Erm??

Oh my god, you guys, it's finished!!!

It’s been two years since I started this story. This took me way longer than I anticipated it would take. But I told myself I would finish it no matter what, and here it is. I’m so happy to have this finished for everyone and finish it the way that I always intended it to be finished. Thank you so much for your support and your encouragement. Thank you for every single comment I’ve gotten on this story. Every kudos. It really means so much to me. Even if I haven’t replied to you, please believe that I read every single one of them over and over and over.

It’s been two years since we got wilmon endgame. And that story still to this day impacts my life. I started writing because of young royals. And I met so many amazing people because of it.

Notes: I WILL write an epilogue for this!!! I always do for these.

Hate Me Like You Love Me

Chapter: 10

Simon waits at the top of the stairs of Acton Town station, two coffees in hand from the cafe across the street. Wille had messaged him about twenty minutes ago that he’d gotten on the Piccadilly Line, so barring any delays, he should be arriving very soon.

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, glancing back at the ticket gates every so often before chiding himself for it. There’s a nervous sort of energy brewing beneath the surface of his skin, not unlike the feeling he gets right before stepping onstage.

It’s ridiculous, really. It’s not like they haven’t been in touch the past few months; it’s not like they haven’t video-called and planned this whole thing together.

Still, part of him feels like it all happened in a fever dream, and he will stay out here waiting for something that won’t happen.

Simon had gotten the ticket for Wille in December, allowing some time for him to really sink into his role and get the hang of balancing the show and his regular life. It had also allowed some time for the interest in his personal life and his past relationships to subside in the public. It had been the subject of some wink-wink-nudge-nudge type of content online for a while, but Simon had seen just as many people come to the defense of his privacy, and eventually, there were other things in the world of theater for people to gush over. He also considers himself very lucky that no one has brought it up at stage door.

Meanwhile, those months between Fashion Week and now have been instrumental in rebuilding the foundation of their friendship. It almost reminds him of the first time they met and how he couldn’t wait to see him or talk to him, about anything or nothing. These days, Simon finds himself looking forward to their morning phone calls and smiling at the messages he receives throughout the day. Just small updates, or photos, or workplace gossip that Wille had to share. In return, Simon has opened up about his favorite places in London, his meaningful friendships, the difficulties of being a performer, and what it costs him both physically and mentally. Sometimes they just stay on the line with each other while busy with other things, Wille sketching designs in his studio and Simon running scales or going through his preshow routines. 

Having Wille as his friend again is something he finds himself so incredibly grateful for. Being allowed access to his thoughts and his life again is something that he doesn’t take for granted. And he knows Wille feels the same way.  

But now, knowing they will finally see each other face to face is making him much more nervous than he expected to be. 

The last time they were together had been intense, Simon still thinks about that quiet I love you sealed with a kiss on his brow before Wille had walked out of his flat and flown back to Sweden. There’s this sense that they both know how they feel, but are being extremely careful about addressing it directly. Which isn’t usual for them. Especially for Wille, who has never exactly been known for pretending to feel anything other than exactly what he does.

Glancing up, his heart does a little happy flip in his chest when he spots him.

Read on AO3 Here

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@rayllum-mini-month

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It’s not home. Of course it’s not, Rayla scoffs—to the empty suit of armor, standing at attention across the way. That’s how it’s been all morning.

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