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“This is stupid,” Simon grumbles from behind the changing screen, “I already have a suit. A very expensive suit that your mother and half her staff strong armed me into wearing the last time I went somewhere with you, and that I fully planned on wearing to every fancy event for the rest of my life- including my eventual wedding- based on cost alone. What’s wrong with that one?”
In Wilhelm’s opinion nothing is wrong with the suit Simon already owns. In fact, he’d barely managed to make it through their first palace approved photographed date when he’d first seen Simon wearing it. It was a simple black suit that highlighted every line and angle of Simon’s lithe body. Wilhelm considered himself lucky that none of the photographers had captured the exact moment he’d seen Simon shuffle uncomfortably into the much too expensive restaurant. It probably would have caused another international scandal and his mother would have killed him. (He’s also glad the photographers were shooed away by Malin as soon as he and Simon finished dinner, otherwise there would be pictures floating around of him pushing Simon against the wall outside the restaurant and sticking his tongue down Simon’s throat. It wasn’t his fault, ok? He’d held it together as long as he could but how was he supposed to focus on being a gentleman when Simon was there, in a suit, looking like a freaking greek god come to life. Wilhelm is only human.)
“I don’t think anything’s wrong with that one,” he says, casting a heated glance in Simon’s direction before remembering that Simon is currently behind the changing screen and thus cannot see him, “but my mother doesn’t agree, and I didn’t feel like this was a particular battle worth fighting. Especially since she’s basically offering to spoil my boyfriend at the Crown’s expense.”
“I’m pretty sure she sees it as clothing the common born vagrant that deflowered her son in a way that she deems acceptable, to disguise the fact that I am not a suitable match for you.” Simon argues, his tone cold.
It had taken Wilhelm threatening to abdicate in order for Queen Kristina to allow him to make Simon an official ‘suitor’, and she continued to make her displeasure known. She was as cold as ever to Wilhelm and did everything in her power to get him to change his mind. On the rare occasions she saw Simon she was downright rude. Wilhelm had once told her her treatment of Simon was ‘unbecoming of royalty’ (a phrase that he had heard from her many times.) When he said it he’d thought for a second she might actually slap him. Instead she’d stormed off to her room and forced Wilhelm to attend the most boring princely duties for an entire week and hadn’t let him leave the palace to see Simon for an entire month (apart from staged photo ops to appease the public.)
“I’m just glad she’s letting me bring you to the event,” Wilhelm responds, his voice similarly dark, “it would be horribly boring otherwise. Frankly, I don’t care what she thinks of you. I love you and I’m keeping you around for as long as you want to be with me. To hell with what she thinks.”
Simon laughs, his dark mood evaporating. “It’s almost stupidly attractive hearing you badmouth your mother. And I plan on sticking around forever- y’know just to anger the Queen.”
“Right.” Wilhelm agrees, mock seriously, “that’s the only reason. Not because you’re in love with a disappointing crown prince who has a weakness for boys who look unfairly gorgeous in thousand dollar suits.”
“A thousand dollars!” Simon exclaims, followed by a sound like a body crashing to the floor and a litany of profanity. The stylist who is taking Wilhelm’s measurements presses his lips tightly together but wisely chooses not to comment. “That suit cost a thousand dollars?”
“I mean, yeah? I thought you knew, you were going on about how expensive it was a minute ago.”
“I knew it was expensive , but I thought that meant like, three hundred, maybe four hundred dollars at the absolute most . You’re telling me-“ his voice hitches, sounding alarmingly upset, “-you’re telling me it cost a thousand dollars?”
“Yes? Simon what’s going on?”
Abandoning the stylist Wilhelm starts walking cautiously towards the screen Simon is still hiding behind.
“You have to take it back,” Simon says, appearing from around the screen. He’s bare chested and Wilhelm tries very hard not to stare at the expanse of exposed bronze skin. This is so not the time.
“Take it back, and fuck this I’m not taking this one either. If I can’t go to the stupid party without it then so be it.”
“What? Simon-“
“Don’t you see how humiliating this is for me?” Simon wails, his beautiful eyes filling with tears, “Because obviously your mom does. She’s not giving me these suits to be nice, she's doing it to make a statement. Don’t you see? I could never afford a suit like this, not in a million years and she knows that. It’s a fucking reminder that I’m not good enough for you and not wealthy enough to be dating the crown prince. I bet she sees it like I’m accepting her fucking charity , like a subtle dig at me and a joke just for her all rolled into one.”
“Simon-“
“-and you know what? I didn’t even want to accept that first suit but she just wouldn’t take no for an answer, just like she she wouldn’t when she decided we had to go to that stupid fancy restaurant on our date. And you know what? I couldn’t afford that fucking place either and she knows that too!”
He’s really crying now, pacing and ranting, and tugging roughly at his beautiful curls. Wilhelm wants nothing more than to pull Simon into his arms and kiss him until he forgets all about the Queen’s stupid mind games, but he can tell Simon doesn’t want that right now.
“I love you Wille,” Simon continues rounding on him “and I already knew from Hilerska what being around rich people is like, and I knew your mother hated me when I decided to really give this relationship with you a go, but,” he says, and his voice takes on the same sort of steely edge as it did when he dumped him before the Christmas holidays. Wilhelm’s throat constricts. This cannot be the end of them, his mother and her stupid elitism cannot be the reason Simon breaks up with him again. “I won’t be humiliated. I won’t let your mother make a fool out of me to punish me just for being with you. I won’t. I can’t .”
“You won’t.” Wilhelm promises, all the fury he harbours for his mother rising to the surface. “I promise you, I’ll never let her embarrass you again. I’ll talk to her, make your position clear. And you can bring the suit back. In fact,” he glances down at the expensive black fabric of his own half made suit jacket, “I don’t really think I need a new thousand dollar suit either. I’ve got more than enough in my closet already.”
Simon looks at him. He’s no longer pacing, no longer yanking at his hair, but the anger and humiliation haven’t left his eyes.
“I-do you even-“ he throws his hands up in the air and lets them drop again helplessly.
“I hate this.” He manages and finally allows himself to slump forwards into Wilhelm’s arms. The blond boy rubs his back soothingly.
“I hate that I can’t give you things, the way you give me things.” Simon clarifies, and Wilhelm’s stomach twists unpleasantly, “I hate that I could never afford to treat you to dinner at a fancy restaurant like that one. I hate that I can’t even afford the fucking clothes that I’m supposed to wear when I’m around you. I’m not ashamed of where I grew up, or the life that I have, and I hate that I’m embarrassed but I am . It’s embarrassing when you can give me the world and I can’t offer you the same thing.”
“Simon,” Wille whispers, pulling him impossibly closer as Simon lets out a broken sob, “thats...I can’t even tell you how wrong you are, Simme. You do give me the world, just by sticking around, for dealing with the shit the media gives you and all the bullshit my mom puts you through. You make me so fucking happy, I’ve never felt this way before. When I’m with you I feel invincible, like I could do anything. I can’t-I’ve never- before I met you I could never stand up to my mom. Sometimes I still can’t but when it’s about defending you, I can argue with her every time. You make me brave. When we first started dating again after the scandal I-I was terrified at first that you were going to leave, but you haven’t.”
The yet , goes unspoken but Simon hears it anyway.
“I’m not going anywhere you know,” he mumbles into Wilhelm’s neck, “I meant what I said earlier. I’m planning to stick around for a good long while. Even if-“ his breath hitches, “even if your mom is hell bent on ruining my life- or at least my self confidence.”
Wilhelm's heart breaks.
“Simon, I don’t want you to feel that way. I don’t want being with me to make you unhappy.”
“ You don’t.”
“But my life does. I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s not your fault,” Simon mumbles, “you didn’t choose this for yourself. Besides, I knew what I was getting into when I fell in love with you, and I chose you anyway. I’ll keep choosing you, every time. It’s just hard sometimes.”
“I know,” Wilhelm whispers, “I’m sorry.”
“Please don't apologize.”
“We don’t have to go to this event if you don’t want to.” Wilhelm mumbles into Simon’s hair, “We can ditch it, go do something else if you want.”
“No,” Simon pulls back, “no, I want to go. Prove the bastards wrong and all that, right?”
“Seriously?” Wilhelm grins, recognizing the determined sparkle in Simon’s eye.
“Yeah. But I’m not wearing that fucking suit.”
“Totally. You can borrow one of mine.”
“Are you serious right now?” Simon rips himself out of Wilhelm’s arms, his hostility abruptly returning, “Do you not see how that’s worse? It would be more embarrassing to show up to an event wearing your...your fucking hand me downs than it would be to show up in that stupid suit your mother paid for!”
Wilhelm flinches back, his cheeks flaming. He wonders how he could be so stupid, so horribly insensitive, like he wasn’t even listening to Simon earlier.
“I’m sorry Simon. I didn’t mean- it's just, we always borrow each other's clothes so I didn’t think this would be any different.”
“It is different though. Swapping sweat shirts and stuff is just normal couple shit, y’know, everybody does it. But borrowing your suit wouldn’t be the same. Besides, it wouldn’t fit anyway. You’re too tall.”
“Ok,” Wilhelm agrees carefully, “so what do you want to wear to the party?”
Simon takes a deep breath. “In Bjarstad…” He hesitates. Wilhelm hates the look on his face, like he’s almost afraid to continue, afraid Wilhelm will judge him or that someone will forbid him from being himself.
Wilhelm gives him an encouraging smile and reaches out to thread their fingers together.
“In Bjarstad,” Simon continues, “there’s a shop that sells suits. Perfectly nice suits that I can actually afford . I went with Ayub when he got one for a school dance last year, and I’ve been saving up for one ever since. I want to go there and buy a suit for myself.”
“Would you...want some company?” Wilhelm offers.
Simon smiles. “Only if it’s you.”
Half an hour later they’re standing outside the small shop on the end of Bjarstad’s main street. An elegant black suit with an emerald green cumberbund is displayed in the window. A sign above the door reads Andersson’s Male Formalwear .
Simon smiles and excitedly tugs Wilhelm towards the door. Malin tries and fails to press away her smile at Wilhelm’s fascinated expression. She seems to find his reactions to normal things highly amusing.
“Come on,” Simon whines, as Wilhelm becomes fixated on the other storefronts of the main street small businesses, “I’ll show you around more later.”
Wilhelm allows himself to be dragged into the shop.
Inside the shop smells like fabric softener and fresh laundry. Suits of every different size, style, colour, pattern, and shape are hung up on racks or arranged on mannequins. One wall is entirely made up of different colour shirts, while another corner of the shop is dedicated to ties and cumberbunds. A poster on the wall advertises custom made ties to match with a date's dress, and a sign behind the counter shows a price list for fittings and alterations.
A burly man wearing a burgundy dress shirt and black slacks greets them from behind the counter, telling them to look around and to let him know if anything captures their attention or if they want to go to the fitting room to try anything on. He eyes them with interest, obviously recognizing Wilhelm, but doesn’t seem inclined to fawn over him, which Wilhelm appreciates more than he can say.
“Ok,” Simon laughs, all traces of his earlier anger having vanished, and the tension he carries with him whenever he visits the palace having drained out of his shoulders, “you go look around while I find something. I want it to be a surprise.”
“What? But you said I could come with you!”
“You don’t have to leave the shop, just...go look at the ties or something. I don’t want you to see me until tonight when we’re actually going to the party.”
There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes that absolutely screams danger to Wilhelm, because apparently Simon has figured out that seeing him in a suit really does it for Wilhelm which means he’s now going to make it his mission to torture him.
Eventually Wilhelm wanders off to go look at the shop's impressive array of ties while Simon shops. He finds a blue one patterned with tiny silver stars that he quite likes, and another one covered in cartoon jellyfish. He can’t help but snicker at the thought of the coronary his mother would have if he showed up to the party wearing it. Ten minutes later, the squeaking of hangers and rustling of clothing gets cut off by a muffled sound of victory. Wilhelm smiles to himself at how cute his boyfriend is, and resists the urge to peek at him over his shoulder. Simon wants this to be a surprise, so Wilhelm will help him keep it that way.
“Ok,” Simon says a minute later, appearing at Wilhelm's shoulder, smiling proudly and holding a bulging clothing bag, “ready to go?”
“Just a sec.” Wilhelm holds up his ties and Simon grins, following him to the counter while Wille pays and the shopkeeper bags Wilhelm’s purchases. The man obviously recognizes Wilhelm- he addresses him as Your Highness- but he’s nothing more than blandly friendly, treating Wilhelm like any other customer. It’s an odd- but not unwelcome- feeling for Wilhelm, who's used to being fawned over by most strangers once they realize who he is. It’s nice to feel normal for once, nice that the shopkeeper seems to think he’s no more or less important than any other customer. In fact, the shopkeeper seemed to like Simon more than he did Wilhelm (although, that’s not difficult in Wilhelm's opinion. Simon is far more likeable than he is.)
“What do you think Malin?” Wilhelm grins happily as they exit the shop, throwing the jellyfish tie around his neck, “Could I be an unlikely trendsetter?”
The bodyguard takes one look at the tie and the Crown Prince’s faux serious expression, and bursts into peals of laughter. Simon raises a surprised eyebrow- Malin’s laugh is not at all like what he expected from the stoic, quietly compassionate bodyguard. Malin’s laugh is free and unrestrained, bright and contagious. Simon can’t help but join in. A second later Wilhelm’s expression cracks and he too collapses into giggles.
“It’s lovely.” Malin manages, valiantly attempting to regain her usual calm expression before bursting into laughter once more.
Once they’ve finally stopped hooting and hollering, Wilhelm convinces Simon to show him the other small shops on Bjärstad’s Main Street. Simon quickly agrees, pointing out more clothing shops, barbers, spas, salons, small family owned restaurants, contracting businesses, and even a tiny art gallery tucked away at the very end of the street. Wilhelm takes it all in with wide eyed awe, and Simon laughs at him.
“Enjoying yourself, rich boy?”
Wilhelm just nods eagerly, seeming not to notice the teasing note in Simon’s tone. The prince’s gaze lands on an ice cream shack but Simon drags him away before he can spend any money, promising he knows where to get a better treat further up the street.
Simon takes them to a small family run bakery, where the girl behind the counter greets him by name. Wilhelm’s nose is overwhelmed by the smell of baking cookies as he oggles some of the best looking desserts he’s ever seen in his life (and that’s saying something knowing the talents of the palace’s pastry chefs.) A cake piled high with whipped cream and strawberries sits in a glass case. Front and centre under the glass counter sits an array of different pies, next to a sign advertising a slice for three dollars or a whole pie for fifteen. Chocolate cupcakes heaped with frosting and sprinkles are arranged next to an array of scones ranging from blueberry to lemon poppyseed to chocolate chip. Behind the counter sit baskets filled with loaves upon loaves of different kinds of bread, each one lovingly wrapped in brown parchment paper. The sourdough looks amazing.
“C’mon,” Simon’s voice shocks him out of his revery. The curly haired boy shifts his shopping bag and hefts a small box embossed with the bakery’s logo under his left arm, allowing him to take Wilhelm’s left hand with his right, “I got us treats already. Let’s go.”
Malin tails them as they walk back towards the Vasquez household, Simon explaining that he just needs to grab his dress shirt and then he’ll be ready to go back to the palace and prepare for the party.
The treats that Simon bought turn out to be half a dozen of the most heavenly sticky buns Wilhelm has ever had in his existence on earth. Sara’s eyes nearly bug out of her head when Simon sets them down on the table and she quickly snatches one like she’s afraid someone will steal it if she doesn’t. Wilhelm takes a bite of his and understands why. The sticky buns are a religious experience.
Simon calls both Wilhelm and Sara heathens and offers the box to Malin and his mother before he takes a bun for himself. That leaves only one sticky bun left, which Simon carefully wraps up and puts in the cupboard to have for breakfast the next morning.
“Thank you,” Linda says sweetly, ruffling Simon’s hair. Luckily, she managed to be dainty enough to keep her fingers from getting covered in glaze, so Simon’s hair didn’t get covered in icing. “This is such a lovely treat. There’s nothing quite like baked goods from a proper bakery.”
“Of course mama.” Simon smiles at the praise and presses a kiss to his mothers cheek.
“Mama’s boy.” Wilhelm mutters teasingly, as Linda and Malin wander off to the kitchen, probably to make a pot of coffee (both women have an unhealthy addiction to the caffeine filled substance.)
“Oh, like you aren’t just as bad as me.”
“ I don’t buy my mother sweets whenever I get the chance.”
“I’m talking about your mother, I’m talking about my mother. You spoil her too. You love her.”
“I do,” Wilhelm agrees immediately, mumbling in a very unprincely way through a mouthful of sticky bun, “sometimes more than my own mother.”
An abrupt silence follows his offhand comment. He looks up to find both Sara and Simon staring at him with wide eyes.
“What?” He defends, his cheeks flushing, “It’s true.”
The tense silence drags on for a second before Sara snorts and rolls her eyes.
“Don’t let her hear you saying that. I think she might actually try to forcibly adopt you.”
Wilhelm laughs as Malin and Linda reappear, the seriousness of the moment lifting.
Eventually Wilhelm ends up chatting with Sara while Simon tears his room apart to find his dress shirt. By the time Simon re-emerges from his room, Wilhelm and Sara are parked in front of the tv, engaged deeply in conversation debating the merits of Patrick vs Rafael as love interests on Jane the Virgin.
“I’m ready to leave if you are?”
“In a minute,” Wilhelm says, his eyes glued to the screen, “this episode is important.”
“It’s a soap opera, none of the episodes are important.” Simon grumbles, glancing distastefully at the tearful argument taking place on the tv screen.
“Shhh!” Sara and Wilhelm shush him in unison, Sara tossing a cushion in his general direction without looking away from the screen.
Simon just rolls his eyes and goes looking for his mom and Malin. He finds them, strangely enough, outside in the yard.
“Ok, so you’re going to step in between his legs, tripping him and then when he’s off balance use his momentum and throw him over your hip.” Malin says, slowly walking Linda through the motions, her tone equal parts gentle and encouraging.
“Um, what are you doing?”
“Oh! Simon.” His mama whirls around her cheeks flushing, stepping away from Malin and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture Simon recognizes from when he was younger. His mama always does whenever she’s thinking of his dad. “I was just- I mean- Malin has- I’ve been trying-”
“I’ve been teaching Linda self defence,” Malin chimes in, wrapping a protective arm around the dark haired woman. Simon notices the way his mother relaxes at Malin’s touch and marvels at the depth of their friendship. He’d never seen his mother with a friend before she met Malin, since the hardships she’d faced in her life made her wary of most people. He figured out early on that Malin must be pretty special since she so quickly put his mother at ease.
“Since when?”
“Since-since-” His mother is still nervous, still embarrassed. Simon isn’t quite sure why.
“Since Lucia.” Linda eventually gets out, still avoiding his gaze, “Since Micke showed up.”
Simon immediately goes cold. He’s more than a little ashamed of getting back in contact with his father, even though he’s cut contact since. He knows it’s his fault his dad showed up, his fault Sara panicked, and his fault his mother is anxious. She’s the strongest person Simon has ever met, but whenever his dad is around it's like she reverts back to the nervous wreck she was when he was little. He knows why, he spent years watching his dad beat her, and it makes him half heartbroken and half furious that his dad still has this effect on her, that his mother is still so afraid.
“He hasn’t been bothering you has he?”
“That’s not for you to worry about mi amor.”
“Mama-”
“Simon, I'm your mother .” She says, on the verge of tears, “That's not for you to worry about. It's my job to keep you and Sara safe and I will, I promise.”
“But what about you? ” He hates the way he sounds when he says it. He sounds seven years old and terrified, the way he felt the first time he ever watched his dad hit her.
His mother’s eyebrows furrow.
“W-what?”
“What about you ?” Simon repeats, familiar arms wrapping comfortingly around his waist from behind. Wilhelm. “Every time dad comes back you’re the one who gets hurt. He- he only goes after Sara or me when he’s high, but he- he always ends up hurting you.”
The tears fall then, his mother still determinedly avoiding his gaze.
“What are you doing ?” Sara hisses in his ear, having presumably followed Wilhelm outside. The anger in her tone is palpable, and Simon knows it's well deserved. He and Sara had made a pact years ago to never bring up Micke around their mother unless she brought him up first because of how upset she got whenever he was mentioned.
“It’s not your job to worry about me Simon.” His mama manages, “I can take care of myself. I am taking care of myself, its just...I’m tired of being scared. Malin’s helping me in case- in case he attacks me again. At least this way I might be able to fight him off.”
“Mama…”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore ok? It's not for you to worry about.” She sniffs, composing herself and offering him a shaky smile. “Go have fun at your party, show off your new suit.”
Reluctantly, Simon agrees, his mother’s fragile state convincing him more than her urging. Wilhelm takes his hand gently as they walk towards the car and Simon is grateful for his quiet support. Wilhelm is often quiet, but he is always present , always there for Simon, steady and strong in his own way.
Malin pulls Linda into a quick, tight hug before she follows Wilhelm and Simon into the car, muttering something that makes Linda tear up again, nod, and pull her back into another hug.
“She’ll be ok,” Malin says when they’re on their way back to the palace, Simon still staring fretfully out the window, “your mama is the toughest person I’ve ever met.”
“She shouldn’t have to be though.” Simon argues.
“No,” Malin sighs, “She shouldn’t.”
“Did she say anything to you? Anything about...about my dad?”
“Last I heard was that her attempts to get a restraining order had stalled out.”
“Yeah.” Simon grimaces, “Dad lawyered up and he’s fighting hard. I dont even know how the fuck he got the money to hire one to be honest.”
Malin’s lips press together in displeasure, a spark of anger lighting in her icy blue eyes. Simon doesn’t know exactly how much his mother has told Malin about Micke, but she’s obviously told her enough . Whenever he’s mentioned Malin looks downright murderous.
“One day,” Malin vows, her tone cold, “that man will get what’s coming to him. And I won’t pity him for it.”
Malin’s phone rings then, and her strict, professional mask is back on as she talks quietly. Wilhelm wraps a comforting arm around Simon’s shoulder.
“It’s probably my mom,” he says, nodding towards Malin who is still engaged in clipped but polite conversation over the phone, “wondering where we are.”
“I thought the party doesn’t start for another two hours.”
“It doesn’t. She’s just paranoid I’m trying to skip out on that stuffy party to go make out with you.”
Simon laughs, snuggling deeper against his boyfriend's side, his worry about his mother fading- at least for the time being.
“I didn’t know that was an option.” Simon grins, “let’s do that instead. I don’t really want to go to the party anyway.”
“It’s not an option.”
“Hmm?” Simon hums, pressing a kiss to Wilhelm’s neck causing a full body shudder to go through the prince, “are you sure?”
“Y-yes.”
“And there’s nothing,” Simon says, pressing a trail of slow kisses down Wilhelm's neck and sliding even closer to him, “nothing at all I could do to convince you otherwise?”
Wilhelm takes a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes fluttering closed as Simon’s breath ghosts over a particularly sensitive stretch of skin.
“N-no.”
“Hmm. Fine then.” Simon pulls away from him abruptly, sitting up and grinning at him like he wasn’t just doing his best to seduce him into skipping out on royal duties. Wilhelm nearly whines at the loss. “I guess we’ll go to the party then.”
“Yes you will.” Malin agrees, giving them an unimpressed look, though whether it’s because of their blatant PDA or Simon’s plan to skip the party Wilhelm’s not sure. “The Queen is this close to firing me for letting you two out of the house. She seems to forget I’m a bodyguard not a babysitter.”
“She won’t fire you,” Wilhelm says flippantly, “she’d be hard pressed to find someone else willing to put up with all my bullshit and wrangle me into going to all the boring events I’m supposed to.”
“Besides,” he grins at her, the stretch of his lips both lazy and affectionate, “I’m quite fond of you. If she tried to get rid of you I’d throw a fit. I’ve gotten rather good at those as of late.”
Malin snorts, the barest hint of a smile tugging at her lips, “Just go to the party ok? You don’t have to stay all night, just show up long enough that I won’t have to listen to her yell at me tomorrow morning.”
“Fine.” Both boys agree as the car pulls up in front of the palace.
“Good. Now go get dressed. Preferably in separate rooms since you two are horny little teenage miscreants who are like, one dark room and half a beer away from pouncing on each other at any given moment.”
“I am royalty,” Wilhelm drawls, puffing himself up faux importantly. Simon smiles. He loves when Wilhelm gets like this, all silly and teasing. Malin’s banter brings it out in him. “I am a paradigm of class, a role model for teens all across Sweden, I do not pounce on anyone.”
Simon snickers. “Then what would you call what happened in the restroom of that dumb fancy restaurant-”
“That’s enough,” Malin says as Wilhelm’s face flushes an alarming shade of red, “I’ve stood outside enough rooms while you two very loudly got each other off to not want to relive the experience after the fact. Go get ready for the party. Separately .”
They do get ready, however they do not get changed in separate rooms, much to Malin’s unsurprised chagrin.
“Are you ready?” Simon asks from behind the changing screen, and Wilhelm can hear the excitement mixed with nerves in his voice.
“I’m ready.” Wilhelm sounds unbearably fond, even to himself. He’s just excited that Simon’s so excited about this. Earlier today they were arguing over what suit Simon should wear, and now here he is, so proud to have bought a suit that he wanted he’s practically vibrating with excitement.
“Are you sure?”
“I'm sure,” Wilhelm laughs, “C’mon I wanna see you, I’ve been waiting all day to see your new suit.”
Simon steps around the screen and Wilhelm’s vision tunnels.
He’s wearing slim fit dark wash jeans that are a thousand times better fitted and more distracting than the dress pants that he wore with the last suit. A charcoal black button down is tucked into those absolutely sinful pants and a dark green velvet suit jacket is buttoned over top, gold embroidery at the cuffs and neckline. It’s gorgeous. He’s gorgeous. Simon is the one who looks like a prince, except he looks like the heartthrob prince from a fairytale, while Wilhelm looks like...the exact opposite.
Simon smiles, bashfully smoothing down the suit jacket. “What do you think?”
Wilhelm tries to say something like, ‘you look amazing’ or ‘i love it’ or ‘you look so fucking sexy I might die, and also I definitely have a thing for seeing you dressed up in a suit’ , but instead what comes out is “hnngrh.”
Simons smiles fades and he bites his lip nervously. “Do you...not like it? I mean, I know its not as fancy as the other suit but-”
Wilhelm cuts him off by crossing the room in three strides, grabbing the ridiculously soft fabric of his suit jacket, and pulling him into a bruising kiss.
“You look,” he murmurs when he pulls away just slightly, finally regaining the use of his vocal cords, “absolutely wonderful.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Wilhelm breathes, ducking down for another kiss. Simon smiles into it, looking surprised and slightly bewildered but also pleased.
“Listen,” Wilhelm says a few minutes later when he finally manages to pull himself away from Simon’s intoxicating scent and the softness of his lips. “You do look amazing. Better than amazing, and I’m glad you’re wearing the suit you were so excited about buying, but I don't want you to feel the way you did earlier. Ever, but especially not because my mother is determined to make you feel inferior. So the next time she does something or says something that makes you feel even the slightest bit uncomfortable...tell me about it? Please? I just- its important to me that you’re happy, and I know that my mother won’t listen to you if you try to defend yourself, but she might listen to me.”
“I will,” Simon agrees, his hands drawing distracting circles from where they’re resting on Wilhelm’s hips, “I just...I didn’t want you to worry about it, and I was,” he looks down, shamefaced, “I already told you I was embarrassed.”
“Hey,” Wille says, tilting Simon’s chin up so he can look him in the eyes, “you don’t have to be embarrassed around me, alright? Nothing you do could ever make me not want to be with you. Hell, I’m terrified that one day you’ll realize you’re too good for me and leave.”
“That will never happen.” Simon mumbles, wrapping his arms around Wilhelm’s torso and pulling him close. Wilhelm reciprocates, squeezing Simon just as tightly, his chin resting on top of Simon’s curls.
For a while they stand there, locked in an embrace, just soaking up the feeling of each other and the comfort they provide. Unfortunately, Malin knocks on the door a few minutes later, breaking their little bubble.
“The queen wants you two downstairs in five minutes.”
Simon sighs. “We better go.”
“Yeah” Wilhelm agrees. Then he gives him a look that's half heated and half desperate. “I’m never going to make it through the entire party without pouncing on you, as Malin so eloquently put it earlier.”
Simon laughs. “Suits really do it for you, don’t they?”
“ You in a suit really does it for me.” Wilhelm corrects, his gaze lingering on Simon’s exposed collarbone (he’d decided to forego a tie, since he couldn’t find one that paired well with his jacket. Not that Wilhelm was complaining. Quite the opposite actually.).
Simon laughs again. “Come on,” he says fondly, “We have to at least make an appearance at the party. Or have you already forgotten your promise to Malin?”
Wilhelm groans good naturedly, but smooths his own suit jacket (a boring black one that just looks drab next to Simon’s), and allows himself to be dragged out of the room.
His mother looks like she’s just swallowed a lemon when Wilhelm walks into the party, Simon’s green clad arm resting proudly in his, but Wilhelm doesn't care. Neither does Simon.