Actions

Work Header

You can call me Wille

Summary:

Simon Eriksson had always been a troubled boy. And not in the cheesy, cliche ‘bad boy’ way, like he was parading around town with a motorcycle and worn leather jacket. In the 'he has absolutely no regard for himself or others’ type of way. In the 'he doesn't care if he hurts himself or others' type of way.

Wilhelm Bernadotte had always been the good boy and, quite literally, in the cheesy, cliche way: sweater vests and straight A's and in the front row at the church where his dad preached at every Sunday.

The two boys couldn't have been more different- they weren't supposed to talk, to form a friendship.

They weren't supposed to fall in love because Wilhelm was already fine with living his life the way he wanted until he died and Simon was fine with destroying his.

But they did anyway. They fell in love even with the little time they had left together.

//

A Walk to Remember AU

Chapter Text

Simon Eriksson had always been a troubled boy. 

And not in the cheesy, cliche ‘bad boy’ way, like he was parading around town with a motorcycle and worn leather jacket.

In the 'he has absolutely no regard for himself or others’ type of way.

In the way that he doesn’t care if he hurts himself in an attempt to prove he’s the best nor does he care if he hurts anybody in the process with his words or fists.

This all started fairly early in his life, showing questionable behaviors at the ripe age of 11.

11 was also the age Simon was when Micke started to spiral, when the abuse was becoming too much at home and his father had overdosed three times before his 12th birthday - but no one knew.

Not a soul. Troubled, bad boy Simon wanted it that way. 

It started with skipping class, asking to go to the bathroom and then meeting his friend’s outside on the field; there had never been a child sent to the principal’s office as many times as him that year. 

By middle school, it had quickly escalated.

Vandalizing obscene objects and words onto the bathroom stall or spray painting on the back of the school.

He was intelligent, both naturally book and street smart, so he knew to wear black attire and a mask; he was only almost caught once and it's because Henry is a fucking idiot. 

His last few years of high school now consist of fighting.

He was skinny and shorter than most of the boys in his grade but that didn't matter. Not with all the boiled up rage and anger Simon harbors deep within him.

He wouldn't deny it, he didn't like who he was.

He didn't like the shit hand he was dealt with and he didn't like the way his shit self chooses to deal with it. 

Wilhelm Bernadotte had always been the good boy and, quite literally, in the cheesy, cliche way: sweater vests and straight A's and in the front row at the church where his dad preached at every Sunday. 

He didn't seem to mind his simple, solitary life, as far as Simon could tell.

Wilhelm came to the school right after Simon's 12th birthday and it was clear the two boys couldn't be more different:

Wille's long straight blonde hair to his black unruly curls.

Wille sitting in the front row with five pens and five sharpened pencils to his drool on the back desk from sleeping.

The new boy's weird, strange belief that everyone was good and there was good in the world to Simon believing, when it really came down to it, no matter what, people just didn't give a fuck about you. 

Simon never looked Wilhelm's way again while Wille couldn't seem to look away.

No one knew, though, not a soul.

And not only because Wille had no friends but because he was ever so quiet and sneaky about it.

He knew that if Simon ever even thought that Wilhelm liked him that way, he would beat the fuck out of him.

Not because he's a boy, Simon has been out since middle school, when he unabashedly grabbed an older boy's hand and pulled him on his lap at lunch, but because of who Wilhelm is - the weird loner and preacher's son who prefers to spend his time alone reading.

He knows what kids at school say about him, has known since he was the new boy, but he doesn't care. He's never cared.

He likes to live his life the way he does, has memories of his older brother and mom and his dad still beside him, and that's all he cares about.

He does think Simon could use some care, though. He's always thought that. There's a darkness behind his eyes that someone so young shouldn't have. 

Wilhelm found himself in the library as he usually does after school, tutoring the younger kids in an effort to help the teachers heavy workloads.

The library was stuffy and smelt like dust but he still liked to come.

Liked to help the teachers and especially liked to help the kids who struggled and were convinced they couldn't do it; he was in the middle of explaining the pythagorean theorem when he spotted Simon. 

He walked in with the blank expression he usually wore, chiseled jaw clenched and his piercing brown eyes wandering over the room like it was his first time in the library.

He knew he had to look away but he couldn't, the boy leant against the front desk, distaste and annoyance radiating off of him. 

"Mr. Eriksson, you must be lost," a snarky older teacher said to Simon, Wilhelm focusing his attention back on his student. "What are you doing here? Do you plan on cursing me out again?"

Simon felt that hot burst of anger rush through him, this dickhead of a teacher the one who used to kick him out of his class everyday during his second year. 

"I could, if you really want me to," he mutters, eyes meeting the teacher. "But I'm supposed to be here for tutoring."

Because, apparently, at this fucked up school, the third strike for starting a brawl in the cafeteria is either a two-week suspension or helping out the understaffed, depressing after-school programs and a mandatory extra credit assignment. 

“How long?” Simon asks the headmistress, a kind woman who, for some god forsaken reason, still looks at the boy in front of her with kindness in her eyes. 

He knows at this point he could be expelled, could've been expelled months ago, so why not? What's her angle?

“The rest of the year, Mr. Eriksson. We need tutors year round."

Simon sat there as he truly considered suspension, expulsion even he'd put on the table, because then at least he'd be sleeping in and not doing eight months of  excruciating 'volunteer’ work with bratty preteens and mundane class work.

It's decided then, he thinks, getting up with a sarcastic wink.

"I'll take the suspension, ma'am, see you in two weeks."

The woman laughed like she was told the funniest fucking joke on the planet, rising from her seat and walking over to half-pat, half-pull Simon's shoulder back. 

“I'll see you in the library on Monday."

He sees the Mother Theresa incarnate headmistress peek her head in just as he sits down with the student who needs help with math, not sure which one of them is more pissed off about being here.

They sit in an awkward silence for five minutes, the boy looking down and twiddling his pen as Simon bounces his leg, swirling the silver ring around his finger.

“So, what exactly do you need help with?” Simon finally blurts out, leaning back in his chair and raising an eyebrow at the scrawny, scowling boy. 

“I don’t know," the younger boy snaps, already getting under Simon's skin. "I don’t even need this stupid help. They forced me to be here.”

“Well, that makes two of us,” he mumbles, his eyes moving to the test paper sticking out of the boy’s backpack marked with red x’s. “But it seems like you do need help, kid. A 42 is shitty.”

Wilhelm's eyes widen from two tables over upon hearing those words, clearing his throat loudly and catching Simon's attention.

He looks at him in a way he hopes is chastising, shaking his head which only causes Simon to roll his eyes; he doesn't know how he resists flipping him off before looking back at the young boy.

"Look, kid, neither of us wanna be here so we just gotta get this over with," Simon says, eyes boring into him, coldness sharp in his tone. "Don't waste my time and I won't waste yours. Open the book."

Wilhelm doesn't feel angry much, he actually considers himself a relatively calm person, but his heart grows heavy watching the student's face fall at Simon's words.

He wants to take him aside and yell at him, actually yell at scary Simon Eriksson, because he can't do that. That's the last way to approach a child already struggling and most likely getting in trouble by his parents and teachers. 

They need to be shown the problem in different ways, until they find out that works for them.

Be shown that there's someone who exhibits patience, kindness and a genuine desire to help them - which is exactly what Wilhelm tells Simon when he catches him at the end of the study group, Simon sneering at him the moment he appeared. 

“Thanks for the advice unwarranted advice, Wilhelm, but I'll be getting this shit over with my own way," he says, brushing past him roughly and knocking into him; even though Wilhelm has a few inches on the boy, he still makes him feel small.

That's fine, he can make him feel small, he doesn't care, but he can't do it to the kids here. Wilhelm refuses to let that happen. 

"Wait," he says, not surprised when Simon doesn't turn around and he has to walk over to him. That's fine. He'll do that too to make a point. 

“Look, I know you don’t wanna be here,” he says softly, fully understanding the stuffy library after a day of school isn't everyone's cup of tea, “but you can’t take it out on them. You need to at least be nice and try to help him not only pass but also understand it. That’s the whole-”

"I could give a shit if the kid passes or not," Simon snaps, not needing to hear this shit right now, especially from him. "We're not all perfect little fucking saints like you, Wilhelm."

Because for as long as he's known that new little boy in 6th grade, he's known Wilhelm irritated him.

Maybe he was jealous like trained professionals would suggest, he saw Wilhelm with his loving father and careless but kind attitude and wished he had some of that.

He watched him parade around with ugly sweaters and books and entertain the kids that everyone avoided.

Some people might find that commendable, that he gives everyone a chance and seems to be completely pure and good, but he finds it incredibly irritating - he always had, watching him grow up through the years and feeling some oddly placed resentment and pity.

No one could genuinely be that kind.

No one could be that unbothered by the fact they had no friends.

No one could actually smile in the face of their bullies or enjoy tutoring bratty kids in their free time. 

“That’s not why I'm saying it, Simon," Wilhelm says, like the way he talks to the kids struggling, the kids who think no one believes in them. "I just want you to take this seriously. These kids need help."

“They need help when you’re the one tutoring kids for fun,” Simons scoffs, feeling himself grow more agitated and bitter as Wilhelm talks down to him.

Because that's exactly what he's doing, he's like everyone else and that's why he doesn't care about his mean, immature comments. “I don’t know if you realize how sad that is.”

If the words twist Wilhelm's gut and hurt a part of his heart, he'll never say.

He doesn't care, he's learned not to care, but it's that type of mindset that Wilhelm just can't for the life of him understand. 

“More sad than you needing to be forced to help anyone but yourself?”

Whether Simon wants to admit it or not, the comment rings in his head for the rest of the day.

He knows he's selfish, he knows he's a bit of a dick, but hearing it so bluntly in his face by Wilhelm Bernadotte of all people makes his chest churn uncomfortably. 

~

“So, what do you know about acute triangles?”

A week later and Simon's back to studying with his student.

He's clenching his fists under the table because, really, how fucking hard is it to remember this?

They've made some progress day by day with just talking, which could be considered improvement in and of itself, but Simon knows if he had someone more cut out for this, someone more like Wilhelm, he would've learned it by now. 

He wouldn't be back to staring down at the blank paper with a questioning gaze on his face, wouldn't be spending the first 30 minutes in a tense silence again. 

“There are… three angles,” the boy says, uncertainty laced in his tone; Simon can only nod his head because wow, yeah, good job. 

“Okay..." he says, "and what about them?”

The boy swallows nervously, eyes boring into Simon's like he’s gonna take pity on him and help him out - he only stares back blankly, raising his eyebrow challengingly.

Like there's no way in hell Simon's gonna help him, even a little. 

"I- I don't know!" the boy yells through the quiet library, the other students and teachers and stupid fucking Wilhelm turning at the outburst. "Fuck this! This is so stupid!"

Wilhelm watches as Simon just stares at the child having a break down, arms crossed over his chest and jaw ticking, like he's trying not to scream back at the kid.

His stomach fills with dread when he sees the boy's eyes water, stomping away from the table and ripping open the library door. It echoes throughout the room when it slams shut, knocking a few books in the entry way onto the carpet. 

Several other kids softly murmur to each other before they get back to work, Wilhelm's eyes almost uncontrollably moving to Simon who hasn’t uncrossed his arms, whose unfocused gaze is just staring ahead of him.

"Try the next one by yourself," he mumbles to his student, "I'll be right back."

It's stupid and bold but he can't stop himself from walking over to Simon's table, taking the previously occupied seat across from the curly-haired boy. His hair looks soft to the touch and smells like coconut. 

“He’s just frustrated,” he says softly, hoping to ease the obvious tension coming off Simon's body in waves.

It's easy to feel dejected and upset when these kids get mad at you, Wilhelm remembers feeling bad when he first started thinking he was failing them. 

Simon's eyes flicker to meet his and they're such a deep, dark brown, Wilhelm's shocked to find that they're almost black. He wonders what they'd look like in the sun.

If they were twinged with happiness or wonder instead of constant dread and despair. 

“What do you want from me, Wilhelm?”

He shouldn't be surprised by the boy's annoyed, harsh tone but it still makes his face fall slightly, a sigh leaving his mouth as he shrugs.

Why does he have such a hard time accepting kindness? Isn't it exhausting?

“I just wanna help Simon,” he tells him, sharing that he knows it can feel upsetting at first not being able to help. "I... It was hard for me at first, too. But if you can try maybe explaining it in a different way. Maybe something he can relate to more."

The dark brown storms meet his and if suppressed rage had a permanent home, it'd be in Simon's eyes.

The darkness scares the shit out of Wille for a second, ever so slightly leaning away from him. He can't look away, though, can't bring himself to back down, so the two just stare at each other.

It should feel intimate and uncomfortable and scary but it doesn't. It's scarier when Simon pushes at the desk and it clatters underneath them, mumbling something under his breath as he saunters toward the exit.

The same teacher from the first day is there and Wilhelm catches his gaze before he can say something, shaking his head gently; to his surprise, he lets Simon go with a simple roll of his eyes.

Like he expects nothing less than failure from Simon Eriksson. For some reason, that pulls at a part of Wilhelm's chest. 

He works with the student until 4:30 rolls around, eyes moving to the empty table and library door as his student works.

Neither Simon nor his student ever came back and it causes his stomach to sink. If he takes an extra five minutes to clean up and put his books away, the two other teachers and librarian don't say anything.

As he exits the library, looking around for his keys in his bag, the familiar sound of a ball bouncing off the gym floor catches his attention. 

He peeks through the opening and can't stop the quirk of his lips at the sight of Simon and the boy from the library. The two of them are standing a few feet away from the basketball hoop, that rare hint of a smile on Simon's face as both of them move around the floor.

“So this would be a….?” he hears him ask, the younger boy immediately responding with “acute angle! And it’s less than 90 degrees,” before taking the ball from the older and shooting - in a tragic turn of events, he misses.

In an even more tragic turn of events, Simon's smile widens across his face and his laugh echoes through the gym. It makes Wilhelm's heart jump frantically in his chest, stomach swooping strangely. 

“Used all your brain power for that you can’t even get it in, huh?” he teases, throwing the ball with one hand and watching with a cocky smirk as it shoots through.

“You’re a showoff,” the boy mumbles, Wilhelm biting back a laugh as he watches Simon dribble the ball away from the boy who starts chasing after him. 

Wilhelm leaves school that day feeling lighter, stomach no longer riddled with sadness, and the sickening realization that he was right all along: Simon Eriksson, as scary and jaded as he is, is beautiful. 

~

The next day, Wilhelm is surprised but overjoyed to see Simon and his student working together.

He catches their focused expressions more than once, hears Simon explaining in a not-so-soft but not-so-harsh tone about the problems and how he can remember the equations.

He tries not to smile at the end of the day when the boy shyly thanks Simon for his help, the older boy not able to respond before the kid rushes off and out of the library.

Wilhelm can't stop the encouraging words that blurt out of his mouth.

"Good job."

Simon's head snaps up at the voice, at the words, looking over Wilhelm with distrust. The dark storms are back, it had seemed like they calmed slightly today, but it's back with a vengeance. All biting tones and snarky looks.  

"What?"

“You’re working well with him,” he says, everything about his tone so genuine and soft and kind, it makes Simon want to scoff. "He really seems to be getting better." 

A few moments of tense silence falls between them, Wilhelm positive it's gonna stay like that until the boy grunts out a "yeah."

It seems promising, his cooperation today and responding to Wilhelm, although he thinks it's in his best interest not to mention seeing them in the gym yesterday. 

“It’s hard at first for everyone,” he continues encouragingly because Simon really did do a great job and he wants him to know that, “but then I think once you break that barrier, it’s gonna get-”

“Why are you talking to me, Wilhelm?”

His short, harsh tone causes Wilhelm's face to fall and for a split second, he feels bad. 

He knows the boy is just doing what he always does, showing people unwavering decency and kindness and all that shit, but those are things that he, both, can’t relate to and finds makes him uncomfortable.

He doesn't want him to think that just because he helped one kid out that means he’s some reformed fucking pupil who would do this if not forced. 

After all, he can only help people when he's forced. 

“I just wanted to-”

“Well, don’t,” Simon bites back, picking up his bag and icily cutting Wilhelm off. “It’s bad enough I have to do this shit. I don’t need you talking down to me every fucking day, too.”

“I’m not talking down to you, Simon, I was trying to be encouraging. You did really good with him today and I thought it was-"

“Then don’t encourage me if this is what this is," he says, gesturing between their two bodies. "It's weird. And fucking annoying. Just ignore me the way I intend to ignore you." 

They ignore each other for two weeks in the same manner they have for the past six years of their lives: Simon acts like he doesn't exist and Wilhelm watches from afar.

If by some rare chance their eyes meet, Simon rolls his away and quickly averts his gaze. He keeps his conversations with the students hushed and quiet, hunched over the desk as he looks over their papers.

Right when the clock strikes 4:30, he runs out like the building's on fire. It happens today like clockwork and Wilhelm is finally starting let it go. Kind of. Sort of. Not really. 

He just can't help but wonder what he could have possibly done, both, since Simon started tutoring and their school years together to make him so wary and untrusting of him.

He knows people think he's a freak, he knows they think he's a loner, but he's also always nothing but nice. Kindness and respect were two main things he was also taught, that if people were mean, they were unhappy about something within themselves and they just need a little extra help and support.

Maybe that's why Simon has always intrigued him.

Apart from his obvious good looks, he's always had this strange, innate feeling that there's more to why he acts the way he does.

That the darkness he carries could be washed away if someone just listened to him and gave him a chance; that could be Wilhelm's naivety talking, though, he knows that.

His dad and brother always said that his heart, the way he thinks like that, is his biggest strength but could also be his greatest weakness.  

His music plays quietly in the car as he drives through the rain, thoughts about Simon wandering, when his gaze catches someone walking in the rain. Their hood is up, head is down but, somehow, Wilhelm knows it's him.

He doesn't even think twice about pulling up next to the boy, rolling down his window as Simon side-eyes the car. 

"Do you want a ride?” Wilhelm asks quietly, met with a silent shake of the head.

His feet continue at the same pace, like Wilhelm's not even here offering him. The rain is pounding down, thunder crackling through the sky and the street's threatening to flood any moment now.

The late fall sun will be gone quicker and soon swallow him in cold, wet darkness.

“You’re gonna get sick,” he points out, causing the boy to stop in his tracks and stare at him; even through the fall of the rain and his hood and his wet sopping curls peaking out, he can tell the boy is annoyed with him.

He probably could've guessed that without seeing him, though. 

“And what does that matter to you?”

Wilhelm's lip quirk as he raises an eyebrow, leaning over the middle console to open the door invitingly.

Simon stares at the car in annoyance, holding back his shivers and the way he can't feel his sopping wet toes. He can also feel the heat blaring from the car, warming Wilhelm's stupid fucking pale face to give him rosy cheeks. 

Some part deep within him, so so deep below and repressed, feels ashamed to accept his kindness after the way he's treated him. After the mean shit he said weeks ago.

That being said, because Simon is who he is, he gets in the car soaking wet and slams the door shut.

“Happy?” he grumbles. 

Wilhelm smirks because, okay, this is something, muttering the word "seatbelt," before going back down the road.

Rain pelts down on the window and it seems like in the past ten seconds, it's gotten severely worse. Thunder and lightening cracks through the sky quicker, only three Mississippis, and if he didn't know any better, he'd think Simon was looking at him because he was grateful. 

After he stops at the third stop sign and Simon lets out an annoyed huff, he knows he should've known better. 

"What?" Wilhelm asks, looking over at the boy only after he's come to a full stop. 

"How the hell do you get anywhere? You drive like a grandfather," Simon grumbles.

He feels around in his pockets for a cigarette, agitated when he finds he doesn't have a pack on him. He could totally fucking use one right now, in this car with Wilhelm that reeks of his natural, distinct scent and old man driving skills. 

"I dress like one too. Ironic, isn't it?" 

Simon laughs through his nose, if you can call a short chortle a laugh, as they fall into silence again.

Wilhelm's beat up, rattling car, the soft radio, and rain pelting down surrounds them. Simon doesn't know which one is driving him insane or if it's really when Wilhelm starts softly humming under his breath.

"I don't get you, Wilhelm," he finally blurts out at a red light. 

Because ever since they were 12, he's never fucking understood him. The boy looks over with brown eyes so hauntingly similiar to when they were young, that same soft shade of brown and pure innocence. 

"What do you mean?”

“I mean, you really just… you don’t care about what other people think about you?"

Because obviously he knows people shit on his stupid fucking sweater vests. How could they not, though, to be fair?

Wilhelm smiles at the puzzled expression on Simon's face, thinking that, even looking so confused and disturbed about the person he is, he still looks pretty. 

“No.”

Something about the unabashed confidence in his tone and the soft smile causes Simon to squirm in his seat. Where the fuck did his last cigarette go? He swears he had one left.

“Why not?”

“Because why do they matter?” he asks quietly, "While I can, I'm gonna live the way I want.”

Simon didn't realize at the time how strange that sentence was coming from a 17-year-old boy. While he can, like he knew it was going to expire. Like he was thinking at any moment, he wouldn't be able to live the way he wanted. 

But how could he want to live such a sad, quiet life? Between the covers of books and walls of a church of all places? How someone could go on smiling and being happy when they had no friends to make memories with?

“Seems like a sad way to live,” is all he finds himself saying, a smirk playing on Wilhelm's lips as his brain quips back with a sassy comment - but because he is who he is, and lives the way he wants, he just shrugs. 

The rest of the ride is quiet as they drive to Simon's, only speaking a few times for directions until the car is parked in front of his house. 

“Thanks, Wilhelm," he says, the words foreign and awkward on his tongue. "I didn't need the ride... but thanks."

“You’re welcome, Simon. See you tomorrow?" 

Simon answers by slamming the car door in his face. Wille bites back an amused smile despite himself, waiting until Simon's in his house to slowly drive away.