#97ways

“Have you seen my uni sweater? The gray one with the logo? I think I put it into the laundry a while ago, but I can’t find it.” Simon stilled, a little blush creeping into his cheeks. He couldn’t look at Wille when he answered. “Sorry, haven’t.” It wasn’t even a lie. Because when he pulled it out from under his pillow at night to rest his cheek on it, it was dark, right? Couldn’t call him a liar for that.

...

Wille was on his balcony. It was a sunny day and people (his mom) had said he needed some air. So he had taken his magazine and his pen and dropped on a chair outside, feet on the table because there wasn’t anyone (his mom) to tell him no. And it could have been a really chill Sunday, if not a certain NEIGHBOR one story down had decided SAME. With his guitar. And his voice. And the one goal to kill Wilhelm’s last nerve with his songwriting skills – or lack thereof. It was a Sunday morning and it was supposed to be QUIET out here! So people could do some real work like this extra hard crossword puzzle Wille had planned to solve and that was still stuck at three words across and five down – and one of them was probably wrong, because what the hell was a fucking TRUNKFISH?

“Every morning I would see her getting off the bus …”

Sing. And stop. And scratch. And start over. Wille tried to focus on his crossword.

“Getting off the bus …”

...

“You should tattoo this”, Simon smiled while he carefully drew the little heart onto Wilhelm’s skin.

He wasn’t much of a painter, but he was good with hearts. He had sketched plenty of them since he’d met Wilhelm. They were all over his notepad, his music sheets and maybe one or two or a dozen scattered about his math book. Tiny hearts, decorated with S+W. It was the only equation in the book that made any sense to him at all. Wilhelm smiled, a little defeated. Of course he wouldn’t do it. He was not allowed. He was the fucking prince, and they would make him wash his hands and scrub it off before the next photo shoot or meeting. Like they always did.

...