Chapter Text
If Wille thought he had it rough returning to the public eye, and therefore, his day to day life, following the leak of his sextape, he was not aware how much everything could worsen upon the impact of another torment. A part of him felt numb over everything. He would have to tip toe all day for the rest of his life, and instead of causing him that familiar tingling or choking sensation, part of him resigned to the numbness. Wille did his best to focus on that, because the other option was giving up to the consequences of his weakness. Besides, pretending was easier, that way he would be able to accommodate to the role befitted to him.
It was rather Janus-like that some students who dedicated judgemental looks at him had consumed a minimum of two kinds of drugs at their parties, most certainly having dealt with Caligula at some point. If that was in public, behind closed doors they deemed him unworthy in every sense of the word. The difference, and perhaps the reason why they believed themselves superior enough to judge him — not as their prince but as a fellow teenager — was because The Crown was not a constant weight on their heads. One would think that the British series could have helped them — and the world — to grasp, at least slightly, what this kind of life meant, to empathetically understand. They were his family after all, the whole continent basically, and despite their diverse nationalities, their histories interwined, summarised in old money and similar traditions.
However, Wille did not only have the Swedish crown merged in him, but being a royal meant being interconnected as part of ancient lines of family tides. One action, for better or worse, reverberated in the rest. At least he had wonderful cousins, most older or shared his age, who insistently wrote to him following the official statement. A dejavù sensation settled on Wille, and a mixture of anxiety and tenderness. He was not ready to grab his phone and dedicate time to answer, but for what he saw on his notifications, the words his cousins had used…the prince felt a little less lonely and guilty. Yet, he could not cease to wonder how long he would depend on them, on someone to hold him from falling, on dreading official statements and public uncomfortable appearances.
Still, after days of ignoring that devilous machine, Simon convinced him to reply to them.
“You don’t need to write a heartfelt letter, but let them know you’re fine, or as much as you can be. Let them know you aren’t giving up.”
And he did. He may have texted a bit more to Nicholas, Alexios and Catherine, who actually were threatening to fly to Stockholm and personally become his emotional support. To them he had mentioned that Simon was excelling at that job.
Of course checking his messages meant succumbing to the temptation of opening instagram and twitter. Wille should have known better, because when he started reading everything especially negative about him, he was alone in his room during lunch time. When his throat became constricted and his head impossible to hold straight, he ran to the woods, stepping over dead leaves and breaking fallen branches. In a parallel universe, he stayed tranquil on his room, he wished he could behave ( be ) more like that Wille. A burning vile sensation creeped up his body, like a bad omen, a threat of despair. His phone was a blur in his trembling hands. What a disgrace, he thought, how disappointing you are not even able to use your fucking phone. But calling Simon, again, felt him with more wildfire, coal heating his insides with shame. It had to stop, his dependance. Simon had had things difficult already, and by association, he would make his life only harder.
He registered the crushing soft sound of snow being stepped on. Wille had not had time to observe his surroundings: a charming winter scenery, with picturesque snow on the ground (enough to be comfortable), accompanied by a scent of eucalyptus and loneliness.
“Wille?”
A carefully measured voice called him from behind. He put his phone back to the inner pocket of his jacket and turned, a serene expression plastered on his face. “Vic, what are you doing here?” He hoped, hoped , his tone did not appeared to be as acted as he felt it.
She carefreely smiled. “Going to my favourite meditation spot. Wanna come?”
Wille frowned, utterly and sincerely confused. “In this weather?”
“Oh don’t be like that! It’s not snowing anymore! And we’ve around 10 degrees!”
“Is this your way to prepare for finals?” he shrugged.
“Come, trust me.”
Her self proclaimed space was one Wille had never seen, not far from the main campus but hidden enough for its purpose. It passed the stables and was adjacent to the shooting camp (which now had archery indumentary and merely one person in it). They sit by the trees, leaning on their barks, a soft mat on the floor.
“Snow can become something magical”, Vic said in a clear but low voice. “It is part of many dreams and induces wonder.” Wille found himself absorbing her words, as if they were part of an ancient enchantment. “I find comfort in it,” she looked at him, “it will help us meditate.”
Vic seemed to slip into a relaxed stage in both body and soul, but still remain connected to reality. Wille tried the same, but after five minutes or more, he was exhausted. He was putting too much concentration into something that did not need it.
His friend opened her eyes and motioned for him to stretch with her. “It didn’t come easy for me at first,” she confessed, “but I needed to be good at it. With how I was raised — a good breeding some would say —, with all the lessons to become perfect and fulfil my family’s expectations,” Vic sat cross legged and locked eyes again with Wille, “as sole heir of their legacy, or more exactly, their money.” She sighed and yet remained at ease. “I can’t say I completely get you, that would be shitty of me, but I grasp the idea of what you may feel like, albeit vaguely.”
Thank you.
He wanted to say it, but the words did not form out of his mouth. Vic smiled and folded her body into a dog-like position.
***
Rowing stopped feeling like a duty and the training actually made Wille feel a bit better because it distracted his mind and occupied his time. Despite the fact that they did not use the lake anymore and limited themselves to indoor exercises, Wille preferred that. There was something innately melancholy about the lake during winter, even if it was not totally frozen, the mist over it and the desaturated hues brought thoughts he did not want.
Nico approached the gym when he was just leaving the changing room, hair still a wet mess.
“Simon is not here,” he said. “He had a terrible headache, been overworking himself.” On everything , he omitted.
Because it was so painfully true. Simon was working his blood, sweat and tears to not be anything less than the best, to excel as much as he could, whether mentally supporting Wille, at rowing or school. Lately, the prince realised how hard Simon always tried, since the very first day he met him. From an outsider point of view, the issue with his sister, the damned media harassment, and most recently Wille’s drug scandal, were not in his agenda anymore. However, the prince knew it was more than that, no one should simply forget such things, they had made him stronger and he admired Simon each day more due to that fact, yet he wished he could do something to lessen that sentiment of needing to remain…solid, unwavering. Much like Constantinople’s or Troy’s walls. He hoped he was not becoming the Ottoman Empire nor the Greeks for Simon.
“You are my friend too.”
His eyes definitely did not sting after words as simple as those. He just nodded in response.
“I’ve been procrastinating an awful lot. Achilles’ little home needs a makeover. Care to lend a royal hand?”
The poor horse’s home was indeed a mess, not in the abandoned sense — because Nico would never let that happen to anyone nor anything she cared for — but as in being the definition of grey
Now Wille really looks at Nico, registering the hollowness of her cheeks and the darkness of her eye bags (more than ever before). “Are you alright?”
She busies herself with tending to Achilles and murmuring warm words to him in what seems like greek.
He grabbed a broom and began cleaning the floor without disturbing neither of his friends. After a little while, as he arranged a comfortable space at the back with clean soft straw, he found himself confessing his previous thoughts of becoming a threat to peace.
“Depends from where you look at it. The Roman Empire was on his downfall, only left was a dull imitation of their past splendour. Troy was bound to fall sooner or later, even if the gods did not intervene as directly, dooming soulmates in the process, their pride and naivité would have made them succumb. The Ottomans and the Greeks cunningly took advantage of their situation at hand.”
His voice quivered a bit. “That is far from what I want to be.”
“And you are,” she finally looked at him.
Achilles was dozing off, cosy with his tidy and home-ly quarters. He approves , Wille thought, the horse understands and gifts us his trust in return .
“I’m sorry if I’ve…been distant,” Nico focused on her fingers, petting her horse absentmindedly. “My brain, well, my life has been quite the drunk-built puzzle as of lately. Some pieces didn’t fit and I had to…change them. Find their right places.”
“Can I…?” he was the worst at offering what friends gave in return but he needed to at least try. “Do you want to talk about it?
“Would you, I mean, I’m not sure but…try using they-them pronouns for me? Maybe then my puzzle will be okay.”
“Never doubt it. I will.”
Their eyes glistened under the last rays of sunset. Achilles nosed them with utmost delicacy.
“Also I will not tell anyone you cried.”
Nico hit his arm ( with love , they would say). “Who cried?”
***
“She does?”
Simon nodded, arranging his scarf after their maths exam — which needless to say was modern torture, most students leaving the class had darkened expressions —. They walked together to the music room and sat on the piano. Somehow, their feet had taken them there, their subconscious seeking solace in every possible nook available.
“You could spend the whole day at home. Our lasagna will be incomparable to any you’ve tried before!”
The first notes of a familiar, yet new at the same time, began filling the air.
“The plan includes baking christmas cookies too, Wille,” Simon added, using his most alluring tone.
His cheeks felt warm but he ignored it. The music took a slower and enthralling tone, making the prince’s heart accelerate. It was new indeed, and so very achingly beautiful. Simon’s hands played with measured control. He found his voice stuck in his throat but he had to say it outloud before it drowned him in the best way. “I am experiencing all of my first times with you.”
The notes faltered and the melody stopped. “Wille!” Simon hid his face in his prince’s chest.
With all the warmth only Linda was able to create, Wille spent the entire Saturday loving, baking, eating, singing Christmas carols in Spanish and loving so much more. Though he realised a person was absent. Later he reflected on that fact and comprehended he did not detect an ounce of guilt nor, truthfully, sadness in his body. Did it make him a horrible person? To not feel at all? Wille hoped that part of him healed, along with the family he knew he belonged in.
***
Through a week packed with rowing practise that he did not perceived it as such, sealed with damned complains about his permanence on the team as he was “endangering” it and “ruining their reputation”, topped with Simon almost punching a second year guy on his face, Wille wished to be made a painting.
“A painting?” Simon had asked when he first had confessed it.
“Not any painting, nor of a specific era. I want to become a painting with a heart, able to come back to life by my painter's hand.”
“And who would that be?”
“You, Simon.”
They fell asleep that night together, unbothered tangled limbs, sweat and stability oozing around them.
*
Peace could not last, Wille had forgotten. Their date started magical, made of stardust.
Simon guided him under the stars, carrying two boxes of pizza, to the football field that turned their story around.
They observed the stars with slices of pizzas in their hands. It was a setting that belonged to a movie: laughs exchanged, silence shared and -. A tingling sensation ran over Wille’s skin every time Simon smiled or his curls danced. He was Wonder alive. In the most mundane and otherworldly definition of the word, Simon made the prince to wish .
“I don’t want to ever give up any of this,” Simon said with a certain nostalgy in his voice. He left his halfeated slice on the cardboard that was on his legs. The look that he gave Wille could rival the intensity of a supernova. “I know control is a privilege we don’t fully have, but if we make sure to always have something like this ,” he pointed at the almost finished pizzas and then gestured for the field around them, “we’ll be fine.”
Wille ignored the lump in his throat and heaviness of his eyes, he leaned closer to Simon and nuzzled his neck, leaving a trail of velvet kisses.With a hand on that hair he adored so much, Wille turned Simon’s head and kissed him.
“We’ll be fine.”
While they were living in their enclosed freedom, a pair of girls that were going home noticed them. It took them a couple of minutes to be sure the two boys who were sitting on the football field were, in fact, The Crown Prince of their country and his boyfriend. As expected, the girls quickly posted photos on twitter and a very short but endearing video on tiktok. In the next 30 minutes, more teenagers arrived and giggled in hushed tones. The annoying photographers also joined them, eager for content for their magazines, online portals and for recognition from international press that would pay them incredibly well for high quality photos.
Not long after Simon and Wille finished their pizzas, shared their most private thoughts and their love in between tender kisses, the noise became noticeable. Soon, their hearts were stammering in their chests for a contrasting reason from before. Wille placed his hand on his chest and rubbed that place absentmindedly, forcing himself to not look at the entrance of the field.
Simon finisdhed gathering their things and approached his prince. He intertwined their hands over his heart. “We’ll be fine.”
Wille nodded and took a deep breath. “I love you.”
“Te adoro, mi príncipe ,” Simon’s gaze softened. “Now, don’t let go of my hand, okay? We’re going to take the shortest way home.”
The feeling of distress contrasted with the hopefulness of the christmas lights surrounding them as they walked, seeking refuge away from the voices. Simon made sure all the curtains of his house were closed as soon as they were inside.
“I am staying,” he heard Wille say to Malin, tone wavering a little at the end .
“Are you sure, your highness? We can park the car outside and remain here.”
“Thank you, truly, but please rest well. I’ll be fine.”
“I am aware, Crown Prince. Very well then, we will see you tomorrow. Early morning.”
“Thank you, Malin. I am sorry.”
“Nothing to apologise for, your highness. I will notify her majesty. Good night.”
Wille didn’t move for the following seconds until Simon arrived at his side again.
“Come, love. Let’s wash, do some skin care and sleep.”
A smile tugged the corner of the prince’s lips. “Lead the way.”
He would always follow Simon. Anywhere.
His mood improved significantly when morning came and, together with Linda and Simon, he cooked empanadas for breakfast. Even Sara decided to show up and get out of her room. Though they didn’t talk to her nor paid much attention to her presence, both Simon and Wille still spent as good as they could.
***
It was ridiculous.
The amount of medical exams, blood tubs he had to give to be allowed to participate in the rowing race — that was not even on the water — were ridiculous and embarrassing, but being prohibited to go would have been worse.
“You must do it, Wille,” his mother had said over the phone the week prior. “Head high, be responsible. No refusals. You will do it with a humble smile on your face.”
She did not ask how he felt after a morning with migraine for not eating and having three tubs taken. Nobody cared aside from what it meant for them: “the prince is a drug addict”, “he’s out of control”, “he cannot be trusted”, “how thoughtless and reckless of him”, “we knew that his association with that venezuelan immigrant would cause only trouble”, “he’s lost”... cannot be trusted, cannot be trusted, cannot be trusted.
Was this going to be chasing him forever? Was this how everyone would speak of him, of him with Simon, for the rest of their lives?
At least he had him by his side, and limited but high quality friends supporting his back. Those same friends cheered for Simon and him as they came first by a minuscule difference with the other exclusive boarding high school. Cheer flooded the rivals’ gym where the competition was held. For a moment, they were losing, behind due to Simon’s tripping over as he changed places with Wille and a first year guy not holding Walter with enough strength. He may have seen from the corner of his eye Henry kissing Walter on the lips, caught in the enthusiasm of the moment. Wille placed his hand on Simon’s neck and closed the electrifying distance between them, interrupted by Nico, Vic and Felice hugging them. Stella and Fredrika came next. Their team hugged, danced, lived in the thrill of the winning.
Sara approached as the excitement was dying down. “Simon, Wille,” it was as if her voice was muted by something, as if she needed to raise the volume of a stereo to be heard clearly. Felice stood a few steps behind her, watching them attentively, yet without resentment. Wille found himself hoping they may have talked things through, as well with her other friends, though Nico seemed a bit reticent to be close to Sara still.
“Congratulations. I’m proud.”
An innumerable of emotions were reflected on Simon’s eyes. He intertwined their hands together. “Gracias, Sara.”
She nodded and was turning around when Simon called her back.
“Mom misses you.”
“I’ll be…well, I was thinking of going back after the holidays, leaving the dorms.”
Simon blinked rapidly and Wille started to draw small hearts with his thumb on his hand. “That would be nice.”
The sound of a fight interrupted Sara’s reply. The captain and members of the other team were complaining with their headmasters about the unfairness of Hillerska’s win.
“How awfully unethical!”
Wille froze under the raucous, blank and frowning. It was fair, it was, he did all the tests and everything he was asked without complaining. It was fair. As it was fair the thought of shaking them out of their stupidity. He walked further towards the bitter boys purposely, they saw him coming and it gave him immense satisfaction the diverse twists and changes of their expressions.
Until Simon grabbed his wrist. “ Ven. Ahora. ”
They did not stop until they were inside the changing rooms, door locked. Neither Simon nor him broke the silence. He let him be held, allowed familiar hands to stroke his arms and back, to destangle his hair, and to soften his tensed muscles. Wille imitated Simon’s breathing and heartbeat. Sometimes, that is how clarity came: as a consequence of tempests and black clouds, of tremors and choking pain, of blind anger and, most importantly, of unconditional soul-connection.
Of acceptance through mutual learning.
Of love.