. Because it wasn’t fair.

How was Simon allowed to be so unbothered? To move through the world like it didn’t own him, like it couldn’t trap him? How could he be so free ? How could he be so unapologetically himself while Wilhelm was stuck, caged, drowning in expectations he never asked for?

Wilhelm clenched his jaw, eyes flickering back to Simon despite himself.

He looked good. Effortless, even. His curls were slightly messier today, as if he hadn’t bothered fixing them after taking off his headphones. His uniform was worn in a way that made it look like it didn’t belong to the same school Wilhelm attended - like he had bent the rules just enough to make it his own. It was frustratingly… attractive.

Wilhelm shut that thought down immediately. It didn’t matter. None of it did.

He turned away, focusing on the ground, on the sound of his own breathing, on anything that wasn’t the boy who had thrown his world into chaos overnight.

The same message relayed in his head over and over again. One more term. One more term then he could forget about Simon and all the feelings he’s unlocked within him.

Wilhelm sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor, his mind a tangled mess of thoughts he couldn’t make sense of. The room was dim, lit only by the glow of his bedside lamp, casting long shadows against the walls. He should have been studying. He should have been sleeping. But instead, he was here, restless and overwhelmed, trapped in his own head.

A knock at the door startled him.

“Wilhelm?”

Erik.

Wilhelm hesitated before calling out, “Yeah?”

The door creaked open, and Erik leaned against the frame, arms crossed. “You’ve been weird all day.”

Wilhelm huffed, forcing a smirk. “Thanks.”

“I mean it.” Erik stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “You’ve been quiet. And not your usual sulking kind of quiet - different .”

Wilhelm sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. “I’m fine.”

“You’re a shit liar.”

He let out a dry laugh but didn’t deny it. Erik had always been good at reading him, better than anyone else in their family. And maybe that was why Wilhelm felt his chest tighten. Because Erik would know. If he said too much, if he let anything slip, Erik would know .

Erik was the golden child, the future king. He knew how things were supposed to be. He knew what was expected of them. If Wilhelm told him - if he admitted the thoughts that had been clawing at his mind - would Erik look at him differently? Would he be disappointed ?

Wilhelm swallowed, shaking his head. “It’s nothing. Just… people. School. It’s exhausting.”

Erik raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “People?”

Wilhelm hesitated.

He couldn’t say Simon’s name. Couldn’t admit that his thoughts had been consumed by a boy he barely knew. He couldn’t admit that he had spent every waking moment trying to ignore how he felt, only to be pulled back in every time Simon so much as breathed in his direction.

So instead, he shrugged. “A friend.”

It tasted wrong on his tongue.

Erik’s expression softened, and he sat down on the edge of Wilhelm’s bed. “A friend.” He repeated it like he didn’t quite believe him. “And this friend is causing you to spiral?”

Wilhelm forced a small laugh. “I’m not spiraling.”

Erik gave him a look .

Wilhelm exhaled sharply, leaning back against the headboard. “It’s just - complicated.”

That, at least, was true.

Erik nodded slowly, watching him for a long moment. “Well, whoever this friend is, they’re clearly important to you.”

Wilhelm tensed. Important . Was that the right word?

Because it wasn’t just important . It was something else, something unfamiliar and utterly terrifying. The kind that made his stomach twist and his chest ache, and clearly something that sent him running from a club in a blind panic because he couldn’t handle the way Simon made him feel .

Because it wasn’t normal , right? It wasn’t how he was supposed to feel. He had always been straight. He had never questioned that before. So why did his pulse stutter when Simon smiled? Why did his throat tighten when their eyes met? 

He shook his head quickly, forcing the thought away.

“It’s nothing,” he said, voice tight.

Erik didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. He just nodded, standing up. “If you ever want to talk about it, you know where to find me.”

Wilhelm nodded, but he knew he wouldn’t. Not about this. Not when he didn’t even know what this was.

Wilhelm had tried. He had spent days avoiding Simon, looking away whenever their paths crossed, pretending the weight in his chest wasn’t there. He had told himself it was for the best, that whatever this was - this thing pulling him toward Simon - would fade if he ignored it long enough.

But it wasn’t fading. If anything, it was getting worse. Because no matter how hard he tried to keep his distance, his eyes always found Simon in a crowded hallway. His thoughts always circled back to him, to his voice, his laugh, the way he carried himself like he didn’t care what anyone thought.

And maybe Wilhelm didn’t know what this feeling was, but he knew one thing for certain: he couldn’t stay away. Even if they were just friends. Even if it ruined him.

The bell above the door jingled as Wilhelm stepped inside, his heart hammering in his chest despite himself. He wasn’t sure what he expected - maybe for Simon to be standing behind the counter, flipping through records like before, smirking at him like he already knew why Wilhelm had come back.

But the counter was empty. Wilhelm scanned the dimly lit store, his fingers twitching at his sides. Simon wasn’t here.

Instead, the same unenthusiastic girl from his first visit sat perched behind the register, flipping through a magazine - probably the same magazine - Wilhelm wasn’t one to judge. She barely looked up as she noticed him, offering nothing more than a tired sigh.

"You again," she muttered, not bothering to hide her lack of enthusiasm. "Didn’t take you for a regular."

Wilhelm ignored the jab, stepping closer. "Is Simon here?"

The girl finally glanced up at him, chewing gum lazily. "Nope."

Wilhelm frowned. "Do you know when he'll be back?"

She gave a slow shrug, turning a page in her magazine. "Dunno. He comes and goes."

Wilhelm inhaled sharply, pressing his lips together. He didn’t know why he felt so thrown by that answer, why it felt like something in his chest had been knocked off balance. He shouldn’t have expected anything else; Simon didn’t owe him his time.

Still, disappointment settled deep in his stomach.

"Alright," he muttered, turning away, trying to act like it didn’t matter.

The girl sighed, snapping her magazine shut and finally giving Wilhelm her full attention. "Why do you wanna know?"

Wilhelm hesitated. He wasn’t sure how to answer that. Because I need to see him? Because I can’t stop thinking about him? Because he’s somehow wormed his way under my skin, and I don’t know what to do about it?

Instead, he settled on, "Just wanted to ask him something."

She narrowed her eyes, studying him like she didn’t quite believe him. Then, after a beat, she exhaled through her nose, popping her gum. "He’s at the festival."

Wilhelm frowned. "Festival?"

"Pride," she said flatly, like it should’ve been obvious. Then, watching the way his face twitched in recognition, she tilted her head. "You don’t seem like the type to go to something like that."

Wilhelm swallowed. He wasn’t sure what she meant by that - what ‘type’ she thought he was. "Is he working there?"

She scoffed. "No, he’s enjoying himself. You know, having fun. Not everyone’s chained to their responsibilities, Your Highness."

Wilhelm stiffened. He hated the way she said it, the same way Simon had said it when they first met - like it was a joke at his expense. But more than that, his pulse kicked up at the realisation. Simon was at Pride.

Of course, Wilhelm had always assumed Simon was open about his sexuality, but hearing it confirmed like this? It sent his thoughts spiraling. It made all those buried, messy feelings claw up his throat with renewed force.

The girl leaned forward on the counter, arms crossed. "You gonna go find him or what?"

Wilhelm clenched his jaw, his stomach twisting. He shouldn’t. He should turn around and leave, pretend he never came looking in the first place. But he already knew he wouldn’t.

He knew one thing for sure . His mother was going to kill him.

Wilhelm kept his head down, the hood of his jacket pulled up as he slipped through the bustling crowd. The festival was a riot of color - rainbow flags draped over shoulders like capes, glitter dusting flushed cheeks, painted signs held high with messages of love and defiance. The air smelled of sugar, sweat, and something electric, a kind of charged energy that Wilhelm had never experienced before.

He moved carefully, scanning every face, every group, searching for him .

People weaved around him, laughing, kissing, holding hands like it was the most natural thing in the world. And it should be . Wilhelm knew that. But the life he’d been raised in - the halls of the palace, the stiff dinners, the unspoken rules - had made it seem like something else. Like something whispered about behind closed doors.

A girl shoved a pamphlet into his hand as she passed. To love someone is a human right. Wilhelm’s fingers curled around the paper, something heavy pressing against his ribs. Another person held a sign that read Love is Revolutionary , their face alight with joy as they danced in the streets.

But then - another sign, sloppily scrawled, caught his eye. Crush the upper class.

Wilhelm’s stomach twisted. He wasn’t naive. He knew what people thought of his family. He knew what people thought of him.

He told himself he shouldn’t be here. That he had no place in this crowd. That if someone recognized him, it would be a disaster.

The sight of two boys pressed close, swaying to the music, their hands laced together like they belonged there, made his chest tighten. The way a girl pulled her girlfriend into a kiss, smiling against her lips like it was second nature, made something coil in his throat.

This was freedom. The kind of freedom Wilhelm had never known.

Wilhelm didn’t stop. Even as doubt gnawed at him, as the crowd pressed in, as the music thumped in his chest, he kept going.

He didn’t belong here. He knew that. But something stronger than common sense, stronger than self-preservation, pushed him forward. A need. He had to find Simon.

The deeper he went, the more he saw. More people dancing without fear, bodies moving together under the flashing neon lights. More hands clasped, more lips brushing, more whispered words exchanged in the open like secrets that had never needed to be hidden.

Wilhelm envied them. He hated that he envied them. His heart was pounding when he finally caught sight of him.

Simon stood near the center of it all, bathed in the glow of festival lights, laughing at something Rosh had said. His curls were wild, his smile was radiant, and his shirt - loose, cropped, deep red and falling off one shoulder - made Wilhelm’s stomach flip. Paired with tight black jeans and scuffed boots, Simon looked… good. Too good . Wilhelm swallowed hard.

He should turn back. He should leave before Simon spotted him. He should… but he didn’t.

Wilhelm wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there, only that his pulse was hammering, and his mouth was dry. The festival spun around him - lights flashing, music pounding, voices laughing, chanting - but all he saw was Simon.

Simon, who stood there so free , surrounded by people who adored him. Simon, who belonged in this crowd, while Wilhelm felt like an intruder in his own skin.

And then Simon saw him. Their eyes locked.

Wilhelm barely had time to react before Simon was moving, excusing himself from Rosh and the others, his expression shifting from surprise to something harder and less welcoming. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Simon asked the second he was close enough, his voice low, edged with something sharp.

Wilhelm swallowed, suddenly feeling exposed despite the disguise he had thrown on. “I-” He hesitated. He hadn’t planned this far. He had come here without thinking, chasing something he wasn’t ready to name.

Simon scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Seriously, are you following me now?”

“No,” Wilhelm shot back, though even to his own ears, it didn’t sound convincing.

Simon shook his head. “You don’t belong here.”

That stung more than it should have. “I just-” Wilhelm exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “I wanted to talk.”

“Oh, now you wanna talk?” Simon huffed a humorless laugh, folding his arms. “After running off like a coward the other night?”

Wilhelm’s chest burned. “You don’t get it-”

“No, I do get it,” Simon cut in, stepping closer, voice dropping lower. “You’re just like the rest of them, aren’t you? You like the idea of this, of us, but only when no one’s looking.”

Wilhelm flinched. The words landed too well, slicing through everything he had been trying to avoid thinking about.

Simon sighed, raking a hand through his curls. “Look, Wilhelm, I don’t have time for whatever crisis you’re having—”

And then Wilhelm grabbed his wrist. Simon stilled.

Wilhelm wasn’t thinking, wasn’t planning - just acting . The frustration, the fear, the want - it all collided at once as he yanked Simon forward, closing the space between them.

And kissed him.

It was desperate. Clumsy. A clash of lips, a collision of every feeling Wilhelm had been suffocating for weeks.

Simon froze - just for a second. Just long enough for Wilhelm to panic, to almost pull away - But then Simon kissed him back.

Not tentative. Not questioning. Firm and certain. Like he had known all along that this would happen. The world around them faded. The noise, the lights, the crowd - it didn’t matter. Only this mattered.

Wilhelm’s breath was unsteady, but he wasn’t running. Not this time.

He should have been panicking - hell, he probably still was - but it wasn’t fear that filled his chest. It was something else, something bigger, something impossible to ignore. Simon was staring at him, lips still parted from the kiss, his eyes searching Wilhelm’s face for some kind of answer.

And for the first time, Wilhelm didn’t want to lie.

He swallowed hard, exhaling a shaky breath as his fingers twitched at his sides, itching to reach for Simon again. “That… I—” He shook his head, a breathless laugh escaping him, because what the hell was he supposed to say?

Simon’s lips curved into a grin, teasing but soft. “Was that your first time kissing a guy?”

Wilhelm let out something between a scoff and a laugh, ducking his head. “Maybe.”

Simon chuckled, and God, Wilhelm felt like he could float away. There were people everywhere, the music was still pounding, the colors of Pride still bright around them, but all Wilhelm could focus on was him.

Simon, with the sunlight catching in his curls, looking at Wilhelm like he wasn’t the prince, like he was just a boy who had kissed him and wanted to do it again.

“You’re full of surprises,” Simon mused, tilting his head.

Wilhelm huffed, a smile tugging at his lips. He should have been scared. He should have been horrified at what he had done, at what it meant, at the consequences.

But he wasn’t.

Simon’s smile faded just slightly, and he took a step closer to Wilhelm, their breaths now mingling in the warm air. The noise around them - laughter, music, chatter - faded into the background as if it was just the two of them, suspended in time.

“I didn’t think you’d—” Simon started, but Wilhelm cut him off, shaking his head.

“I didn’t think I would either.” The words came out more raw than he expected. He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline from the kiss or the rush of realization coursing through him, but there it was. He didn’t think he would , and yet, here he was. Standing in the middle of a Pride festival, standing in front of Simon, his chest tight with something he couldn’t explain.

Simon’s eyes softened, and he reached out, brushing a loose strand of Wilhelm’s hair from his face. The simple gesture felt intimate, grounding. It dared Wilhelm to believe.

“You’re not like them,” Simon said, his voice quieter now. “You don’t have to pretend.”

Wilhelm took a shaky breath, his gaze flickering to the crowd around them. He knew the risks. The consequences. But it was hard to see any of it right now, not with Simon’s hand still lingering near his face, not with that soft, knowing look in his eyes.

“I don’t want to be like them,” Wilhelm confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “I hate it. Everything they expect, everything they—”

Simon’s finger on his lips silenced him, just a gentle touch, and Wilhelm froze, his heart beating louder than the music.

“It’s okay,” Simon murmured, his thumb brushing along Wilhelm’s bottom lip. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. It’s enough that you’re here.”

For a brief moment, the world didn’t seem so heavy. It was just him and Simon, two people standing in the middle of a celebration of love and freedom. Hiis family’s expectations, his own doubts, the pressures of being the prince - they didn’t matter in this small, precious moment.

“I think I want to stay here,” Wilhelm said, his voice low but sure. “With you.”

Simon’s smile widened, Wilhelm saw him not just as the guy who caught his attention, but as someone who might actually be able to understand him. Someone who didn’t need him to be anyone else.

“I’m glad you came,” Simon replied softly. “I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out.”

Before Wilhelm could respond, Simon’s hand dropped to his, fingers threading through his. They didn’t speak for a few seconds - just stood there, the noise of the festival echoing around them. Wilhelm felt like he could breathe again.

But deep down, he knew. This wasn’t going to be easy. The press, his family, the world - none of it was going to be kind.

Wilhelm didn’t care. Not with Simon beside him. Not when he finally felt alive in a way he never had before.

Simon looked up at him then, his eyes locking with Wilhelm’s, and without a word, he leaned in, brushing their lips together once more. It was brief, but this time, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t out of fear or doubt. It was simple and natural - a kiss that felt like a promise.

And Wilhelm didn’t want to run this time. He was sick of running away from his problems. Monarchy be damned. 

He found the crinkled up pamphlet from earlier in his pocket. To love someone is a human right. Now Wilhelm would be crazy to admit he loved Simon. He didn't think he was quite there just yet. There was still time. 

He was a boy who just so happened to fall for another boy, and that wasn’t wrong; it was a human right. 

The night was still warm, but Wilhelm felt cold. Or maybe it was just the weight in his chest, the way his thoughts tangled together, weighing him down like stones in his pockets. He kept his head down as they walked, their footsteps rhythmic against the quiet streets, but his mind was anything but quiet.

Simon had his hands tucked into his jacket, but he wasn’t hiding himself like Wilhelm was. He walked like he belonged, like the world didn’t have a chokehold on him. Wilhelm envied that. He envied him.

“So,” Simon finally spoke, breaking the silence between them. “Bit untraditional for you, prinsen .”

Wilhelm huffed out something that was supposed to be a laugh but barely had the strength to leave his lips. “Well, I’ve never been the traditional type.”

Simon shot him a smirk. “Clearly.”

Wilhelm swallowed, staring ahead. Traditional . That word was like a chain around his throat. His whole life, he had been raised to believe in tradition. Everything had to be a certain way. He had to be a certain way.

He clenched his jaw, feeling like the world was pulling him in two directions - one leading him back to the palace, to the suffocating expectations, the rules, the stiff-lipped nods and polite smiles that never felt real. And the other… well. The other led him here. With Simon.

Wilhelm could still feel Simon’s lips on his. His chest tightened at the thought. He didn’t understand why he had kissed him, not really. Or maybe he did, but he didn’t want to admit it.

“Traditional be damned,” Wilhelm muttered under his breath.

Simon chuckled. “I’ll drink to that.”

Wilhelm didn’t laugh. He barely heard him. His mind was spiraling, thoughts crashing into each other faster than he could process. He stopped walking.

Simon took a few steps ahead before noticing and turned back, brows raised. “You okay?”

Wilhelm hesitated, his throat working. “I don’t—” He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Simon.”

Simon’s expression softened, his teasing demeanor fading. “What do you mean?”

Wilhelm opened his mouth, then shut it. Where did he even begin?

He had always thought of himself as straight. He liked girls. He had been with girls. But then Simon had come along, and Wilhelm had looked at him, really looked at him, and suddenly, everything he had been so sure of felt like a lie.

“I don’t know who I am,” Wilhelm admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what this means.”

Simon tilted his head, watching him carefully. He didn’t interrupt.

Wilhelm forced himself to look at him. “I think I like you,” he said, the words like lead in his mouth. “And I don’t know how to deal with that.”

Simon’s lips parted slightly, but he still didn’t speak.

Wilhelm’s stomach twisted. “I’ve always been told who I am. What I should be. And this—” He gestured vaguely between them. “This isn’t part of that.”

His mother would never accept it. He knew that. His family wouldn’t. The people at the palace wouldn’t. Even if the country was supposed to be progressing, the world he was raised in wasn’t. The people who mattered to his life, to his future, wouldn’t accept this.

But when he looked at Simon, at the way he stood so sure of himself, so unapologetically free; Wilhelm realized that maybe it wasn’t about them. Maybe it was about him.

Simon wasn’t like Wilhelm. He wasn’t trapped. He didn’t care what people thought. He was everything Wilhelm wished he could be.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” Simon said after a moment, voice softer now.

Wilhelm swallowed, shaking his head. “Do what?”

“Figure it out.”

Wilhelm clenched his fists, his nails pressing into his palms. His whole body was tense, like he was waiting for something to break. “I don’t even know what I need to figure out.”

Simon’s eyes searched his, and Wilhelm felt completely exposed. He hated it. But at the same time… he didn’t.

Simon didn’t push him for an answer. He just sighed, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets, and started walking again. After a moment, Wilhelm followed.

Wilhelm caught up to Simon, his shoes scuffing against the pavement. His pulse was still racing, the weight of his own words pressing down on him, but Simon was quiet, walking beside him like none of it had scared him off.

It made Wilhelm’s chest ache. Because it should scare him off. Wilhelm was a mess, tangled up in expectations and doubts and things he couldn’t even say out loud.

“I don’t know where to start,” Wilhelm admitted, staring at the ground.

Simon hummed. “You already did.”

Wilhelm frowned. “What?”

“You told me.” Simon glanced at him, one eyebrow raised like it was obvious. “That’s a start, isn’t it?”

Wilhelm scoffed. “I don’t think admitting I have a crisis every time I look at you is much of a start.”

Simon smirked at that, but it was soft. “I’ve been through it too, you know.”

Wilhelm hesitated. “Yeah?”

Simon nodded, exhaling. “I mean, not the prince of Sweden version, obviously. But I didn’t always know either. It took me a while to be okay with it.”

Wilhelm’s stomach twisted. “How did you know?”

Simon considered that for a moment, kicking a stray rock down the street. “I guess… it wasn’t just about who I liked. It was about how I felt when people told me who I was supposed to be. It felt wrong.” He glanced at Wilhelm again. “And when I finally let myself be who I was, that felt right.”

Wilhelm swallowed. That’s what scared him the most. The idea that if he let himself be who he was - who he really was - he’d never be able to go back.

“And what if it’s not that easy for me?” Wilhelm murmured. “What if I—” He cut himself off, jaw clenching.

“What if you can’t do it?” Simon finished for him.

Wilhelm exhaled sharply. “Yeah.”

Simon stopped walking, turning fully to face him now. “Then you don’t do it all at once. You take it one step at a time.”

Wilhelm bit the inside of his cheek, his whole body tense. “What if my family finds out?”

Simon frowned. “What if they do?”

Wilhelm gave him a sharp look. “You don’t understand, Simon. My mother—” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She’s spent my whole life making sure I know what’s expected of me. That I’ll grow up, marry the right kind of girl, make the right kind of choices, be the right kind of person.”

Simon crossed his arms, expression unreadable. “And you believe that?”

Wilhelm hesitated. “I don’t know.”

Simon studied him for a long moment before shaking his head. “No, I think you do. I think you know exactly who you are. I just think you’re afraid of what happens when everyone else knows too.”

Wilhelm stared at him, feeling like Simon had reached inside his chest and yanked out every messy, tangled thought he had buried deep down. His throat felt tight again.

Simon sighed, his voice gentler now. “Look. I’m not saying it’s easy. I know it’s not. But…” He hesitated before meeting Wilhelm’s eyes again. “Wouldn’t it be worse to spend your whole life pretending to be someone you’re not?”

Wilhelm inhaled sharply. That was the problem. He was already pretending. He had been pretending for so long, he didn’t even know where the act ended and he began.

“I don’t know how to be like you,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Simon huffed a small laugh. “Like me?”

Wilhelm nodded. “You’re free. You don’t care what people think. You just… are.”

Simon tilted his head. “You think I don’t care?”

Wilhelm blinked. “You don’t?”

Simon scoffed. “Of course I care. It’s just… I don’t let it stop me.”

Wilhelm swallowed. “I don’t think I can be that brave.”

Simon studied him for a long moment, then shrugged. “Then let me be brave for both of us.”

Wilhelm felt his chest tighten again, but this time, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. He didn’t say anything, didn’t know what to say.

Simon sighed and started walking again, slower this time. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight, Wilhelm. Just… be honest with yourself. That’s all.”

Wilhelm hesitated before following him, his mind still a mess, his chest still heavy. Maybe he didn’t know what the feeling was, maybe he was pushing away the obvious, but one thing was for certain and that was that kissing Simon felt right, being with Simon felt right. 

Wilhelm had never felt like this before. He felt light. He felt untouchable. Like the weight of expectation had lifted just enough for him to breathe. His mind was still tangled, still fighting against itself, but for the first time in - God, he didn’t even know how long - he felt good.

He’d walked Simon home, lingered too long outside his door, wanted to stay longer. He wasn’t even sure what he would have said, just that he didn’t want the night to end.

And now, as he stepped through the palace doors, he still felt it - that lingering warmth, that buzzing thrill in his chest.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” one of the butlers greeted him.

Wilhelm smiled - a real one , not the tight-lipped, polite ones he usually forced. “Good evening, Henrik.”

Henrik actually looked surprised for a second before nodding, stepping aside as Wilhelm strolled past him, hands in his pockets, his whole body lighter than it had been in months.

He greeted everyone as he passed. The night-shift maids, the guards at the doors, even the woman arranging flowers in the hall. He never did that. But tonight, he wanted to. Tonight, he didn’t mind being here.

He was halfway up the staircase, already picturing collapsing onto his bed and replaying every second of the night in his head, when-

“Wilhelm.”

His mother’s voice cut through the air like a blade. Wilhelm froze. Slowly, he turned his head.

She was standing just beyond the kitchen doors, posture immaculate, arms crossed. His stomach twisted. He knew that look.. The warmth from earlier seeped out of him like air from a punctured tire.

“Come,” she said, voice even, “Let’s have a chat, shall we?”

Chapter Text

Simon POV:

Simon had never felt so out of place.

The grand halls of Hillerska stretched high above him, pristine and cold, like a museum he wasn’t meant to touch. Every hallway was filled with students who had known each other since birth, laughing in the effortless way that people do when they belong. And Simon? He didn’t belong.

He kept his head down, walking past clusters of students who barely noticed him, keeping to the edges of conversations he wasn’t invited into. He ate lunch alone at first, headphones tucked over his ears, music drowning out the dull hum of chatter. It was easier to pretend he was somewhere else.

His mother told him it would be worth it. That this was his chance, his opportunity, his future. Sara told him to keep his head up, to be proud that they had made it here, that they deserved to be here just as much as anyone else. But Simon didn’t feel like he deserved it. Not when he walked past the golden plaques with last names that had weight and certainly not when his presence in a classroom was met with brief glances and whispered words-“scholarship kid,” “socialist,” “not one of us.”

He wasn’t stupid. He saw the way people looked at him. Like he was something to be tolerated.

It took weeks before he even spoke to someone outside of class. And even then, it was surface-level, nothing real. The only people he could truly talk to were his mother, Sara and Rosh and Ayub, but they weren’t here. They weren’t the ones sitting in a room full of people who would never understand what it was like to have to fight for a place at the table.

Simon swallowed the lump in his throat and pulled his Walkman from his bag, pressing play. The music crackled softly in his ears, his escape from a world that didn’t seem to want him.

Simon sat slouched on Rosh’s couch, one leg bouncing restlessly as he stared at the floor. Ayub was sprawled on the armchair beside him, tossing a tennis ball against the wall, catching it, and repeating. The rhythmic thud, thud, thud filled the room, but it wasn’t enough to drown out Simon’s thoughts.

“I hate it there,” Simon muttered, arms crossed tight over his chest. “It’s all just - fake. They pretend I don’t exist half the time, and the other half, they’re whispering about me like I can’t hear them.”

Rosh, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a bag of chips in her lap, frowned. “What are they saying?”

Simon sighed, rubbing his temple. “The usual. ‘Scholarship kid.’ ‘Socialist.’ Like I don’t belong there.”

Ayub scoffed. “They’re just mad that you're actually smart and not some posh little inbred royal.” He tossed the ball again, harder this time. “You know what they’re like - born thinking they own the world.”

“Yeah, well, they do,” Simon muttered. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his curls. “I don’t want to go back. I swear, if I have to sit through another meal with all those stuck-up pricks, I’ll lose my mind.”

Rosh crunched on a chip and gave him a pointed look. “So, what? You drop out and prove them right?”

Simon flinched. “That’s not what I—”

“Because that’s what they want,” she continued, undeterred. “They want you to feel like you don’t belong so you’ll leave. So they don’t have to be reminded that people like you exist.”

“She’s right, bro,” Ayub said, finally putting down the tennis ball. “You think they’d let any of us in if we applied? You got the spot because you’re good. Don’t let them take that from you.”

Simon swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. He knew they were right. He did. But knowing it didn’t make it easier.

Rosh nudged his knee with her foot. “Don’t listen to those silver-spoon brats. You worked to be there. More than any of them ever had to.”

Simon sighed again, letting his head fall back against the couch. The ceiling blurred as he blinked up at it, the familiar smell of Rosh’s house grounding him.

“Fine,” he said eventually. “I’ll go.”

“Damn right you will.” Rosh grinned, tossing a chip at him. “And when you take over the world one day, you better remember us.”

Simon caught the chip and popped it into his mouth, a small, reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah.”

Simon went back to Hillerska with his head held high, shoulders squared like armor against the whispers he knew would follow him down the hallways. He kept his head down at first, ignoring the judgmental stares, the not-so-quiet murmurs of scholarship kid or doesn’t belong here . He told himself he didn’t care.

And then, one day, someone spoke to him.

“Hey, you’re Simon, right?”

Simon turned, surprised. A boy stood beside him, leaning casually against the lockers. He had dark hair and an easy grin, the kind that made you feel like you’d already been friends for years.

“Uh… yeah?” Simon answered warily.

“I’ve seen you around,” the boy said. “You never talk to anyone.”

Simon huffed a small laugh. “Maybe because no one talks to me.”

The boy smirked. “Well, I’m talking to you now. I’m Elias.” He extended a hand.

Simon eyed it for a second before shaking it. “Nice to meet you, I guess.”

Elias grinned. “You guess? Harsh, man.” He slung an arm around Simon’s shoulders like they’d known each other forever. “Come on, we’re going outside. My friends want to meet you.”

Simon hesitated, glancing around the corridor. He’d spent so long ignoring everyone, assuming he’d never fit in. But now, for the first time, someone was pulling him in.

“…Alright,” he said, letting Elias lead the way.

Elias’s friends weren’t just relaxed - they were rebellious. The kind of kids who wore their disregard for authority like a badge of honor, who saw rules as suggestions, who lived for the thrill of pushing boundaries. They skipped classes just because they could, snuck vodka into school events, and smoked openly behind the gym like they dared someone to catch them.

Simon wasn’t like that. Not really. But he couldn’t deny that being around them felt like a breath of fresh air.

“Come on, scholarship boy,” Jonah, one of the boys in the group, teased one evening as they lounged in an abandoned lot just outside of town. He flicked his cigarette, sending ash scattering onto the pavement. “Don’t tell me you’ve never skipped school before.”

Simon scoffed. “I have. Just… not often.”

Elias slung an arm around his shoulders, grinning. “See? He’s got it in him. Just needs a little push.”

Simon shook him off with a laugh. “I still have to graduate, you know. Unlike you guys, I don’t have a last name that’ll get me into university regardless of my grades.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alex, another guy from the group, waved him off, exhaling smoke. “You’re the responsible one. But that’s why we like you, Simon. You keep us grounded.”

Jonah smirked. “And we corrupt you in return.”

Simon rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. Because for all their recklessness, they weren’t cruel. They weren’t the spoiled, entitled Hillerska kids who sneered at him for being different. They liked that he was different. And even though they pushed him- to stay out later, to take risks, to loosen up - Simon knew his limits.

They snuck into clubs, but Simon never got blackout drunk. They smoked behind the school, but Simon only ever took a few drags, never enough to make it a habit. They talked about sneaking into the headmaster’s office and stealing exam answers - Simon drew the line at that.

“You’re no fun,” Elias would groan, shoving him playfully.

“I just know where the line is,” Simon would shoot back.

But the truth was… he liked walking that line. He liked the rush of sneaking back into his house at 3 AM, the sound of laughter echoing in the night air, the way the world felt bigger when he was with them.

And yet, no matter how much he changed, how much he adapted… Simon never lost himself. He still had his music, still wrote songs in his room late at night. He still loved his family more than anything. And he still knew, deep down, that one day he’d have to decide - how much of this life was real, and how much was just an escape?

Simon never cared for the monarchy. They were just another extension of the rich, the powerful, the people who kept people like him struggling.

So when whispers started circling that Prince Wilhelm was transferring to Hillerska, Simon barely spared it a thought. Another royal brat, another entitled pawn in the grand game of privilege. What did it have to do with him?

Then he saw him.

It was impossible to miss. The commotion, the cluster of students pretending not to stare while still very obviously gawking at the sleek black car pulling up to the front gates. Simon had been at his locker, shoving books inside, not paying much attention - until he heard the sharp click of the car door.

Wilhelm stepped out.

He was… pretty . More so than Simon expected. Softer features than Erik, his older brother, but just as composed, just as untouchable. There was something about the way he held himself - rigid but uncertain, like he didn’t quite know what to do with the attention. He barely made eye contact with anyone, jaw tight, his hand twitching at his side as if he wanted to shove it into his pocket but stopped himself.

Simon watched, expecting the same arrogance he saw in the other upper-class students. Expected Wilhelm to bask in the attention. Expected him to act like he owned the place.

Instead, Wilhelm looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

Huh.

Simon shut his locker, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he turned toward the crowd. He had half a mind to just walk away - what did it matter to him? - but then Wilhelm’s gaze flickered over the students, scanning their faces as if searching for something.

For a second, their eyes met.

It was only a second. But something flickered in Wilhelm’s expression - surprise, maybe, or confusion.

Simon cocked his head slightly, giving the prince a slow once-over before smirking. Not a warm one, not a friendly one - just enough to say, Yeah, I see you.

Wilhelm hesitated, turning to try and talk to Felice. Then August stepped in, clapping a hand on Wilhelm’s shoulder, breaking the moment.

Simon scoffed under his breath and turned on his heel, walking away. Prince Wilhelm, at Hillerska. Great. Just what he needed.

The cigarette burned between Simon’s fingers, the smoke curling up into the crisp autumn air as he leaned against the brick wall behind the gym. Skipping class was becoming a habit, one he knew he probably shouldn’t indulge in so often, but it was easier than sitting in a room full of people who barely acknowledged his existence.

Jonah was mid-story about some drama from one of the upper-year girls, something about a secret relationship and a very public argument, when Elias cut him off with a nudge to the ribs.

“Look who decided to step into the daylight,” Elias muttered, nodding toward the other side of the yard.

Simon followed his gaze and immediately spotted the blond head moving through the courtyard. Prince Wilhelm .

The entire school had been buzzing about his arrival a few weeks ago, but Simon hadn’t paid much attention. Royals had never interested him - especially ones who were shoved into Hillerska like it was their personal playground. He hadn’t spoken to him, hadn’t even seen him up close, just caught brief glimpses in the dining hall or down the halls when students parted like the Red Sea to make way for him.

Now, though, Wilhelm stood near the building, talking to some older students. His posture was stiff, hands in the pockets of his uniform blazer like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them.

“Looks like he hates it here just as much as the rest of us,” Alex muttered, taking a drag of his cigarette.

Simon hummed noncommittally, watching as Wilhelm nodded along to whatever the guys were saying, though his eyes kept shifting - like he was looking for an escape route.

“He’s kinda pretty,” Elias said offhandedly.

Simon snapped his gaze to him. “What?”

Elias shrugged, exhaling smoke. “The prince. He’s got that whole lost puppy thing going on.”

Jonah laughed. “Yeah, pretty and miserable. Just your type, Simon.”

Simon rolled his eyes, shoving Jonah with his shoulder. “Shut up.”

But his gaze drifted back to Wilhelm anyway, lingering a little too long. The prince didn’t even know he existed. Didn’t know that just a few meters away, Simon was watching.

When the bell jangled above the door, Simon didn’t bat an eye at first. The job was substantial. It paid well enough to get him by and the nature of the job was obviously exactly what Simon found the most interest and passion in. It never got too busy, but it also didn’t remain too quiet, so the middle line was something Simon found more manageable. As for customers, the odd person who was actually there to buy something was only one in every twenty. Everyone else found comfort in just browsing, meaning Simon didn’t need to attend so often, so he continued what he usually did in quieter periods. Sorting the records out alphabetically and neatening them all up.

By force of habit, Simon looked up, and in more ways than one, he wished he hadn’t, because standing right there, in the doorway of his workplace, was none other than the Prince of Sweden. The Prince of fucking Sweden? Simon had to pinch himself, even if he had been eyeing him up everyday at school. 

In a rush of emotions, Simon ducked behind the shelf, shielding himself away from view as he peeped between the gaps at the sight in front of him. 

The Prince looked confused, bewildered almost. What on earth was the Prince of Sweden doing in a random record shop in Stockholm? Okay, maybe he ought to tone it down on formalities . What was Wilhelm doing in a random record shop in Stockholm?

He watched as Wilhelm danced his fingers across the records in front of him, he couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or if this was all a publicity stunt. Wouldn’t surprise him if a paparazzi crew were standing outside waiting for their time to shine. 

But Wilhelm looked genuinely lost, and Simon couldn’t help but have a surge of confidence to come out from his hiding place to question the fact.

“You look lost.”

And that was their first interaction. Wilhelm probably didn’t even know who Simon was. That they went to the same school. That Simon had found himself staring a little too often when the timing felt right. How was he to know? To every other rich asshole in the school, he was just a socialist. In fact, Wilhelm shouldn’t have even been found dead hanging around this place. It was all too confusing.

Though maybe it wasn’t as confusing as Simon thought, especially when the Prince made his second appearance at the store. 

Simon thought that talking to him at school would make some sort of reasonable impression that he was more than just his socialist title. He felt as though he’d had a pretty good conversation with Wilhelm the first time, what was the harm in trying to spark up another.

Went swimmingly, obviously, because when the Prince appeared a second time, Simon almost became a puddle. It became obvious to him that it wasn’t a publicity stunt at all, Wilhelm was there because he wanted to be. 

Befriending the Prince wasn’t too much hard work, he didn’t need swaying much. Just needed to be a bit more carefree. So inviting him to the club that he regularly goes to was a stretch, a risk even, maybe Simon was biting off more than he could chew, setting up his own downfall, but apparently, the Prince was on board.

The club, surprisingly, despite being a place where queerness wasn’t hidden, was one of the first clubs Simon had snuck into. Even if he was eighteen and allowed, he wasn’t prepared to have to endure what would happen trying to get into the place. He’d seen the scenes around him, homophobes and violent people trekked the streets trying to find reasons to cause chaos. 

Elias had brought him here once, saying that it would be perfect for Simon to be around his own people. At first, Simon thought it was an insult, a set up, but he couldn’t be farther from the truth. It was on that night that Elias had confided in Simon about his own feelings, his feelings of confusion, terror, of not belonging, and it was here where he felt like he could relax and really just be himself around other people that were maybe in the same boat. 

It remained a secret to the rest of the friend group, and Simon found himself sneaking off to the club with Elias more often than not because he too felt like he could really breathe in the place. 

Eventually, Simon started going by himself, and he didn’t know why. He liked the atmosphere, how everyone was so carefree and… themselves. Elias stopped going so often, he never told Simon why, but it didn’t stop Simon sneaking off alone.

Simon did eventually manage to get in without having to sneak in, and it became routine to head there one of two times a week, just to mingle and have fun and sing karaoke whilst downing shots. He felt a sense of euphoria, of managing to find his footing as opposed to the scared, timid little Simon that he was when he first started Hillerska eight months ago. 

But now, dancing in such close contact to Wilhelm on a dance floor in a club surrounded by the exact same people Simon has assumed Wilhelm not to associate with, it felt thrilling. Like he was powerful and like he was able to make that change. 

That was until.

“I- I need to go.”

Simon felt like his heart had just been ripped out of his chest and stamped on right in front of him. 

He felt stupid. Stupid for thinking that Wilhelm was different. Stupid for thinking that Wilhelm actually liked him in that way. Of course he didn’t. He was a Prince for fuck sake.

Simon stood frozen in the same exact spot that he’d practically felt the heartbeat of the Prince just minutes before and he felt too numb to even move, too numb to try and comprehend what had just happened. In some ways, he felt embarrassed. Not because of who he was, but because he’d jumped too far into the deep end so quickly that he felt like he was drowning. 

So stupid, so stupid, so stupid. 

Simon found some will power to try and move, even if he had been rooted to the spot for a good couple of minutes. He turned on his heel so fast he almost gave himself whiplash and bolted for the door. 

Simon lay on his bed, one arm draped over his eyes, the other resting limply against his stomach. The weight in his chest was unbearable.

Sara was still sitting at the edge of the bed, watching him with that annoying, knowing look of hers.

“I just feel stupid,” he muttered.

Sara raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Simon exhaled, shaking his head. “Because… I don’t even know what I expected. He ran away, Sara. Ran away. Like he couldn’t get away from me fast enough.” His voice cracked slightly at the end, and he hated himself for it.

Sara didn’t immediately respond. When she spoke, her voice was careful. “Maybe it wasn’t about you.”

Simon laughed, but it was bitter, humorless. “Oh, come on. What else could it have been? We were dancing - close. He looked—” He swallowed hard. “I don’t know. He looked like he wanted it. And then he was gone.”

Sara studied him. “And how do you feel?”

Simon let out a slow breath. “Numb,” he admitted. “I just feel numb. I don’t even know why I care. It’s not like I’m—” He stopped himself.

“Not like you’re what?”

Simon shook his head, staring up at the ceiling. “He’s just another one of them. Another royal, another pawn in their perfect little world. I shouldn’t even be thinking about this.”

“But you are,” Sara pointed out gently.

Simon closed his eyes. “I just—” He sighed. “I thought he was different.”

Sara was quiet for a long time. Then she stood up, squeezing his ankle lightly before walking to the door. “Get some sleep,” she said. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Simon didn’t believe that. Not for a second.

And as the door clicked shut, he curled onto his side, his chest feeling heavier and heavier.

He didn’t cry. Not at first.

But eventually, the numbness cracked just enough, and a single tear slipped onto his pillow, silent in the darkness.

Simon shoved his books into his locker with more force than necessary, jaw clenched tight. His hands were still a little shaky from lack of sleep, his body still humming with restless frustration. He just wanted to get through the day without thinking about him . Without picturing the way Wilhelm had looked at him on the dance floor - before he ran.

But fate had other plans.

As he slammed his locker shut, his eyes flickered up - right into Wilhelm’s.

The prince was watching him from across the corridor, standing with his usual crowd but looking like he wasn’t really listening to a word they were saying. His stare was unreadable, something tense and hesitant flickering behind those blue eyes.

Simon’s stomach twisted unpleasantly.

He didn’t want to know what that look meant. Didn’t care. So he turned away. He slammed his locker shut anyways and stormed away, attaching his headphones into his Walkman and getting away as quickly as possible. 

Didn’t smile, didn’t nod, didn’t acknowledge him in any way. Just walked past, chin high, shoulders squared, pushing through the hallway like Wilhelm wasn’t even there.

He didn’t look back.

But if he had, he would’ve seen the way Wilhelm’s face fell ever so slightly, the way Felice whispered something to him, her eyes darting between them with curiosity.

Simon didn’t care.

The little bell above the shop door jingled as Simon stepped inside, a rare lightness in his step. The familiar scent of old vinyl and fresh brewed coffee wrapped around him like a comfort blanket. For once, he didn’t feel weighed down by everything. The sun was out, he’d made it through another week at Hillerska without losing his mind, and it was the annual Pride festival today, in the heart of the city. Music, dancing, colour, people who got it.

He tugged off his hoodie and slung it over the back counter, nodding toward the front where his colleague was flipping through a glossy magazine with a pen tucked behind her ear.

“Morning, Isa,” he said, trying to hide the grin pulling at his mouth. “You’ve been here ten minutes and you’re already slacking?”

Isa looked up over the rim of her round glasses, smirking. “It’s called multitasking, thank you very much. And this—” she held up the magazine “—is important research. Did you know the crown prince’s cheekbones are, like, genetically engineered?”

Simon rolled his eyes. “God, again?”

“Hey, don’t blame me,” Isa shrugged, tossing the mag onto the counter. “Your boyfriend keeps making headlines.”

“He’s not—” Simon started, but stopped himself short, lips pressed into a tight line.

Isa raised an eyebrow but let it slide. “So. Why the good mood? You’re usually all brooding and mysterious before noon.”

Simon laughed, tossing his apron on and tying it around his waist. “Going to a festival after my shift. Meeting up with Ayub and Rosh. Should be decent.”

Isa leaned against the counter, arms crossed, grinning. “That Pride festival that happens every year? You’re about to be insufferable, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” Simon said, reaching for the till keys. “You can deal with that on your own time. I’m off at one.”

“Well, have fun being fabulous.”

Simon smirked as he powered on the register, already counting the hours until he could lose himself in that crowd. Music. Queer joy. Stalls filled to the brim with delicious treats. No expectations. No titles.

Something just right for him. 

He left the shop in a rush of nerves and excitement, heading home through streets that were slowly coming to life with colour. Flyers and streamers drifted in the breeze, and people had started to gather at the edges of the square with flags. Most of the stalls had already been set up. Simon kept his head down, boots hitting the pavement in rhythm to the Talking Heads track still echoing in his mind from the shop’s stereo.

Once home, the house was quiet except for the whir of the fan in the kitchen window. Sara had left a note stuck to the fridge:

Out with Alma. Be safe today. Love you. – S.

He smiled to himself, peeled the note free, and tucked it into his back pocket.

In his bedroom, he flung off his work shirt and kicked off his shoes, already reaching for the outfit he’d laid out two nights ago. His fingers hovered over it for a second - then he grabbed the red, cropped Joy Division shirt and pulled it over his head. It clung to his frame in just the right way, the hem riding high above the waistband of his tight black jeans. He shrugged into his denim jacket and pinned the rainbow badge back in place on the collar.

He stared at his reflection for a beat. Hair a little wild. Eyes sharp. Chest fluttering with adrenaline. He looked more like himself than he had in months.

He didn’t linger.

He took off walking towards Stockholm again, a quick fifteen minute walk and he was there. It wasn’t like he did the walk every other day to get to work. 

By the time he stepped back onto the street, the city had transformed. Music pulsed from the radios, people in face paint and glitter wove through the crowd, waving flags and laughing loudly. Aromas that Simon could only dream of tasting. The air was thick with sweat and sun and something sacred - freedom, maybe.

Simon slid his Walkman into the inner pocket of his jacket, pressed play, and started toward the crowds of people.

The closer Simon got to the heart of the crowd, the louder everything became. Whistles, chants, tambourines, heels against pavement, music pouring from portable cassette players and open shop doors. The sea of people shifted like a living thing, bursting with colour - flags wrapped around shoulders, glitter-streaked cheeks, face paint and mesh shirts and smiles that didn’t seem to end.

He moved through it slowly, hands in his jacket pockets, eyes scanning faces. He didn’t know what he was looking for exactly - just something familiar. A tether in the wildness.

Then, just ahead near the fountain, he spotted them.

“Rosh!” he shouted, lifting a hand, already pushing through the bodies.

Rosh turned, eyes lighting up as he broke into a grin. “There he is!”

Ayub was beside him, decked out in a rainbow bandana and an oversized tee that read Born To Make History . Both of them looked a little sunburnt, already sweaty, already laughing.

Simon jogged the last few steps and crashed into a hug with Rosh, all adrenaline and giddy nerves. He hadn’t realised how much he needed this - his people, right here.

“You made it,” Ayub said, pulling him into a quick, one-armed squeeze.

“Of course I made it,” Simon grinned, pulling back. “What, you thought I’d ditch on this?”

“Thought you might’ve gotten scared,” Rosh teased.

Simon smirked. “I don’t scare easily.”

“Damn right you don’t,” Ayub said. “You look sick, by the way.”

Simon gestured down to his shirt. “Joy Division for the queer occasion.”

Rosh chuckled. “Iconic.”

They melted into the moving crowd together, laughing, chanting, waving at people they barely knew. Simon felt like he was floating - like the world had cracked open and, for once, let him step through into something bright. 

He wasn’t thinking about school. Or his teachers. Or Wilhelm-

No. Not yet. Today, he was just Simon.

The crowd was alive. People swaying in the middle of the street like it was the only place on earth, music blaring from open windows above. There was a freedom in the air that was hard to describe - like every inhale was fuller, sweeter. No one watching, no one judging. Just people being.

Simon let himself get pulled into it. Rosh was already stuffing her face with something she’d bought, Ayub was trying to flirt with someone holding a sign that said Punks Against Prejudice , and Simon was in the middle, arms above his head, eyes closed, letting the music shake something loose in his chest.

His cropped red Joy Division shirt clung to his torso, slick with sweat, the sleeves rolled high on his arms. His tight black jeans had been a bold choice for the heat, but they looked good and he knew it. People smiled at him as they passed. One guy winked. Another offered him water. He was seen here. He was someone.

“Look at you,” Rosh shouted over the noise, bumping his hip into Simon’s. “Mr. I’m-too-cool-for-anything, actually smiling.”

Simon laughed, tossing his head back. “Don’t get used to it.”

But he was smiling. He couldn’t help it. This moment - this sliver of time where nothing else mattered - felt like a rebellion in itself.

He spun, laughing, face flushed, heart racing, and then - he saw him..

On the other side of the street, partially obscured by the flow of people, cap pulled low over his head. Plain clothes. Head down. Trying to blend in.

Simon froze. Just for a second.

He watched as Wilhelm lifted his head, scanning the crowd. His eyes caught on Simon like a thread pulling tight between them.

Simon’s breath hitched.

He should look away. Should go back to flirting with guys. Should pretend he hadn’t seen him.

But he didn’t. He held his gaze. Wilhelm didn’t look away either.

Simon spotted him from across the crowd like a bad dream. At first, he thought he was imagining it - no way in hell would he be here. But then Wilhelm shifted slightly, trying to keep his head down, adjusting that stupid baseball cap like it made a difference, and Simon felt his stomach twist.

No. Absolutely not.

He shoved his way through the people, jaw clenched.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Simon snapped, jabbing a finger into Wilhelm’s chest. “Are you seriously following me?”

Wilhelm looked startled, guilt flashing across his face. “I- I was looking for you.”

“Oh, great ,” Simon scoffed, throwing his hands up. “You disappear from the club without a word, leave me standing there like a fucking idiot, and now what - you rock up here like this is some kind of apology tour?”

“I didn’t mean to disappear like that,” Wilhelm said, trying to keep his voice steady. “I panicked-”

“You think I didn’t notice?” Simon cut in. “You couldn’t even look at me when you ran out. Like touching me was something to be ashamed of.”

Wilhelm flinched. “It’s not like that.”

“No?” Simon barked. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks exactly like that.”

People were starting to glance over. Simon didn’t care.

“Do you know what this place means to me?” he said, gesturing at the flags, the music, the people wrapped in each other’s arms without shame. “This is the one fucking day of the year I get to breathe, and here you come with your guilty conscience and royal drama like this is about you.”

Wilhelm stayed quiet, looking like he wanted to disappear into the pavement.

“I didn’t come here to ruin anything,” he said after a moment, voice low. “I just… I didn’t know where else to go. I needed to talk to you.”

Simon stared at him, chest heaving.

“Talk, then.”

Wilhelm hesitated. “That night… Something changed for me. I’ve never felt like that before, with anyone. I don’t know what it means yet. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Simon narrowed his eyes. “So you freaked out, ran away, and now what? You think you can kiss me and I’ll just forget you bolted the second it got real?”

“I don’t think that,” Wilhelm said quickly. “I just… I didn’t know how to handle it. I still don’t. I’ve been raised to follow rules I didn’t make. And then I met you and everything felt different.”

Simon’s throat tightened, but he didn’t show it.

“You think being scared is an excuse?” he asked. “Because I’ve lived scared. Every fucking day. But I never ran.”

Wilhelm stepped closer, eyes searching his.

“I’m not running now.”

Simon didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

The music pulsed around them. A couple nearby kissed like it was the end of the world. Somewhere behind them, someone shouted “Love is love!” and the crowd cheered.

“Then prove it,” Simon said, his voice quieter now, but still sharp. “Don’t just show up in secret, hoping I’ll fall for whatever this is. If you want me - really want me - then mean it.”

Wilhelm looked at him like the earth had shifted under his feet.

“I do,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know I want you.”

Simon didn’t answer. Not right away. He just stared at him, expression unreadable, before his gaze softened - just a little.

Then, without warning, he kissed him.

It wasn’t sweet. It was fire and frustration and everything in between.

And when it was over, he pulled away with a quiet, “This doesn’t mean you’re forgiven.”

Wilhelm nodded, breathless. “I know.”

Simon turned away, already moving through the crowd, grabbing Wilhelm by the hand after he’d said he wanted to stay a bit longer.

“Then keep up, prinsen .”

Simon didn’t go back to Ayub and Rosh right away. He couldn’t. Not after that. Not with his heart still hammering and Wilhelm standing beside him like some awkward, flushed statue trying not to breathe too loud.

They just stood there in the middle of the crowd for a while, like the world had hit pause -  the music thumped around them, people brushed past wrapped in flags and glitter and love, but it all felt distant. Muted.

Wilhelm was the first to speak, his voice rough with nerves.

“Do you wanna… get out of here?”

Simon looked at him, surprised.

“Not like— I mean, not—” Wilhelm stumbled over his own tongue. “Just. Somewhere quieter?”

Simon hesitated. He could already hear Ayub’s teasing. Rosh’s smug little smirk. He didn’t want to explain. Not yet.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding slowly. “Yeah, alright.”

They left the festival early, slipping out of the crowd through a side street. No one noticed them go. Or if they did, they didn’t care. Simon tucked his cropped shirt down a little as the evening air cooled, and Wilhelm kept glancing at him like he couldn’t quite believe he was still walking beside him.

They didn’t say much. Just the sound of their footsteps and the fading beat of music behind them.

Wilhelm kicked a loose stone. “You really looked… happy back there.”

Simon looked at him sideways. “I was. I am. It’s kind of the only day I can be this version of myself without wondering who’s gonna make a comment. I wish it could happen more than once a year but oh well.”

Wilhelm hummed, looking down at his shoes.

“I envy that,” he said quietly. “You don’t… hide.”

Simon shrugged. “I did. For a while. But hiding gets exhausting.”

They walked in silence for a few more moments before Simon slowed down outside a small gate.

“This is me,” he said, nodding towards his block.

Wilhelm blinked like he hadn’t expected it to end so soon. “Right.”

Simon lingered. So did Wilhelm. There was something thick in the air between them again, that same pull as before, but quieter this time. Gentler.

“You really freaked me out that night,” Simon said finally. “At the club.”

“I freaked myself out,” Wilhelm admitted. “Still am, honestly.”

Simon smiled, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You don’t have to figure it out all at once.”

Wilhelm’s throat bobbed. “I just know I want to be near you.”

Simon didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. His eyes softened just a little, and the look he gave Wilhelm was something close to an invitation. Maybe not all the way in. But close enough.

“Night, prinsen,” he said, opening the gate.

Wilhelm looked like he wanted to say more, do more, be more - but he only nodded.

“Night, Simon.”

Simon closed the gate behind him and leaned against it for a second, watching Wilhelm’s figure retreat slowly down the road. His heart ached in the strangest, sweetest way.

He didn’t know what Wilhelm was to him. Not yet. But he knew he wanted him.

Simon woke up smiling.

It wasn’t the usual lazy smile he sometimes wore after a good dream or a decent night’s sleep - this one was softer. A secret stretched out across his lips as the morning light crept through the thin curtain and brushed his cheeks.

He still smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and sweat and cheap festival perfume. His legs were tangled in the sheets, and his cropped Joy Division tee - now wrinkled beyond repair - clung to his side. But none of it mattered.

Because he could still feel it. Wilhelm’s lips.

The way they pressed against his like a question, a promise, a confession.

Simon lay there for a while, arm flung over his eyes, replaying it in slow motion. The flash of hesitation in Wilhelm’s eyes. The unspoken please. The way the world had momentarily fallen away the moment their mouths met.

He’d changed, hadn’t he?

Somewhere along the way from angry scholarship kid to boy-who-woke-up-smiling-after-kissing-a-prince , something had shifted. Sure, he still had thoughts about the monarchy. Still didn’t believe in silver spoons and press-polished smiles. But he’d also kissed someone who was supposed to represent all that - and suddenly, it wasn’t black and white anymore.

“Bit early to be grinning like that,” came Sara’s voice from the doorway, all sing-song and suspicious.

Simon cracked one eye open. “What?”

“You’re smiling.” She stepped into the room, hair tied back, eyebrows raised. “Like, seriously smiling.”

Linda appeared behind her, holding a mug of tea. “Did you meet someone at the festival?”

Simon sat up slowly, trying to keep his expression neutral. “Maybe.”

Sara gasped. “Wait. Wait .”

“Don’t start—”

“ Oh my God, ” she cut in, climbing onto the edge of his bed. “You did! Is it someone we know? Someone from school? Someone scandalous?”

Simon ran a hand over his face, laughing under his breath. “It’s… complicated.”

Linda exchanged a glance with Sara, then handed him the mug. “Well, whoever it is - if they make you smile like that, it’s worth something.”

He gave her a small, grateful nod, but didn’t elaborate. How could he?

They didn’t know it was the prince. That he was the reason Simon’s stomach felt like it was glowing. That he had looked at Simon like he wasn’t royalty - just a boy, curious and terrified and real.

Simon reached down to the foot of his bed, grabbing the newspaper his mother had brought in with breakfast. He sipped his tea absentmindedly, flipping it open.

And then stopped cold. His heart seized.

He blinked at the front page.

No . No, no, no.

His breath caught in his throat as the mug tilted slightly in his hand, forgotten.

He didn’t finish reading it. Didn’t need to. His stomach dropped.

Simon swallowed hard, eyes still locked on the paper. That smile - the one he’d woken up with - vanished.