Simon is a music education student at Uppsala University (with a secret dream of becoming a singer) and lives with his boyfriend Marcus who attends the same university. He’s been convincing himself that he’s happy until one day the truth becomes too big to hide from himself, and he finds himself fleeing his abusive relationship. Unfortunately, this leaves him needing to find a new apartment, and fast.
Wille is the newly ex-Prince of Sweden and his abdication has been trending all over the news for the past few months. He’d been doing his military service for the last nine months and has decided to enroll at Uppsala University to study social work. The chaos of his abdication and enrolling in university leave him needing to find a new apartment, and fast.
TLDR: A roommates to lovers story involving love, heartbreak, abuse, healing, and learning how to love again.
Read chapter 1 here on ao3
I really hope you enjoy!
Also always feel free to ask me anything about the story or just anything in general! I fear I’m a big fan of yapping 🤭
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It always hits me when Simon tells Wille "It's okay" after he asked Wille if he remembered what he said the night before and he sees how anxious and nervous Wille gets because it's probably one of the only times someone has said it's okay to feel what he feels and to say what he wants to say. He constantly has to suppress his own feelings and pretend because he is the prince and later crown prince. He is constantly being told what he can feel and what he can't feel. And then there is Simon who says "it's okay" and who reassures him up until the point his nerves just disappear
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Does anyone still have a digital copy of Young Royals they could share with me? This show is so precious to me I would love to not rely on Netflix to continue to watch it
i just know simon is down BAD about wille’s eyes. he’s thinking about their color when he makes a cup of tea with honey or is putting dulce de leche on the christmas alfajores. he gets off to thinking about the intensity of his stare. he gets him a bracelet of little amber stones to match them and his hair and wonders at the fact that he gets all this to himself when the light hits j u s t right.
simon’s pov of this. 1,076 words, AU, magical realism.
Simon sees the figure standing on the other side of the street as soon as he steps from the backroom. He knows whoever it is, they are looking at his office. The curtains drawn in front of all the windows are meant to block people from seeing in, not the other way round.
Trying not to pay attention to the figure, he does what he does every morning before opening the door: makes sure the edges of the pile of paper on his desk are straight and the pen filled with ink. There are days when he doesn’t touch either after this little ritual.
As soon as he sets the pen down on the desk, the clock in the backroom chimes faintly. It’s time to open for the day.
Simon crosses the room and unlocks the door. There is no sign to turn to indicate the business is open, nor hours of operation marked on the door. Those who seek his services know when he’s available.
Simon notices the figure across the street - a man, he’s almost certain - moving when he lets the door fall closed again, the person’s left foot taking a barely noticeable step forward.
Simon isn’t sure if he wants them to walk in or not.
He walks behind his desk, facing the shelves, pretending to look for something, or maybe organise the archives that don’t exist. He expects the person to enter in the next five minutes or then not at all. Simon knows it takes courage to ask for what he’s offering, and many who come this far walk away without ever speaking to him.
After what can’t be longer than a minute, Simon hears the door open, the hinges squeaking just a little. The faint smell of rain follows the man inside.
He takes a breath in, holds it for a couple of seconds, lets the mask slip on his face. Then he turns.
The man standing in the middle of the room has a damp jacket and auburn hair sticking to his forehead a little. His eyes flit around the room, his face trying to stay carefully neutral but failing to conceal the curiosity and hope flashing on it. It’s a face Simon has seen a lot lately.
Standing by the door is the new Crown Prince.
It’s only thanks to extensive training that Simon manages to keep the recognition from being visible on his face. He usually doesn’t know who his clients are; their identity isn’t important to him or what he does. This changes things.
“Hello. I’m Simon, how can I help you?” he asks, applying the soothing tone that is one of his most important tools to his voice.
The Crown Prince’s first attempt to answer is nothing but his mouth opening soundlessly. He clears his throat and then, stumbling over his words slightly, says, “I’d, uhh, like to send a letter.”
“Of course,” Simon nods. He lets himself study the man briefly, to assess his seriousness. Despite being one hundred per cent certain of the answer, Simon asks, as always, “Have you sent a letter before?”
The man laughs, the sound devoid of any humor. “Not like this.”
Simon notices his fingers fidgeting, takes in the ragged cuticles that must be edited away from all his official pictures. He nods, holding the Crown Prince’s gaze as he speaks, “That’s alright. I assume you’re here because someone recommended it. How familiar are you with letters like ours?”
The man shrugs. It’s obvious he didn’t expect to be explaining how or why or what he’s found out about Simon’s services. “I just know you write down what I say and then… send the letter somewhere?” His voice rises in pitch just barely, but it’s clearly a question.
Simon sighs quietly before he can stop himself. It’s the most common assumption about his profession, somehow the part people never mention to others. “Yes, I write down what you want to tell the person you’re addressing the letter to. The recipient will receive your message once I’ve finished writing, and the letter will then cease to exist. There will be no envelope with your name waiting if you come back, that’s not how this works. If you get a response, you will know it, but it does not come in a letter form.”
The Crown Prince nods. “I understand.”
Simon isn’t sure if he truly does. “Good. Many people don’t,” he says nonetheless.
What the man asks next should not come as a surprise to Simon, yet it somehow does. His eyes flit to the shelves behind Simon when he asks, “Do you, uhh, keep track of who comes here? What they want to say in the letters?”
Of course. The man with a damp jacket and nervous posture standing in Simon’s office is the heir to the nation. Of course he would want to make sure Simon doesn’t sell details about his life to the highest bidder.
Simon knows what it’s like to be conscious of everything you do being scrutinised by others. “I only keep track as much as I need to. Everything you say in the letter is confidential and I will not judge you for your words,” he assures the prince.
The Crown Prince’s face relaxes, just enough for it to be noticeable. Simon inhales and asks, “Do you still want me to write a letter for you?”
He almost hopes the answer is no.
A brief moment of hesitation, then a firm answer, “Yes.” Simon watches the man inhale, as if he is trying to settle his nerves before he asks, “How does this work?”
Simon points at the armchair by the window as he sits down. The chair has been in the room longer than he has, longer than his predecessor had been. He pulls forward a sheet of paper as the Crown Prince takes his seat, his posture turning regal the moment he has folded himself down.
Simon picks up the pen, feels its familiar weight in his hand. Finding the man’s eyes, noting the vulnerability apparent in them, he holds the Crown Prince’s gaze when he asks the question he always starts with, though this time it feels redundant. “Who would you like to send the letter to? Who has died?”
Like the entire country, Simon knows who has passed away. Still, he waits for the answer like he always does.
The Crown Prince’s voice shakes when he answers, “It’s to my brother, Erik.”
Tonight, though, he was justified in his annoyance, because it was nearly 11pm on a Wednesday, and Simon was being loud. Not singing, this time, more… Wille paused the TV show he was trying to watch. Yep. That was definitely grunting. And now there was a rhythmic banging noise to go along with it. Wille felt his face getting hot. He’d never seen anyone going into Simon’s apartment before, or heard anything untoward, but this sounded so much like
“Oh fuck!” Simon groaned through the wall.
More banging. More grunting.
“Nope!” Wille said, to no one in particular. He aimed the remote at the TV, pressing the ‘off’ button so angrily it got stuck inside the plastic casing. He shoved his feet into his trainers, grabbed his keys and stomped over to Simon’s apartment, letting the door slam and lock shut behind him.
Thank you for the prompt @milesluvtristan1234 :) I really enjoyed writing this one.
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Drabble for week 29 of the weekly drabble challenge initiated by malinowaj💜
| 100 words | Prompt: lake | R: Gen | Tags: Post canon, Future fic, Reminiscing |
Summary: This is simply Wilmon, standing on the shoreline of a particular body of water.
Talking, taking in what has been, and what has recently happened.
“It’s not one though.”
“But it’s almost one, see how the land is hugging the water, there,” Wille pointed to the narrow strip of land. “It wants to hold it, to feel how its body moves over the surface, just like I -with you.”
Simon smiled and leaned back, it was impossible not to, Wille’s forearm under his fingertips, his breath over his ear. “It’s… heavy, to think about how we almost lost this -us- back then.”
“Almost…” Wille’s lips tickled. “We didn’t though - and we won’t.”
“I know -husband, we’ve signed papers, you’re stuck with me - and our almost-lake.”
no one asked for it, but i have another art inspired ficlet to share. because sometimes you have an actual visceral reaction to something you see and your brain turns it into this. (again, ignore typos and the total lack of editing)
819 words; post-canon, established relationship
…
Simon finds Wille standing in front of a frame hanging on the wall in the hallway. The bed was empty when he woke up and it took him longer than he’d like to admit to wander the corridors of the palace in search of his boyfriend. Now that Simon’s finally found him, Wille doesn’t seem to notice Simon approaching him, engrossed as he is in the picture he’s looking at.
When he reaches Wille, Simon wraps his arms around his middle and hooks his chin over his shoulder. For a second Wille tenses, but then his hands come to rest over Simon’s and he melts into the touch. Simon presses a kiss into the hinge of his jaw and then looks up, curious to find out what painting he’s so eagerly studying.
Only, when Simon fixes his eyes what is inside the frame, he’s met with a black glass-covered canvas reflecting back their image. There is no painting; there is nothing.
Simon can’t help but frown. “What are we looking at?” he asks, keeping his voice soft and low.
For a moment Wille doesn’t answer. Then he sighs and leans into Simon’s touch. “That’s where my portrait was supposed to go.”
Simon takes in the elaborate decorations and the sheer size of the gilded frame around nothing. He has several questions, but before he can decide which one to ask first, Wille speaks.
“There was supposed to be a portrait of the new crown prince, unveiled on my 18th birthday. It would’ve been displayed next to Erik’s,” he says quietly. Simon tightens his hold.
“Sometimes I come here to look at… this,” Wille continues, his eyes never leaving the blank dark canvas.
“What do you see? When you look at,” Simon nods towards the frame.
“I see different things on different days,” Wille says after a moment, “Some days I see the son who isn’t enough. The son who tried to do the right thing, but can never live up to Erik. Sometimes I see a boy who’s too much, who no one wants to deal with.”
Simon hears the vulnerability in his tone, how this must be something he hasn’t said out loud to anyone else, at least not in a long time.
“There are times when I see the person who did what he needed to do and who’s happy and trying and failing and who doesn’t know who he really is. Who tries to do what’s right and figure it all out but isn’t sure he’s succeeding,” Wille mumbles quietly, like he’s only now admitting this to himself. Simon brushes his nose along his jawline and pauses to leave a lingering kiss under his ear. He hears Wille sigh.
Simon moves to rest his chin on Wille’s shoulder again so he can see their reflection in the glass. He takes in the slightly distorted image of his boyfriend.
“Do you want to know what I see?” he asks.
Hesitating for a second, Wille nods, the movement small but clearly there.
“I see someone who’s brave. Someone who made a huge decision, knowing the impact it would have and stuck to it.”
Wille’s fingers intertwine with his and Simon squeezes them gently before continuing, “I see someone who’s impulsive and stubborn.” Wille huffs and Simon’s mouth curves into a smile. “Someone who would benefit thinking twice sometimes, but who only acts fast because he cares.”
In the glass, Simon can see the corners of Wille’s mouth start to tug upwards. “I see a boy who cares so much it sometimes hurts. I see a boy who loves so deeply and who’ll do everything for the people he loves. And I see someone who is so lucky to receive that love. I see someone who matters more than anything else in this world, someone I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
“The rest of your life?” Wille asks, a little breathlessly, pressing even closer to Simon.
Simon holds his gaze in the glass. “Yes. Because I see someone who is willing to make the effort and learn and share and understand and who has more courage than anyone else I know. And I want to see what becomes of you, I want see you see yourself here as someone who is loved and cherished and never too much and always enough as you are.”
Simon’s words are followed by a silence. Wille turns around in his hold, facing away from the empty frame. Simon can see the emotions swimming in his eyes, how Wille seems to be processing everything he just said.
“I want that too,” he finally says, resting his forehead against Simon’s.
“Good,” Simon replies and leans in to kiss him. “It’s what you deserve to see when you look at yourself.”
Next time Simon visits the palace the empty frame is gone from the wall, nothing indicating it ever was there.
sophie calle (french, b. 1953): what do you see? (2013)
Wilhelm’s borrowed key turns into the kind of closeness neither he nor Simon can keep pretending is harmless. But after a night out with the Robins and a moment in Simon’s apartment, Wilhelm starts to understand that the life he wants and the life baseball allows him may never fit neatly together.
Read it here on ao3!
So… there may be a little something in this chapter that some of you have been very patiently waiting for. Perhaps. Maybe. Who can say?
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Rewatched episode 1 and 2 of season 1 of Young Royals and honestly I missed seeing how Wille locks onto Simon from second one. He is so desperate to get to know him, to be close to him. Meanwhile Simon wants Wille to come to him and actually do the effort to get to know him. I really missed seeing these precious first little moments between them.
