Chapter Text
Prologue
They met when they were nine, in the park that his mother used to take him to when he was little. It was a crisp Autumn morning, a Saturday. He’ll never forget it. How could he? It was the day his whole life changed. The day that he met the most perfect person the universe had ever, and will ever create. His mother was sitting on a bench nearby gossiping to one of her friends on the phone, not paying much close attention to him as usual. He didn’t mind, and he still doesn’t. It makes his life easier. Or at least that’s what he tells himself. She ignores him and simply pretends that she likes him, and he does the same right back.
He was running by himself around the park, something he’s always loved to do, when he heard someone yell. The voice sounded like that of a young boy’s. Immediately, he stopped and turned his head in the direction of the sound. He heard more shouts of distress as well as laughter and jeering voices also coming from other boys. He ran in the direction of it, and as he got close enough he saw a small, dark caramel skinned boy with brown curly hair jumping and reaching up, trying as hard as he could to grasp a sketchbook that a taller blonde boy was dangling just out of his reach. There were two other boys doing nothing but standing there and laughing, occasionally shoving at the curly haired boy as he desperately tried to get the sketchbook back.
“Give it back! Or else!” He heard the boy pleading, looking nothing short of distraught.
“Or else what Simon?” Simon. “What are you gonna do about it?” The blonde haired boy dangling his sketchbook sneered.
“Maybe he’ll go call his freak of a sister to help him. Oooh I’m so scared!” Jeered another one of the boys.
“Or maybe his mommy, who he always hugs like a little baby before school!” The third boy added. “Is that what you’re gonna do Eriksson? Call your mommy on us?”
Wille continued watching from his spot behind the tree as the curly haired boy, no, Simon, stopped trying to jump and grab at the sketchbook. “Just give it back. Please. ” He said softly, making it obvious to Wille that Simon knew they weren’t going to.
“Nah, we wanna see your little drawings. The park’s boring.” The trio started to walk away, beginning to flip through the pages. Not looking, the tall blonde one, seemingly their leader, hit his foot on something of Simon’s on the ground.
He looked down and his terrible grimace of a malicious smile was back on his face. “You brought colored pencils too? To a park? What kind of loser brings their little colored pencils to a park?” He turned to his other two friends for validation of his joke, and like clockwork, they both laughed and supplied him with it.
“You just said that the park was boring, and then you ask why I brought colored pencils?” Simon asked, which even Wille knew was the wrong thing to say. Almost immediately, the blonde boy’s eyes narrowed, and Simon was shoved so hard that he stumbled backward, having to fight to keep his balance. To Wille’s amazement though, he didn’t fall, and looked almost graceful regaining his balance.
The evil trio, as Wille had then named them, stomped away, leaving Simon standing there alone, fists clenched by his sides so tightly and from that far away it looked like his body was shaking. For some unknown reason, Wille felt drawn closer, and as he approached, he realized that the boy indeed was shaking, his whole body quivering as he cried into his hands, silently gasping for air.
“Hey,” Wille said softly without even thinking about it, something that startled the both of them. He never talked to strangers.
Simon’s hands fell away from his face, and even though he didn’t know the boy then, Wille still remembers the way his heart clenched at seeing the tears staining his cheeks. “What do you want?” Simon questioned Wille, “just leave me alone.”
It was at that moment Wille realized what a spectacularly stupid idea it was to approach the boy. He obviously thought Wille was with the evil trio or something, and Wille didn’t know how to convince him otherwise. He also didn’t know what it was exactly that he wanted, or why the hell he’d even approached or started talking to Simon in the first place.
“Oh, uh, no, I’m- uh, I’m not with them, sorry,” he stuttered out, tripping over all his words. He was glad his mother wasn’t around to hear his unimpressive speech patterns at that moment, she’d always chastised him about that, telling him that if he ever wanted to be as successful of a lawyer as his father then he would need to speak more confidently.
“Who are you?” Simon asked then, and Wille realized that though he’d overheard Simon’s name and had been watching the whole situation, Simon had no idea who he was because he still hadn’t introduced himself. Another thing his mother would have yelled at him for if she weren’t still gossiping on the phone.
“I’m Wille,” he said, sticking out his hand, the beginning of the most important introduction of his life.
“I’m Simon,” the boy choked out, still trying to hold in his sobs, obviously confused by Wille’s formal introduction, but taking his hand and allowing Wille to shake it anyway.
“I know,” he responded.
“How do you know?“
“I was listening to what was happening,” Wille replied, being only nine years old and having no concept of shame from eavesdropping yet.
“Oh.”
“Who are they?”
“Kids from school,” the curly haired boy replied reluctantly.
“Why did they take your stuff?”
“Because they don’t like me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m different.”
“How are you different?” Wille could see how he looked different, and how he talked differently, with the slight hint of some kind of accent, but he didn’t understand then why that would make someone treat someone differently. He was too young for that.
“I’m not from here,” Simon replied like it was obvious. “I moved here a year and a half ago. They knew me when I barely even spoke Swedish at all.”
“But you speak Swedish now?” He asked, still not understanding, being still shielded from so much of the world and so many things that Simon had not had the privilege of being shielded from at that age.
“Yeah, but they met me when I didn’t.”
“Okay.” Wille said, still not really understanding but not wanting to look stupid in front of this other boy.
Simon looked at the ground and wiped another tear from his eye with the back of his hand. “My mama bought me that sketchbook for my birthday,” he sniffled, tears starting to come down harder again. “Where am I supposed to tell her it is?”
“Can’t you just tell her they took it? Then she can get it back for you.” He said, thinking it was the obvious answer.
“No,” Simon replied frantically, surprising Wille. “I told her everything was fine at school. She can’t know. It will make her sad!”
It would remain true that Simon almost never lies, but when he does, it’s almost always for the sake of trying to make himself less of a burden to others, a habit Wille had gotten his first glimpse of that day in the park.
Wille didn’t know why, but he couldn’t stand just watching helplessly at the sight of the other boy crying, sniffling, and shaking in front of him. “I’ll get it back,” Wille said then, not knowing why, and certainly having no idea how he was going to get it back.
“What?”
“I’m going to get it back,” he said again more confidently, not knowing if he was trying to convince himself or convince Simon.
“Really?” Simon’s eyes lit up, the warm darkness of them highlighted by the glassy tears surrounding them. From the way Simon’s face lit up with hope, he decided that there could be no going back. He had to help this Simon boy, who he for some reason felt an instinctive pull toward, like Simon was some sort of magnet and he was caught in his magnetic field.
He nodded and marched off in the direction of the evil trio, trying to figure out what the hell to say to them. When he arrived, the three boys were sitting under a tree and flipping through the sketchbook, laughing mockingly at all the drawings. “Hey,” he said, trying to sound as tough as his little nine year old body would let him. “That doesn’t belong to you, hand it over.”
The three boys looked up, and he had to do everything in his power to keep his feet planted in the grass, fighting the urge to run away right then and there. “Who the hell are you?” Asked the boy who’d been the one dangling Simon’s sketchbook above his head.
“I’m Wilhelm, and I’ve come to get that book back. Hand it over.”
The boy looked at his two friends, and the three of them all started laughing. Wille felt his blood start to boil then. “What are you, Simon’s fairy godmother or something?”
“I’m his friend,” he replied, knowing this wasn’t true. He barely knew the curly haired boy but he wasn’t sure what else to say. And if he were honest with himself, he couldn’t help but want to be Simon’s friend. There was just something about him. “Give it back.”
“No,” the lead boy sneered and got up, getting too into Wille’s personal space for his liking. He reached out to try and snatch Simon’s sketchbook from him, but the other boy was faster, tugging it out of his reach. “Come on Simon’s little fairy godmother, that's the best you got?”
He felt the sudden urge to punch the boy in the face, but he had a feeling that Simon wouldn’t like that very much, so instead he came up with a lie to trick them instead. “My dad’s a lawyer, and you’ve just stolen. I’m going to call him and you’re going to go to jail forever, and never get to go to school, and will never be free ever again!” He’s pretty sure none of what he’d said was true, but thankfully, they seemed to believe him because the boy handed him the sketchbook and the trio simply ran away without another word.
Feeling triumphant, he walked back toward Simon proudly, with the sketchbook in hand. The moment Simon saw him, he ran toward him and nearly tackled him with the force of his hug. Wille wasn’t prepared for Simon to grab him and hug him like that, and he was taken aback, not exactly knowing what to do with this type of affection. Eventually, he hugged Simon back, assuming that was the sort of thing a person was supposed to do in a hug, and Simon squeezed him even tighter. He loved it, and when Simon let him go, he immediately missed it.
“Thank you thank you thank you Wille thank you so much,” Simon rambled out frantically, accepting the sketchbook from Wille and holding it against his chest. “Thank you, you’re the best person ever! How did you get it back?”
His mother and father didn’t really ever tell him he’d done a good job, or anything of that sort, so he didn’t exactly know what to do with Simon’s praise, but he basked in the feeling of it. “My dad’s a lawyer,” he responded, “and I told them my dad would make them go to jail if they didn’t give it back. I think it worked.”
“Wille you’re the greatest person in the whole world!” Simon said again, pulling him once again into a tight hug. This time, he immediately hugged Simon back, as if his body knew what to do this time and didn’t want to waste another moment of the feeling of having Simon against him. It was a feeling that despite the many years that would come and go after this moment, would never seem to fade, Wille always loving the feeling of Simon being close to him.
“Where do you go to school?” He asked when they broke apart, hoping that this boy somehow was in his class, even though he’d never seen him before and knew he wasn’t.
“Marieberg,” Simon replied, “you?”
“I go to Hillerska,” he answered, unable to stop himself from feeling disappointed.
“Oh,” Simon’s face fell. “It would have been nice to have a friend.”
Were they friends? Did Simon consider them friends? His heart flipped a little at the thought. “Yeah, it would have,” he replied, knowing the exact feeling Simon was talking about. He didn’t really have any friends in his class either. There was a girl who was nice to him, Felice, but they weren’t exactly friends. Or maybe they were, who’s to know? And he didn’t like the way all the other boys were so rough and disgusting. “Can I see your drawings?” He asked.
Simon looked hesitant, not answering for a moment before responding “okay… please don’t make fun of them.”
“I’m not going to make fun of you, pinkie promise,” he said, sticking out his pinkie which Simon linked with his own.
Simon opened his sketchbook to reveal some graphite, and some colored pencil drawings filling every page. Some were of cities, New York City, Simon told him. Others were of trees and birds from the park, of storefronts, food, and other assorted things. A few pages were of a house and several other drawings that Simon told him were of Venezuela. Simon explained what each drawing was of, and Wille listened intently, enjoying both how well done the drawings were, as well as the sweet honey feeling of Simon’s voice.
Then, Simon quickly flipped a page without explaining what the drawing was of, and Wille wasn’t sure if maybe he’d stopped paying attention, (impossible, the boy with sun kissed golden brown skin had all his attention), so he asked “wait, what was that drawing of?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Simon replied and tried to move on and explain what type of plant the drawing they were currently looking at was. Wille reached out and flipped the page back, to reveal a drawing of a curly haired boy which he assumed was Simon, a curly haired girl, and taller drawn curly haired woman inside the outline of a house, and a man drawn in the outline of another house in the corner of the page.
“Is that you?” He asked, pointing to the fancy stick figure drawing of the curly haired boy.
“Yeah,” Simon breathed, sounding nervous for a reason Wille’s young mind never would have guessed at the time.
“Who’s that?” He asked, pointing to the curly haired stick figure girl.
“My sister.”
“And that?”
“My mama.”
“And this person?”
A pause, “my papa.”
“Why’s he drawn in a different house?” He asked, not understanding why the drawing of Simon’s papa wasn’t in the house with them.
Simon swallowed, and even his nine year old mind realized he’d maybe asked something he shouldn’t have. He’d barely even just met Simon after all. “Umm,” Simon hesitated, “it’s because I sometimes wish he didn’t live with us… I guess… But only sometimes,” He admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Please don’t tell anyone,” Simon looked at him pleadingly, his eyes more worried than even when he was trying to get his sketchbook back.
“I won’t,” he promised, not understanding why Simon would want his papa to not live with him. Wille didn’t talk that much to his dad, but they still went fishing every once in a while and he got to watch his dad fish. And sometimes they would even go and get ice cream afterward, although he couldn’t remember the last time they had done that. And even though he didn’t like the way his dad would kick him out of his study when he had work to do, he’d still rather his dad live in the same house as him. He decided it was better not to ask though.
*
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♡
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As it would turn out, he didn’t need to ask. As the years went by, he was there for Micke’s booze and drugs, the fighting, the yelling, the divorce, Simon’s silent tears when he thought Wille wasn’t watching, the moving to a different house, the switching schools to Hillerska. He was friends with Simon throughout it all.
He’ll never forget the nights where Linda would call his mother and ask if Simon and Sara could sleep over, his mother grudgingly allowing it and telling Wille afterwards what a bad influence their family was. He remembers laying on the floor next to Simon, Sara long asleep, and listening to Simon talk into the early hours of the morning, forcing himself to stay awake and listen no matter how tired he was, because Simon was more important. Often on those nights though, Simon didn’t really talk at all, and Wille would just hold onto him, letting Simon’s tears dampen the collars of his shirts.
At school the next day, Simon would always write him little notes or leave him little drawings thanking him for everything, for being such a good friend. Wille always felt confused as to why Simon was thanking him. He was the one that felt thankful. Thankful that Simon allowed him to be one of the only people who saw his hurt. He knew Simon didn’t let most people in on seeing his sadness, and he felt grateful Simon trusted him so completely.
Yesterday, 13 Years Old
He’d never felt more grateful to have Simon’s trust than when Simon felt comfortable enough to come out to Wille at the same time as his mama and Sara.
He was over the Erikssons’ house, his favorite place to be, and they had just finished Simon’s 13th birthday dinner, a delicious meal cooked by Linda. Simon had finished opening his presents and he, Simon and Sara were helping clean up the plates and put them in the sink for Linda who was washing them. Wille could tell the whole night that something was clearly on his friend’s mind, but it was his birthday and he didn’t want to push.
Eventually, Simon announced that he had something to tell them, and the four of them all sat down at the table again.
Simon was fiddling with his hands and looking down at them nervously. He reached across the table and squeezed Simon’s hands, which stopped Simon’s fiddling and earned him a grateful smile from his best friend. Simon looked at his mama, Sara, and then back at him. He tried his best to offer an encouraging smile.
Simon took a breath in, held it for a moment, and then said, “I wanted to tell you all that I’m, um, I’m gay… I like boys.”
“Oh mi amor I am so proud of you, thank you for telling us,” Linda said immediately, getting out of her seat to squish Simon into a hug. Simon smiled and hugged his mama back.
Sara looked between him and Simon, and then said, “am I supposed to pretend like I didn’t already know this?” Wille wasn’t sure how Sara knew because he certainly had no idea Simon was gay.
Simon looked stunned by Sara’s comment, but then Linda laughed and Simon followed. Simon groaned, jokingly saying “of course you did.”
Simon’s gaze landed on him then, clearly waiting for him to say something, and he truly didn’t know what to say. Wille didn’t know anyone else who was gay. He knew it was okay to be gay, theoretically, but he’d also seen his mother shake her head disapprovingly whenever a same sex couple showed up in a movie or held hands in public.
“Wille?” Simon asked then, his voice a little higher than normal and much quieter, and it was obvious that he was starting to panic a little.
“Do you have a crush on anyone?” He settled on saying with a smile that he hoped conveyed that he was glad Simon told him, and Simon’s cheeks went pink with embarrassment, as he mumbled a “maybe,” in reply.
Later on after the candles were blown out, and presents were exchanged, Wille ended up in Simon’s room, helping Simon set up the keyboard he’d gotten for his birthday.
“Okay, how the hell does this screw go in?” He asked, trying and failing to understand the directions on how to set up the keyboard stand.
“I have no idea, hand me the directions,” Simon replied. Simon studied them for a moment before gently shoving him out of the way and putting the screw in with ease.
“Of course,” Wille mumbled, jokingly rolling his eyes.
Simon laughed and shoved him gently, “it really wasn’t that hard. Do you even know how to read?”
“You know what? I actually don’t Simon, I’m just coasting through Year 7 solely by cheating off your papers.”
“I knew it!” Simon exclaimed, finishing screwing the rest of the stand and placing the keyboard on top. “Ta da!”
Simon sat down on the little piano seat and Wille sat next to him, crowding and shoving Simon over for more space. “Quit it idiot, you have to be nice to me, it’s my birthday,” Simon said, fighting him back for space on the seat.
They both laughed as they continued jostling for room. Eventually, when they settled down, Simon played a song from memory on the piano. It was mesmerizing to watch him play so beautifully from up that close. His talent was obvious to anyone who had ears, but it never failed to amaze Wille every time he watched Simon play or heard him sing. It was like Simon’s melodies traveled straight to the soul.
Simon finished playing, and then there was a silent pause between them. Simon pressed a key a few times with his finger, like he was thinking, and Wille could practically feel the nervous energy Simon was radiating all of a sudden. “I guess I just want to ask…” Simon trailed off, playing a few more keys, the beginning of some different melody before he stopped again, his eyes never leaving his fingers on the piano. “I want to ask how you feel about what I said at dinner. Like how you really feel. Not in front of everyone.” Simon’s eyes flickered to his for a moment, before they returned back to the piano as he nervously chewed on his bottom lip.
“How I feel about what you said at dinner…” Wille repeated, not knowing exactly what he was supposed to say, or how to describe what he felt. It’s Simon, and he always would be Simon. And he was perfect and always would be. He didn’t care that Simon liked boys, but he’d never met someone who was gay before and he didn’t exactly know what the proper way to react was, and he’d never been one to like change, and he could feel that this was going to change things.
“About how I said I was gay?” Simon continued, “It’s just… you kind of didn’t really say anything at first and I guess- I wanna know what you’re thinking.”
“I don’t mind that you’re gay Simon, you’re still you,” he responded, and he could feel Simon’s body relax a little from how they were pressed up against each other on the small keyboard bench. “It’s just, I’ve never known a gay person before I guess, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to. I just didn’t know what to say. But it’s really cool if you like other boys, I promise.”
Simon nodded. “So you still want to be my friend?” He asked hesitantly, nervous eyes finally looking completely at Wille.
“What?” He whirled to the side to face Simon so quickly he nearly toppled the foldable keyboard bench over and knocked them to the floor. He couldn’t help it though, he was so surprised by Simon’s question. “In what world would I not want to be your friend? You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”
Simon nodded to himself, and despite Wille’s declaration he looked a little sad for some reason. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had too, Wille. Thank you for being perfect.” Simon leaned his head on his shoulder and he couldn't help the smile that made its way onto his own face.
“I’m not perfect, idiot,” he said, feeling his cheeks go red from the compliment. “So who’s your crush then?” he asked, trying to change the subject so the blush on his cheeks would go away.
He felt Simon’s body stiffen slightly and he took his head off Wille’s shoulder, looking down at his hands again. “It’s no one,” Simon answered, uncharacteristically softly.
“Oh come on Simon, tell me!”
“I can’t.”
He couldn’t help but feel a little hurt by this. He knew things would change a little, but now they’re already changing. They’d never once kept secrets from each other before. “We tell each other everything,” he said with a frown.
“I know…” Simon trailed off, looking a little guilty.
“So why won’t you tell me?”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t,” Simon responded, eyes glued to the floor and chewing on his lip slightly.
This confused him. Why couldn’t Simon tell him? Did he not trust Wille when he said he didn’t care if Simon was gay? “But why?” He asked, feeling slightly hurt and needing to know the answer.
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because it will change everything and you hate change, Wille,” Simon said, gently tugging Wille’s fingers away from his mouth where he’d apparently been chewing on his nails without noticing.
“Okay but Simon you’re allowed to like someone.” He was a little upset that Simon was blaming his unwillingness to tell him his crush on the fact that he didn’t like change. Sure, he was not one to like things being different, but Simon liking someone wasn’t a big deal. It’s not like it was going to change everything. He told Simon as much.
“But it is going to change everything,” Simon replied.
“No, it isn’t, just tell me.”
“No.”
“Simon I don’t understand.”
“I can’t , Wille.”
“What do I have to do to get you to tell me?”
“Nothing, I just can’t right now, okay?”
“I don’t understand why you don’t trust me. I’m not going to tell anyone.”
“I do trust you, Wille, I just…”
“Then tell me.”
Simon sighed, “can we please just do something else?”
“Sure,” he replied, “if you just tell me who you like.”
Simon leaned forward and banged his head against the keys, making an odd sounding chord clanged out of the keyboard
“Is it Lukas?”
“No.”
“Is it Oliver?”
“No.”
“Is it Daniel?”
“No.”
“Is it-”
“-For fucks sake Wille it’s you! Okay?” Simon shouted, hugging his arms around himself and looking small despite practically shouting in frustration. “Will you finally stop now?”
And oh.
Oh.
Turns out maybe it was going to change everything after all.