Chapter Text
Simon
Simon is positively fuming.
He normally considers himself to be a very calm and reasonable person, one that always tries to find a solution to any problem that may arise without letting panic and anger get the best of him. It’s one of the reasons why he’s always been sure he’d be very good in a leader position: he knows he’s able to handle stress and deadlines, he can manage undisciplined co-workers and he never once found himself in a position in which he didn’t come out on top.
Maja Norin, the – soon retiring – editor-in-chief of Makalös, the fashion magazine he works for, knows all that as well. Since Simon has been promoted to senior editor two years ago, she has constantly told him that, if he played his cards right, he’d no doubt become the youngest editor-in-chief Makalös has ever had once she decided to step down. She has, of course, made Simon work his ass off to prove himself worthy of such a memorable position, but Simon hasn’t really minded: he loves to feel like he is the most knowledgeable person in the room, the one everyone else can depend on or go to if something is wrong.
Most importantly, though, he loves his job and has worked hard to get to where he is now, first by getting a journalism degree while working two jobs to pay for both his studies and an apartment in the city, then by doing underpaid internships in various fashion magazines and taking even modeling jobs in his – very limited – free time to gain even more experience. To this day, he still tries to attend every conference, workshop and industry event he can to try and always be informed about the latest trends and developments and to network as much as possible.
All of this to say, Simon knows he’s more than qualified for the position of editor-in-chief. He knows that there’s no one currently working at Makalös that knows more than he does about how the magazine’s internal gears function, or that has worked more than him to obtain that job. He also knows that, during one of the last meetings with the board Maja held as editor-in-chief, she proposed him as her successor, because he was fucking there to witness it.
So, the official announcement should’ve been nothing more than a formality, really: everybody that works in the building knows that Simon will take over after Maja – it has been a decision unofficially taken months ago, now.
When the day finally arrives, Simon is ecstatic. His mother has traveled all the way from Bjärstad to Stockholm just to be there with him when the email will finally come in, and his friends Rosh and Ayub have organized a get together in their favorite bar to celebrate his promotion; even his sister Sara, who lives just out of town, has agreed to come down for the night so that she can be there with him on his big day. He has bought expensive champagne, ordered take out from the best Japanese restaurant in town and stress-cleaned all of his apartment to stop himself from refreshing his inbox every two seconds. By the time everyone is gathered in his living room, Simon is one second away from losing his goddamn mind.
The email finally arrives just after seven in the evening, and Simon moves so quickly when he sees it appear on top of all the other emails that he almost spills the wine filling the glass in his hand in the haste of placing it on the coffee table. With his heart hammering against his ribcage and family and friends quickly surrounding him, he takes a deep breath and, with trembling hands, finally taps on the email and scrolls down the entire summary of the final board meeting of that afternoon to reach the last item on the agenda.
There’s currently a storm going on inside Simon’s chest, and the anticipation is almost making him feel dizzy. This is probably the reason why, when he reaches the only part of the email he’s currently interested in, his mind doesn’t immediately process the information written there; however, as soon as his ears stop ringing, he becomes suddenly aware of the shocked gasps coming from the people around him and his eyes finally focus on the words on the screen.
That’s when he reads it, and he instantly stops breathing.
“New editor-in-chief: Wilhelm Larsson”
He has to re-read the name in bold letters several times before his mind registers that it’s not his.
Wilhelm Larsson. Who the fuck is Wilhelm Larsson?
The silence inside the living room is deafening. It’s clear to Simon that none of the people there knows what to say, and he totally gets it because he doesn’t know what to say either.
Because, what the actual fuck?
Why is his name not the one written in the email? Why did the board choose someone else for the job? Someone that, as far as Simon knows, doesn’t even work at Makalös? Had Maja lied to him? Had she really made him work his ass off for years only to pick some random person for the job he had basically been promised and that he had earned? The one that he is most qualified for?
Again, who the fuck even is Wilhelm Larsson?
Simon slams his phone on the coffee table and gets up to speed walk towards the balcony, opening the door to walk out and allow the fresh September air to cool down his suddenly overheated body. He grips the cold metal railing until his knuckles turn almost white and tries to take slow, deep breaths to calm the erratic beating of his heart, but to no avail.
“Simon?” his mom’s voice comes from behind him, calm but a little uncertain.
“Please, just give me a second,” he’s able to get out through his closed up throat.
He doesn’t hear any retreating footsteps, but his mom doesn’t push him any further, either. So, he takes a few minutes to just close his eyes and take deep breaths, but the longer he stays out there alone with his whirling thoughts, the more the shock slowly starts to turn into anger.
Why had they preferred someone else? What had he done wrong? Why wasn’t he good enough?
In a fit of rage, he storms back inside to retrieve his phone from the coffee table, ignoring the hushed conversations and pitiful looks coming from his family and friends; instead, he just mumbles, “Sorry, I need to be alone right now,” before he leaves the living room and locks himself up in the bedroom.
Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, he instantly opens the browser on his phone to type Wilhelm Larsson in the search bar, scrolling through the first results that announce him as the new editor-in-chief of one of the most famous fashion magazines in the country while actively trying not to throw up. When he reaches an older article that contains his bio and starts to read it, he progressively grips his phone with more force until he almost crushes it.
Because Wilhelm Larsson is not even a fashion journalist, but an investigative one. He has worked for the Stockholms Krönikor, one of the biggest newspapers in Sweden, up until a couple of months ago, when he suddenly left for no specified reason. He’s also the son of Kristina Larsson, the chairwoman of a huge law firm with thousands of employees and secondary branches all over the country.
The more Simon reads about him – about how he studied journalism at the New York University in the US and graduated top of his class, how he had his first published article when he was barely nineteen and how he was one of the journalists that worked to uncover a huge case of human trafficking a few years prior – the more rage he feels build up inside of him. Because, what the hell is this guy doing at Makalös? What kind of knowledge can he possibly have about fashion and fashion magazines when his resume looks like that? What can he even contribute to the magazine that Simon can’t?
Simon throws his phone at the end of the bed, feeling a headache coming for how hard he’s been clenching his jaw. He doesn’t understand, and in addition to that he feels like a fucking idiot for being so sure he would get that promotion. He even made his mom take two days off from work to travel all the way to Stockholm, for God’s sake.
He feels tears of rage burn behind his eyes, but refuses to cry. Tomorrow, he will speak to Maja to try and understand what happened. She owes him an explanation, he deserves that much.
⊷⋆⊶
When Simon enters the building of Makalös early the next morning, dressed in his faded indigo comfort sweater he doesn’t remember ever wearing at work, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t imagine all the people turning to look at him as he walks towards the elevators – as if everyone is curious to find out how he has taken the news. He ignores them all and keeps his head held high, avoiding meeting anyone’s gaze as he presses the button to the top floor and keeps his focus on the metal doors of the elevator. Once he steps out of it, he walks straight towards Maja’s office without even bothering to stop by his own to leave his stuff, murmuring a gruff, “Good morning,” to her secretary stationed outside but without waiting for him to give him permission to enter before he storms through the glass door.
Maja is on the phone, seated behind her big oak desk placed in front of huge floor to ceiling windows that offer a beautiful view of Stockholm. All her stuff is packed in boxes ready to be taken away that same afternoon, and Simon does his best to stop his mind from imagining again how he would’ve furnished and decorated that office if he had been the one taking her place; instead, he just stands there and waits for her to finish her phone call. From the look she gave him as soon as he entered the office without as much as knocking, he can tell that she knows exactly why he’s here anyway.
She quickly dismisses whomever she’s talking to and, a few seconds later, she’s already hanging up. She folds her hands on top of the wooden desk, her posture straight and elegant like it has always been: Simon doesn’t know exactly how old she is – he’s never cared enough to find out through a Google search – but he notices for the first time how she looks much more tired than she did when he first started working there; she’s still as beautiful as ever, with her blonde hair always perfectly styled, her make-up on point and her outfit paying homage to the latest fashion trends, but it’s clear to him now that she’s ready to step down from her role and leave Makalös in the hands of someone who will take good care of it.
The last thought only fuels his rage even more.
“Why?” is the first thing he asks, doing his best to keep his feelings at bay. “Why did you make me work twice as hard as everybody else all these years only to allow this to happen? Why did you suggest me as your successor when I was in the room, but then went behind my back when I wasn’t?”
Maja raises a hand in a feeble attempt to calm him down. “Simon, I know how you’re feeling right now–”
“No, you don’t,” Simon interrupts her harshly, “you have no idea how I’m feeling right now.”
“Simon.” She stands up, placing her hands on the desk as she looks him straight in the eye. “You know how I feel about you, I’ve told you many times over the years–”
“Then why did you do this to me?”
“I didn’t do anything,” she says in a firm tone that is enough to shut him up. “I’m just as mad about how things turned out as you are. If you give me a second, I can explain–”
A knocking sound makes them both turn abruptly towards the door, where a man about Simon’s age is currently looking through the glass. Maja invites him in with a flick of her hand, and Simon kind of wants to scream at the interruption of the explanation he deserves.
But then, the man walks in and stops right next to Simon, a huge smile plastered on his face as he says, “Hello, I’m Wilhelm Larsson,” and Simon momentarily forgets about everything else.
“You?!” is all that comes out of his mouth, unable to suppress the surprise and outrage coloring his voice.
Simon had been too enraged the previous night to focus on the photos of Wilhelm in the articles he read about him. In his head, he was at least ten years older than him and most probably balding, but the man in front of him is far from that made-up image: if it wasn’t for his downright horrible sense of style that made him consciously decide to leave the house wearing dark blue Capri pants, black boots and an array of shirts of different shades of blue one on top of the other, Simon would almost think of him as cute, with his floppy blonde hair, honey brown eyes and upturned nose.
Then, the smile currently on the guy’s lips grows even wider at Simon’s shocked reaction and Simon forgets all about his looks and just feels the need to punch that smirk off his face.
“Yeah, that would be me,” he confirms in a far too self-assured way.
Maja probably senses the murderous energy Simon is currently radiating, because she clears her throat to get their attention. “Hello, Mr. Larsson, I’m Maja Norin. Nice to meet you,” she greets him, walking around her desk to shake his hand with a polite smile on her lips.
“Nice to meet you too,” Wilhelm says, sounding genuine, “I read so much about you in the past few weeks, and I was very impressed with how you’ve elevated the fame and credibility of this magazine in the past twenty years.”
Simon’s jaw is about to break from how hard he’s grinding his teeth. Of course this guy had no idea who Maja Norin was until a few weeks ago. Of course he didn’t know how influent she is in the fashion industry.
What a fucking travesty.
“You’re very kind, thank you very much,” Maja says, and Simon envies her ability to remain calm when he himself is seething. Then, she turns to him and sends him a warning glare as she introduces him. “This is Simon Eriksson, our best senior editor.”
“Oh!” Wilhelm raises his eyebrows, as if he suddenly recognizes him. “I’ve already heard your name being whispered around the building about twenty times, and I’ve barely been here ten minutes. You were the one who was supposed to get my job, right?”
Simon is one second away from committing homicide.
“About that,” Maja intervenes, knowing full well that if Simon opens his mouth right now the situation is going to get ugly, “you arrived just in time. I was about to tell Simon what actually happened.”
“Please do,” Simon mumbles through gritted teeth.
Maja walks around her desk to sit in – what is soon not going to be anymore – her chair and signals for them to occupy the ones on the opposite side. Wilhelm sits right away, but Simon needs a second to take a deep breath before he can do the same.
“So,” Maja starts, folding her hands on top of the desk again, “yesterday’s news has been surprising for many of us, including me. The truth is, during the last board meeting, we appointed the new editor-in-chief – and it was Simon.”
“What?” Simon sputters, while at the same time Wilhelm says, “I’m confused.”
Maja sighs. “Mr. Larsson–”
“Please, call me Wille.”
Simon is going to knock him to the ground if he doesn’t shut the fuck up right now.
“Wille,” Maja starts over, “you have an amazing resume, I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that. But I can’t say I wasn’t confused when I was told you had applied for a job here, because as far as I know you have no experience working in the fashion industry whatsoever.”
Until then totally at ease, Wilhelm suddenly gets defensive. “I already talked about this with the people who interviewed me for the job. I have no experience, but I learn very quickly and–”
“No, Wille, please,” Maja interrupts him right away, “you don’t need to convince me, you’re already hired. What I meant is, as much as we’re happy to have you on board, you’re not competent enough in our field to be editor-in-chief of this magazine, and I think you know that as well.”
“What the hell happened, then?” Simon asks, tired of all the ass-licking going on right in front of him.
“There’s been a mix up in the recruitment office,” Maja confesses almost guiltily. “Mr. Larsson’s– I mean, Wille’s contract was erroneously drawn up as the new editor-in-chief contract – the one that was meant to be Simon’s. When he signed it, he was automatically appointed as the new editor-in-chief.”
For a few seconds, Simon is so shocked that he doesn’t even know how to reply to that. “You’re kidding me, right?” he says eventually.
“I’m afraid not,” Maja says regretfully. “When you came in this morning I was actually on the phone with our lawyers to understand if there is something we can do to rectify everything, but they didn’t give me any good news.”
“What do you mean?” Simon insists, starting to feel antsy. “Can’t they just draw up new contracts?”
“No, they can’t,” Wilhelm intervenes. “For them to draw up new contracts I would have to agree to terminate the one I signed.”
Simon looks at him as if he’s ready to jump him. “Well, fucking do it?”
“I mean, I could,” Wilhelm says, totally calm compared to how Simon is feeling, “but that would require me to give a sufficient notice, which, based on the contract I signed, is six months. If I don’t give a notice and just break the contract, they could fine me or even sue me and they wouldn’t be able to draw me up a new one anyway.”
Simon is about to ask, in all seriousness, ‘and how the fuck would that be my problem?’, but he stops himself right before he does. “You mean to tell me that you read the contract thoroughly enough to know all that, but not to have doubts about the job position you were signing for?” he asks instead, the accusation clear in his tone.
Wilhelm, however, just shrugs. “I just thought that they were very impressed with my interview and my resume and decided to upgrade my position.”
Simon’s grip on the armrests is so tight that he’s sure either it or his bones are going to shatter any second now.
“Anyway,” Maja interjects, trying to get the situation under control, “what’s done is done, there’s no use fighting over it. But Wille’s right, the only option we have right now is for him to hand in a notice so that, in six months, he will be able to get the entry position he was supposed to get from the beginning, while you, Simon, become editor-in-chief.”
All Simon can think is ‘and why the hell would he renounce a higher position for a lower one?’, but he doesn’t say it out loud because he doesn’t want to give the son of a bitch next to him any ideas.
“So I have to wait six months,” is all he says, blood still boiling but head getting a little clearer at the prospect of this madness being only temporary, “that is, if he actually hands in the notice now.”
“Don’t worry, I will,” Wilhelm says with a dismissive hand gesture, as if he doesn’t really care about the whole thing at all. Simon doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to physically hurt someone that much in his life.
“Great!” Maja exclaims way too enthusiastically to sound totally sincere. “I know this is not ideal for anyone, but you’re both great at what you do and I’m sure you can find a way to make this work for a few months.”
Simon fully intends to make the next six months the worst of Wilhelm’s life.