Actions

Work Header

say a prayer for me in the dark

Summary:

Wilhelm stares at Simon’s bare shoulders in the dark - the endless rise and fall of his breathing, like the tide lapping at moonlit sand. He’s right there and yet Wilhelm still wants him, wonders if this is what it means to go insane. To want something which can never be his.

He slips from the covers before the ache in his heart becomes too much to bear.

Or: the stoner, neighbours, music major! simon and poetry major! wilhelm college au

Chapter 1

Notes:

“It’s like autumn arriving. You expect nothing from its arrival. You expect everything.” - Alejandra Pizarnik, from Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962-1972 (tr. Yvette Siegert)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

I

 

“ you asked me, once, in the stifling quiet between midnight and daybreak, whether i believed we have a choice in love. i told you i didn’t. you said ‘i see.’

i’m beginning to think that if you’d pressed, if you’d asked just a little more, that i’d have spread it all out for you; my aching, still-beating heart, the feverish desire, the deep-seated pain. but you didn’t. and you won’t. and i have to simply be okay with the whispered ‘i love you’s’, with the silent ‘i miss you when i’m gone’s’, with the choked on ‘be mine’s’. 

and i am okay with it. because your fingers press new bruises into the skin of my hips and you hold me like i’m worth something more. you whisper my name like something sacred. and if i can’t have you the way i want you then i will simply have you like this. 

in the light of day you are a whole new thing. brighter than any star. brown eyes, brown skin, brown hair, warm heart. you laugh and it’s like my heart is outside my body, retreating with every step you take into the horizon. you go to a place that i can’t reach. 

you see there’s this whole thing, about stars. how we’re not seeing a star as it is but rather as it used to be. no star is alive. in order to be seen it must die first. 

i think that maybe our love was a supernova, if that is the case. “

 


 

The first time Wilhelm sees him, he goes unnoticed. He’s dragging himself back from a seminar, stifling a yawn, thinking mournfully of his bed and knowing that he has to start this essay tonight or he’ll never do it. He stops short as he rounds the corner into his corridor, steps fumbling on the worn carpet as he catches sight of someone new on his floor. This is not entirely unusual; people move in and out of the flats around him every now and then. The flat next door has been empty for a while and Wilhelm had been quietly hoping that no-one new would move in, because his last neighbour had had a very over enthusiastic girlfriend who liked to wake Wilhelm up at ungodly times of the night. 

Then again, Wilhelm thinks, his eyes sweeping appreciatively over the mystery man’s lithe form, if my new neighbour looks like that I’m not so fussed. He can keep me up as long as he’d like.  

The man is currently busying himself with unloading boxes from the trolley next to him, chocolate curls spilling out from beneath the striped beanie shoved onto his head. He’s wearing a well-fitting black jumper that, god, leaves little to the imagination, with the sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned, lean forearms that make Wilhelm’s mouth water. 

The man glances up from where he’d been balancing boxes precariously and Wilhelm throws himself around the corner again, pressing his back to the wall and holding his breath. Oh, god, if he saw him do that it’s all over. Wilhelm’s going to have to move out, and he definitely doesn’t have the money for that. He presses his palm to his rapidly rising and falling chest, trying to slow the staccato rhythm of his heart. After a few nail-biting seconds he peeks around the corner again, blowing out a relieved breath as he’s greeted by the other man’s back. 

Wilhelm’s eyes trail after him pathetically as he unlocks the door to apartment 10 and disappears inside, taking his boxes with him. He waits another nail-biting ten seconds, during which he can feel every breath enter and leave his body, before hurrying over to his apartment and unlocking the door as quickly as he can. He doesn’t know what possessed him to hide from his neighbour (though he suspects it’s to do with the bags under his eyes and yesterday’s wrinkled outfit clinging uncomfortably to him like a second skin), but he’s not about to embarrass himself any further. 

 


 

When Wilhelm finally crawls out onto his balcony it’s nearing eleven at night, and the air has turned cold and clean. It’s colder this autumn than last year, and he’s glad he had the forethought to bundle up in his warmest coat before grabbing his rolling tin and lighter and coming out here. The sky is clear and black, studded with stars that make him think of something wistful, something lost. 

Wilhelm settles down against the wall and tugs his joint from where he’d tucked it behind his ear earlier. The city blinks back at him, hundreds of infinitesimal lights twinkling across the horizon. He’s always been a city boy at heart; there is something achingly beautiful about the way every tiny light is a person, a family, thousands of human beings living on top of each other like a sea of tiny stars glowing in the night sky. 

“Oh. Hi.”

“Oh, Jesus!” Wilhelm scrambles to hide the joint from his neighbour, who has suddenly appeared on the next balcony and startled him out of his reverie.

The other man laughs handsomely. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I smoke too.”

Wilhelm relaxes again and brings the joint back to his mouth, holding it between his lips so that he can light it. It takes a couple of tries, but eventually his aged lighter flickers to life and sparks the joint. He eyes his neighbour as he takes a deep pull. The other man has ditched the beanie he was wearing at some point and replaced it with a puffy grey jacket that makes him look smaller than he actually is. It’s cute. His nose is all pink at the tip because of the cold, and he’s rubbing his gloved hands together in a feeble attempt to generate warmth. 

Wilhelm smiles as the earthy flavour fills his lungs, and speaks around the smoke as it escapes from his lips. “You want some?”

His neighbour shrugs. “Sure.” He makes short work of the dividing wall between their balconies and drops down next to Wilhelm.

“I’m Wilhelm, by the way,” Wilhelm offers as he passes the joint to the other man, who takes a deep, smooth drag and settles against the wall. 

“Simon.” Wilhelm nods, digesting the name. Simon. 

“So, you’re my new neighbour,” Wilhelm remarks, watching as the thick smoke tumbles from Simon’s lips and into the night. The sight is addictive; Wilhelm finds himself wanting to study him, commit him to memory. He’s beautiful; all smooth tanned skin and dark, dark eyes, the son of Lilith incarnate. Simon passes him the joint with an easy smile. Wilhelm tries not to think about the way their fingers brush.

“Indeed I am. Anything I need to know?” 

“Hmm,” Wilhelm considers, taking another drag. “Most of the laundry machines downstairs are broken so if you want to get your washing done do it late at night like I do. The store down the street sells the sexiest baguette sandwiches you’re ever gonna find. And… don’t bother trying to make friends with the dude who lives in number seven, guy’s a grade A asshole.” 

Simon nods appraisingly as Wille passes him the joint again. “Wow, okay. Thanks. How do you know?”

“He’s had a grudge against me since I moved in, always blaming me for shit that happens around here. I’m pretty sure he’s homophobic, or something.” Wilhelm winces a little; Nils managed to score him some stronger stuff this time, and he always gets loose-lipped when he’s high. How much of his high is actually the weed and how much of it is the way Simon looks at him — like he’s intriguing, some kind of puzzle with missing pieces — he has no idea. He eyes the other man tensely, ready to bolt if he turns out to be homophobic, or something. 

Simon raises his eyebrows, but his face is still friendly so Wilhelm relaxes marginally. “You’re queer?” 

“What, it’s not obvious?” Wilhelm asks.

Simon lifts a shoulder in reply. “I don’t know. I try not to assume, Wilhelm.”

“Call me Wille.” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, and he feels himself start to flush. “If you want.” He adds lamely. 

“Okay.” Simon smirks at him, and Wilhelm feels it throughout his whole body like he’s just taken a bump of coke. 

“Wille.” 

 


 

Vincent has what must be at least three skittles shoved up his nose and Wilhelm is so, so tired. 

He muses briefly on his own life as he unsticks his forearms from the counter (which, fucking gross). He’s twenty years old, two years into his degree. His brother loves him, his parents are proud of him, and he’s currently two skittle-related incidents away from being fired from his job. 

“Come work with us at the diner, Wilhelm,” he mutters to himself mockingly. “It’ll be fun, Wilhelm.” 

“I don’t know what you’re saying, Wille, but know that I don’t appreciate it,” Vincent gripes, voice coming out nasally and weird on account of the— fucking skittles. Wilhelm honestly contemplates sticking his arm into a meat grinder. 

It’s like this — he doesn’t have a track record of making the best decisions. He once let Erik dare him into hanging from a tree by just his legs, which rather predictably ended in him eating absolute shit and breaking his right forearm in two places. Apparently the bone was sticking out of the skin, and everything. (Wilhelm wouldn’t know — he had promptly passed out from the pain). Erik still likes to tell that story at parties, conveniently omitting the part where he dared Wilhelm to do it. 

That was probably the worst pain he’s ever been in, if he’s being honest. And he had to spend the rest of the summer in a cast, which to an eight-year-old boy is essentially a death sentence. However, staring dead-eyed into the clock hanging on the wall across from him (which seems to creep forward even slower in response to his mournful gaze), he honestly thinks that even that isn’t equivalent to the sheer pain of being forced to take a night shift with the dumbest people on the planet. 

The diner is owned by Vincent’s family, which was what allowed Wilhelm to get a spot there in the first place. The coffee tastes a little like dishwater (not that Wilhelm would know, every time he tries to use the coffee machine it attacks him and he has long since given up trying), the wallpaper is peeling just a little, and only four of the seven light fixtures actually still work, but it’s good money and (mostly) good fun, so he sticks it out. On nights like this, though, he honestly thinks the job is going to drive him to insanity by the time he turns twenty-one. 

Think about the money, Wilhelm. 

The skittles finally come out of Vincent’s nose, shooting across the counter and landing with a sad smack smack smack on the floor behind Wilhelm. He’d been right, then — there were three. 

“I think there might be something fundamentally wrong with you, dude,” he says. Vincent flips him off over his shoulder as he ambles to the back room. 

“I’m not picking those fucking things up!” Wille calls after his retreating form. He rather predictably gets no response. 

The diner has been dead for the past hour or so, the final drunken partygoers stumbling out of the door at around 3:30, so Wilhelm takes a chance and slips his phone from his apron. Felice is known for pulling all-nighters when she’s studying, so he takes the chance that she’s awake to text her.

 

wille:

when i die of boredom on this fucking shift you had better play lana del ray at my funeral

felice:

i’m playing mitski

wille:

i thought we were friends :/

you know what that’s fine

i’ll be in heaven listening to crack baby

felice:

it’s rlly cute how you think you’re going to heaven 

wille:

i’ll have u know i’m literally an angel

felice:

huh that’s weird

i’ve never known an angel with a bondage kink before

wille:

felice !!!

 

All he gets in response is a string of cry-laughing emojis. He scowls and shoves his phone back into his apron pocket. 

And looks up into deep brown eyes staring expectantly at him. He jumps, because the last person he expected to be in this shitty diner at gone three in the morning is his super hot, super mysterious neighbour who he has a woefully embarrassing crush on. He’s wearing an oversized, comfy-looking black hoodie that turns his edges soft and gilded in the harsh overhead lights. Simon looks like he’s trying not to laugh at him. Wilhelm thinks miserably of flushing himself down the nearest toilet like a dead goldfish. 

“Hello.”

“Hi.” 

They stare at each other for a second. Simon’s eyes are wide and soft, full of amusement. Wilhelm’s mind wanders straight to the other night, to the way the other man’s lips had looked wrapped around the roach of the joint. He jolts himself out of his thoughts, cheeks colouring. “Uhm— what can I get for you?”

“Two strawberry shakes, please,” Simon replies, thankfully not teasing him. Wilhelm is too sleep-deprived to hide his grimace at the other man’s choice of drink. Simon raises an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Sorry, just— strawberry?” Wilhelm can’t keep the disdain out of his voice.

Simon scoffs. “What’s wrong with strawberry!” 

“Everything. Everything is wrong with strawberry. At least get a respectable flavour, like chocolate.”

Simon leans against the counter, and Wilhelm decidedly doesn’t look at his newly exposed collarbones as he does so. “I thought the customer was always right.”

“Hmm, that rule doesn’t apply after three AM, buddy.” Simon frowns so Wilhelm points behind him to the blackboard, where the rules are scribbled in chalk. 

 

           HOUSE RULES:

  1. No swearing at customers 
  2. Wear the uniform (looking at you, Stella)
  3. Nils is no longer allowed in here after the Great Macaroni Incident of 2021
  4. Don’t let Wille use the coffee machine!!!! 
  5. The customer is always right (unless it’s past 3am in which case they’re drunk and need to go home) 

 

Simon huffs out a laugh as his eyes travel over the words. “Why aren’t you allowed to use the coffee machine?”

“Because it hates me. Every time I try to use it it blows up at me and I have to change because I’m covered in coffee,” Wilhelm replies with a chuckle. He catches a flash of blond out of the corner of his eye and calls out to Vincent before he can disappear again.

He’s surprised to find Simon still leaning against the counter when he turns back after relaying the order. The other man looks lost in thought, gazing out at the tables like he’s looking for something. Or someone, Wilhelm’s mind supplies.  

“So, just fancied two milkshakes, or?” Wilhelm asks before he can stop himself, desperate to know more about the mysterious man in front of him.

Simon’s dark eyes flash to him briefly before he’s looking away again, tucking his hands into his armpits. “I’m meeting… a friend.” 

A friend. Something about the other man’s tone tells Wilhelm there’s more to the story than that, but he lets it go because, really, it’s not his place to pry. They’re only neighbours, after all. Not friends. 

Silence settles between them, broken only by the tapping of Wilhelm’s fingers against the counter. Simon glances at his hand and Wilhelm stutters to a stop, embarrassed. He clears his throat. Thankfully, the uncomfortable atmosphere is shattered by Vincent’s return, bumping into Wilhelm’s shoulder and placing Simon’s milkshakes onto the counter with a clatter. 

“Two milkshakes for you!” he exclaims.

It’s a little too loud, and Wilhelm winces. “Dude, how are you so awake right now?” 

“ADHD, brother. ADHD.” Vincent claps him on the shoulder and jostles him until Wilhelm shoves him off. 

“How much?” Simon asks. 

“Oh, it’s on the house,” Wilhelm replies easily, waving Simon off. “Call it a house-warming gift.” 

Simon smiles, genuine and soft, and Wilhelm only barely refrains from sighing dreamily. 

“Thanks so much, Wille.” 

Wilhelm can’t stop himself from smiling back at the other man. “Not a problem, Simon.” 

And if he feels a little mournful as he watches Simon carry his milkshakes to one of the booths, then that’s between him and Felice when he inevitably spills all about his new crush to her.

“You know, I don’t think you actually have the authority to do that,” Vincent mutters to him. Wilhelm jumps, having forgotten his coworker was next to him, and pushes at the other man subtly. Then he shoves his hand in his pocket and produces a few crumpled bills to pay for Simon’s order. Vincent snorts. 

Wilhelm points at him. “Not a word.” 

Vincent holds up his hands, a shit-eating grin on his face. Then he pulls his phone from his pocket and snaps a picture of Wilhelm before Wilhelm can stop him. Wilhelm tugs out his own phone and opens the notification that pops up. “Motherfucker! Why did you tweet it?” 

Vincent cackles and escapes into the back room before Wille can grab him. 

 

@MILFhuntr

guess who just broke work rules for his new crush 

[A picture of Wilhelm in his work uniform, staring at something off-camera, lip caught between his teeth as he tries not to smile.]

-> @felehrencroma 

WTF?!??!?! @froggieprince explain immediately

-> @nilz 

a truly shocking turn of events

-> @froggieprince

not a crush!!!! 

 

Wilhelm is pulled from his phone when the bell rings, revealing a young woman with brown hair walking into the diner. She smiles perfunctorily at him but doesn’t come up to the counter, instead heading straight over to where Simon is seated, fiddling with his straw and worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. Simon stands when he sees her and draws her into a stiff hug, patting her on the back. 

They’re too far away for Wilhelm to hear their conversation so he busies himself with wiping down the counter methodically and humming under his breath. After a while he glances over at the table. Simon is speaking rapidly, eyes intense. The girl across from him is leaning back in her chair, arms crossed and practically radiating hostility. Wilhelm winces sympathetically. 

He tries to subtly watch the two as their conversation gets more and more heated. It’s still too quiet for him to hear anything over the music flowing from the tinny speakers overhead (after 6pm they’re allowed to play whatever they want, and Vincent won their thumb war so it’s currently Hip hop) but from the way the woman is hissing her words and gesturing angrily, Wilhelm can tell it’s bad. A breakup, maybe? 

Simon’s fingers tear into the napkin he’s holding until it’s a pile of tiny pieces, like snowfall on the greasy tabletop. His stare is angry but unfocused, an anxiety about his presence that Wilhelm is woefully familiar with. The girl’s milkshake remains untouched. She finally raises her voice enough for Wilhelm to hear, and he catches the tail end of her rant as she stands from the table and grabs her coat. 

“—God, Simon, you’re so fucking selfish! I can’t do this anymore, I’m going.” 

“Well fuck you too, Sara!” Simon calls after her retreating form, eyes flashing angrily under the dingy lights. The door swings shut behind Sara with a deafening crack. 

Simon stares defeatedly at the table for a long moment, jaw muscles clenching beneath his tanned skin. He scrubs his hands over his face in frustration before standing. Wilhelm quickly busies himself with something behind the coffee machines, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, but Simon doesn’t even spare him a glance as he strides out of the diner. 

It’s only once he’s long gone and Wilhelm is cleaning up the tables for the night that he realises Simon left his jacket on the seat. 

Notes:

this took such a long time to format for no reason at all

a massive thank you to jo for proof reading this one i love her with all of my heart. godbless

i have about four chapters of this one done already so i will be updating once a week provided that i don’t get writer’s block (which is very possible)

there is a playlist for this one - it’s a combination of songs i associate with the story, songs i listened to while writing and songs that i think this version of wilhelm would like a lot. you can listen to it here

follow me on twitter!