Chapter Text
GREGORY
I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list.
SAMPSON
Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them, which is a disgrace to them if they bear it.
Enter ABRAM and BALTHASAR
ABRAM
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
SAMPSON
I do bite my thumb, sir.
— The Excellent and Conceited Tragedie of Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare
Act I Scene I
The sharp clink of cutlery against glass made Wilhelm look up, interrupting his conversation with Alexander.
As usual, a ripple of annoyance went through him as he spotted his cousin looking grimly down at everyone, who, just like Wilhelm, were just trying to enjoy their breakfast. And as usual, August’s cocksure movements seemed to be amplified, now that all eyes were on him.
Fucking Christ, he looked even more insufferable than usual in that dumb turtleneck.
Beside Wilhelm, he heard Henry mumble into his forkful of mashed potatoes, “Monologue time.”
Wilhelm bit back a smile. Sometimes it felt nice knowing that he wasn’t the only one who seemed to see through the bullshit facade August held up for himself. At least the rest of the first-years—even if they did get a bit hung up about the ‘Prince’ thing sometimes—seemed to see August for what he truly was. A pretentious asshole.
But of course, none of them actually dared to say it out loud, unless they wanted to clean a month’s worth of dishes or be a human alarm clock for the third years until the semester ended. So, they all kept their mouths shut.
“Alright, boys,” August started, his voice solemn like he was delivering a eulogy, “it’s time. Tomorrow is the day–”
“Yeah? Jeez, we didn’t know that,” Wilhelm muttered under his breath. A small choking sound erupted beside him, as Henry turned to Wilhelm, wide eyes watering with barely-concealed mirth. He let out three muffled coughs and thumped at his chest.
Silence fell over the table as everyone waited with bated breath.
August was glaring at Henry. “Are we all done now, then?” He asked, his voice cold, his eyes shooting daggers at Henry, who merely nodded, and raised a thumb in response.
“Good. Yes, what was I saying?”
“Tomorrow we kill some bitches,” Vincent interjected, leaning forward on folded arms, his teeth bared in a shark-like grin. Wilhelm rolled his eyes, then caught Henry's pointed gaze directed at him. A warning, probably, to not get him into trouble again.
“Yes, right. I haven’t finished.” August waved a dismissive hand at Vincent and continued, “Tomorrow will be the culmination of all our days of grind and hard work and…” He let the arrogant cadence in his voice waver as some of the guys leaned forward in anticipation.
Wilhelm noticed the simper in August’s face and shook his head in slight disgust. The asshole was definitely enjoying his unnecessary dramatics. God, he couldn’t wait for breakfast to end and lectures to start, just so he could march up to Felice and bitch about the many horrors of the men’s rowing team.
When he felt that he had let his voice hover enough, August finally continued, “ Brotherhood . Because that’s what we do here at Forest Ridge. We train together, sweat together and reap the fruits of our collective labour.”
Collective labour . Wilhelm scoffed internally as he thought back to all the mornings spent with August screaming at the rest of the team to run faster and how their ‘grannies could sprint faster’ while he stood at the side with his stupid shiny whistle attached to the stupid cord around his neck.
“Those Sprucewood fuckers have never been able to keep up with us when it comes to rowing, and I’d like to keep. It. That. Way.” He emphasised each word with a pronounced thump on the table. Then, to Wilhelm’s horror, August started towards him , until his cousin was now standing directly behind him.
Please don’t make any weird comments about our ancestry, please fucking don’t , Wilhelm thought. He could feel August practically breathing down his neck, ready to deliver the final blow of secondhand embarrassment.
“And of course, they won’t stand a chance when we’ve blue blood in our team,” August brought a hand down on Wilhelm’s shoulder, hard, and gripped it tight. A few noises of approval were heard around the table as Wilhelm clenched his jaw and restrained himself from doing something stupid.
(Read as: getting up from his chair and landing a clean and satisfying punch on his cousin’s nose)
An obnoxious whoop hollered from the third years at the other end of the table. Vincent got up and walked up to August, placing an amicable slap on his back. “Good speech, man. How much time did you spend preparing it, a month?”
Wilhelm heard a snicker on his other side and just as he felt the hand on his shoulder tense even more, Walter seemed to have realised his mistake.
He shouldn’t have laughed at that. Jokes between the third years stayed between them; it wasn’t a lousy first year’s place to have an opinion on them. Another fucking insane unspoken rule in Forest Ridge that they were expected to follow religiously anyway.
“Something funny, Walter?” August’s hand had left its place from Wilhelm’s shoulder.
Walter bit his lip, his eyes darting around everywhere but towards August. Beside Wilhelm, Henry had frozen up too, a slight frown creasing his brows. But they couldn’t say anything.
“Nothing, August.” Walter muttered. His eyes were fixed on his plate of half-eaten food.
Vincent spoke up then, his voice tinged with glee, “Well, if it isn’t anything, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind dishwashing duty now, would you, Walter? Let’s say for, oh, a week?”
Walter remained quiet, but the way his jaw quivered and his gaze looked like it was burning a hole in the tablecloth spoke volumes. It was unfair, but it was tradition . Wilhelm hated every fucking second of it.
“ Excellent .”
Wilhelm felt another clap on his back, this time undoubtedly delivered by Vincent.
He just wanted to get out of there at that point. Far, far away from Forest Ridge and from the third years; maybe the pizzeria would be far away enough, so he could talk shit about August and his goons with Felice.
“Anyway,” August regained his composure as he moved his way back towards the other end of the table, “I want you all up by 4:30 AM tomorrow, sharp. If any of you fuckers are even a second late, you’re off the team. This competition is infinitely more important than your morning wank.”
Well. An August speech wasn’t an August speech if there wasn’t an unsubtle innuendo stored in there somewhere. The kind of innuendo which, instead of forcing a chuckle out of Wilhelm, made him grind his teeth in an effort not to cringe.
“That’s all.”
Chatter filled the dining hall once again, and the first years relaxed visibly after making sure that neither August or worse, Vincent, would be coming over to their end and tormenting them through breakfast. Wilhelm extracted his phone from the pocket of his jeans.
Hey
Can I call you?
Erik
Hello
Now???
No, not now. I have classes
At 6 pm maybe?
Erik
Ok 😃
Wilhelm blinked. Ever since Maddie had accused him of being a serial killer for using the emoji with the open-mouthed smile, he had been less…receptive to it. After all, peer pressure worked wonders, even in the texting world.
Ew, Erik. Don’t use that emoji
Erik
????
Why not?? Its just a smil
Smile*
It is not. It just looks creepy
Use a normal smile emoticon like the rest of us
Erik
Sure whatever u say
Mr “i use oxford comma while texting”
🖕🏻
≪ °❈° ≫
It took Wilhelm an embarrassingly long time to realise that he was just staring back at a black screen when his call connected. It was only when it dawned on him that he was just blinking at the tiny, blank window showing his own screen that he called out, “Erik? You there?”
Just after he’d spoken out loud, the black screen was replaced by his older brother’s face filling up the camera, so close that all Wilhelm could see was his forehead and one eye. There also seemed to be a lot of fumbling going on in Erik’s end, shuffling noises and a single muttered ‘Fuck’ , in between everything.
“Erik? What’s happening?” Wilhelm tried again, and this time his brother looked up, a slightly apologetic look on his face.
“Hey, hey. I’m here, Wille. I was just looking for my tie, but I–” a loud thud followed with the camera jerking and going out of focus, “–but I still can’t find it.”
Wilhelm frowned because all the rustling and thudding was irritating him a little bit, and he just wanted to talk to Erik for a few minutes. Properly , without the camera giving him a thrilling close-up of his brother’s blazer.
Nevertheless, he asked, “Which tie? The stupid red one?”
Erik came back into focus, his eyebrows knitted together in a manner almost identical to Wilhelm.
Look, the two of them didn’t exactly resemble each other, in the typical sense, but it was at times like these that they were almost indistinguishable from the other. And, Wilhelm did know for a fact how much their mother wanted him to trim his hair short, so he could look like Erik’s minion.
“No, it’s not that. Also, my red tie is not stupid, it’s a statement –”
“A bold one, and not in a good way.”
Erik shushed Wilhelm, his eyes lined with mirth. “Shut up, kid. I meant my navy blue tie with the little spots on it. You know, the one which I got from my girlfriend when I was in Finland.”
“Yeah, the OnlyFans girl, Erik, I know,” Wilhelm groaned, tipping his head back.
Sometimes he wished Erik could be at least a little more…dignified, and not overshare details about his sex lives with random women that Wilhelm definitely did not want to hear about, thank you very much. Erik was his brother , for god’s sake.
Then, Wilhelm paused, his brain finally processing Erik’s words. Wait. “Erik. That tie. You only wear it for your meetings with the Royal Court.”
“Yes, you’re right,” Erik said, “And?”
To any other person, Erik would sound just like he always did. Cool, calm and poised. But Wilhelm knew Erik , not Crown Prince Erik. And he knew very well right now that his brother was being an idiot because he was supposed to go to a meeting, and instead he was stuck in a phone call with Wilhelm.
“Oh fucking come on .” Wilhelm groaned before he set a steely glare at his brother, who was very pointedly avoiding his eyes, “Erik, why did you even agree to talk if you’re busy? You could’ve just told me and I–”
“Wille, Wille. Calm down, kid.” Erik tried, a small smile twitching his mouth.
“Don’t call me a kid.”
“Yeah, ok, I won’t, kid–” Wilhelm let out an affronted grunt, “–but, it’s fine. Seriously. It won’t kill them if I’m ten minutes late.”
Wilhelm knew all too well who Erik meant. The Royal Court.
The bane of their existence.
Logically, Wilhelm
knew
that they were just doing their jobs, which happened to be working for the Royal Family. But he also knew that they all regarded him with the kind of disdain which was impossible to pinpoint, but not difficult to miss.
And, he knew that he’d have to hear from the Queen once she found out that the Crown Prince had been late to one of their lacklustre meetings because Wilhelm had talked his ear off about the woes of being on Forest Ridge’s rowing team.
“Wille, I haven’t been able to talk to you properly for almost a month now. And I know that you’ve been busy with your new semester, and your friends and everything, and I’ve been a bit busy with my work too. But that’s not an excuse for not catching up, right?”
Wilhelm sighed. His stupid brother and his stupid insistence that the two hold firmly onto each other as the chaos of their legacy reigned their lives. It was difficult not to love Erik, no matter what kind of questionable stunts he sometimes pulled.
So, Wilhelm said, “I appreciate that. But it won’t be great for either of us when Mamma ends up scolding us.”
Erik made a clicking noise with his tongue—a habit that he had picked up from Wilhelm, who used to do that as a child when the nanny would try to feed him greens—and leaned back against the one armchair that he loved.
“I’ll take care of that, you don’t need to worry about her. Now, tell me. What happened?”
Well, since he was getting an opportunity anyway, it would be a good idea to seize it while he could.
“Was rowing this…insane,” Wilhelm started carefully, “when you were in Hillerska?”
A glass of whiskey appeared in view as Erik frowned and took a sip from it. Wilhelm fought back a smile; his brother liked to go to some of the Court meetings a bit tipsy. It made dealing with Jan-Olof’s perpetual sour expression easier, according to Erik. He’d have to take his brother’s word for it, since it was fun imagining Jan-Olof’s disapproval aimed at someone other than himself.
Erik hummed, before he replied, “Define ‘insane’.”
Oh, right.
Of course, Erik would be sceptical. Unlike Wilhelm, his brother had been the darling of the rowing team when he was in school.
One time, to Wilhelm’s horror, he had seen way too many medals and trophies hanging in Göran’s office, most of which were engraved with Erik’s name. There was also that one insufferable photo of his beaming brother standing shoulder-to-shoulder with August, the two of them holding up a trophy.
So, Wilhelm wondered if he was making a mistake lamenting over his disdain for Hillerska’s rowing team to his brother, who loved said rowing team.
But well, he was down the rabbit hole, so he might as well dwell in it.
“I don’t know…” Wilhelm started, choosing his words carefully, “There’s so much talk about ripping the other team’s throats off, painting the gymnasium with their blood and guts.”
That was something Vincent had declared gleefully, something which Wilhelm had absolutely no desire or will to hear and stomach while he had been chewing on his breakfast of dry scrambled eggs.
“Is the other team Sprucewood?” Erik asked.
“Yeah, the other team is– wait, what the fuck? How do you know that?” Wilhelm exclaimed, his tone lifting with the incredulity he felt. Erik could read minds now, apparently.
From the other end, Erik’s laugh sounded grainy and distorted as the internet connection stumbled for a second or two. When it cleared up again, Erik was looking at Wilhelm, an amused grin lighting up his face.
“What?” Wilhelm demanded, “What’s so funny?”
“Wille, do you actually pay any attention when you’re with your team, or are you just that clueless?”
“Fuck off.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Erik cackled, noticing Wilhelm’s deepening scowl. “It’s just that Sprucewood and Forest Ridge have been rivals for almost nine decades now. So, both teams get, uh, a bit fired up whenever they fight against each other.”
“It’s a rowing competition,” Wilhelm stated flatly, “not a gladiator freak show. There’s no fighting. The way August talks about it makes it seem like we’re fighting for some long-lost honour or something. It’s fucking stupid .”
“Don’t let him hear you say that.”
Wilhelm scoffed.
“Oh,” Erik raised an eyebrow, “this isn’t about rowing then. It’s about August.”
Wilhelm faltered for a second, before repositioning himself. Damn Erik and his fucking ability to see through him. Not that Wilhelm didn’t appreciate it; Christ knew he needed someone to understand amidst the flurry of robotic pretence in the flat, metal people he had to deal with all the time, the ones who only saw him for his title.
But that didn’t mean it was any less annoying. Although with Erik, it was better to just give in than resist.
So, that’s what Wilhelm did.
“Yeah, it’s August.” He admitted. “It’s just that…he’s so terrible, you know? I mean, I kinda understand getting all fired up for this. You’ve told me before that school is the most important thing for him.”
Erik nodded slowly, not interjecting in between as he usually would: a sign to show Wille that he was listening.
“But that really doesn’t give him an excuse to be terrible to me, or my friends.” Wilhelm still felt anger bubble up inside when he remembered August embarrassing Walter in front of everyone during breakfast for something so mindlessly trivial as laughing. And mostly, he had felt angry at himself for not saying anything to defend Walter
“You’re right, Wille. But that’s just how he’s like. He’s a good kid–”
“Highly debatable. And none of us are kids, August least of all, Erik.”
“ But ,” Erik interrupted, “he’s in his final year. Just a few more months, and then you won’t have to deal with him.”
Wilhelm sighed. He was expecting this kind of reply from Erik, and he had received just that. Sure, his brother was perceptive about stuff when he wanted to be, but he was the biggest idiot when it came to August. Just how he saw good in him would always be a mystery to Wilhelm.
“Okay, enough about August,” Erik declared as his grin returned full-force, “you wanna know why Forest Ridge and Sprucewood loathe each other?”
“Uh, yeah.” Wilhelm wasn’t sure how some long-dead, hypermasculine rivalry between two rowing teams could have an interesting history, but he was willing to put away assumptions for a brief second.
“ So , it all started in the autumn of 1924, a mere thirteen years after the foundation of Hillerska, when–”
“Oh come on, are you seriously going to–”
Erik made a violent shushing sound. “You’re ruining my flow, asshole . Wanna hear the story or not?”
“Alright, fuck. Go ahead. No need to cuss at me, for fuck’s sake.”
“As I was saying ,” Erik began again, sending a pointed look at Wilhelm, “it was the autumn of 1924, when the inter-school rowing competition was held. And the venue for one of the events was Hillerska, and this was the first time since its opening that the school was hosting something. So, naturally, it was huge .”
Wilhelm wanted to make a snide remark, but this was Erik.
It was almost impossible to not buckle down and just listen to him, because no matter what, his brother had this something that helped his words enrapture people. Be it some stupid anecdote or a boring speech, Erik had this way of saying things in a way that would enthrall anyone and everyone.
So, Wille listened.
“Hillerska’s opponent arrived two nights before, who was none other than Sprucewood. A powerhouse in their own right, all the way from Jönköping.”
Wilhelm knew that . Apparently, their school, Grennaskolan, was notable for Sprucewood’s formidable rowing team.
“They were civil with each other at first, friendly even. But everything changed during the day of the competition, all because of something a captain had said. But, no one really knows which team’s captain was it, because of the shame that came along with admitting.”
“What was it?” Wilhelm asked, his interest now piqued. “Did someone shit themselves?”
“Shitting would’ve been less embarrassing, honestly.” Erik said gravely. “But no, Wille. What happened was so unthinkable, so scandalous, such a grand act of betrayal –”
“Oh my fucking god, Erik, just say it!”
“One of the captains,” Erik glared at Wilhelm and put a finger on his lips in a shut the fuck up gesture, “admitted that he was in love with the other team’s captain.”
Wilhelm blinked. Whatever he had been expecting hadn’t been… that .
“What? Come again?” Wilhelm frowned.
“They were in love. It was a Romeo and Juliet situation.”
Alright, whatever Wilhelm had initially thought about not expecting that, was taken back instantly as realisation forced itself to a stop in front of him. Of course, this would happen. It was Forest Ridge .
“Well, I’m not that surprised. Of course, these people would draw all their humiliation from two guys liking each other.”
“What?” Erik frowned. “No, not at all. Trust me, that was not the problem. At least, not the main one because, uh, homophobia was a thing back then.”
“Sure it was.”
“Shut up. But the main problem was the two captains betrayed their house and their school, so it was unforgivable. It was an unspoken rule: you’re not supposed to be involved in any way with the enemy.”
“Isn’t that the point of sports, though? To make everlasting bonds, or whatever?”
“Not in rowing. Here, brotherhood matters the most.”
(Yeah, Wilhelm could picture a third year Erik standing beside the breakfast table in Forest Ridge and giving the same speech as August, who was probably taking notes. That image was way too vivid for Wilhelm's liking.)
“So, what? Our teams turn to borderline homicidal behaviour to make up for a hundred year old incident? What even happened to those two guys?”
“Nothing.” Erik shrugged. “I made that all up.”
“ What!? ” Wilhelm practically yelled. “Then what the fuck happened ? ”
“Eh, something dumb. A Sprucewood guy threw a Forest Ridge guy in the lake. Our house didn’t like it, so we beat the shit out of the Sprucewood captain at that time. And the feud has been going on ever since.”
“So I was right! The story is something stupid and hypermasculine.” Wilhelm shook his head. The only way to describe his feelings was robbed . He felt robbed of a gay and dramatic Shakespearean romantic-tragedy that his older brother had thrust into his hopeless queer arms.
So, Wilhelm seethed, “ Why did you get my hopes up with your made-up story? That was way better than the actual shit.”
“I know , right? Do you think I should be a writer?” Erik said with a very serious grin. God bless his brother.
“Absolutely not. I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. Look, I felt like I had to spice up the story somehow to motivate you. And hey, maybe you can have that Shakespearean romance with a Sprucewood guy, Wille. Who knows?”
“Yeah, and have August and Vincent kill me and dump my body into the lake? No thanks, not gonna happen.” Wilhelm snorted. Plus, if the Sprucewood guys were anything like the ones in his house, then the chances of romance had already taken a deep dive and drowned.
“You never know, Wille. You might–” A series of loud raps sounded from Erik’s end which cut short whatever he was saying.
“Crown Prince,” a muffled voice reached Wilhelm’s ears, “are you there? The meeting has started.”
“Oh fuck ,” Erik hissed, “I totally forgot about the fucking meeting. Bye, Wille. Shit, Mamma won’t be happy. And, uh, don’t worry I’ll just tell her that I dozed off or something.”
“Yeah, don’t stress about that. Go , for fuck’s sake, I’ll be ok.” Wilhelm laughed.
“Bye, goodbye.”
After the call ended, Wilhelm flopped on to his bed and stared up at the ceiling. The few neon stars that Felice had stuck up on there blinked their dusky yellow-green light at him as the sky outside turned a brilliant prussian-black. The dinner he had had an hour ago was already vanishing from existence out of his body, and he felt his stomach let out the tiniest of rumbles.
As Wilhelm got up to rummage in his cupboard for the spare packet of cheese doodles he had stashed in there, he mused. It would’ve been nice if the actual reason for the rivalry had been the story Erik had cooked up. At least it would’ve humanised the rowing team a bit more for Wille if he knew that tender emotions had a place here.
But of course, things don't always go the way he wanted them to. So, Wilhelm made his way back to his bed with his snack and put on his headphones to listen to the rest of the true crime podcast Henry had recommended to him.
“ ...a serious breach of protocol. Any doctor in this scenario would’ve seen Ben’s actions as horrifically negligent, and frankly borderline crazy. Not only… ” The podcast narrator was speaking, and Wilhelm fluffed up his pillows and leaned back against them, with the packet of cheese doodles resting on his chest, trying to get as comfortable as possible.
Just as he was getting in the flow of following the medical jargon reaching his ears and vibing with the story, a loud series of bangs on his door made him jump up. Wilhelm lowered his headphones as the door flew open. It was Vincent, with one hand covering his eyes.
His eyes were peeking out from between the gaps of his fingers, which could only be considered as counterproductive instead “No hands down your pants, Your Highness. Go to sleep. That’ll be all, thank you.”
The door shut with another bang so loud that Wilhelm rushed over to make sure if it was still intact. He paused for a second and locked the door. The last thing he wanted was either of the third years turning up in the middle of the night and scaring the shit out of him. The initiation had been more than enough.
What was it that Erik had said?
Maybe you can have that Shakespearean romance with a Sprucewood guy, Wille.
Wilhelm scoffed audibly. If they were anything like the idiot who had just stormed in, or the other idiot he was unfortunately related to, then no thanks .
No way he’d want a nightmarish romance like that.
≪ °❈° ≫
It felt like the world outside their stuffy locker room was exploding in a cacophony of noise; loud screams, deafening clapping and the chants . Even from the corner Wilhelm was sitting in, he could pick up all the words clearly.
“ We will kill all those fucking Forest Ridgers! We will kill all those fucking Forest Ridgers! ”
When he looked up from where he was slowly lacing up his shoes, he locked eyes with Walter who looked green under the mahogany tint of his hair. Wilhelm nodded at him, in an effort to reassure him. But when the boy clutched at his stomach, Wilhelm knew that he hadn’t much to help with the nerves.
“Hey, August.” It was Nils, who was frowning towards the door leading to the gymnasium, which barely contained the chaotic hell Wilhelm was about to subject himself to.
“What?” August didn’t look any better. Despite his stupid brotherhood and blueblood pep talk, he looked like he was close to losing his shit. That made Wilhelm feel more nervous than better. If August—the resident rowing freak and their captain—couldn’t keep it together, how could the rest of the team do anything?
“Don’t we have a slogan or anything? Why aren’t we chanting about killing them?”
Vincent walked up to Nils, a frown set on his face. “You know what, that’s a good question. We should come with something right now. I’ve some ideas, and it involves torture–”
“We don’t need anything flashy to win,” August snapped, cutting his friends off. “Now come on, let’s kill those fuckers.”
The first thing that Wilhelm noticed when he walked inside the gymnasium was how big the opponents looked. Like, there was literally no fucking way that some of them were between fifteen and nineteen years. Literally no way . He tried to quell the dread pooling in his stomach as he walked towards the Sprucewood team, all of them lined up to shake hands.
The next thing he noticed, or heard at first, was someone calling his name. He turned his head to see Felice trying to catch his attention. His friend’s face broke out into a blinding beam of a smile when their eyes caught, and she gave him an energetic wave.
“You can do it, Wille!”
Wilhelm grinned back at her, hoping he didn’t look as sick as he felt.
“Now that you have your girlfriend’s encouragement,” Vincent muttered next to Wilhelm, “you’ll do smashingly then, huh?”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Wilhelm said, almost at once.
August, who was ahead of Wilhelm, went over to the other team’s captain. The smile plastered on his face was too cheery, his eyes too wide as he shook hands with the other guy (who towered August , who was a fucking giraffe in his own right).
“Good game,” August simpered. But despite the smiles the two guys gave each other, the veins in their foreheads pulsing with unrestrained rage as their clasped hands lingered and clenched was testimony to their intentions.
“Go fuck yourself,” Vincent said cheerily. He pushed past Wilhelm to shake hands with the captain.
As Wilhelm scowled at his teammate for pushing him, and tried not to make a fool of himself in front of two schools by falling on his face, he saw him .
Arguably the most beautiful boy Wilhelm had ever seen in his life.
A halo of curls that formed wisps of soft chocolate, a delicate curve of neck under the maroon of the Sprucewood uniform, slender arms and legs which shone like bronze in the sunlight-filled gymnasium. Wilhelm realised he was staring only when the boy looked up from where he was chatting with his teammate, and dark brown eyes met his.
Wilhelm felt his heart stop. He quickly looked away.
But apparently the Fates seemed to hate him, because behind him he felt someone urge him forward. It was Walter. “Wilhelm, come on, we gotta move quickly. I just want this nightmare to be done with.”
So, that was how he found himself face-to-face with the beautiful boy, who was holding out a hand to shake. When Wilhelm accepted it, he realised something.
Compared to the other mammoths in his team, the boy looked small . Wilhelm had to look down to meet his (devastating) eyes. Maybe he was a bench player? That didn’t make any sense, though. Rowing didn’t have bench players; this wasn’t football.
Then Wilhelm’s eyes tracked up to spot a single brown curl forming the tiniest and barest outline of a heart.
He was going to lose so badly.
It was only when Wilhelm felt a tug at his hand that he snapped himself out of his very disastrous and very gay thoughts. The boy was giving him a weird look, his lips pushed into a pout (Wille was dead , actually). Another tug.
Then, Wilhelm realised. He was still holding onto the other boy’s hand.
Mortified, he wrenched his hand out of the other’s grip with a quick, “Sorry.”
But before the other boy could say anything, someone from Sprucewood called out, “Simon, stop loitering and get the fuck over here.”
The boy—Simon—blinked, and rushed towards his team, but not without directing a final glance at Wilhelm. Wilhelm felt like someone had punched him in the gut, and whatever air had been circulating inside of him had evaporated in an instant.
Did air even evaporate? It just seemed like after seeing Simon, all reason and rhyme had melted out of Wilhelm, leaving only a blob of incoherent muddle.
Wilhelm was going to make Forest Ridge lose so, so fucking badly.
******
“Fredo! It’s Fredo. It’s one of the most popular movies of all time. Won Best Picture, so.”
Wilhelm felt the quiet force of Felice’s muffled laugh next to him as the scene cut to Rosa and Amy talking. It was Thursday night, which meant watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine with Felice, on her laptop in Wilhelm’s room. It was one of the things he looked forward to, and it was just nice to be in his friend’s company and laugh at dumb sitcoms.
But today, he was distracted.
Felice seemed to have caught onto it too, because Wilhelm felt a nudge at his side. He looked over and saw Felice giving him an expectant look.
“Everything ok?” she asked.
Wilhelm sighed. “Of course it is. Why wouldn’t I be ok?”
The thing about lying through your teeth intentionally when your friend is being genuine, and knows you too well, is that the lie would inevitably be followed with a sharp rap on Wilhelm’s arm, courtesy of a pissed off Felice.
Wilhelm yelped as he felt a sting on his forearm, which didn’t hurt him, only caught him by surprise.
“ Jeez , ok, fine . I just feel like shit because our team lost the stupid match because of me.” Wilhelm admitted at last.
Felice reached towards her laptop and pressed pause on the episode they had been watching. Then, she leaned back so she was facing Wilhelm. “Wow, I had no idea that you’d be this bothered about it. Don’t you hate rowing?”
And well, technically she was right. Wilhelm usually didn’t give a single shit about rowing or all the elaborate red pill shenanigans that came along with it. But this time, he was pissed at himself for how badly he did during the competition earlier that day. Or rather, why he had done so badly.
And if he had to blame it on someone, it had to be Simon from Sprucewood.
Simon, with his deafening grin as he had urged his teammates on. Simon, with some of his curls plastered to his forehead and the others bouncing around his face when it was his turn on the rowing machine. Simon, his legs glistening with sweat when they clamped around the machine as someone else worked on it.
Literally all of Simon had rendered Wille useless.
From the smooth curve of his lips, right down to the tick he seemed to have where he ground the sole of his shoe into the gymnasium floor. Every little thing that Wilhelm had noticed about the other boy in the span of almost two hours had culminated into small crushed stars coming together to form a constellation of a realisation that he was already aware of.
Simon was just so beautiful .
If anything, he was too embarrassed to admit that he had lost the match because he had been too busy checking out and waxing poetic about someone from the opposing team. Not even to Felice.
Mostly because this little stint would pass, as soon as Sprucewood packed their bags and left the next morning.
It was all temporary. Wilhelm would never have to see Simon again, and all would be well again.
(The thought made him feel weirdly melancholic, though.)
“Honestly?,” Wilhelm managed to say at last, “I’m just mad at myself because I made a lot of dumb mistakes. Plus, Erik had tried to motivate me yesterday but all of it went down the drain, so.” He ended his argument with a feeble shrug.
Felice hummed thoughtfully before responding “Did August say something to you? He looked spitting mad when he came out of the locker room, and I think you were the only one there with him.”
Like a flashback in a film reel, Wilhelm’s mind veered over to the last critical round which had been in his hands. Just as he had been pumping his arms and legs forwards and backwards, his eyes had involuntarily landed on Simon, who was lifting the hem of his t-shirt to wipe at his neck.
It was then that Wilhelm had faltered , his eyes catching on the sight of a smooth abdomen, with the pair of shorts sitting just a bit low on Simon’s hips.
Before he could process anything except for two words doing cartwheels around his head ( “He’s hot” “He’s hot” “He’s hot” “He’s hot” “He’s hot” ), Wilhelm had felt a rough hand on his shoulder push him away from the machine.
All he could process afterwards was August sending him a glare and taking over the rowing machine, and Wilhelm trying his best to look away from Simon.
“August?” Wilhelm scoffed, “Yeah, I’m not worried about him, don’t worry.”
“Whatever you say–”
Just then, a series of knocks sounded on Wilhelm’s door. For not the first time, he was glad that he had decided to lock the fucking door. He called out, “Who is it?”
“It’s Henry,” His friend replied from the hallway, “Come on, Wille, we’re gonna egg Sprucewood.”
The rapidly fading patter of footsteps suggested that Henry had left right after that. All that was left was a confused Felice raising her eyebrows at Wilhelm. “You’re gonna do what now?” she asked.
Wilhelm groaned as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against Felice’s shoulder.
Immediately, her hand came up to weave through the loose strands of his hair. He closed his eyes and sighed, “Egg. Sprucewood. The third years are all sore losers, and now they’re making all of us pay for their little ego redemption trip.”
“Aren’t you the reason for the ego redemption trip in the first place?” Felice teased.
“Ugh, shut up.” Wilhelm brought up his hand to jab lightly at Felice’s side, who pushed him away with a shocked giggle. “Anyway, Vincent wants to throw eggs at Sprucewood. They’re all spending the night at the spare house near the boathouse.”
“So, you’re gonna do that too?” Felice asked.
Wilhelm shrugged, “I actually don’t give a fuck. I’m just going along to humour the others, that’s it. See you tomorrow?”
“Yep.” Felice reached up to hug him and plant a small kiss on his cheek. “I think I’ll stay back for a little more time and then leave.”
“Ok, but make sure that you won’t–”
“Get caught, I know. Wille, I’ve been doing this for months now, I’m used to it. Now you go and get egging.”
In lieu of a response, Wilhelm grumbled audibly. He didn’t want to go and get egging . He’d rather sleep in like, you know, a sane human.
≪ °❈° ≫
As it turns out, getting egged in the face wasn’t a pleasant experience.
Or at least, that’s what Henry and Walter seemed to have deduced when they witnessed an egg hit Wilhelm with a SPLAT! on his forehead.
Wilhelm let out a chagrined shout, as he recoiled, feeling something wet and cold (and warm at the same time?) slide down his face and awakening the worst kind of sensory feelings in him. Beside him, both Henry and Walter yelped at the same time.
“Bro, that doesn’t look good,” Henry observed as he leaned closer to peek at Wilhelm’s face.
“Yeah,” Walter agreed as he joined his friend in examining Wilhelm like a fucking zoo exhibit. “Try to keep the goo out of your eyes. Wait, can egg yolk blind you?”
Wilhelm pushed both of them away from him and snapped, “Oh, thank you so much for pointing out that getting an egg lobbed at my face is not a peachy fucking experience. Brilliant work, you two.”
(If Erik had been here, he would’ve looked at Wille with gleaming eyes and drawled out, “ Peachy? Don’t you mean an eggy experience? ”)
It was just then that the two boys’ royalist instinct had kicked in, because Walter turned towards the second years ahead of them and yelled, “Hey! You motherfuckers egged the Prince !”
One of them, Per, maybe, called back, “Then maybe you fucks don’t let him stand where he can get caught in the fucking crossfire! Move somewhere else.”
Henry shot one last glare in the general direction of the second years, before turning towards Wilhelm, who was now scrubbing away the egg innards from his face with the handkerchief Walter had produced from his cargo trousers pocket. “Come on, Wille, let’s get you somewhere else.”
“We need a high point.” Walter declared.
Henry stared at him like he had grown another head. “Walter, does this look like the time for you to burn one down?”
The other boy scoffed, “No, you fucking idiot . I meant that we need to find an elevated spot to attack. That’s basic military strategy! A higher vantage point gives wide field of view, which enables surveillance of the surrounding–”
“Not everyone’s a gaming nerd like you–”
“Alright, that’s enough.” Wilhelm interrupted the two. He had managed to stop the egg from oozing down his face, and all he could feel was the residual stickiness on his face and in front of his hair, the stink reaching his nose. Both Henry and Walter shut up at once.
“ Look ,” Wilhelm started, “I’m just gonna go somewhere else, ok. I really didn’t wanna get roped into this thing.”
Walter blinked. “So…you’re gonna find a better hiding spot?”
Gritting his teeth, Wilhelm said, “Sure.” Whatever made them sleep at night. All he knew right now was that he desperately wanted to get away from this chaos.
“And, uh, don’t tell anyone where I went, ok?”
Henry clapped him on the shoulder. “Of course we won’t tell, man! Just make sure you get the dude with the glasses. He flipped me off after Sprucewood won.”
“Yeah, yeah. I will try.” Wilhelm walked away from the rest of his team, making sure to keep his movements careful so no one—especially one of the third years—saw him.
He made his way towards the Palatset , with its low roof and dingy surroundings scattered with empty beer cans and bottles of vodka.
A metal beam lay above the ledge near the Palatset , and it was a spot Wilhelm loved to sneak to during some of Hillerska’s many parties. Hidden from plain view, it was a nice spot when he needed to wind down from the chaos, but also remain close enough that he could be a witness to the metaphorical fire raging around him.
And apparently, Wilhelm hadn’t been the only person to think that.
Because as he drew nearer towards the ledge, he noticed another figure crouching in his spot. Wilhelm slowed down, his heart picking up speed little by little. Who was it? It was around 10 PM, which meant that it was way too dark for him to decipher what was going on, and he was far away from any lamp posts.
The first thought that entered his mind was, naturally, that the silhouetted figure was an assassin. But that was just dumb. Wilhelm wasn’t even the heir, that was Erik. Maybe he’d be used as ransom? And then the figure would slit his throat if he refused to cooperate.
(Fuck, he really needed to stop listening to those true crime podcasts, they were really messing with his brain chemistry)
The second, more rational, conclusion was that it could be a Sprucewood student who was hiding from all the eggs and screams of anger and raucous laughs flying around in the scene of action. Like Wilhelm.
But he didn’t have to wait for long for the answer, because the figure stirred, and angled their body towards where Wilhelm had been standing stock-still. Then, before Wilhelm could think his (maybe) last thoughts in the mortal coil, the figure leaned forward, the light from the nearest lamp post falling on him.
(The most beautiful boy Wille had ever seen in his life)
It was Simon. From Sprucewood.
He wasn’t in his rowing uniform anywhere, instead he was dressed in a pair of black sweats and a purple hoodie that absolutely drowned him, and made him look smaller than he actually was, which was still pretty small.
“If you’re going to throw an egg at me,” Simon’s voice called out, “then you’ll regret it. I’m not kidding, you do not want to fuck with me.”
And, oh . Wilhelm realised that this was the first time that Simon had spoken to him directly. Initially, it had been that one (embarrassing) handshake, and a few fleeting glances here and there during the match.
Great, another thing to be cringeworthy about.
“I won’t.” Wilhelm managed to say at last, but his words came out a bit garbled. So, he cleared his throat once again and repeated, “I won’t. Egg you, I mean. I don’t have anything on me right now, I promise.”
To prove his point, Wilhelm held his hands up, palms facing Simon, to show how empty and devoid of poultry by-products they were. For good measure, he also showed Simon his empty pockets.
Seemingly satisfied, Simon leaned back against the ledge once again and patted the space next to him. “Come and sit with me then, if you want. I mean, if you aren’t participating in whatever shit is going on over there.” Simon pointed in the general direction of the chaos unfolding behind them.
“No, no. I definitely don’t want to be a part of that shitshow,” Wilhelm hurried to say. He made his way towards Simon and sat down on the spot next to him. The uneven cement of the ledge sticking out and the stray weeds poking out of them poked against Wilhelm as he leaned back to look up at the dark sky. He couldn’t see any stars up there, all of them covered by grey-blue clouds.
“Um, I’m Wille, by the way.” Wilhelm said, without looking away from the sky. He felt Simon stir next to him.
“Oh. I’m Simon.”
I know , Wilhelm wanted to say. But he of course didn’t say it; unless he wanted to sound like a creep.
Instead, he peeked over at Simon who was regarding him with an unreadable expression. Now that they were close to each other, Wilhelm could just barely make out the tiny crescent shaped scar next to Simon’s lips. Or maybe it could just be a shadow, since it was pretty dark.
“Nice to meet you, Simon.”
“Same here. You want gummy bears?”
“What?” Wilhelm blinked. He turned to look at Simon properly , and was immediately greeted with wide eyes lined with quiet mirth and something else sweeter.
“Gummy bears,” Simon repeated. He brandished a packet of half-eaten Haribo Goldbears at Wilhelm. “You can have some if you want.”
“Uh, thanks.” Wilhelm reached and carefully fished out a few of the fleshy gummy candies, making sure not to spill them and make him look like a fool.
The two of them sat next to each other in silence, chewing on the gummy bears as the background erupted with an array of cuss words that would make Jan-Olof faint, melee after melees of eggs flying around and confused shouts ringing around like ping-pong balls. The amicable quiet between the two of them broke in intervals as Wilhelm would reach for the Haribo packet that Simon extended towards him.
But, Wilhelm had questions. And he realised that he wouldn’t be able to rest until—if not all—some of them were answered.
So, he asked, “How come you’re hiding out here?”
Simon paused and turned to look at Wilhelm, his eyebrows pushed up in mild surprise. But that quickly morphed into a quick snort as he replied, “You mean why am I not getting pelted by your teammates?”
“Uhh, yeah?”
Shaking his head, Simon said, “One of your teammates, I think it was the one who looks like Eminem with a bad dye job?”
Before he could stop it, Wilhelm almost choked on the gummy bear he had been chewing on as loud chortles racked through his body.
(If Wilhelm had directed his attention towards Simon, he would’ve seen the other boy looking over at him with the softest smile, his brown eyes twinkling as they regarded Wilhelm)
“Wait, wait,” he coughed out at last, “do you mean Vincent ?”
“I mean, I don’t know his name, but I’m guessing yeah. But anyway, I overheard him telling his friends about ambushing our team at night and egging us. So I sneaked out of my room and came over here.”
Wilhelm exhaled, the amusement that had crept up on him refusing to leave, “So, you didn’t warn your teammates?”
Simon gave a one-shouldered, indifferent shrug. “Eh, a few eggs here and there won’t kill them. Plus, most of them deserve it.”
Oh . So, Simon was like him then. Someone who resented his rowing team. Suddenly, the weird camaraderie Wilhelm felt ever since he had decided to sit down next to this strange boy and share gummy bears with, escalated and set itself in stone even more.
“What about you?” Simon directed the question at Wilhelm. “Prince and all, I assumed you’d eat this up.”
Wilhelm snorted in disdain. “Yeah, not at all, actually. I didn’t even want to get into rowing. I did it only because my older brother was captain when he was in Hillerska, so I guess it made sense if I were a part of it too.”
Simon hummed and tipped his head back to look up at the sky, like Wilhelm had done earlier. A soft breeze blew past, and ruffled Simon’s dark curls gently. Wilhelm wanted to run his fingers through them.
“What about you?” Wilhelm directed the same question that Simon had asked him. Mostly to avoid doing something stupid like stretching his hand out and letting his fingers loop around Simon’s curls oh so lightly. But also because he was curious.
“For the grades.” Simon replied. “Competing for my house means the chances of me getting an A increases. Grades are the only way I can succeed.”
“Oh, that makes sense.”
Silence once again enveloped them. And honestly, if Wilhelm could, he would willingly remain frozen in this moment forever. With the whispery gusts of late March breeze, the rippling sounds from the lake if he strained his ears, the sticky sweetness of shared gummy bears melting on his tongue, and the quiet and there presence of a beautiful boy next to him.
The noise from behind quelled for a bit, and when it did, Wilhelm heard humming. Like actual melodic humming, not like the distorted ones he and Erik would engage in during their afternoon drives with the roof of his brother’s favourite convertible down.
When Wilhelm turned his gaze towards Simon, he saw that it was indeed the other boy who was humming. In between, he’d switch up the humming for melody-coated words, and then go back to humming.
“Do you sing?” Wilhelm blurted out before he could stop himself.
Simon brought up a hand to rub at his neck and, when Wilhelm glanced down, the sole of his shoe dug into the dusty ground underneath them. His tick.
“Yeah,” Simon said, sounding abashed. “I do sing. I’m a part of my school’s choir. I mean, apart from my academics, my singing was also the reason I got the scholarship in Grennaskolan.”
Wilhelm blinked. “So does that mean you’re–”
“A non-boarder, yeah. Apparently the only way you can actually earn any respect in a school like this is when you study because of your daddy’s money.” Simon’s tone was bitter. “I get a lot of shit for not coming from a family of oil tycoons or something, I don’t know.”
The ‘that’s actually why I hate my rowing team’ was left unsaid, but not unheard.
So, Wilhelm said, “Yeah, that’s how it works around here too. It’s fucking dumb.”
“Birds of a feather or something.” Simon snorted.
“Yeah, I really don’t see how our houses hate each other when they’re actually exactly the same.” Wilhelm grinned.
“It’s natural selection. In order to see who will be the fittest to survive, they fight each other.”
Wilhelm laughed at that, and caught the gleeful look Simon sent him. Something about that stirred a hurricane inside him, which proved difficult to curb.
(Maybe you can have that Shakespearean romance with a Sprucewood guy, Wille)
Just then, chatters of a conversation hovered near where they were hiding. Wilhelm froze, straining his ears to pick up the voices. As they got nearer, he felt dread wash over him.
“Wait, where the fuck is Wille?” August.
“Uh, wasn’t he with Walter and Harry?” That was Vincent, undoubtedly.
“It’s Henry.” Nils corrected. “And yeah, I’m pretty much sure I saw them all together. Do you think he sneaked back into Forest Ridge?”
“No, I asked Krille to keep lookout near the House. If he was near there, I would know,” August said.
Vincent guffawed, “August, my man. You should’ve stationed someone near Manor House. Wille must’ve sneaked into his little girlfriend’s room. Him and Felice have been pretty close recently. Way too close.”
Wilhelm looked at Simon, his eyes wide. He didn’t know why that had been his first instinct when Vincent had implied that Felice was his girlfriend (which was just…no. Smysan was a pain in the ass enough about wanting to get her daughter with Wille).
Simon was looking back at Wilhelm, a small smile playing on his slightly parted lips. With the limited light, he could make out the barest hint of a pink tongue pressing against Simon’s upper teeth. WIlhelm felt faint.
“...let’s just try again.” Nils was saying now. “Wille!”
“Wille! Where the fuck are you?” August called out. Soon, their surroundings were filled with shouts from the trio of third years calling out Wilhelm’s name.
Then, Wilhelm heard something else. Something quieter, something more cheeky.
“ Wille .”
He once again turned to Simon, to see the previous smile extending into a grin. And it was when Wilhelm noticed the pure, unadulterated sparkle of mischief in Simon’s mahogany eyes that he realised. And his realisation proved itself true when the boy next to him perked up as August screamed Wilhelm’s name once again.
“Wille!” Simon chirped again, this time the pitch of his voice was higher but still not loud enough to be a shout. But it still triggered a feeling of quiet panic in Wilhelm.
So, he hissed, bringing a finger near Simon’s mouth in a desperate attempt to shush him without crossing boundaries, “ Shh! Don’t do that. I don’t want them to find us–um, me.”
“Wille?” It was Vincent again. “Ugh, let’s just forget it. He’ll turn up one way or another. I still haven’t thrown an egg at the fucking captain’s dumb face.”
“But I promised Erik that–” August started to say before stopping himself. “Alright, fine, let’s go.”
And just when Wilhelm thought he could relax, Simon opened his mouth again, and this time he was louder than before. “ Wille! ”
Honestly, with what happened next, Wilhelm hadn’t had a single thought about whether it was a good decision because of the red sirens flashing inside him. So, without wasting a second, he lunged towards Simon and clamped a hand over the other boy’s mouth.
No matter what, he could not let his teammates find him here with a Sprucewood guy.
(Not that Wille gave a shit about the rivalry, it was just that he didn’t have the energy to explain why he was hiding away from the scene of action with Simon. Plus, dealing with August after this would be insufferable )
Wilhelm waited, his body frozen still as he remained crouched there with Simon pressed close to him. All he could focus on was the sounds in his vicinity, straining his ears to check if his cousin had heard Simon or not.
A minute passed. Or maybe it was three. But when Wilhelm realised that they were in the clear, he let the brief feeling of panic ebb away from his shoulders. And that’s exactly when he clocked in on the harsh breaths hot against his palm.
The same palm that was still pressed on Simon’s mouth.
Wilhelm’s eyes darted down and met Simon’s which resembled twin abysses, duskier than their surroundings. Clutching onto his arm were Simon’s own hands, and whose palms seemed to be pressing their heart lines and life lines like parallel infinity curves on him.
When he at last came to his senses, Wilhelm quickly slid his hand away from Simon’s lips like they had burnt him.
(And maybe they had, if the phantom heat lingering on the centre of his palm was anything to go by)
Before he could stop himself, his gaze flitted down to the same lips that his palm had moulded itself against. And despite the limited light, he could make out the smooth curve of Simon’s upper lip, which traced down gracefully, reminding Wilhelm of the alabaster arches of Bernini’s Blessed Ludovica Albertoni sculpture that he had once seen in Rome.
“Uh, sorry.” Wilhelm muttered, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Oh, um.” At least Simon seemed to be sharing that embarrassment. That was a relief. “That’s–that’s ok. Alright. I shouldn’t have teased you.”
Wilhelm quickly shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault. I just don’t like August. My second cousin.”
“The captain?” Simon sounded intrigued.
“Yeah,” Wilhelm allowed himself to relax when it seemed like their awkward position had been forgotten, “he’s always way too passionate about rowing to the point it’s concerning. Plus, he uses our relationship with Erik to guilt-trip and make me work harder.”
Simon let out an affronted noise. “Wait, he sounds like an asshole.”
“That’s because he is.”
“Don’t worry, Wille.” Simon was grinning once again. “I've got a solution.”
Wilhelm frowned, “What?”
Without giving him a proper response, Simon got up and walked past Wilhelm, and bent down to retrieve something from the mess of dried brambles. At last, he produced something round. Something which was undoubtedly an–
“An egg? Why do you need that for?” Wilhelm asked, dumbfounded. The egg must’ve miraculously rolled downhill from the battlefield without breaking.
Simon shook his head, “You mean why do you –” he pointed at Wilhelm, “–need this for. You, Wille, are going to egg your cousin, and you’ll feel great after that.”
Wilhelm laughed. “Yeah, sure.” But he picked up on the very solemn experience on Simon’s face. “Oh…you’re not kidding.”
The other boy shrugged. “Why should I be kidding? You deserve this, Wille. I mean, I’ve only known you for like 45 minutes, but you sound like you need an outlet for your cousin situation–”
“That makes it sound like I’m involved in something way more incestuous with August,” Wilhelm complained.
“What? Ew, no ,” Simon wrinkled his nose. “Those are your words, not mine. I was saying that you deserve an outlet when it comes to August’s bullshit. And what better outlet than launching protein at him?”
And maybe it was all the sugar inside of Wilhelm, beating against him like moths threatening to break out of their cage. Maybe it was the adrenaline that came from hiding from August. Because Wilhelm found himself thinking, why the fuck not?
It was August’s last year anyway, plus it would be so satisfying to watch runny yolk drip down his cousin’s face.
So, Wilhelm said, “You know what? Fine. Give me that egg.”
Simon grinned as he handed the egg to Wilhelm. “Yes! You can do it, Wille. Aim for his nose.”
He smiled back in response. “I will.”
“And, uh,” Simon had turned his gaze down and the sole of his shoe dug into the dirt again, but his voice was steady and determined, “my team will be leaving at six in the morning tomorrow. Maybe you could…come say goodbye? Only after telling me about how your egging went, of course.”
And, oh .
From somewhere in the Manor House, a light switched on, and it fell directly on Simon’s face, and Wilhelm was enthralled once again by the simple beauty of the other boy. Wille wanted to appreciate all the dull and monotonous things in the world more now, like LED lamps and phone flashlights, solely because of how they illuminated Simon’s beauty.
“I’ll be there at 5:45 AM. Sharp.” Wilhelm promised. The sugary moths inside him fluttered in swirling vortices. “To tell you about August, of course.”
“Of course.” Simon smiled back. “I gotta go, now. Bye, Wille. It was nice meeting you.”
“Same here. Goodbye, Simon.”
******
When Wilhelm strolled into Hillerska’s kitchen the next evening, Walter was hunched over the sink, his hands meticulously scrubbing away at the huge entourage of dirty dishes. The Forest Ridge boys were seriously messy, on top of the huge amount of food they inhaled daily.
“Hey,” Wilhelm greeted as he took an apron hanging from one of the hooks behind the door. Walter looked up, his face a mask of surprise.
“Wilhelm,” Walter started, “what the fuck are you doing here?”
“I…might’ve pissed off August.” Wilhelm admitted. And despite trying to sound apologetic—and he really did try—he couldn’t stop the smirk taking over his face.
The egging had gone great. More than great, actually. Wilhelm had sneaked up behind August and had waited behind a bush until his cousin turned around. When he did, Wilhelm hadn't missed. The egg in his hand had flown and landed cleanly on the bridge of August’s nose, splattering egg yolk everywhere.
The look of pure shock on his cousin’s face, and the disgust that had followed, had been so worth it to see, plus it had definitely added at least seventy-four more years to Wilhelm’s lifespan.
But unfortunately, August was shrewd, and he had found out who had thrown the egg at him almost at once.
And that was how Wilhelm ended up in the kitchen, two weeks’ worth of a punishment stretching ahead of him (it had initially been a month, but August had cut it down because of ‘the consideration that Erik is our brother’ or whatever bullshit he decided was justified).
“You look pretty chipper for someone who’s about to spend two weeks washing dirty dishes,” Walter noted with a frown.
“Am I?” Wilhelm mused. He picked up a Dutch oven and started to scrub away at the dark residue stuck at the bottom of it, and hummed the same poppy tune he had heard the night before, in the quiet of the Palatset .
“Dude, you’re singing .” Walter sounded horrified.
No one really had to know, but Wilhelm had woken up that morning at 5:20am, taken a hasty shower, then quietly sneaked out to Hillerska’s gates, where Grennaskolan had parked their bus. From behind the large vehicle, a figure had jutted his head out.
Wilhelm could’ve recognised that face and those luscious curls anywhere. When he was with Simon again, the two of them hidden from sight as they stood behind the bus, he felt the same quickening of his pulse as he had felt the night before with Simon’s lips against his palm.
And speaking of lips, Wilhelm could still feel the tingle on the spot on his left cheek where Simon had kissed him lightly.
His heart swooped and did stunted cartwheels at that memory once again: Simon leaning in and wrapping Wilhelm up in his warmth, the brush of eyelashes against his face as Simon’s lips had pressed a phantom peck on the other boy’s cheek.
Wilhelm felt giddy .
The giddiness only increased in its effervescence as the conscious weight of Wilhelm’s phone in his pocket which now bore a new set of digits of a phone number. The same number which had been dialled on his keypad hurriedly by Simon after they had heard some of the Sprucewood guys making their way over to the bus.
“Text me later, Wille.” Simon had whispered before sneaking in a final cheek kiss.
But really, no one had to know.
~