One of those bells that now and then ring

Ayub shrugs Simon off his back and sends him a reproachful look. Simon tries to communicate with just his eyes that he cannot tell Wille anything. Not that there’s anything to tell, of course.

“What's going on?” Felice shuffles in just after Wille, dropping her own bags to the ground with a groan. Wordlessly, Wille holds out his hands for her coat and places it on the hooks.

When Felice offered Simon the spare room in her apartment three weeks ago, he was not really prepared for what it would mean to share a space with Felice. Or, if he was being honest, what it would mean to share a space with Wille.

Acquaintance is probably a better word to use to describe what he and Felice are. Whereas Felice and Wille are definitely friends. Best friends in fact. Which Simon knew before he moved in.

Sure, Simon already knew that Wille was attractive, he’s seen photos, and he isn't blind, but what he didn't know was that Wille is sweet and dorky and affectionate and—

Without another word, Wille moves from the coat hooks and bends down to lift Felice’s bags. 

“You're a gem,” Felice groans, rubbing her hands. “The boots were a bad idea.”

“The boots were an excellent idea,” Wille calls over his shoulder as he carries the bags to Felice's room. Then, when he re-emerges adds: “I told you, they make your legs look amazing.”

Felice rolls her eyes. “You're just saying that.”

“I'm sure he's not,” Simon says. “I bet they do make your legs look incredible.”

“You're both biased,” she dismisses as she reaches into the fridge and grabs a bottle of water. 

“Why do I care what your legs look like?” Simon points out.

Felice snorts whilst taking a sip and splutters water everywhere. 

Wordlessly, Ayub holds out a towel for Felice to dab at her shirt. “Oh,” she says. “Thanks, Ayub.”

“No problem.”

At the tone of Ayub’s voice, Simon glances over to him. To anyone else, Ayub might look like his usual, unruffled self. But Simon knows. 

He raises an eyebrow. Ayub narrows his eyes at Simon and gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

Simon reads it loud and clear. Don’t say a thing. Which is real fucking double standards when Simon had had to use physical restraint to stop Ayub saying anything about Wille. But Simon is a good friend, so he doesn’t comment and hopes that the glare he sends Ayub back communicates something along the lines of, ‘And the same goes for you.’

Whilst Simon and Ayub are having this completely silent conversation, Wille has also rounded the counter into the kitchen, which means it takes Simon a little by surprise when Wille gently touches his shoulder and says, “Sorry. Can I just get—”

“Oh! Shit. Yeah. Sorry.”

With a ridiculous little jump, Simon hops out of the way so that Wille can reach into the fridge to get himself a drink. He sends Simon a small smile and says, “Thanks.” And then, wiggling the bottle, adds, “Want one?”

The words get stuck on their way up Simon’s throat, so his half-choked, “No thanks,” makes him sound like he really does need a drink.

But Wille doesn’t question it, just smiles again and moves out of the way.

Fuck. 

***

Simon tries to sleep, he really does, but the idea of Wille being on a date with one of Felice’s friends is bothering him.

More than he wants to admit to Ayub. More than he wants to admit to himself.

When he’s tossed and turned for hours, he decides he needs to get up and get himself a drink, maybe reset his body before trying again. It’s past one in the morning and Wille isn’t back yet, which means he isn’t coming back. Which makes Simon feel absolutely no sort of way at all.

For fuck’s sake. This was not the deal. The deal was to have somewhere to stay for a few weeks until he found his own place and then move the fuck on. The deal was not to lose sleep over some exceptionally pretty but ultimately out-of-bounds guy who Simon had been perfectly happy without before now.

He runs himself a glass of water and stands at the kitchen counter sipping it. Moonlight filters through the blinds and falls over the sofa and coffee table. There are two empty mugs there from when Felice and Wille sat chatting earlier. Simon could tell it was a no-outsiders-allowed-best-friend conversation, so steered well clear.

Now, he pads around and lifts the mugs, carrying them to the sink along with his water glass. He’s just about to head back to his room when the sound of a key being very carefully pushed into a lock sounds through the apartment.

Fuck.

Wille is coming home. And it’s so late, what if he’s bringing his date? What if they decided to head somewhere more private? What if—

There isn’t enough time for Simon to make himself scarce before the door is quietly opening and Wille is tiptoeing inside.

Alone.

Oh.

Perhaps he has somewhere he needs to be in the morning. And so he couldn’t stay over at his date’s place.

Simon tries to melt into the shadows, but he knows if Wille turns on the light he’s utterly fucked.

As it happens, Wille doesn’t turn on the light. Instead, he stumbles through the dark heading toward his room— Nope!

For some reason, Wille takes a detour at the last minute into the kitchen, and Simon doesn’t have time to react before—

“Ouch!”

“Fuck!”

“Ow.”

“Oh my god. What’s—”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry!”

Fumbling on the wall, Simon turns on the light and they both squint, blinking against the brightness.

“Simon.” Wille recovers first. “What are you doing up?”

“I, uhm… couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t disturb you did I?”

“No. I was already up.”

“Okay. Good.” 

For several seconds, they just stare at each other. Wille looks awkward and a little embarrassed. Simon wonders if he was hoping to sneak in unnoticed and has been thwarted. If only Simon could get his stupid brain to shut up. If only he wasn’t driving himself to distraction with the idea of Wille laughing with someone else. Kissing them and holding them and going home with them and—

“How was your date?”

Idiot. What on earth made him ask that? Clearly all self-preservation was lost two hours earlier, staring up at the ceiling and imagining all the ways the date could be going.

“Fine.” The answer comes very quickly, and the awkwardness seems to have intensified. Wille is fiddling with his fingers, picking at the skin down the sides and chewing on the inside of his lip.

“Fine?” 

Why won’t Simon’s mouth just stop? He doesn’t want to know about Wille’s date. Doesn’t want to know about yet another reason why they could never work.

“Yeah. Fine.”

“Will you, uh, see them again?”

What. The fuck. Is he doing?

A small huff makes it out of Wille’s mouth, lips quirking up at the corners. Fuck, Simon really wants to kiss him. But he has higher standards than that. He’s not having anyone’s seconds.

Probably.

“Probably not.”

“Oh?”

Because apparently Simon is an awful person, a tiny spark of hope flickers somewhere in his chest. He tries to douse the flames but it’s futile. 

What if he has a chance?

A chance he wasn’t even chasing until he realised it was slipping away from him.

“Yeah. They were nice and everything. But, uh, not for me.”

“Oh?”

Simon really needs to think of some different things to say, but there’s a ringing in his ears and he can’t get his brain to function properly. Because… has Wille stepped closer? Could Simon see his individual eyelashes earlier? Could he smell him? He certainly can now and tries very hard not to take a deep breath.

“Yeah. I, uh… I probably should have cancelled. But, uhm, I thought maybe I could…”

“Could what?”

Wille is definitely closer now. So close that Simon has to tip his head back. He should probably step away, but his feet are fused to the ground and refusing to cooperate.

“Could… distract myself.”

“From what?”

“From you.”

Wille’s voice is so low that Simon barely heard what he said. But he did hear it, and the words make some sort of explosion happen in his brain. That, combined with Wille’s proximity, mean that he can’t be sure who moves first, but somehow, they’re suddenly kissing.

And somehow, Simon’s arms have made it around Wille’s neck. And somehow, Wille’s hands have found Simon’s waist. And somehow it feels like they’ve been doing this for weeks. At least… it feels like they should have been. Because this is better than Simon could possibly have imagined. Wille’s lips are soft and insistent and even more delicious than Simon’s wildest fantasies (and he’s had plenty). When his tongue glides against Simon’s, he can’t help the small whimper that slips out. Wille smiles against his lips and Simon tries to kiss it off.

It’s so good. Too good. Simon would quite like to stay here kissing Wille until the sun comes up. But that would mean admitting to himself, and Ayub, that he wanted this all along.

With a lot of effort, Simon pulls away. Wille is gazing down at him and he’s so beautiful that Simon’s whole chest hurts. And he realises, with blinding clarity, that there’s no way he’s going to not keep kissing Wille. 

Simon groans and thunks his head down on Wille’s shoulder.

“What?” Wille chuckles, bringing his hand up to Simon’s nape and brushing his thumb up and down the side of Simon’s neck.

“I told Ayub I wasn’t jealous,” he says, digging his forehead in and twisting it around.

“Oh yeah?” Wille sounds far too pleased with himself. “And… were you?”

Simon straightens up and meets Wille’s eyes. “Yes,” he says boldly. “I was.”

Wille’s smile is dazzling as he leans forward and presses another soft kiss to Simon’s lips. “Good,” he murmurs.

“Good?” Simon practically squawks, twisting away. “What’s that supposed to mean? Did you organise the date on purpose to make me—”

“No!” Wille cries, then hastily lowers his voice. “No. Of course not. It’s been organised for weeks. Ax had been away with work and Felice arranged it for when they got back. But I agreed to it weeks ago. Way before… Well… Before I, uhm, decided I might not want to go after all.”

Something way too close to smugness curls around Simon’s chest. Wille’s cheeks have gone pink and Simon can’t help but grin.

“Did you get cold feet?”

Wille shakes his head, eyes earnest. “No! Not that. I, uh…”

“Decide you’re not into, uhm, architects.”

“No, I—”

“Decide you actually think celibacy is the way forward and—”

Simon yelps as Wille grabs him, lifting him almost fully off the ground. 

“I can’t believe you’re fucking with me,” Wille says as they stumble their way over to the sofa.

“No I’m not,” Simon says, then cries out as Wille tugs them both down onto the sofa, limbs and bodies tangled, Wille warm body pressing Simon into the sofa cushions. “I don’t know why your previously perfect date was suddenly—”

Wille shuts him up with a kiss. And, really, if that is how it’s going to go, Simon has no motivation to stop being a little shit. Except that before he can get really into it, Wille has pushed himself away, and is staring down at Simon with a stomach-tinglingly intense expression on his face.

“I arranged the date before I met you,” he says in a low voice. “And” – his eyes rove all over Simon’s face, never stopping anywhere long – “ever since then, I’ve not been able to imagine wanting to be with anyone… other than you.”

“Me?” Simon quite wants to question what Wille means by ‘be with’, but his mental bandwidth is completely taken up by the way Wille is looking at him, and the way their bodies are completely pressed together from chest to toes.

“Yes,” Wille says, carefully lifting a hand and pushing Simon’s curls off his forehead. “You’re so beautiful.”

There’s nothing Simon can say to that, so he pushes himself up and presses his lips to Wille’s. Things are just starting to get good again when, to his horror, Simon fails to stifle a huge yawn.

“I’m sorry. Am I boring you?” Wille says with a raised eyebrow.

“Fuck off,” Simon whines, pushing at his shoulder. “It’s really fucking late. Someone came back from their date at a stupid hour.”

“And someone didn’t have to wait up for me. It’s not my fault I’m apparently irresistib—”

Simon understands the appeal of a kiss to stop someone talking. Especially when Wille makes a cute noise of surprise at having Simon’s lips over his once more.

And, sure, he’s tired. But Simon also doesn’t want this to stop. Maybe they can keep kissing for a little bit longer. Maybe he can convince Wille to take it to the bedroom. Or maybe that’s a little forward since Simon is technically hijacking someone else’s first date. Or maybe that’s exactly what they should be doing. It definitely feels like an excellent idea to Simon.

Sun is streaming through the window and Simon groans a little as he squints against the glare. There’s something digging into his back. The mattress at Felice’s place isn’t the comfiest he’s ever slept on, but he’s had no complaints so far.

Then, the thing moves. And makes a noise. And—

“Morning.”

With a small gasp, Simon turns around and, almost falling off the sofa, comes face to face with—

“Wille.”

A syrupy smile spreads on Wille’s lips. “Good morning,” he repeats, voice gravelly.

“I—”

It takes more seconds than it probably should to recall the events of last night. It takes even longer when faced with Wille’s remarkable beauty. Which is remarkable despite having apparently slept on a sofa for several hours.

“What time is it?” Simon blurts.

Wille’s smile slips, but he reaches behind him and looks at his phone. “A little after nine.”

“Fuck.”

“Why?” Wille replaces his phone and turns his attention back to Simon. “Do you have somewhere you need to be?” Simon can’t help but notice Wille sounds a little disappointed.

“No,” Simon says. “It’s just… Felice will have gone out for breakfast already.”

“Okay?”

The confused look on Wille’s face is adorable, and Simon almost forgets what he was talking about.

“And?”

It seems Wille hasn’t figured it out either.

“And… she’ll have… walked through here.” Simon gestures around with his head. “And she’ll have seen…” He trails off again.

“Ah.” Apparently it’s finally clicking. “And… that’s a problem?”

Simon frowns a little, then he thinks about it some more, and, whilst a bit embarrassing, there isn’t necessarily anything bad about Felice having seen them here. Asleep. On the sofa. Together.

Except… there would be absolutely no denying that something had happened between them. And they haven’t talked about it. Do things that happen at 2am get struck from the record? Simon really fucking hopes not. 

“It is a problem,” Wille says with clear disappointment when Simon still hasn’t responded. 

“No!” Simon rushes. “No! It’s not… it’s just…” He still isn’t sure what to say. And his proximity to Wille isn’t helping. 

“Just what?”

Still at a loss for words, Simon decides to take a different approach. Carefully, so that he could be stopped if required, Simon leans forwards. Their noses bump together a little before Simon presses a gentle kiss to Wille’s lips.

If Simon isn’t mistaken, he feels a little sigh slip out of Wille’s mouth before they meet. And, yes. Simon feels that too. The relief that maybe last night wasn’t a fluke. Maybe this could be something real. Something more. Something—

“Oh for fuck’s sake!”

Simon jumps back and is only saved from tumbling off the sofa by Wille grabbing for his waist and hauling him closer.

Craning his head, Simon can see Felice standing at the door, bag of pastries in her hand, which is currently planted firmly on her hip. But Simon can see a smile quirking at the corners of her lips. 

“Is this really the place?” she asks.

Simon looks at Wille, who is wearing a sheepish expression. “Sorry, Felice.”

“That’s not Ax,” she comments, moving into the kitchen to deposit the bag on the counter.

“No,” Wille says. “It’s not.”

“So I see you came to your senses.” She reaches up for the coffee and starts pottering around with mugs.

“Yeah. I, uhm… I—”

“Will Ax be really pissed off with me, or were you nice?”

“I was nice!” Wille cries. “I was polite. And… we had a good time. It just wasn’t…”

Wille glances down and meets Simon’s eyes and all of a sudden it feels as though all of his organs have decided to simultaneously leave his body. 

“It wasn’t right.”

The tone of Wille’s voice is low and gentle and Simon feels it all the way down to his bones.

“Hmm,” Felice muses from the kitchen. “Well… would you like coffee and pastries with your realisations or…?”

Wille raises an eyebrow.

What Simon actually wants is to drag Wille away to talk. And… maybe do other things. But… those things will probably be easier when he isn’t hungry. Or tired.

So he shrugs and turns to Felice. “I could eat.”

She scoffs and puts the plate of pastries down on the tray. “I’m sure you could.” 

When he looks back at Wille, he finds that he’s watching him carefully, a slight crease between his eyebrows.

“What?” Simon asks, defensive.

“Is everything okay?” he asks in a low voice. “I’d like to… can we talk? After breakfast?”

“I’d like that,” Simon replies quickly. “I— Yeah. That’d be great. But… I need something to eat first.”

“Oh!” Felice interrupts, setting the tray on the table and sitting down. “They only had two cinnamon ones. And I’m having one. As payment for having to deal with” – she waves a hand in their general direction – “this.”

Simon and Wille look at each other for a beat before both scrambling up to their feet in their haste to get to the kitchen. 

Victorious, Simon grabs the coveted pastry and turns, only to find Wille still standing beside the sofa, clearly not having moved.

“What are you doing?” Simon asks.

Wille just shrugs and sends him a smirk. “I thought I’d better let you have it,” he says. “I wouldn’t want you to get jealous.”

He should probably be more embarrassed about how uncool he’s been about this whole thing. But then he decides he doesn’t care. So he just lifts the pastry to his mouth, takes a huge bite, and slowly licks the icing off his lips, watching in delight as Wille’s mouth falls open and Felice groans and drops her head down on the table.

There's a yelp and a clatter and suddenly Simon has been enveloped into Wille's arms.

"Ouch," he mumbles against Wille's collarbone.

"Fuck! Sorry!" Wille stumbles back and holds Simon at arm's length, red-ringed eyes darting feverishly around Simon's face. "Sorry. That was stupid of me. I— How are you? What— Are you okay? Is anything— No, of course not. What—"

"Wille," Simon interrupts. "I'm fine." It's a slight lie. Everything hurts, he's really fucking tired, and he feels bad that Ayub's moped is likely wrecked beyond repair. Really, what he wants is to go home and curl up in his boyfriend's arms and sleep. For several days.

"You're not fine!" Wille cries. It draws the attention of some curious people sitting in the waiting room. He lowers his voice and tugs Simon over to the side. "That was really fucking scary, Simon. It was— When Sara managed to get hold of me… I'm so sorry I didn't answer when you called. It…" Tears are welling up in Wille's eyes and, before Simon can stop them, they tumble over his lashes and down his cheeks. "I almost lost you," he whispers, voice raspy and choked up.

Heat floods Simon's face. Partly from embarrassment and partly from fondness.

"No you didn't," he argues. "It was fine— It was just—"

"It wasn't just," Wille retorts. "They sent an ambluance. For all I knew you could have—"

"Wille." Simon reaches up and places both of his palms on Wille's cheeks. "I'm fine. I was fine the whole time. I was fine enough to call. You didn't have to leave the—"

"Yes I did," Wille fumes. "Of course I did, Simon. You are so much more important than some stupid meeting with—"

"With the prime minister," Simon interrupts with a raised eyebrow.

"You could have died."

"No I couldn't. He wasn't even going that fast. If the motorist hadn't—"

"It was a car?" Wille looks horrified. "Simon— You could have— It could have—" No more words make it out of Wille's mouth as the tears start falling with renewed vigour. 

Before Simon can protest, Wille has pulled him into a slightly more gentle but no less desperate hug. "Simon," Wille sobs into his shoulder. "Simon. I don't know— What if…" More cut off sentences tumble over each other as Wille's body shakes against his own. 

Helpless, Simon strokes Wille's back and quietly wishes that they could at least be sitting down. His whole body aches.

"I don't know what I'd have done if— What if— I can't lose you, Simon. I can't— You're everything. I can't imagine my life—" Suddenly, Wille stands straight again, cheeks gllistening with tears but an alarmingly determined expression on his face. "Simon." His voice is much steadier than it was, and Simon isn't sure whether to be concerned about the fire in his eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Marry me."

A noise of some kind gets stuck in Simon's throat on the way up and he coughs and splutters for a moment before choking out, "I'm sorry, what?"

"Marry me," Wille repeats as if that isn't the most fucking ridiculous thing anyone has ever said in the history of the world.

"Wille…"

"I mean it. I— I never want to be without you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Why not start that now?"

"Because we're seventeen years old, Wille."

"So?" A bit of petulance has crept into the defiance. "It doesn't mean I don't know. You're it for me, Simon."

"I know," Simon rushes out. "And you're it for me. But that doesn't mean—"

"Why not? Why can't it?"

"Wille… Come on. It's late, and I'm tired, and you've been here for… how long? Have you even eaten anything? You're still in your suit. Let's go home."

Wille looks at him for a long moment and then deflates a little. "You're right," he says. "Sorry. Fuck. Of course. Let's get you home. Do you have a bag or anything?"

Whilst Wille fusses over getting them to the waiting car (Simon has no fight left in him to protest too much), Simon thinks about what Wille said.

It's not like he doesn't want to marry Wille, quite the opposite, but… He still stands by his point that they're seventeen years old. And, sure, they've been through a lot together, but he still knows getting married at seventeen is a really fucking bad idea.

Still, as they're driving home, rain running down the windows, hands clasped firmly together on the middle seat, Simon can't help but let the giddiness fill his whole chest. He rests his head on Wille's shoulder and smiles as Wille drops a kiss to his hair.