Chapter Text
Oslo - Norway
December 16th, 2008
The first memory Simon has of his life is the snow. And how beautiful Wilhelm’s golden hair looks against it.
Simon chews on his natural sandwich, kicking his feet under the wooden picnic table as he observes the boy. Wilhelm’s playing by his own on the playground, having fun solely by climbing on the slide and ending up fully covered by snow once he hits the ground. Only his yellow strands, reflecting the sun from under the beanie, are visible as he laughs out loud and then gets up to repeat the process.
There’s something about this making Simon want to eat his food faster in order to go play along with Wilhelm. Without noticing, Simon is putting his whole sandwich in his mouth all at once and turning to face his mother, “Mamá, puedo jugar ahora?”
Linda looks down at him, interrupting her chatting mid sentence with Kristina. When she notices how overly filled her son’s mouth is that he can barely speak, she chuckles, “Claro que sí, mi amor,” then reaches for his jacket to zip it up to his chin and adjust his crochet beanie, “Go have some fun. I feel like Wille's been in need of some company."
“He for sure is,” Kristina says as she smiles kindly at Simon. He smiles right back as he swallows down his little throat the mass of bread and saliva that's become his sandwich. Simon doesn’t remember the woman exactly, but he’s pretty much sure she’s been present or at least mentioned throughout his three years of living life. And she’s his mamá’s friend. If his mamá likes someone, then Simon automatically likes them too.
“Be careful, mijo!” Linda shouts but the boy is running already, having jumped off the bench at the speed of light and heading towards the Wilhelm as if he’s being attracted, like a magnet to metal.
Simon likes magnets. The ones pinned on his house’s fridge are really cute. He’s just not sure if Wilhelm’s going to like being a fridge.
The snow sinks his small legs in a way Simon nearly has to bounce as he walks persistently, if he wants to get to Kristina’s son. When he finally does, he stands still in place for a moment. Wilhelm is on top of the slide, getting ready to go down and hit the snow once he falls. Simon stares at the boy, who’s smiling hard and mischievously by having this much fun.
He looks like a superhero. A pocket-sized superhero. Simon didn’t know people as young as him could be this glorifying to watch.
“Weeeeee!” and Simon doesn’t know where the noise comes from. If it’s from Wilhelm or the friction of Wilhelm’s jacket on the slide but, within a single second, the blonde boy is on the ground again. He giggles because he’s almost covered in white flakes and, unable to restrain himself, Simon is laughing along.
It’s funny. Simon finds the boy funny.
And of course Wilhelm hears it. He gets up, firstly switch to sitting in order to look at his new company. Right after, he gets on his feet and shifts closer. Simon keeps up with a friendly smile after his laughter faded, a stir up of lips his mamá taught him to wear on his face every time he had to be polite with someone. But Wilhelm isn’t grinning. His smile was gone, his expression invaded by curiosity as he inspected Simon's face.
Simon takes notes of how shiny Wilhelm’s eyes are, the light brown sparkling like honey against the winter noon sun. Simon likes honey. So he decides he likes Wilhelm’s eyes too.
“Hej,” the blonde boy tries, blinking several times.
Simon is still getting used to speaking swedish. He feels more comfortable with spanish since it’s the language he uses everywhere back in Mexico, unless for when he’s at home with his dad. But Simon wants to try it this time. “Hej,” he says then.
“Do you wanna play with me?” and Simon only understands the context of what Wilhelm’s saying. He knows he probably asked if he wants to play along and, at this, Simon nods his head repeatedly. Wilhelm finally opens a smile. “Okay. We're two now, so I thought we could go to the see-saw!”
Wilhelm points his index behind himself and thankfully Simon now knows what he’s talking about. He nods again, “Okay,” and in the next second they’re running together to play. Simply like that. As if they’ve known each other for ages, but it’s just been some minutes.
Simon loses track of time. He feels the euphoria of having a new friend; he feels so happy running around the playground, scarcely paying a mind on how cold the weather is when he makes a ball of snow with his tiny hands to throw it on Wilhelm’s direction, and then lays himself on the snow to swerve away from the ones Wilhelm’s targeting him with; when they compete on the highest they can peak on the swing but have to stop battling because of their mothers’ scolding from the picnic table; when they play hide and seek; when they do anything.
Simon is having the time of his life. He wishes he could stay here, in this city, with Kristina’s son, forever.
When the sun starts to point east and the sky turns orange, Wilhelm and Simon are both taking a break sitting on the merry-go-round. Wilhelm is murmuring something in swedish Simon doesn’t quite get, so he turns his head to look at him and, oh. Simon is mesmerized. He has a view of Wille’s side profile being sun-kissed and.... Simon wants to ask his mamá for paper and color pencils to draw it. And he doesn’t know why this feeling urges within him. He just wants to do it. His papa, Micke, once said beautiful things must be drawn.
“Vacker.”
“Hm?” Wilhelm turns his head towards Simon, pouting a little about something. Probably about what he was talking to himself.
Simon shrugs, kicking his feet in the air with a smile from ear to ear when he says his thoughts out loud once again. “Du är vacker. Eres hermoso.”
The way Wilhelm’s cheeks went pink made Simon giggle in joy. They looked like fluffy strawberry cupcakes. Simon wanted to touch it but, instead, he extended his arm and twirled a lock of the boy’s hair between his fingers. And it was like touching golden silk. Simon smelled something familiar he thinks is baby powder; the same Linda uses on him, coming from the other boy.
It took Simon by surprise when Wilhelm leaned in his direction as well to touch his curls. “They’re like springs,” Simon felt one of Wilhelm’s fingers curling around his hair, then releasing it, then doing the action again. “So soft.”
“Soft,” Simon says in swedish, adding the word to his vocabulary. He keeps on playing with Wilhelm’s strands until there's no sun in sight, both hypnotized by each other’s hair all of a sudden. Simon decides he likes the touch. Just as much he likes Wilhelm’s eyes.
When the last rays disappear, Simon collects his hand and so does Wilhelm. The latter smiles, “You’re a good friend, Simon.”
Good friend. Buen amigo. Simon can hear the fireworks exploding within his belly; he’s sure he’ll explode in a few if this sweet feeling continues to persist for the rest of this trip. And, somehow, he doesn’t feel alone in this experience. Wilhelm is smiling widely too. His spaced little teeth look like little coconut candies. And Simon adores coconut candies.
Honey eyes, him playing with his curls, and now candy teeth. Simon can only realize that he likes a lot about Wilhelm.
“Mi buen amigo,” Simon repeats. And Wilhelm seems to understand what he’s saying, because he laughs and whispers ‘tack’ low, as if he’s suddenly shy.
“Hey boys! Time to go back!”
They look at the picnic tables at the same time. Linda and Kristina are getting up, Simon’s mom being the one calling for them. A bit further apart, behind their moms, the car Micke has rented for their vacation is pulled off next to the sidewalk, waiting for them to get in.
A lamp lights up over Simon’s head at this moment. He jumps off the merry-go-round, feet back in the snow as he pokes Wilhelm’s arm to gain his attention. “Car? Who runs first?”
It takes a millisecond for the blonde boy to click his mind on what Simon meant. In the blink of an eye later, he’s surpassing Simon, laughing and sticking his tongue out to him as Simon screams in spanish that it’s not fair, but he doesn’t feel angry. He feels happy. He feels absolutely happy.
He has a new friend. Wilhelm is his friend.
And it’s amazing.
“Do you like salad, Simon? Wille hates it, unfortunately. I’ve heard from your mamá that you eat pretty well at home.”
The fact that Kristina’s been hearing good things about Simon makes the little boy blush. He nods, hitting the fork on the plate as Micke puts the mashed potatoes and the meat for him. “I like salad.”
“There’s not a single thing my son doesn’t like,” Micke says, finishing serving Simon with a kiss on top of his head. Simon wasted no time to start eating.
“See, Wille? I bet your friend likes vegetables too,” Ludvig puts a bit of a dark red liquid on his glass. Simon smells the air after this. It’s like someone spilled gasoline on their table for a second.
“I don’t like vegetables,” Wilhelms protests with his mouth full and dirty in the corners, pouting and frowning at his dad. “They’re tasteless.”
“But they health,” Simon lets out, putting his best swedish out on the tip of his tongue as he’s looking at Wilhelm through his eyelashes. It felt right to try to convince his friend.
The blonde boy goes silent. He doesn’t protest against Simon.
“They’re healthy and delicious, aren’t they, mijo?” and Simon promptly nods to his mother. To emphasize it, he picks one of the peas from his plate and takes it to his mouth.
Wilhelm observes him for a second. In the other, he picks one of the peas from his own plate and bites it. “Still tasteless,” he puts the rest of them in his mouth, “But healthy. Peas are healthy.”
Kristina turns to Linda as if she’s about to tell her the biggest secret in history. “Don’t you wanna leave Simon in Stockholm with us for some days? So then he could convince Wille to eat better, you know.”
Linda laughs amusedly, “Do you wanna know what me and Micke have done for him to eat great?” Ludvig and Kristina both say yes with their heads. “Okay. We started introducing him to various foods from the ve…”
Simon eats absent-mindedly throughout the rest of the dinner in the restaurant the families chose for today. Every once in a while, he’d look at Wilhelm just to catch the boy staring at him too. And every time they would laugh. Laugh until their bellies start burning and their parents start asking what could be so funny. And they’d have no answer to this question.
At the end of the night, Wilhelm had eaten all of the peas and they were back in the hotel. Linda gave him a very relaxing shower and, once in his pajamas, Simon was ready to sleep and prepare himself for a day of touristing around Oslo.
A few minutes later, he was almost falling asleep between his parents in the couple's bed, when he heard something coming from the door.
At first, Simon just opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. When the noise reached his ears again, he moved up, wearing a frown, cautiously to not wake them up, mainly Linda, because she always wakes up from the most to least subtle sounds. But for some reason she didn’t wake up today. And Simon’s the one entitled to be brave and identify the noise today.
It was a knock. Someone was knocking on his hotel door and rustling “Simon! Simon!”
No, not someone.
Wilhelm was calling for him.
As if he’s some excerpt in the art of sneaking around, Simon climbed out of the bed and ran silently to the door. Once he reached it, he leaned his ear against the wooden surface. “Wilhelm?”
“Hej! It’s me! Can you open the door?”
Door. Puerta. Wilhelm is asking him to open the door.
Simon didn’t even bat an eye back to his parents; he just looks up to the doorknob, jumps on his feet and turns it to the right. The lock clicks and Simon hears the mattress shuffling by some movements but, after a beat, nothing happens other than this. So he opens the door, just enough for his frame to sneak out, and then it’s done.
Wilhelm is in the anteroom, wearing his pajamas and the same coconut candy smile, though this time less bright because of the lack of light. The only illumination comes from the electric fireplace, setting the environment in red and dark orange. “Do you wanna play?”
“How?” Simon doesn’t know the words exactly. He frowns, then points to the door leading to the corridor. “You? Here?”
Wilhelm looks behind his shoulder and then to Simon again. “Your parents left the door unlocked.”
“Oh,” Simon nods. “I want sleep. Don’t think play is good now. Late night."
Something in Wilhelm’s expression drops. His lips curl down, and he looks to the floor for a while. Simon stands still; he doesn’t know what to say to put a smile back on his friend’s face. He for sure wants to play, but he’s feeling tired. And he’s afraid his mamá will catch them too. The fact that they’re talking now seems a bit… Forbidden. There’s a radical feeling taking place in Simon’s mind. As if he’s breaking rules. But he can’t remember any rule about not escaping the hotel room during night to chat with Kristina’s son.
“I need sleep for tomorrow,” Simon tries then. His head is starting to ache by thinking through the words in swedish.
At this, Wilhelm rises up his head and his eyes shine once again. As if he just remembered something very, very important. “Tomorrow! Of course! Do you know where we’re going already?” Simon shook his head. Wilhelm sighs then, smiling. “We’re visiting the Royal Castle tomorrow.”
Simon blinks a couple of times. “Royal Castle?”
“Isn’t it sick? We’re gonna be princes for a day!”
Simon’s mind travels through his memories. He’s seen a couple of movies showing off princes before; all of them, somehow, looked like Wilhelm. They were blonde, white-skinned, European, the youngest ones and the elder heirs too, all of them resonating, sculpting the same image. So Simon never felt like a prince. But the fact that they’re going to the palace, that Simon will get the chance to be a prince for a day tomorrow… It’ll keep him up tonight with anxiety. A good type of one.
But he’s curious about one thing. “How… How you know? About Royal Castle?”
Wilhelm opens a smile just as handful as some hours before in the playground. “I know a lot of things. Did you know our mothers are friends? Like, best friends?”
“Best friends?”
“Yeah, they’re… Mejores amigas?” Wilhelm pouts, “I need to learn spanish to talk to you.”
Something twirls within Simon’s stomach at this. He’d like it very much to speak spanish with Wilhelm.
“Mi mamá y su mamá son mejores amigas,” Simon shakes his head, affirming to himself.
“Yes, and I think it’s been a while. Like, a long while,” Wilhelm giggles, “They’re kind of old.”
They laugh together until their voices fade. Once it’s the case, Wilhelm keeps a sweet smile on to say, “So… I thought we could be best friends too.”
Simon’s eyes widened. “Us? Mejores… Mejores amigos?”
“Mhm,” Wilhelm’s eyes are brighter than ever, full of hope as he looks at Simon. “We could be just like them. And if I’m right, they travel once a year. I bet they’ll take us on those trips as well so… We’re gonna see each other every year.”
“Every year,” Simon mimics.
“But we can still be best friends when we don’t see each other,” Wilhelm comes closer, cleaning his full of little frogs pajamas, as if he’s a grown man making an important decision. “What do you think, Simon?”
Simon doesn’t even have to think. He wants it more than anything. More than honey and coconut candies. More than being a prince for a day. More than anything he knows.
“Somos mejores amigos,” he says, confirming what he desires and hoping for Wilhelm to understand what was said.
And he does. Wilhelm’s smile now is bigger than anything Simon’s ever seen. “We are best friends.”
Wilhelm starts walking backwards then, probably to get back to his room with his parents. But Simon doesn’t want him to go away. No, not now. He wants him to stay for a bit more. He feels the same tickles as earlier, as if he’s being pushed forward to keep himself side by side with his friend - no, his best friend.
Like a magnet to a fridge.
“Wilhelm?”
The blonde boy turns to him again. “You can call me Wille now!”
Simon giggles, feeling extremely happy. “Wille. Are you a fridge?”
Wilhelm has no reaction to the question at first, but then he nods and grins coconut-candily, “Yeah! Imagine stocking all the food you want inside yourself. It’d be amazing!”
Simon didn’t understand a word Wilhelm said but he chuckles nonetheless, jumping in glee as he turns back and re-enters the hotel room. “Fridge! Wille is a fridge!”
And this is awesome because that means Simon can be a magnet. But not any kind of magnet out there. He is the magnet on Wille. He is the magnet to Wilhelm’s fridge.
Because they’re best friends now.
They’re bonded together.
And Simon can’t help but smile in his sleep and in his dreams, where he plays with the blonde boy endlessly, and they never grow up.
A week later, the photobook of the Oslo trip was delivered to their house in Mexico City. Micke answered the door and brought in the package, sitting on the sofa in the living room with his wife and an overly excited Simon, who had runned through the house, leaving the toys he got as a Christmas gift this year behind after his mom called him to see the photos.
“Estás tan hermoso aquí, mi pequeño,” Linda wears a infatuated smile as her eyes wander through the pages; the first ones are full of Simon and his parents: them posing in front of the Vigeland Park, the Oslo Cathedral, various pics of the Opera House and, from the first half onwards, the Royal Castle was in sight.
“Mamá! Papá! Wille y yo!” Simon jumps in his seat in excitement, smiling as he gets on his feet on the sofa and supports himself on his dad’s shoulder to take a better look.
It was just the two of them in the photo. Kristina and Linda dressed their children in the best princely clothes they could find in their suitcase to pose in front of the castle; the sky was clean and very blue, the snow was right behind their figures and Simon and Wilhelm were posing exactly in the middle, both with puffed chests and last-minute-bought plastic crowns. Wille had a silver one on top of his head while Simon’s was shining in golden under the midday sunlight.
Simon feels warm looking at the picture. So much he can’t restrain it; he starts laughing as he remembers the day. “Wille y yo!”, he repeats.
“Son príncipes,” Micke smiles when he turns back to face his son. “Ni är prinsar.”
“Prinsar,” Simon babbles the word, adding it to his repertory.
There’s something hypnotizing about the photo. And Simon only knows he can’t stop looking at it. It feels good to have this memory, and to have something physical to keep on reminding him of the Oslo trip. But he wants more.
“Can we travel again? With aunty Kristina?” And Wille?
Linda laughs endearingly, “Next year, mi amor. Next year we’ll see them again.”
Next year.
Too much time. There's still too much time.
Simon is missing Wille.
He’s missing his best friend.
But Wilhelm promised him they’d be friends until the next time, right? He promised to still be friends with Simon during the time they’ll spend apart. So Simon sticks with it. Despite the pout and the sad smirk on his face, Simon feels something sweet within him. Something as sweet as honey. As sweet and as honey as Wille’s eyes.
He’s going to see Wille again. In a year from now.
And Simon can’t wait for this to happen.