1.
Intellectually, Simon knew that Prince Wilhelm attended the prestigious boarding school on the other side of the lake from Bjärstad. It’s not exactly something Simon thinks about day to day. So when he sees an olive brown lump in the pale green field behind his townhouse, it takes a second for Simon to realize it’s a person curled into a ball. It takes a few metres for Simon to recognize it’s the crown prince.
Simon’s knees drop into icy grass. His fingers find the prince’s neck, dig into the divot until he finds a pulse. His phone is out, 112 entered, but Simon pauses before he dials. Prince Wilhelm’s older brother has just died, and Simon is thinking that the last thing the teen prince needs right now to land in the news.
“Hey,” Simon says. He tries carefully, but firmly, to shake the prince awake.
The boy rolls onto his back with a groan. Eyes blink open, only to be immediately covered by both arms. “Ugh. Where am I.”
“You’re in Bjärstad,” Simon says quickly.
An arm lifts a few degrees. Underneath, bleary eyes widen in confusion. “Did we meet last night?”
“No, I found you here just now,” Simon replies.
That seems to make the prince relax, and with a disgruntled noise he covers his eyes again.
Simon can’t leave a random boy in the middle of a field, especially not someone who is wet and cold and might or might not be hungover. “My home is just over there,” he says. “You can have some food and warm up if you want.” He extends a hand, palm up, for the prince to take. “I’m Simon.”
The prince pushes himself up onto his elbows. “Thanks. I’m Wilhelm,” the prince says, taking Simon’s hand and for some reason shaking it. “Sorry, but — can you help me up?”
Fortunately, Wilhelm isn’t too heavy and it’s only a few dozen metres to the entrance of Simon’s home. Sara is sleeping in and their mom is out running errands, so Simon tells Wilhelm to be quiet and leads him to Simon’s bedroom.
Wilhelm removes his wool blazer, then seems to realize the rest of his clothes are also wet. “Sorry,” he says, standing stiffly in the small room, clutching a blazer that’s probably worth more than all of Simon’s clothes combined.
Simon flicks his eyes over Wilhelm’s soaked and sorry frame, and sighs. “I don’t know if you’d fit most of my clothes, but I can take yours and hang them in the drying cupboard,” Simon offers. “The bathroom is over there, if you want to take a shower.”
“Thanks,” Wilhelm says, fiddling with his sleeve. “That’d be good.”
Simon nods. “Sure, okay, I’ll get you a towel and some clothes. Is there anything you don’t eat?”
There’s a feigned, polite friendliness on Wilhelm’s face. “Anything is fine,” Wilhelm says. “Something simple,” he adds, like he doesn’t want to impose.
“Cereal okay?”
Wilhelm’s expression grows realer, relieved. “That’ll be great.”
Once Wilhelm is in the bathroom and his clothes are hanging in the drying cupboard, Simon makes his way to the kitchen. Simon sets an open box of cereal and their nicest bowl on the counter, then stares at the bathroom door as he waits.
The sound of the shower cuts off, and the door opens. Simon scrambles upright, unprepared for the sight of the crown prince stepping out in only underpants and one of Simon’s larger hoodies. Wilhelm looks like he might still be hungover, but he looks better now, pink on previously pale cheeks. The sunflower yellow hoodie, so oversized on Simon, fits perfectly on Wilhelm, coming just over the hem of Wilhelm’s checkered blue boxers. Simon never thought of the prince as hot, necessarily, but in person and in Simon’s home he’s really kind of cute.
“Here’s the cereal,” Simon declares, shoving the box and the bowl towards Wilhelm without looking. “There’s milk in the fridge.”
“Thanks,” Wilhelm says.
Both of them are frozen awkwardly in their corners of the kitchen. Simon steps back to give Wilhelm space to shuffle to the fridge.
Wilhelm pauses with the milk carton in hand. “Are you not eating?”
Simon leans back on the kitchen counter, trying to look casual, and shakes his head. “I ate already.”
The apple of Wilhelm’s throat bobs. “Sorry.”
Simon smiles, a nervous appeasement. “Don’t worry, it’s just cereal.”
That does nothing to reassure Wilhelm; even once he’s sat at the dining table he keeps glancing nervously at Simon, enough that Simon eventually grabs a cup of yoghurt from the fridge and a spoon to keep Wilhelm company.
Wilhelm takes it as permission to start eating in earnest. Hunched over Simon’s dining table in a supermarket hoodie, he looks like he could be any one of Simon’s friends, and the cereal disappears quickly. Wilhelm turns down Simon’s offer of seconds, Simon suspects more out of shyness than anything else, then makes to the sink like he’s about to wash the bowl.
“It’s fine,” Simon says quickly. “Just leave it there.”
“Oh, okay.”
Wilhelm leaves the bowl in the sink with a dubious mien, then they’re standing in awkward silence in a kitchen again. Wilhelm takes his phone out of a pocket and flips it open. He tries to press a few things, then press them again. It’s obviously dead.
“Do you have a charger?” Wilhelm asks.
Simon looks at the brand-new, high-end electronic. “Probably not for your phone, sorry,” he says. “I can look.”
Wilhelm grimaces. “It’s fine. Do you know how get back to Hillerska from here?” he asks. “That’s my school,” he specifies, because he comes from somewhere that’s big enough to have more than three gymnasiums in a two-town radius.
“I think there’s a bus,” says Simon, “but I don’t know if it runs on weekends.”
Wilhelm looks to the side. “I can call for a driver to pick me up.”
Simon takes in the avoidant eyes, the haunched shoulders. “You don’t want them to know you snuck out,” he guesses.
Wilhelm purses his lips, and says, all at once, “Not really.”
Simon exhales. Wilhelm has only been shy and polite so far, and he doesn’t think Wilhelm deserves to get in trouble. Not given everything he’s gone through recently.
“I can get someone to drop you off,” Simon offers. It would mean either asking Rosh and Ayub or his mom. Both choices would net him teasing comments, but Simon can live with a bit of embarrassment.
“You don’t have to go out of your way,” Wilhelm says, looking slightly panicked.
Simon shrugs, and gives Wilhelm a smile he hopes looks reassuring. “It’s fine. I’d do it for any friend.”
The word friend makes Wilhelm startle. Wilhelm doesn’t refute it, and Simon suddenly wonders if this boy has any friends at all.
With Wilhelm’s clothes still wet, there’s nothing to do but return to Simon’s room. Simon shuffles to sit on his bed, and waves to his desk chair. “You can sit if you want.”
“Oh. Sure,” Wilhelm says, taking a few careful steps and slowly lowering himself down. His eyes flit about, taking in the room properly this time. “You have fish?”
“Yeah,” Simon says. “Olle, Oski, and Felle.”
Wilhelm looks genuinely curious, like a kid at Skansen Aquarium rather than Simon’s small fish tank. “You can tell them apart?”
Simon shrugs, palms pushing against his bedcovers. “Sure,” he claims. Eighty percent of the time.
Wilhelm studies the colourful fish as they swim around, sparkling in the warm lamplight. “Are they easy to take care of?”
“Yeah,” Simon replies. “I feed them before and after school, and change a third of the water in the tank every week.” At the crease in Wilhelm’s brow, Simon explains, “You have to keep something familiar. It stresses them out otherwise.”
Wilhelm’s chin dips, as if he’s nodding to himself. “That makes sense.” He looks around the room, as if grasping for another conversation topic.
“There’s not much to do in my room,” Simon says. “We can play video games, but I only have one controller.”
Wilhelm looks surprised. “I don’t play video games.”
Of course he doesn’t, Simon thinks, the crown prince is too cultured for video games.
“I could learn?” Wilhelm sounds awkward and earnest, and it makes Simon thaw.
“Yeah, of course,” Simon says, and it’s easy then, for Wilhelm to settle in beside Simon at the end of Simon’s bed, watching Simon go through his dailies. Simon keeps his mic off so that he can keep talking to Wilhelm, and try to explain the rules to someone who’s never played anything other than Mario Kart.
“You’re pretty good,” Wilhelm says, looking golden in the hoodie and the light of Simon’s room. It makes Simon smile, even though Wilhelm doesn’t know anything about the game he’s watching.
“I’m okay,” says Simon, pleased nonetheless.
At some point they sneak out of Simon’s room to check the drying cupboard together. Wilhelm’s sweater and trousers have managed to dry, though the wool blazer has stayed stubbornly damp.
“There’s no point in putting on a wet jacket,” Simon says. They retreat again to Simon’s bedroom and Simon teaches Wilhelm how to aim with a joystick. They’re unsuccessful, but Wilhelm seems delighted anyway.
Wilhelm ends up staying for lunch, which gets Simon strange looks from Sara and much too knowing looks from their mom. Their mom offers to drive Wilhelm back to Hillerska.
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” Wilhelm says, over a plate of patischo.
Simon shakes his head and gives Wilhelm a reassuring look. “It’s what friends do for each other.”
Sara comments, matter of fact, “You’ve just met.”
Wilhelm’s eyes dart between the three of them without his face moving an inch.
“Don’t worry,” their mom says. “It’s not a problem for me, and I’m sure you and Simon would like more time to chat on the way over.” She smiles warmly at Wilhelm. Simon’s so grateful for his mom.
The trip takes about twenty minutes. Wilhelm asks Simon’s mom to stop a distance away from his school, so that he won’t be noticed sneaking in. His mom agrees without complaint, although her face tells Simon that they will be talking about this later. Before Wilhelm disembarks, he exchanges phone numbers with Simon.
“Thanks for helping me today,” Wilhelm says. He looks lighthearted and at ease, a far cry from the prince that Simon found in a field this morning and the prince Simon’s seen in the news the past few months.
“I was happy to,” Simon says, and it’s completely true.
Wilhelm waves one more time, and jogs back to his school.
Simon tells his mom everything he knows on the way back. It’s clear she disapproves of whatever brought Wilhelm to their field, but she tells Simon that she trusts him.
“Make sure you keep yourself safe,” his mom says to him. “I don’t want some rich party boy to lead you astray.”
“I will, mamá.” Simon is a notorious teetotaler at Marieberg parties. Not even a crown prince is going to change that.
There’s a text waiting for Simon when they arrive home.
Thanks again for the food and the ride, Wilhelm’s written. Tell your mother the same.
I will, Simon replies. Did you sneak in okay?
Yeah. Got in through the window, no one noticed.
Nice, Simon replies, adding a cheeky smiley face.
It makes me want to try again without getting soaked.
Simon grins, warming with hope and anticipation. I can show you around Bjärstad next time.
That sounds great.
Simon doesn’t see Wilhelm for a few weeks. There’s some disciplinary issue at Wilhelm’s school and Wilhelm is lying low for a while. They text all the time though, school rants and fish updates and obscure cat memes.
Where do you even find this stuff! Wilhelm sends. Simon has fun envisioning his bewildered expression.
Us normal people have to get creative when it comes to entertainment… Simon responds. You should experience it some time.
A few weeks later, Wilhelm finally agrees on sneaking out for a weekend. Simon waits for him by the Coop near downtown Bjärstad, if one could call a handful of shops downtown. The sky is a pale, perfectly clear blue.
“Hey,” Simon says.
Wilhelm ducks his head. “Hey.”
Simon shoves the bundle in his arms towards Wilhelm. “Here. A disguise.”
Wilhelm takes the bundle, looks down at the folded sunflower yellow hoodie and the forest green beanie, then back up at Simon.
Simon shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “So you won’t get in trouble for being out of school.”
A smile breaks on Wilhelm’s face. “Thanks.”
The beanie goes on Willhelm’s head, the hoodie over it, and Wilhelm’s navy wool coat over the whole ensemble. Wilhelm seems inordinately proud of being undercover. The hoodie and beanie together do a decent job of distracting from Wilhelm’s face, except that Wilhelm’s distinctive bangs are still visible. Simon reaches out to adjust them, then stops.
“Sorry,” Simon says, fingers paused midair. “Do you mind if I —?”
“Go ahead,” Wilhelm says. His head tilts down a fraction.
Slowly, Simon tucks the other boy’s bangs, soft like gossamer, into the beanie. He steps back. “That okay?” he asks, a bit too loudly.
Wilhelm’s hand comes up to check, lingering on the same patch of skin Simon brushed. “Uh,” Wilhelm says. “Yes, it’s fine.”
Simon leads Wilhelm towards the main street, and stops at its mouth. “So here it is. Downtown Bjärstad.”
Wilhelm does a half turn, taking in the collection of squat square buildings with little to distinguish them. “It seems … nice. Cozy?”
A bark of laughter escapes Simon. “You can tell me the truth. It’s small. It’s boring. You’d rather be anywhere else.”
Wilhelm turns back to Simon. “I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else. You’re here.” He says it so forthrightly that Simon’s heart can’t help but skip a beat.
Simon smiles, all nerves and hope. “Yeah?”
Wilhelm’s eyes crinkle. “Yeah.”
They wander around the shops for a while, ducking into every little place and leaving in with hushed giggles whenever a shopkeeper starts glaring at them for making too much noise and not buying anything.
“I thought that woman was going to kick us out!” Wilhelm whispers loudly as they exit yet another shop. Beside him, Simon is laughing so hard he’s struggling to hold himself upright.
“It’s because you look like a hoodlum,” Simon says, hiccupping into Wilhelm’s shoulder. “With your hoodie and all. You’re a real tough now.”
The corners of Wilhelm’s mouth flutter. “Does that mean I’m a bad influence on you?”
“Of course,” Simon says, pushing himself upright. “I’m a choir boy. I’m innocent.”
Wilhelm’s loud laugh swirls around him, a cloud of happiness in the autumn air. As it dissipates, his cheeks soften and his eyes turns earnest. “I’d like to hear you sing sometime,” Wilhelm says. “I’d join the school choir, but I can’t sing.”
“I’ll invite you the next time we have a concert,” Simon says. He’s close enough to feel Wilhelm’s warmth through the cold air. He glances to see if Wilhelm’s blushing, and instead is caught by how long Wilhelm’s eyelashes are. He swallows, and tries to detach himself. “Are you in any clubs at school, then?” Simon asks.
Wilhelm scrunches his brow. Simon tries not to find it cute. “No,” Wilhelm says. “My cousin keeps trying to get me to join the rowing team, but it’s not really my thing.”
“Too much sports?” Simon asks.
“Too early to wake up,” Wilhelm replies. They both laugh. “Honestly,” Wilhelm says, “he’s annoying enough when it’s not six in the morning.”
“One of those cousins,” Simon says knowingly.
Wilhelm’s hands twitch. “Yeah, I suppose,” he replies, just a touch too stiff. Simon doesn’t push him, and starts talking about his choir’s performances instead.
There really isn’t much to do in Bjärstad. They’ve seen almost every store by lunchtime, even the Coop. Simon takes Wilhelm to the pizzeria, one of maybe three nice restaurants in town, and learns that Wilhelm hates pineapple on pizza.
“Sweet and savoury things aren’t meant to go together,” Wilhelm insists. He has a slice of boring salami pizza in front of him.
Simon takes a bite of Hawaiian pizza and chews exaggeratedly. “Mm.” Wilhelm makes an unimpressed face at him, and Simon’s shoulders shake with laughter.
“So you don’t like pineapple, but what about banana on pizza?” Simon asks.
“Banana isn’t as bad as pineapple,” Wilhelm says with a straight face, though delight glitters in his eyes.
Simon shakes his head, grinning. “They’re both fruits!”
“Tomato is also a fruit,” Wilhelm points out.
“See,” Simon says. “That means pineapple belongs on pizza.”
Wilhelm groans, loud enough that both of them look around to check if anyone’s staring. They turn back to each other, and break down into giggles.
The bill comes, which they split. Simon and Wilhelm stare at each other to figure out the etiquette for what comes next.
“You can come to my house if you want,” Simon starts.
“I shouldn’t stay out too long,” Wilhelm says, twisting at his watch. “I have homework.”
Simon isn’t sure how much of it is the truth and how much of it is Wilhelm not wanting to impose. “Next time?” he offers, trying to sound casual.
“Yeah,” Wilhelm says. Joy flickers across his face, leaving behind a small but earnest smile. “Of course, next time.”
2.
Christmas break drags on. Simon usually loves school holidays. He loves the opportunity to hang out with his friends whenever, to waste hours on the bus just to watch a movie in a theatre and play games at an arcade. But now Simon has all this free time while Wilhelm is constantly busy.
It’s strange to see Wilhelm from afar as the Crown Prince. Now that he knows Wille as a boy. Now that he knows Wilhelm is lonely and hurting under the pomp and glamour. Simon’s mom has started changing the channel whenever Wilhelm appears.
I hate this, Wilhelm texts late one night.
Same, Simon admits. He decides to distract Wilhelm. What do you want to do when you get back?
See you sing of course!
Haha… Simon responds. We don’t have a concert until after sport break.
I don’t mind waiting, Wilhelm replies.
If you want to come… my friend Rosh has a football match after Christmas break ends, Simon offers.
Can we hang out at your house before?
Sure, Simon responds. He’ll have to make up excuses for Ayub for not hanging out like they usually do.
How are Olle, Oski, and Felle? Wilhelm asks.
They’re good… Swimming along.
That’s good, Wilhelm sends. I have to go to sleep now. Early morning tomorrow.
Good night, Simon replies. Without thinking much of it, he adds, Sweet dreams. A read indicator appears on the first message but not the second. It’s now in the intangible digital space between Simon and Wilhelm for the next eight or however many hours. Simon buries his head into a pillow and feels his heart thump against the bed.
The first weekend after term starts brings a light drizzle and Wilhelm again at Simon’s townhouse. Simon’s mom welcomes him warmly, while Sara returns Wilhelm’s greeting blandly and looks at Simon as if to say, really.
Simon ignores her and leads Wilhelm down to his room. They stand there for a few seconds, until Simon shrugs and they wordlessly settle to sit on the bed.
“How was Christmas?” Simon asks.
A grimace flickers across Wilhelm’s face before resolving into polite neutrality. “We received Christmas trees. We visited a church and listening to Christmas carols. We decorated a Christmas tree and filmed it so that everyone can see.” It’s all recited in such banal tones that it’s obvious Wilhelm had hated every second.
“That sucks,” Simon says.
“No one sung like you,” Wilhelm says. “In the choir.”
It’s so absurd Simon can’t help but laugh and shake his head. “You don’t even know what I sound like.”
Wilhelm is looking down at the stitching on Simon’s navy duvet, picking at it with his fingers. “I looked your school choir up on Youtube,” he mumbles.
“Oh,” Simon says, warmth overtaking him. “I’m just someone in a public school choir in a tiny town; I’m not anything amazing.”
Wilhelm turns to Simon, eyes imparting their full earnest attention. “You are,” he says. “Those chorists, they’re so focused on singing perfectly. When you sing, you sing from your heart.”
Simon turns away to hide his overheated cheeks. “Thanks,” he murmurs. His eyes rise to peek at Wilhelm. Though it is noon outside, the winter sun is muted within Simon’s bedroom, and instead it is soft orange lamplight that draws a halo around Wilhelm.
“How was your break?” Wilhelm asks.
Simon jolts out of his reverie. He shifts his weight, tries to wind himself back to casual and friendly. “The usual,” he says. “Went to the city for a day with my friends.”
“What’d you do?”
Simon shrugs. “Movies, arcade, then we went to a BBQ place.”
“Nice,” Wilhelm says, grinning. He sounds as impressed as any other teenager stuck in a small town, and not at all like someone who had spent the last few weeks in ornate churches and palaces.
Simon had assumed somehow that this Christmas’ isolation was new for Wilhelm. Out of grief, he’d thought, even if they’d never spoken of it. Now that Simon thinks about it, the first time they’d met, Wilhelm had been alone, too. Alone in a frosty field in Bjärstad on a Saturday morning.
“You can come next time,” Simon promises Wilhelm. “Tell me whenever.”
“I will.” The words linger between them as they sit watching goldfish swim and sneaking glances in the bedroom glow.
Simon breaks the silence. “I didn’t think you’d visit me so soon. Wanted to get away from school?”
He says it lightly, a joke between friends. Yet it makes Wilhelm’s lips tighten and his hands curl into his trousers, makes him take a coarse breath. “Do you remember my cousin?” Wilhelm asks.
Simon thinks through his words. “Yeah,” he says, cautiously. “You don’t get along.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“It’s kind of obvious,” Simon says.
Wilhelm looks up at the window, then down to the white knuckles in his lap. He begins talking, in slow, halting words. “August and my brother were close, I think. He was around over Christmas. As soon as we got back he wanted to throw another party, and I didn’t want to go. Hanging out with him is fun, for a while, but some of the things his friends say when they’re drunk and high —” It’s almost violent, how Wilhelm shakes his head.
“So you came to hang out with me,” Simon finishes.
“I would have hung out with you anyway. But I didn’t want to stay there.” Wilhelm’s shoulders are stiff, his arms unnervingly still.
“You don’t have to hang out with him,” Simon says.
Wilhelm jerks, looking away into the corridor. “He’s family.”
Simon scoffs. “That doesn’t mean shit.”
Wilhelm stays quiet.
“He’s older than you, right? If he’s making you uncomfortable, tell him to back off. You’re not obligated to do anything for him.”
Wilhelm jerks his head in a negative.
“Hey,” Simon says, softer. He waits until Wilhelm is facing him, and gives him a smile. “You can come here whenever you want. I don’t mind.”
A small joy sparks in the corners of Wilhelm’s eyes. His head tilts to the left, strands of hair falling into his face. “What if I come every weekend?” he asks with a hint of humour, a lilt that might be inviting.
“That’s fine,” Simon murmurs. Heartbeat throbbing on his skin, eyes sliding closed, he finds the courage to lean in. With the softest pressure, his lips meet Wilhelm’s and linger for an infinitesimal moment.
There’s no reaction from Wilhelm. Simon thinks he might have read this wrong, and starts to inch backward to give Wilhelm space. Suddenly, Wilhelm’s weight is on top of Simon and Simon’s back is against a wall of pillows. He relaxes into the kiss and coaxes Wilhelm’s anxious lips into softening. Eventually, he guides them both back up and gently detaches from Wilhelm. He tucks Wilhelm’s bangs back into place.
Wilhelm catches Simon’s hand, pulling it away and enveloping it with his own. Their lips meet again, like air diffusing, like a breeze coming home. Wilhelm’s shoulders loosen, his eyes brighten, and some worry Simon didn’t even know he had eases. He turns his hand in Wilhelm’s, entwines their fingers, and holds on.
The next week, it’s Rosh’s match. Ayub had seen through Simon as soon as Simon said he was bringing a friend along and hanging out with the friend beforehand, but had managed to not tease Simon too much.
Simon and Wilhelm meet at the steakhouse, because Simon is not taking Wilhelm to the same place twice in a row. It does also serve pizza, but at least it has hamburgers and salads as well.
“I know this isn’t what you’re used to,” Simon can’t help but apologize. “There’s only, like, three restaurants in Bjärstad.”
Wilhelm grins. “I used to sneak out to get hamburgers. It’s a nice change from restaurants with three forks. And unlike McDonald’s, this place has a barn-house charm to it.”
Barn-house charm might be overly generous. Even Simon, who gets out of his province maybe twice a year, can tell the steakhouse is best described as roadside tacky. Wilhelm finishes his hamburger and fries with gusto, so he’s probably not lying to Simon to be polite. Simon resolves to take Wilhelm to the city next time anyway.
They make their way to the football field, passing the pizzeria they visited last time along the way. There’s already a decent crowd — Simon had timed it so that they would arrive just as the match was starting, to minimize distractions for Rosh and teasing from Ayub.
Ayub seems to treat Wilhelm like any other prospective boyfriend of Simon’s, or so Simon thinks since he’s had none before now. Once the match starts, all awkwardness is forgotten as Simon and Ayub throw themselves into cheering Rosh on and Wilhelm joins in. Simon finds his eyes captured by Wilhelm’s exuberance. Under the field lights, he glitters.
Half-time comes, along with the return of the real world. Simon can’t help but hear the whispers, and notice Wilhelm’s tension returning. He leans in and quietly asks, “Wanna leave?”
“It’s fine,” Wilhelm says, but the carefree joy of the last forty-five minutes is gone.
No one comes up to them, fortunately, but Wilhelm spends the second half of the match clapping politely whenever either team scores a goal. Simon keeps an eye on him and barely notices Rosh completing a hat trick.
The match over, Rosh jogs over from the victory celebration. Simon introduces Wilhelm to her; Wilhelm’s greeting to her is much cooler than the one he gave Ayub an hour and fifty-odd minutes ago.
“Mila is throwing a party,” Rosh announces. “Everyone’s invited.”
Wilhelm’s eyes dart to Simon with an anxious shine. His shoulders are visibly stiff under his navy coat and the stark floodlights.
“There’s always a party when they win a match,” Ayub says easily. He’s always been observant.
Wilhelm looks like he’s going to accept despite his misgivings, so Simon decides to decline for both of them. “We’ll skip. Wilhelm has to get back to his school and I don’t want him to wait for the bus alone.”
Rosh acquiesces easily and Ayub waggles his eyebrows at Simon like he’s teasing them for sneaking off to make out like a normal couple. Simon says goodbye to them with half-hugs, squeezing their shoulders with the full force of his gratitude. Wilhelm’s goodbyes are polite but kind.
“Are we going to the bus stop?” Wilhelm asks as they’re walking past the pizzeria they went to last time.
“You can stay if you want, although my mom will probably not be happy about it.”
“It’s fine,” Wilhelm says. “I want to stay on Linda’s good side.”
There’s a laugh in his voice, and Simon is glad that he hasn’t ruined their night. He sees Wilhelm on to the bus and walks home, feeling warm in the winter cold.
The gossip is all over Marieberg the next Monday. Prince Wilhelm was at the girls’ football match; Rosh talked to him. Simon was wholly excised from the telling of it, and he doesn’t know whether to be glad at the anonymity or annoyed at the heteronormativity.
“I think you should be glad,” Ayub says. “Rosh looks like she’s about to murder someone.”
“Rosh always looks like she’s about to murder someone,” Simon says, and gets a murderous glare from Rosh for it.
“Both of you are idiots,” she says.
If anyone finds them in their out-of-the-way stairwell right now, Simon thinks that Rosh might shout enough to land all three of them in the headteacher’s office.
“How did you become friends with the most famous teenager in Sweden anyway?” Ayub saks.
Simon shrugs. “We ran into each other in Bjärstad,” he says, as nonchalant as he can manage.
“I don’t believe that,” Rosh says. “You wouldn’t have gone up to him. And he wouldn’t go up to you. He seems shy.”
“Our Simon here is pretty enough, you never know.”
Dead silence.
“Wait,” Ayub says. He stands up, peers up the stairwell and down to the landing below. He sits back on the steps, leans close, and says in a low voice, “Don’t tell me you’re dating him.”
Simon makes a face. “We’re not dating,” he says. “Technically.”
Rosh drops her face into her hands.
Sport break arrives upon Bjärstad as February fades into March. Sara signs up for a biology program, Rosh leaves town for football camp, and Simon and Ayub agree to stay inside and play video games for the entire week.
Wilhelm, like most other rich kids, decamps to a distant ski resort with his family.
Come visit me, Wilhelm texts on the first day.
Aren’t you skiing right now? Simon asks.
I’m taking a break.
It’s barely past two in the afternoon; Wilhelm must be bored or desperate. Simon bites the inside of his lip. I can’t, he replies. He doesn’t want Wilhelm to think he’s declining for no reason, so he elaborates. Åre is hours away… How would I get there? Where would I stay?
I can handle that.
Simon exhales into the dim light of his room.
Please, Wilhelm writes. I don’t have anyone here.
Simon’s angry, angry enough to text, It’s not even your money. It’s taxpayer money. I don’t even know how to ski.
Sorry, Wilhelm replies. Simon’s not sure if it’s for the show of privilege or the assumption of privilege. Simon doesn’t respond.
He sees the photos later, of the royal family in ski gear, the queen and prince consort with plasticine smiles and Wilhelm with sullen eyes and taut, upturned lips. He aches for the boy in the glossy cage of his phone.
Do you have a laptop with you? he texts Wilhelm.
A half hour later, Wilhelm replies, Yes. Why?
Let’s play a video game together, Simon offers.
I don’t have any, Wilhelm texts back.
I’ll help you set one up.
Simon walks Wilhelm through buying and downloading a game. The internet at the ski resort is mediocre, even for the royal family, so Simon texts Wilhelm about Sara’s fieldwork and Rosh’s training camp until Wilhelm can join Simon in game and over audio.
“Hey,” Wilhelm says, voice unsure even through the digital distortion.
“Hey,” Simon says. He makes sure to sound upbeat and eager, for Wilhelm’s sake, and he thinks he’s starting to feel it. “Ready to kill some creatures?”
“Sure.”
Wilhelm is in fact not ready.
“How do you move and shoot and the same time!” Wilhelm whisper-yells at him.
“You’re doing great,” Simon says, just as Wilhelm’s character dies.
“I suck at this,” Wilhelm moans. “Why does respawning take so long.”
Simon laughs. “That’s what you get for dying.”
It’s not long before Wilhelm gets into it for real, shouting to Simon’s encouragement and occasional joshing.
“Did you see that? One hit K.O.!”
“That was great! See, I knew you’d learn.”
There’s a snort over the line. “I still suck compared to you,” Wilhelm says.
“I play this game every day,” Simon responds. “If all you did was play video games ten hours a week, your grades might drop.”
“Hey! Are you saying you’re smarter than me?”
“Maybe,” Simon teases. “Aren’t you supposed to agree, as my boyfriend?”
There’s a hush on the other end.
“Is that what we are?” Wilhelm says quietly. It’s barely audible over the ambient video game noise.
Filled with sudden brash confidence, Simon says, “Yeah, of course.” Then the nerves come. “Only if you want to be.”
“Okay then,” Wilhelm says, clear and sure. “Boyfriend.”
Simon’s new boyfriend arrives back in Bjärstad early Sunday afternoon. He finds out when he gets a text informing him that Wilhelm’s outside his home.
“Hey,” Simon says, opening the door to Wilhelm’s rosy, grinning cheeks, looking fresh off a ski course.
“Hey,” Wilhelm greets, enveloping Simon in a tight hug. Simon brings his arms around Wilhelm, tries to pretend he knows what he’s doing and holds him steady. Wilhelm whispers into Simon’s hoodie, “I missed you.”
They let go, slowly, tentatively. Wilhelm hangs his wool coat up and toes off his shoes. “You’re supposed to come back from vacation with luggage,” Simon says.
“I dropped off everything at school first,” Wilhelm says.
Simon checks the clock on the wall. It’s just past two. “Have you had lunch?”
“No,” Wilhelm says, sheepish.
Simon rolls his eyes and gestures to the dining table. “Sit down.”
He hears a chair moving as he turns to open the fridge. There’s some arepas, and enough eggs and vegetables to make perico. If it were just him alone, he probably would have shoved the arepas into his mouth plain.
“You don’t have to make food,” Wilhelm says, an anxious note to his voice. “I can just eat some cereal.”
Simon twists to give Wilhelm an unimpressed look. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you go hungry?”
The words make Wilhelm blush, and Simon’s cheeks warm in sympathy. Simon turns away and busies himself with chopping tomatoes and onions.
“Where’s Linda and Sara?” Wilhelm asks, looking around the townhouse.
“They’ve gone to the city. Sara needs to buy some stationary.”
“So it’s just the two of us?”
“For the next few hours,” Simon replies.
There’s no response. Simon turns to check on Wilhelm, who is still blushing but smiles when their eyes meet.
Simon’s perico receives Wilhelm’s effusive praise. “It’s not that good,” Simon says, eyes slipping towards the table. “I only know how to make three things and none of them very well.”
“It’s better than anything at the palace or at school,” Wilhelm says.
Simon laughs. “Now I know you’re lying to me.”
“I’m not,” Wilhelm says. “The food there is so bland and staid.”
“Don’t you have chefs or something?”
Wilhelm rolls his eyes. “It’s all the same things in the same ways every time. There’s seasonal ingredients because we have to support local farmers, but it’s the same things every year. We have a forage trip every year and then it’s berry jam for the next month even though we picked approximately five berries each.” Wilhelm pauses. “Sorry, it sounds like I’m complaining about free food, aren’t I.”
Simon shakes his head. “No, no, I get it. Good cafeteria food is still cafeteria food.” He adds, “My mom won’t mind you coming for lunch and dinner more.”
“I don’t want to impose.”
“You wouldn’t,” Simon says. “Really. Rosh and Ayub eat over all the time.”
“Do they also eat your cooking?”
Simon laughs. “No, no way. That’s just for family. My mom won’t even let me chop veg when guests are over.”
Wilhelm grins. “Then I’m happy I get this to myself.”
When they’re done, Wilhelm leans over the kitchen sink to give him a kiss. The dirty dishes are left forgotten as Wilhelm presses Simon against the countertop, lips asking Simon’s to open. Simon feels Wilhelm’s hands brush against his shoulders, on their way to his hair. There’s a loud thump against the kitchen cupboards.
They jump apart. Wilhelm looks mortified.
Simon grabs Wilhelm’s hands and turns to check them. They look fine, but Simon keeps holding them. “We probably shouldn’t make out in a tiny kitchen.”
“It’s not tiny! It’s cozy.”
Simon laughs. He drops their conjoined hands to their sides, and says, “Let’s go to my room.”
A soft smile lights Wilhelm up. “Yeah, of course.”
3.
On Saturday morning, Simon wakes in his dim basement room to the insistent buzzing of his phone.
“Hey,” Wilhelm says. There’s a hitch in his voice.
Simon’s heart drops. “What’s wrong?”
There’s a sigh, and then a muffled sound like Wilhelm’s fallen into a sofa or a bed. “Erik’s birthday is this week,” Wilhelm whispers, almost too quiet to be heard.
“Shit,” Simon says. “I’m sorry.”
He keeps Wilhelm talking as he unearths earbuds from a coat pocket and shoves his feet into a pair of trainers, runs into the March cold with a coat clutched in one hand and looking up bus routes in the other. The bus he finds is nearly empty, and he ignores the one or two people who stare at him as he stays on his earbuds on the phone. He’s the last person left when he steps off at Hillerska.
The crisp cold lake air presses against his face. He tries to determine where the dorms are. “Which one’s your room again?”
“What?”
“I’m at the bus stop outside your school.”
“Wait there,” Wilhelm exclaims. There’s a thud on the other end of the line, a faint ‘ow’, and the sound of running footsteps.
Simon sees a familiar mop of hair running towards the bus stop. He’s barely started moving before Wilhelm collides into him.
“You’re here,” Wilhelm says into the cotton hood bunched around Simon’s neck.
Simon places an arm, then another, on Wilhelm’s back. He breathes with Wilhelm, stands there until Wilhelm finally lets go.
Wilhelm steps back. He meets Simon’s eyes for a brief moment, tugs Simon’s jacket in a signal to follow. It’s quiet but for the scuff of their shoes and the rustle of their jackets. Simon follows Wilhelm across the lawn, into a forest path, until they stop at an unremarkable window. The wood frame opens with a loud scrape. Wilhelm tumbles in first, Simon following him with a bit more grace.
The dorm room they’ve landed in is much larger than Simon’s bedroom, and much barer. Two sets of furniture in dated wood decorate the plain white walls. The second desk is empty; the second bed is perfectly made. Even Wilhelm’s side of the room is sparse, like he could disappear tomorrow without a word.
A tentative tug on his jacket pulls Simon from his thoughts. He sits on Wilhelm’s bed, much tidier than his. Beside him, Wilhelm shuffles, placing and replacing his head until he finds a dip in Simon’s shoulder that he accepts. His eyes gaze straight ahead, towards the motes of dust floating in the winter light and the shadowed room beyond.
Simon wraps an arm around Wilhelm, his loose hand falling on Wilhelm’s shoulder.
“I’ve visited Hillerska before,” he says. “My mom was thinking of sending me and Sara here.”
Wilhelm still does not look at him. “Why didn’t you come?”
Simon shrugs, lifting Wilhelm’s head moves with the rise and fall of his shoulders. “It felt weird being around all these rich kids. Sara was the one who wanted to come in the first place, and in the end she decided to stay at Marieberg.”
Silence lingers like the daytime dust. A weight presses into Simon’s free hand, onto Simon’s leg. He tilts his head to look: Wilhelm’s pale hand rests in his lap.
“I feel that way sometimes too,” Wilhelm says, slowly. “Like I’m not meant to fit in with all of these people.” His hand finds Simon’s, curls into its grooves like a plant clinging to a cliff. “It wasn’t meant to be me, here.”
Simon doesn’t know what to say in the face of grief. Anger he understands, anger’s easy. He can’t understand what Wilhelm is going through, but he’s the one who Wilhelm called. He’s the one who Wilhelm needs.
He turns his hand in Wilhelm’s, and laces his fingers in return. It’s all he can do.
His phone rings again the next day.
“Hey,” Wilhelm says. “Sorry for calling out of the blue.”
“I don’t mind,” Simon says. It’s not out of the blue, he doesn’t say. It’s what I’m here for, he doesn’t say.
“I wanted to let you know, and I’ve been told I shouldn’t text you this,” Wilhelm says, slowly.
“Okay?”
There’s a silence, then a sharp intake of air. “My bodyguards found out about you. They have to accompany me when we hang out from now on,” Wilhelm says all at once.
Simon’s hand tightens around his phone. He hadn’t realized that Wilhelm had bodyguards, although he must have known at an intellectual level. He turns his chair away from the computer. “Are you supposed to be outside of school at all?”
Wilhelm groans on the other side. “Security would rather I break the school’s rules than their rules. So they’re willing to go along with it, as long as I’m not obviously flouting school rules and don’t go to any parties.”
Simon bites the inside of the cheek. He was always aware, really, that Wilhelm was from a different world than him. A world he has never been comfortable with. Breaking school rules — everyone does that. The adults entrusted with Wilhelm’s safety enabling him to break school rules — that is something completely different.
“I’m just glad that we can still hang out,” he says.
“Yeah,” Wilhelm says happily. “Me too.”
As much as Wilhelm seems up to meeting Simon with a cadre of bodyguards trailing him, Simon is not. Simon pretends that he has homework, or choir practice, or anything else he can think of. He’s excruciatingly aware of how transparent his excuses are. Wilhelm doesn’t seem to have caught on.
“Do you want to play another game?” Simon asks, after watching Wilhelm’s character die five times in three minutes.
“Maybe I’m just bad at video games,” Wilhelm mumbles.
“We can do something else.”
“I want to do something that you like with you.”
Simon tries to think of alternatives. If there’s something Wilhelm already knows and likes. “Do you play any games on your phone?”
“No,” Wilhelm says.
Nothing, then. Simon considers what other people like, but everyone he knows plays first-person shooters if they play video games at all. “I think I have a few puzzle games,” is what he comes up with. “We could try those and see if you like them?”
It’s a disaster.
“What’s going on? Everything’s too fast I can’t see — fuck!”
“Ha I beat you! Oh — shit, no!”
“That’s what you get for bragging!”
Best out of three becomes best out of ten, and in the end they’re laughing so hard that they’re losing as soon as they start.
“I’m going to practice, and I’m going to beat you next time.”
Simon hums a sarcastic agreement.
“I will!” Wilhelm insists. Softer, he asks, “Saturday night? Will you be free?”
Simon smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”
Before their rematch can happen, someone claiming to be a member of the royal staff shows up at Simon’s door. It’s early Saturday morning, and Simon is barely awake, but he has enough awareness to call Wilhelm to check.
“Shit,” Wilhelm says. “Let me call Minou.”
A minute later, Wilhelm texts him.
It’s Minou. You don’t have to talk to her if you don’t want to.
Simon suspects that if he doesn’t talk to this Minou, she could make Wilhelm’s life difficult. He steps back from the door.
Minou strides in with a perfunctory thank you and sits at the dining table like she belongs there. Simon closes the door behind her. He stands in the entranceway for a moment, pushes down his annoyance and follows her lead.
“I’m the Court Secretary for His Royal Highness the Crown Prince,” Minou begins. Her face is perfectly placid and perfectly serious.
“Wille?” Simon questions.“Okay? This affects me how?”
“You’re a friend of the crown prince.” Her voice is assured, and it welcomes no arguments.
“It’s not like anyone knows we are,” Simon can’t help but retort. All of Marieberg is still gossiping about who might know Wilhelm. They have moved on from Rosh and through every girl on the Bjärstad youth team. None of their guesses come close to involving Simon.
“The crown prince has been in public with you already,” Minou states. “We prefer to be proactive.”
Minou reels out a list of things he should and should not do as a friend of the crown prince. At first, Simon wants to accuse her of classism — there is no way that all of Wilhelm’s rich schoolmates have gotten this treatment; it would have gotten out online. He slowly realizes, however, that even though no rules overtly address a romantic relationship, a lot of them address potential ones. He keeps his mouth shut and nods at the right times.
That is, until Minou orders, “You’ll also have to cut contact with your father.”
A flush of anger rushes through Simon. “Don’t worry,” he snaps. “I’m not in any contact with that man.”
Minou barely acknowledges his words, instead carefully suggesting a discreet rehab hours away. Simon fights the scoff bubbling up his throat. He wants to be disgusted. If he becomes inconvenient to the crown prince, will he also be sent away?
Simon doesn’t say any of that to Minou. “If you can get him to go,” he bites out. He doesn’t give a shit about Micke as long as he doesn’t have to deal with him.
Minou makes a mark in her notebook. “We will,” she declares with ease. An ease, Simon supposes, comes with knowing one’s power.
Simon’s not sure what it says about him, that he’s joining the royals in their habit of spending taxpayer money to fix their family problems. He doesn’t want to become the kind of person that Wilhelm’s family could turn him into.
Interruption over, Minou continues with her never-ending list of rules. Simon can’t imagine how Wilhelm feels, stifling under so many restrictions. He pays attention to the safety measures, because he doesn’t want Wilhelm to get hurt. Some of them make him all too aware that Wilhelm is not like him.
Minou hands him a packet of papers in the form of an envelope before she leaves with her driver.
Simon calls Wilhelm as soon as the door closes behind her. One of the new rules is that they should avoid communicating over text, because texts aren’t secure.
“Hey,” Simon says. “Your advisor or whatever just left.” He drops the packet on the table and falls into a dining chair.
On the other side of the line, Wilhelm makes a disgruntled noise. “She works for my mom, not me,” he says. “If I could ignore her, I would.”
Simon bends the packet to check its thickness; it’s stiffer than he expected. “I don’t want you to get in trouble,” he says. “But I’m not going to help them make you follow all these rules.”
There’s a rough, frizzled exhale. “Thank you,” Wilhelm says.
Simon scoffs. “I’m not a snitch. Bjärstad teens have to stick together.”
“I’m a Bjärstad teen now?” Wilhelm asks. His voice is a little teasing and a bit more apprehensive, like when Wilhelm knows he is terrible at video games but keeps agreeing to play them anyway.
“Of course,” Simon declares.
“Who decides? You?”
“Rosh.”
Wilhelm giggles. “Of course.”
The laughter fades, into the wireless ether and the hum of the refrigerator. Simon doesn’t want to break the easy atmosphere but knows he has to ask. “Do your parents know? That we’re dating?”
“I didn’t tell them, or any of the staff.” The staff, Wilhelm says, like it’s normal to communicate with your parents through an intermediary.
Simon fusses with the envelope flap, running his finger along the sharp edge. “But your bodyguards found out about us,” he says.
“I told them we’re friends.”
“Wille,” he says. “I think they might know.”
It’s Wilhelm’s turn to pretend that he’s too busy to meet up. Simon knows that it’s only fair, that he did it first. It still hurts. They still play puzzle games together on weekends, but there’s no texts greeting him every morning, no texts keeping him up every weeknight.
Still, Simon promised to invite him, all those months ago, and his next concert is fast approaching. “Do you still want to come to see me perform with my choir?” he asks. He expects Wilhelm to say no.
“Yes. Of course I do.”
“And your bodyguards know?”
There’s a static-laced sigh. “It’s going to be an official engagement. Minou’s coming with one of the photographers.”
“A photographer?”
”He’s one of ours. I can tell them if you don’t want to be in the photos.”
“It’s fine,” Simon says automatically. He doesn’t know if it is.
The night of the concert arrives. Simon skims the crowd of winter coats as he walks in with the choir. It looks like it always does. His mom and Sara are near the front, with the familiar faces of his choirmates’ friends and family scattered throughout the wooden pews.
Wilhelm is nowhere. Simon forces himself to pack his anxiety away and focus on singing.
After the performance, Simon hears a crescendo of whispers before he glimpses Wilhelm’s light brown hair. Wilhelm greets the choirmaster first, then each member of the choir. A click of a camera accompanies each handshake. As one of the lead singers, Simon is at the front of the makeshift line almost immediately. He fears it will be awkward, talking to Wilhelm with such formality.
“Hello,” Wilhelm says. His smile is polite but his eyes are sparking with joy. “That was beautiful.”
Simon lowers his eyes. “Thanks,” Simon mumbles, and Wilhelm moves on to the next person.
Simon escapes the front and the crowd surrounding it. The whispers recede behind him. So many people are trying to get a glimpse of Wilhelm, and it takes patience and effort for Simon to weave through the crowd and reach his family.
“Hey,” Simon says.
His mom has a knowing smile on her face. “This is quite an event. It’s nice that Wilhelm came to support you.”
“It’s an official royal engagement,” Simon protests. Sara rolls her eyes in clear disbelief, and his mom’s amusement is obvious.
Simon sneaks a glance at the front where Wilhelm is in a throng of people. He brings his attention back as someone he vaguely recognizes from Marieberg comes up to say hi. They’re followed by a trickle of family friends and chorists’ families, and Simon tries not to fidget and not to look at Wilhelm.
His mom is chatting with one of the altos’ parents when the whispers make an encore. Simon turns around.
“Hi,” Wilhelm says, coming to a stop in front of Simon. He sounds casual, but there’s a slightest hint of a stutter. It’s so very Wilhelm.
Simon can only grin. “Hi.” His hands go to shove into a pair of pockets, but he never took the pocket stitches out of these trousers so he brushes his blazer awkwardly instead. His mom gives him a pointed look about his lack of manners. “Thanks for coming,” he appends.
“You were great,” Wilhelm says. “Even better in person.”
“I didn’t see you earlier,” Simon says.
“I was at the back, with Malin and Joakim,” Wilhelm explains. “I wasn’t lying you know. It really was beautiful.”
Simon ducks his head and hopes he’s not blushing. “Okay.”
Complete strangers start coming by to praise Simon. It turns into a constant stream, and after congratulating Simon they always turn to Wilhelm and stutter a polite greeting. A few of the younger girls giggle. Wilhelm doesn’t look wholly comfortable with it, but he is clearly practiced.
“You’re really popular for a dork,” Simon whispers with a snicker after yet another rubbernecker leaves.
Wilhelm shushes him, and turns to greet the next person before Simon even notices them.
The concert is what finally clues the gossips of Marieberg in that Simon is the one who’s friends with Wilhelm. No one really bothers him about it, but it makes Simon apprehensive about Wilhelm coming into Bjärstad again. Instead, he suggests that he visits Wilhelm at Hillerska. Simon’s not technically allowed inside the school, but other than Wilhelm’s bodyguards, there’s no one checking the forest surrounding the school. After all, Bjärstad is the middle of nowhere, and Hillerska is even further out.
Walking around with Wilhelm, it strikes Simon suddenly that the forest he grew up near is beautiful. The water and sky are deep, beautiful blues, and the sun a warm, golden balm whenever the wind is still. The green blanket of conifers cast a cold shade, so Simon and Wilhelm stick as close to the lake as possible. Wilhelm’s bodyguards stay a polite distance away, giving Wilhelm and Simon a pretence of privacy.
Wilhelm breaks the silence. “How are you doing?”
Simon looks down at his sneakers, bright against the earthen path, and shrugs. “Fine. Marieberg students don’t give a fuck about rich people.” It’s not quite true — he’s been getting more stares than usual — but it’s not anything tangible.
Wilhelm grimaces. “You say that, but some people would do anything for Instagram followers.”
“It’s fine,” Simon says again. “The one time some second year guy tried to take a photo of me, a janitor found his phone two days later in one of the girls’ toilets.”
“Wow. Girls are vicious.”
“Rosh swears it wasn’t her, but I think she knows who it is and just isn’t telling me.”
“Plausible deniability.”
“Yup.”
They lapse into silence again. Their footsteps rasp against the dirt, and the lake provides a soft, susurrous lull. Wilhelm stops, half a step ahead of him, in a cozy spot protected by a copse of trees, and turns towards Simon. He starts to sit.
Simon catches his arm before he descends further. “Wait, it’s going to be wet there,” he says. He tugs Wilhelm to a sunny patch. “Here.”
Wilhelm laughs sheepishly, and makes a show of patting the ground before sitting down. Legs crossed, back straight, he looks like the carefree boy Simon first got to know. The sun catches his hair, turning it to honey as he grins up at Simon.
“Thanks for saving me from wet trousers.”
“It was more for me,” Simon jokes. He finds his own spot on the forest ground across from Wilhelm, and bumps Wilhelm’s sneaker with his own. Wilhelm nudges him back.
“Here,” Wilhelm says, pulling two sandwiches out of his bookbag. “This one’s for you.”
“Thanks.” The sandwich Simon receives is neatly if hastily wrapped in a couple of napkins. He crumples the napkins and stuffs them into a jacket pocket, and takes a bite of the sandwich. It is surprisingly mediocre. Normal.
He looks up and takes in the lake, calm and blue and still. Out here, it’s like nothing is real but the dirt and trees and Wilhelm beside him. They chat lazily, about Wilhelm’s awkward dorm-slash-classmates and Simon’s exuberant Swedish-slash-choir teacher.
“Who’s that?” Simon says, pointing to a faraway speck on the lake.
Wilhelm rolls his eyes. “That’s probably my cousin August.” The one Wilhelm doesn’t seem to like, Simon recalls. “Rowing is his entire personality.”
“No wonder you’re not on the team. He’d have dragged you out there with him.”
“Much nicer to relax and be here with you.” Wilhelm knocks his shoulder lightly into Simon’s. Simon leans into it, basks in its solidity and the comfort of this little patch of lakeside that’s all theirs.
“Yeah.”
4.
Simon does not find out from Wilhelm, but from his classmates.
“Prince Wilhelm can’t be gay. Who’s going to take the throne after him, that tryhard August?”
Rosh turns around. “Shut the fuck up. No wonder you’re getting E’s if you believe anything in the tabloids.”
The teacher walks in then, so Simon pulls out his phone under his desk. He googles Wilhelm — the top hit is a headline screaming EXCLUSIVE: Who is the Crown Prince’s boyfriend? Royal family in shock. Insider tells all.
All turns out to be very little: some anonymous source associated with the palace claims that Wilhelm has a boyfriend who, the article claims, attends Hillerska. (As if.) There are outraged quotes from a relative claiming to be close to the royal family, a so-called royal observer, and some shithead SD politician, all predicting the end of the monarchy. Simon screenshots the absurdest bits, scrolls past a video about Love Island Sweden, and reads: The Royal Court has issued a statement that Prince Wilhelm is not in a relationship and is focusing on his studies. Although Prince Wilhelm is heterosexual, he is supportive of LGBT rights …
Simon’s phone clatters to the floor.
He barely hears the teacher say she’s confiscating his phone as he blurts out something about having to leave and rushes to the closest alcove.
“Simon,” he hears Ayub say. There’s a rustle as Ayub sits down on the cold tile beside him.
“He said he isn’t gay,” Simon mutters into his jeans.
“It’s all speculation,” Ayub says. Simon swipes open his phone, where the the tabloid website is still open, and hands it to Ayub.
Ayub scrolls through the article silently.
“Shit,” he says.
“Yeah.”
Ayub returns the phone. “It’s a statement from the Court,” Ayub says, in a reassuring voice that isn’t making Simon feel any better. “Wilhelm didn’t say it himself.”
“He might as well have,” Simon says with a scoff.
“But you don’t know that,” Ayub says. “You should talk to him. Don’t jump to conclusions. Okay?”
Simon sighs. “Fine.”
Simon’s first call doesn’t go through. Neither does his second. He knows Wilhelm has a lunch break right now, but no one’s picking up. He gives up and texts Wilhelm, and throws his phone in his bag.
“Fuck.”
By the end of the day, Rosh has earned herself a detention. Sara has volunteering, and so it is just him and Ayub on the bus home. Ayub, thankfully, keeps the conversation to light topics — video games, UEFA standings, Hadid sisters — all the way until Simon’s stop.
“See you tomorrow,” Simon says.
“Just talk to him,” Ayub says. “See you.”
Wilhelm finally calls back around eleven.
“I’m sorry,” is what Wilhelm opens with. His room is near-black, the shadows of his face lit wanly by fairy lights. “I didn’t know about the statement until they told me.”
Simon doesn’t really know what to say. He’s angry, but at the same time — “Are you okay?”
On the tiny, poorly lit screen, Wilhelm shakes his head. A pair of knuckles comes into frame, hovering just out of range of Wilhelm’s mouth, like he wants to chew them but is trying his best not to.
“Okay. Okay,” Simon says. “I’m — I guess I’m mad at your family, at the fucking tabloid rags. I promise, I’m not mad at you.”
“I’m sorry,” Wilhelm repeats.
Wilhelm calls him on Friday night, saying he’s on a car to Stockholm and will meet him when he’s on his way back. Simon spends all weekend thinking of what he wants to say, of what he thinks Wilhelm might say. On Sunday morning, anxious and bleary, Simon asks his mom to take Sara out.
When Simon opens the door, Wilhelm is dressed in a coat Simon’s never seen before. A bodyguard follows him in, and moves to close the curtains. He and Wilhelm are frozen in the entryway, Wilhelm with his coat still on, looking more out of place than he’s ever been.
“Can we sit in the living room?” Wilhelm asks.
Simon rolls his eyes. “So this is an official visit,” he says.
Wilhelm turns to him. Icily, he says, “If this was an official visit, Minou would be here.”
The bodyguard, whose name Simon still doesn’t know, remains at the door, a silent bystander.
Wilhelm exhales loudly, running his hands through his hair until it’s a nest of messy strands. “That’s not what I planned to say. We have a plan —”
“Who’s we?”
Wilhelm’s gaze is implacable. “Minou, my mom. Me.”
“So I don’t get a say?”
“Could you just listen. We — my mom, Minou, and I — have a plan for when — if — I want to come out, but it’s a longterm plan. Sweden is not ready for me — I’m not ready for me — to come out yet.”
Simon takes a deep breath. “I’m not asking you to come out. Okay? I respect your choices.” Simon looks straight at Wilhelm, and waits until he thinks Wilhelm believes him. “I respect how you feel about this,” he says. “But I don’t want this relationship to between me and all ten million people in Sweden.” He glances to the nameless bodyguard, still standing at the door. “I don’t want this relationship to be between me and your mom and the royal advisers. It has to be between me and you.”
“That’s not possible,” Wilhelm says.
“Wille,” he says, “all I need is for you to ask me things. I can’t find out things like this from the news. I’ve listened to all of your rules, all of the rules your staff gave. You have to respect me too.”
“There’s a longterm plan —”
“Then let me know the plan!” Simon exclaims. “Or do you think I’m not going to be around for the longterm?”
Wilhelm stands there, saying nothing.
“Leave. I don’t want to see you right now.”
Wilhelm stares at him, red rims around his eyes. Simon turns away and shuts his eyes.
An unbearable moment later, he hears two dreaded pairs of footsteps, and finally, the door clicking closed. He turns around, and stares at the closed curtains between him and Wilhelm. He locks the door.
On Monday, the headlines change. EXCLUSIVE: Royal cousin in debt! The Royal Court says: we won’t intervene.
Simon doesn’t think much of it at first, not until he and Rosh and Ayub are holed up in their stairwell eating lunch.
“The royal family totally threw the Horns under the bus,” Rosh says.
Simon takes a bite of his sandwich, as Ayub asks, “The who?”
“The Horns. You know, the Queen’s dead cousin’s family. The widow, her new husband, and their son. Word is, the husband blew all their money on bad stocks.”
“What does that have to do with the royal family?” Ayub asks. “They aren’t allowed to spend taxpayer money on some idiots who aren’t part of the royal family.”
“They can’t,” Rosh says.
Simon frowns. “The royal advisor came to visit me, remember?”
“I think that’s like, still part of Wilhelm’s costs though,” Ayub says. “Not like handing over however many millions these cousins probably need.”
“Only August is of royal blood, though he’s not part of the royal family,” Rosh points out.
Simon makes a face at August’s name.
Ayub takes a bite of his pizza. “You know him?”
Simon makes a seesaw motion with his hand. “Not actually. But you know.”
Rosh and Ayub both nod.
Rosh puts her falafel down. “So there isn’t an official spare heir in the royal family right now, and there were rumours that the royal family might entitle August and confirm him as the spare. But if royal family leaked this story to the press…”
“Come on,” Simon says. “It’s bad news for them. They’d want to bury it.”
“The timing is too coincidental,” Rosh says. “They’d think it’s worth it if there’s worse news they’re burying — you know I don’t mean it that way Simme.”
“That’s crazy,” Simon says. “Don’t they need a spare?
“You’re the one who told us the royal family wanted to institutionalize Micke to get him out of the way,” Rosh retorts.
Simon grimaces. “It’s not an institution, it’s a rehab.”
Rosh doesn’t give in. “I’m just saying. They’d do anything to protect the crown prince right now. You should be careful.”
Simon looks from Rosh’s stern face to Ayub’s more sympathetic one.
“Don’t worry about it too much,” Ayub says. “He loves you right? Then he’ll fight for you.”
“Maybe that won’t be enough,” Simon says.
“Hey,” Rosh says. “If he doesn’t, I’ll kick his ass.”
That night, Simon texts Wilhelm for the first time in thirty-eight hours.
I’m still here if you want to talk.
Moments later, Simon sees a read indicator. There’s nothing else even as seconds turn into minutes. He sighs, dropping his phone onto his bed, and buries his face in a pillow. All he can think of is everything he should have said yesterday. He gets up, and tries to distract himself with homework.
There’s a soft knock on his door. Thinking it’s his mom, he doesn’t bother saying anything.
“Hey,” comes Wilhelm’s soft, quiet voice. Simon spins so hard in his chair its back hits his desk.
“Sorry,” Wilhelm says. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“No don’t be — sit down.”
“I have to say this first,” Wilhelm says. His arms are wrapped around each other, his fingers tugging at the cloth of his hoodie in the yellow fluorescent light. “I don’t want us to fight.”
It hurts to see Wilhelm so unsure of himself, so lost. Simon takes a step up and forward, wrapping his arms around Wilhelm, pulling Wilhelm and his elbows up against Simon’s chest.
Wilhelm presses his face into Simon’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to fight with you. There’s just so many things that you don’t see about being who I am. That I don’t really want you to have to see.”
“I didn’t want to fight with you either,” Simon says. He’s torn between soothing Wilhelm with his hands and holding Wilhelm tighter. “I know there’s things we don’t talk about. But I want to talk about them with you. I’m not — I’m serious about you, you know.”
Into Simon’s shoulder, Wilhelm says, “I do. I am, too.”
“Can we talk about it?” Simon asks.
A nose digs into Simon’s clavicle in an affirmative.
“Okay.” Simon thinks about what he wants to say. “Are you okay?”
Silently, Wilhelm drags the two of them to Simon’s bed. He makes a pile out of the pillows, and pulls Simon into it to sit beside him. Only then does Wilhelm speak.
“I don’t know if I’m okay,” Wilhelm says. “I don’t like that you’re angry. My family tells me that everything’s taken care of, that no one believes the tabloids, but it doesn’t feel that way.”
“You were still outed,” Simon says. “You can be upset about it.”
Wilhelm shakes his head. “They didn’t tell me about the denial until it was already released,” he says, suddenly.
“And I jumped to conclusions,” Simon adds.
Wilhelm stares at his lap, where he’s wrangling his fingers into a knot. “I don’t blame you for assuming. I never tell you about that part of my life.” Wilhelm says. He sits up straighter, looks at Simon. “Minou has to run statements by me from now on,” he declares.
“And will she?”
“She’s part of my household now, not my mom’s, so technically, yes,” Wilhelm explains. He slouches again, eyes back on the shadowed floor. “I don’t — I don’t disagree with what she did. But I wish I could have told you before it was going to happen.”
“Do they know who told the papers?” asks Simon.
Wilhelm exhales. “You really can’t tell anyone this, okay? This might actually be worse than me dating you getting out.”
Simon hates that their relationship is something negative, to Wilhelm’s family, but he understands Wilhelm’s meaning. “It’s that bad?”
“August was the one who leaked it,” Wilhelm says with a bleak exhale. “He actually knows about you, too, not your name but he’s seen you around and knows you go to Marieberg. It would have been enough for the tabloids to find you. He was holding onto that info for more money, but Minou got to him first and made him sign an NDA in exchange for hush money.”
A few pieces connect in Simon’s mind. “That’s what happened? Is that why the palace leaked that his family was bankrupt?”
Wilhelm’s hands reach up to run through his bangs. “No, that wasn’t us. The tabloids had been sitting on the story for a while; the Royal Court simply stopped protecting his family. I don’t think my mom would have allowed it if August hadn’t leaked information first, but I haven’t asked.”
“And your mom thinks he’s going to stay silent?”
Wilhelm laughs, and it sounds utterly hollow. “We’re giving him enough money to finish at Hillerska, and then an Ivy League school to keep him out of the way. It’ll be paid out over the next four and a half years. He and his family won’t do anything.”
“Wow. That’s shitty.”
“It is,” Wilhelm says. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to date me any more.”
“You know Minou already gave me the shovel talk weeks ago,” Simon says, trying for a hint of levity.
Wilhelm shakes his head. “But now you’re seeing what actually happens. This is what it’s like, all the time.”
Simon quietly gathers Wilhelm’s hands into his, and gathers the words he wants to say. “I know it might be hard, and I know it might not always be what i want, but I want to try. With you. As long as you’re willing to try with me.”
Wilhelm leans his weight into Simon’s and rests his head on Simon’s shoulder. “I will. I’ll try.”
In the blink of an eye, the days get longer. The tabloid rumours dissipate. Hillerska students have started greeting him by name, the few times he’s been there since. Even August, that asshole, has said hi to him, although he left as soon as Wilhelm’s bodyguard Malin approached.
Slowly, it becomes the two of them again.
“Hey,” Simon says. “So you’re staying overnight this time?” It’s so easy to sink back into the way they were in Simon’s room, so that’s where they keep finding themselves.
“Yup!” Wilhelm chirrups, wiggling into place beside Simon in his bed. “So you better get ready for me to beat you.”
Simon laughs, retorting, “I’ll believe it when I see it.” Then, “Wait! That’s my controller! Use your own!”
“I’m evening out the playing field,” Wilhelm says, sparking golden in the spring light.
“Your controller is shit — hey, that’s cheating!”
The controllers fall to the floor as Simon hits Wilhelm with a pillow and Wilhelm grabs his own, and before long they’re a tangle of bedsheets and pillows with Wilhelm flat on the bed.
“Hey,” Simon says, kneeling over Wilhelm.
“Help me up?”
Simon extends a hand to Wilhelm, who pulls it and tugs Simon down into the mess of bedding. They jostle and tumble until Wilhelm’s lying on top of Simon, a heavy, steady weight.
“I like it here,” Wilhelm says into Simon’s shoulder. “I’m going to sleep now.”
So Simon encircles Wilhelm with his arms and duvet, and Wilhelm tucks his legs against Simon’s, and like breathing, they fall asleep.