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You can call me Wille

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With the end of the first marking period coming to a close, Wilhelm stays behind at 4:30 to make a study guide for one of his students.

Everyone had filed out 30 minutes ago, the last page nearly completed when he hears footsteps approaching.

He looks up in surprise, brown familiar eyes meeting his; they haven't been too stormy today. 

"What’re you still doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Simon says, peeking at the paper before taking the seat across from him.

That’s when Wilhelm knows he's about to ask for something.

Maybe try to get a pardon from this 'stupid volunteer work’ (as if Wilhelm has the authority do to that) or another ride home due to the rain - because in all the years he's known Simon Eriksson, he's never initiated a conversation.

Never went out of his way to talk to him, and he's certainly never sat with him. 

“I’m making a study guide for my student,” he explains, “she’s still having a bit of trouble so I’m hoping this will help her.”

He nods, resting his elbows on the table and silently watches as the boy across from him writes in concentration. When he's done, he shakes out his hand, closes his pen, and looks up at Simon curiously. 

"But I know you don’t care about that,” Wilhelm says, two vastly different shades of brown meeting. "So why are you here?"

Simon lets out a sigh, running his hand through his curls and the smell of coconut wafts between them. 

“I need your help with something.”

Wilhelm can't help but smirk, raising an eyebrow as he drops his pen on the table and it echoes through the quiet, empty library.

“Is Simon Eriksson asking for my help?"

The boy just stares blankly, no storm in his eye and a barely there twitch on his lips makes Wilhelm feel okay about his teasing.

"What do you need help with?"

Something about his tone seems to relax Simon ever so slightly, popping his neck to the side. Wilhelm wonders if this is the first time he's ever asked someone for help.

“I’m- uh, I’m supposed to write a play. For my class," Simon says, uncharacteristically fumbling over his words. "It's another thing I have to do on top of this tutoring shit so I don't get..."

His words trail off and Wilhelm just stares at him, not because he's even more beautiful when he's flustered but because he's trying to listen to him.

The taller boy's brows pull together in confusion, waiting for Simon to finish his sentence but he never does. 

“O-okay…” Wilhelm says, nodding his head in slight understanding. "And you need help... writing the play? Editing it? Coming up with ideas?”

Simon's mind starts to swarm with slight panic and uncertainty, completely out of his element and comfort zone - he doesn’t know the first thing about writing fucking plays, you couldn’t pay him enough money to even sit through one.

“Uh… all of it, I guess,” he says with a wince. “But I had a feeling you're probably like, a theater geek, or whatever, so you'd know."

Wilhelm can't stop the laugh that bubbles out of him, shaking his head at the boy in front of him.

“A theater geek?”

"Not- not like that,” he says, tone desperate and unsure and it's so clear how uncomfortable he is asking for help. “I just mean like you’re probably… good at that stuff.”

“Ahh, because I'm, like, a nerdy old grandpa, right?"

Simon would laugh if he wasn't so horrified.

If he didn't realize he couldn't even ask for Wilhelm's help without insulting him and if maybe, for a split second, he didn't just think about how nice his laugh sounded.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Wilhelm."

He can't help but watch Simon for a few seconds, hand twiddling his curls, jean-covered leg starting to bounce before he puts him out of his misery. 

“I’m just kidding, Simon," the boy says, a soft, teasing smile on his face. "Of course I’ll help you.“

His head of now ruffled curls snaps up, face once ridden by anxiety and panic full of surprise and relief.

"Really?”

“Really,” he confirms with a smile, “but I’m only gonna assist you. You have to do most of it, okay?”

“Yeah, right, of course,” he says, over and done with this conversation; now, he has to get the fuck out of this library. 

“And you have to take it seriously," Wille continues, "on the days we do it, you’re gonna have to be focused, Simon.”

“I wouldn’t have put myself through this and asked you if I wasn’t gonna take it seriously,” he grumbles, watching the boy's eyebrows furrow and quickly realizing he’s falling back into his dick-ish ways; he mumbles out a half-assed apology. “I mean, of course, yeah, thank you, Wilhelm.”

Wille smiles and that should've been Simon's hint to go, so he really doesn't know why he stays.

Why he lingers and silently watches as Wilhelm carefully puts his books away, body stuck in the seat like he’s transfixed by the kind boy he could never understand. 

He’s not even surprised when Wilhelm looks back up and his soft smile is still there.

He doesn’t look at him strangely for staying, lingering, really, or make fun of him for asking for help, he just regards him with a thoughtful expression.

But Simon can’t deal with it any longer, doesn't know why he's even here analyzing his kindness, and the soft shade of brown in his eyes, and the way Wilhelm’s always just been so fucking good, so he finally jumps up. 

Takes his bag and plans on silently leaving before he takes two steps and the boy is speaking again.

“By the way,” he says, Simon craning his neck over his shoulder. “You can call me Wille, if you want.”

Simon’s brows pull together in confusion, because not sure he’s ever heard anyone call him that before.

He's also struggling to remember if Wille has always looked like this: if his cheeks were twinged with pink this whole time because the library heat is blazing right now - he knows this because Simon's starting to feel warm too and that's the only explanation.

“Uh, okay,” Simon says, staring at the boy for a second longer before turning away.

He has to turn away, for the life of him he has to turn away. Even though for the rest of the day and into the next, he can't seem to shake the boy out of his head.

His smile, his soft words and immediate acceptance to help, his stupid pink cheeks, the way he said you can call me Wille if you want just playing over and over in his head.

The boy's kindness and carefree attitude haunts him, eats at him, because he just doesn't fucking get how someone can be like that. 

Especially toward him.

Wille's been in his head all day so maybe that's why it's so jarring to see him in the cafeteria, like he's not just a figment of his imagination.

Or maybe it's because, even though Simon's sitting with Henry, Vincent, and August, the boy in a light purple sweater vest walks up to the table like he's not a skittish little deer walking into a lion's den. 

"Hi, Simon," Wille smiles, knowing it's bold and knowing he could be stupid for this but thinking there seemed to be a change in Simon.

A change to work, to help, if even unenthusiastically. There was some sort of change for the better and that's all Wille cared to see.

"Do you wanna start working on your project after tutoring today?"

He thought the worst that could happen was Simon and his friends ignoring him, used to awkward silences and weirded out, shifting gazes, but he knows that when all he hears is mocking laughter, Simon's about to disappoint him. 

"I think you're a little lost, Wilhelm," he says, spitting his name out like a bad piece of food, his eyes some of the stormiest he's seen yet.

They would've taken down buildings and flooded cities, left people devastated because they underestimated just how tragic the storm would be. How defensive the raging winds and rains would be.

"What do you think you're doing over here, huh?"

A lump forms in Wilhelm’s throat and he can't understand why - he doesn't care - eyes wide as they look over Simon.

Why are you doing this? he wants to ask, hoping the look in his eye is properly portraying that thought; even if it is, Simon wouldn't know. After he spits out venom to Wilhelm, his eyes wander and look at everything but him.

Maybe it's because of guilt and that should make him feel better but it doesn't. 

Not even a little bit.

"Aww, do you wanna be friends with our little Simon here?" Vincent mocks, reaching out to tug at his collar. "He's not into boys like you, Wilhelm, I'm sorry to say."

"Vincent, leave him alone, he's like, socially awkward for real," Henry says, knocking into the boy's arm before he whispers not so quietly, "I think he has problems."

Wilhelm's cheeks flame and he can't tear his eyes off Simon who suddenly finds his ring very interesting. His jaw is tense, his body even tenser, and Wilhelm feels that unfamiliar feeling of anger brewing in him because he won't even look at him.

His friends go back and forth insulting the boy like he's not even there all while Simon just stays silent.

Wille's eyes are threatening to burn with tears before he shakes his head. He doesn't need to take this - he knows why they're doing it but that doesn't make it any easier. 

"Sorry, nevermind then," he mumbles, unsure if anyone even hears him before he leaves the lunchroom; Simon, not only feeling shitty that Wille just apologized, realizes he didn't have any food with him either.

He grabs some extra bags of chips and granola bars after the period ends (only once his friends are gone, of course). When he gets to the library later that afternoon, a few minutes before 3:15, he's not surprised to see Wilhelm there early as well.

He doesn't say anything as he walks up to the boy, gently grabbing him by the elbow and leading him to the back of the room. 

It hits him harder than he cares to admit when Wilhelm flinches in surprise, a quiet, confused "what are you doing?" leaving his mouth.

He pulls them into the empty computer lab, glass windows doing little to hide the obvious tension in the room.

Simon closes the door behind them, turning to see the boy staring at him, his lips pulled into a slight frown. If he had looked at him in the cafeteria, he'd know that his face looked exactly the same.

Wide eyes full of disappointment, shame, embarrassment, a mix of emotions that would make him feel so fucking guilty, he doesn't even wanna try and understand them. 

“Just hear me out."

“I don’t think there’s anything to hear out,” Wilhelm says softly, not knowing what Simon's doing but not caring. He can't deal with anymore embarrassment today. "You made it obvious you don’t need my help anymore.”

He turns to head out the door because he said his piece, avoiding eye contact with the storm, when a hand touches him again.

He can feel the warmth through his sweater, can feel the indent of Simon's rings in his arm and his body stiffens at the feeling it shoots through him.

Simon immediately lets him go and despite everything, he feels cold.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…" the boy sighs, moving away and running a hand through his curls. Wilhelm wishes just one time they didn't smell like coconut. "I shouldn’t have done that. At lunch today."

It sounds like accountability but to Wilhelm, it’s like the fact that he knew it was wrong is making it worse. He knew it would hurt him and make him look stupid but he did it anyway to prove a point to his friends.

Or to himself.

Or even to Wilhelm, that he didn't wanna do whatever they were doing. 

“But you did,” he says quietly, shaking his head as he looks at beautiful messy curls and haunting eyes. "And I know you don’t care, Simon, but I really thought you were trying to be better.”

I thought we were becoming something like friends.

Simon sighs again, meeting Wilhelm's gaze and hoping, praying, he doesn't look as fucked up as he feels. 

“I was. I am. That’s why I need your help, Wilhelm, please."

His gaze catches a group of kids that come barreling through the front door, one of them being the girl he's been working with. She takes a seat at their normal table, taking out her supplies and nervously moving them around.

He has to get back out there. He knows that.

He can't be fooled by Simon's eyes right now, the storm clouds gone and replaced with something regretful. And sad. 

Something that Wilhelm knows is only present because he's not getting something out of him anymore, not because he's genuinely upset that he hurt Wilhelm.

Why would he care about him and his feelings anyway?

“The drama teacher is really nice,” he says, a small smile on his face as he looks at Simon.

The polite, kind smile he always wears because he knows the boy needs some kindness.

He knows the boy is hurting but that doesn't mean Wilhelm has to be hurt by him either. But he will be kind to him, he will always be kind.

"You could probably sit in with her and get some pointers.”

“But I wanted you to-”

Simon can't even finish his sentence before Wilhelm is brushing past him and out the door, making his way toward his student and never again looking his way that day.

The chips and granola lay crushed, forgotten, at the bottom of his bag. 

~

Simon was shocked by how much it annoyed him that Wilhelm was ignoring him.

That anytime he now tried to get his attention, he'd smile dismissively and busy himself.

That he no longer lingered at the end of the day or gave him words of praise and encouragement - because he'd been working really well with the students, had even started helping two different ones - even though it used to piss him off so much.

It made the cold weeks drag on even longer, his afternoons now a more dull and dreary experience. He couldn't take it anymore on one snowy afternoon, ending his session five minutes early and waiting outside the library like a complete creep; if this was his only chance to talk to Wille, he'd take it.

Wille was digging through his bag trying to find his keys, wondering how each and every time they end up buried at the bottom, when he almost took out a smaller body in front of his.

An apology was on the tip of his tongue when he looked up and saw curls. 

“Hi.”

Wilhelm raises a brow, Simon's face lacking its usual smugness and disdain. 

“Hey."

The two boys just stare at each other, soft brown full of confusion while the darker held insecurity and nervousness. Wilhelm forgot how much concerning emotion could swarm in someone's eyes all while being so beautiful. 

“Are you gonna make me beg, Wille?”

His eyebrows shoot up for more than one reason, the deep, lowly spoken words and nickname throwing him completely off guard.

He shouldn't like how Simon says his name as much as he does. 

“What?”

“I miss... I miss your stupid fucking encouragement, okay,” he blurts out suddenly, small, stiff body coming to life, moving just a little bit closer to Wille. “And I miss talking to you. I want… I want you to help me with my play.”

Wilhelm crosses his arms over his chest, like that's gonna stop the boy's words from affecting his lonely little heart.

To Simon, it'll probably look like he's trying to gauge his mood, maybe even intimidate him, like that'd even be possible, but Wille's heart is crying out for something right now and it's not fair; because a part of Wille also knows he could just be saying all of this to get what he wants, make his life easier.

“What’s wrong with the drama teacher?” he asks, "She’s nice. I’ll even ask her if you can-”

"She’s not you.”

Fuck.

Wilhelm swallows the lump in his throat, his heart seemingly the thing to jump up and get viciously caught in it. He knows Simon doesn't mean the words like that, he knows he doesn't mean it like that at all, but, fuck, if for a moment, it's nice to pretend he does. 

“That’s kind of the point,” he says, voice strong despite the way he's absolutely shaking inside, quivering, really, but he must remain resilient. “That's what you wanted."

"Well, I don't want that anymore," Simon says, his eyes never leaving Wille's.

He doesn't know if he's ever seen the type of indistinguishable emotion he's seeing in Simon's gaze right now and he doesn't know what to make of it.

He just knows that his heart, his stomach, every fiber of his shaking being likes it and is taking it in.

“I was wrong and I’m sorry, Wille, I am,” he says, not even realizing he used the nickname again. It just flows off his tongue too nicely, feels too right, especially after not talking to him for so long.

"I'm- I'm trying here, okay?" he sighs, his voice low and gaze wandering, searching, begging, Wille to please listen to him. Please look at him and give him another chance because he didn't expect this change and he's trying. "Fuck, I'm really trying here and I need your help."

Wilhelm so wants to give in immediately. He can hear him, see him, crying out for help and the look in his eye is making his chest push and pull.

He swears this time he's being genuine, he swears there's something different right now, another shift in the air between them that's palpable. 

But that's what Simon's able to do.

He can look at someone like Wilhelm and fool him. He can use his pretty face (Wilhelm really hopes that Simon doesn't know just how pretty Wilhelm thinks he is) to be persuasive and trick and connive.

Wille has those thoughts for all of three seconds before he feels awful - he’s thinking about Simon the way everyone else does. The way people think about the kids who struggle.

He can't ignore the fact that, no matter how he’s treated him or anyone else, he’s here and asking for help now.

He wonders how many times Simon's been able to ask for help, if he ever has before. If the one time he did, he was ignored so harshly, it ruined him for every other opportunity.

Until now, maybe.

Until Wilhelm was searching his gaze and Simon was searching right back, hearts pounding for two completely different reasons. 

"Fine. Okay," Wilhelm finally breathes out, missing just how comical Simon's surprised face is because he's trying to remain strong. Trying to protect himself. "But all the same conditions still apply, Simon. Even if you’re… embarrassed to be seen with me, we still have to do the work and-“

"I’m not embarrassed,” he’s quick to clarify, Wilhelm's eyebrow shooting up at the blatant lie. “I’m not," he repeats. 

Wilhelm shakes his head because it doesn't matter, not really, he understands after all these years even if it hurts. 

“Well, whatever, that doesn’t even matter,” he says, "we just need to do the work. Next week we start, okay? No... No more bullshit, Simon."

The boy nods as a smirk pulls at his lips, watching as Wille's gaze quickly falls to them before back up to his eyes. There's a few moments of silence before-

"Did you just curse?" Simon asks, a shit eating smirk covering his smug, beautiful face.

Wilhelm only rolls his eyes and shoves the boy out of his way, forever grateful his back is to Simon as he smiles. Feels that familiar pink twinge on his cheeks and feels a stupid, stupid, stupid warm feeling blooming in his chest. 

Simon feels it too, not sure if he wants to smile or grimace because what the fuck is Wille doing to him?

~

Ayub and Simon are walking home, intensely debriefing the interactions between them, Rosh and her new girlfriend-

"Yasmine!"

"Yasmina!" Simon shouts through the empty streets, laughter booming. "Bro, did you really go through the whole fucking night calling her the wrong name?"

"Her name is fucking Yasmine, bro!"

"No it's fucking not!"

Simon, Ayub and Rosh only lived a few blocks from one another but the school zones tragically left Simon in a different district, which left him living what felt like a double life.

He was still troubled the same way people at school knew him to be - the only difference was that Ayub and Rosh knew why. Ayub and Rosh knew the shit Simon's been through and how long and debilitating his bouts of depression were. 

They knew that Simon tried hard, he really did, but sometimes the effects of trauma won and trauma sometimes makes you do shitty things - they always check him on that, though. 

"I think Rosh really likes her," Ayub says, their old, dirty sneakers smacking on the street gravel.

It was cold tonight but not as cold as it should be, given that it was snowing a few weeks ago. It was only unbearable when the wind picked up.

"Did you notice she did that thing where..."

Simon can't help but notice when they come up on the eerie little cemetery they pass every time on their way to home. Any time he's making this walk alone, he tends to go around and make the trip 15 minutes longer, actively avoiding it.

There's something very unsettling to him about death and mourning.

Maybe because he's seen his father on the brink of death more than once.

Maybe because he always thought, if he found is dad dead once, a small part of him would feel relieved, dare he say happy, that he was gone. 

It hurt to be hurt so much.

It hurt to be disappointed and that's all Micke was able to do.

It hurt that even the act of grieving, which Simon knows isn't linear and knows is different for everyone, his fuck up of a father had to make even more complicated for him. 

He can hear Ayub going on and on about Rosh and all of her non-discrete tells when she likes a girl but catches the sight of a person under the streetlamp right outside the cemetery.

Something inside him tells him to stop, his feet slowing, when he sees Wilhelm open the old, iron gate and walk in alone. It's dark out, late, probably close to midnight, and Simon's intrigued.

He shouldn't be, he knows he shouldn't, but he is.

He also knows Ayub is the last person who should know this about Simon; his friend notices him stopped behind him, of course, words dying in his throat as he looks back at Simon.

He's staring into the cemetery, eyes wandering like he's following something (or someone) with his gaze. 

"Yo, Simme," Ayub says, the boy looking to him quickly. "You good? See a ghost or something?"

"Yeah, no, I'm good,” Simon says, knowing he should drop it and continue the walk. He's telling his feet to move, telling his brain to drop it, when his mouth just starts going. "Uh, you mind walking the rest on our own? I gotta go do something."

Ayub knows immediately that something's up, though, to be fair, how couldn't he when his friend wants to go into a cemetery at midnight?

There's a mix of amusement and intrigue in his gaze, looking back into the dark cemetery, seeing only headstones, trees and the faintest outline of a person.

He can barely see them but he's able to tell they're tall. 

"I’m telling you right now, if you planned a booty call in the fucking cemetery, you're more fucked in the head than I thought, Simon.”

"You're fucked in the head, it's not like that," Simon says, smirking despite himself as he pushes his friend away. "Go home, you sicko."

"You're the one meeting mystery boys in graveyards," he says, demanding to know more about this tomorrow before he goes off.

Simon shakes his head at Ayub, watching his friend disappear down the street before focusing on the slightly opened gate. 

It only takes him a moment to make a final decision - a stupid, intrusive, slightly stalker-ish decision but a decision no less; he finds Wille with shocking ease, walking up and down the grassy, overgrown paths.

He's placed a blanket in front of one particular headstone, his backpack off to the side and his head bowed in prayer.

If there's one thing that makes Simon more uncomfortable than the dead (or following sweater-vest wearing boys into dark areas), it's religion.

Not only because some people use it as a tool to hate, a tool to tell him he's wrong for loving who he loves, but because the concept of believing wholeheartedly in something that bears no proof is fascinating to him. 

He doesn't think he believes in anything that much, except his philosophy that, in the end, when it really comes down to it, no one gives a fuck about you; he's found that one to be proven time and time again.

He waits until Wilhelm is done praying and placing books around him to speak. 

“So, this is how you live on the edge, huh?" he asks, smirking when Wilhelm jumps, a surprised yelp leaving him. "Sneaking around a cemetery at night? Strange choice.”

Wilhelm's surprised to see Simon standing a few feet away from him, his teasing, quiet voice pulling his lips into a smile.

He always looks good but he looks especially good tonight, blending into the night with black clothes and a beanie covering his coconut curls.

Tragic. 

“No sneaking, I just walked right in," he says, gesturing to the world of the dead around him. "If anything, you snuck in. I didn't even hear you."

Simon smirks, making a habit of searching for a cigarette when he feels that particular feeling in his chest.

When Wille smiles or smirks or looks at him in a way that makes him feel something; he’s cigarette-less again so he chooses to look around.

A large oak tree in the corner catches his attention, because he's trying not to notice just how many fucking headstones are around them right now.

“So, were you actually following me?” Wilhelm asks, causing him to rip his gaze away and look down at him. "Or are you here to see someone?”

A few beats of silence pass before he answers.

“Would it be weird to admit that I followed you?”

His quiet chuckle echoes through the night, through this place of mourning and sadness, and Simon can't help the quirk of his lips. 

“Not much weirder than me spending my Saturday night in a cemetery, I suppose.”

That gets a laugh out of Simon, nodding his head in agreement because "yeah, I guess that is weirder."

Wilhelm rolls his eyes, looking back down at the blanket in front of him.

He nervously toys with the books, with the ends of the soft fabric, and Simon just watches him as he stands there. A cold gust of wind howls around them and it kind of sounds like ghosts laughing at them. 

A chill runs through Simon at the thought when Wille speaks again.

"You can sit, if you want.”

"You can call me Wille, if you want."

For the same reason he followed him in here, for the same reason he's started calling him Wille and for the same reason he was about to lose his fucking mind when he stopped talking to him, Simon accepts the invitation and sits down.

He keeps a good distance between them, his butt just hanging off the edge in the grass and he can’t help but stare at the headstone in front of him.

Erik Bernadotte. Beloved son and brother. 

What the hell? Is that his-

"My brother,” he says quietly, because it’s hard not to know what he’s thinking or what conclusions the boy next to him is coming to. “He died right before we moved here."

Simon feels a pang in his heart at the confession, mind flashing back to the nice new boy with messy blonde hair and no friends. 

"Shit."

Wille nods, smiling only a little because he doesn't say he's sorry and a part of him appreciates that.

He knows people never know what to say, that that's a normal, good thing to say, but sometimes saying the unexpected is good too.

He sits criss-crossed, placing his chin on his cold, curled fist as he looks at the headstone. 

"It feels weird. That he's buried here and not where we grew up." Not with our mom, he thinks but he can't bear to get into that right now either. 

Simon nods because that actually makes sense. That does seem weird.

He peeks over and is surprised not to see sadness or sorrow but, instead, that same look of compassion and warmth Wilhelm seems to permanently wear on his face.

He's not sure if he's known it all along or is only noticing right now, with the moonlight shining on him, that Wilhelm's beautiful. He might be the most beautiful person he's ever seen and it seems to be a reflection of who he is inside too.

"Why do you come here then? If it feels weird?”

The question holds no malice or judgement, just kind of slipped out out of genuine curiosity.

Or maybe so he doesn't blurt out his other realization. 

“To talk to him, I guess," he says, the loss five years ago but sometimes feeling like it was, both, yesterday and ages ago. Like it didn't really happen to him or he dreamt of Erik's existence. "He was my best friend, my only friend, and I think he'd wanna know what's going on in my life. Even though he always called me boring."

Simon doesn't smile even though Wilhelm does, because he thinks that might be the saddest thing he's ever heard. 

“What do you talk to him about?”

For the fucking life of him, he can’t understand why he’s so interested in this. In Wille, all of the sudden.

He can't understand anything about what's been going on with him these past few weeks, maybe even months; if Wilhelm's surprised he doesn't show it. 

Wilhelm's surprised but in a good way. He's just surprised that he's taking the lead in conversation, showing an interest.

He begs his heart to not take it the wrong way, that he's just setting himself up to be hurt, but it feels nice to have someone listen. Have someone be interested in him.

“Anything really. I tell him about school or my dad’s sermons or what I did during the weekend. Sometimes, I’ll just read. There's so many books that have come out that he's missed."

Simon nods because that's true.

The world keeps going on after someone dies and they miss so many things that you wouldn't even think about. His eyes shift over to the grave and he can't help but wonder how much this piece of stone has heard about his life. 

Does he tell it how people treat him at school? How much he volunteers his time to help others and make them better? Maybe even how he's been trying to help him but might see him as a lost cause.

The sound of paper rustling snaps him out of his thoughts, noticing Wille with a pen in hand, scribbling down something in his note book. It's nosy and intrusive (he already followed him in here so that checks out) but he peaks over out of curiosity and reads:

"Bucket list?"

A smirk pulls at Wilhelm's lips, nodding his head as he scribbles down a number 4.

"Do you have one?" he asks quietly, meeting his eyes that are boring into his face.

His cold body warms at the idea of Simon watching him, a sick, secret sort of pleasure that the tables have turned if only just for the night.

"Can't say I do," Simon hums, eyes trailing over the boy next to him.

He's sure the pink twinge is from the cold but it makes him look pretty. So does the nervous look Wille gives him, gaze searching his face, his body, the same way.

Like they're tentatively, curiously observing the other, the blonde swallowing just as Simon licks at his cold, chapped lips.

"I have some stuff I wanna do, though."

Wilhelm will die here. He thought he had more time left but he's positive he's gonna die right here. 

"L-like what?" 

He blushes when he stutters and then blushes more when Simon smiles, looking down at the blanket and running his fingers over it.

It's the best kind of soft material, the type you touch in the store and know you need to buy because it'll soon be the only thing that keeps you warm at night. The only thing you'll be able to have beside you to feel safe. 

Simon's playing with fire right now and he knows it. Things with Wilhelm are... unknown.

He doesn't quite know if they're friends, although they definitely don't feel like strangers or acquaintances anymore.

He doesn't know if that's a can of worms he even wants to open, knowing a part of him is slowly softening for the boy, has been softening and was probably already soft under all the jealousy and teenage angst. 

He doesn't know if he could sink that low and take this boy he knows is too good for him. This boy he's hurt more than once and will probably disappointment again.

Because if there's one thing Simon Eriksson is good at, if there's one thing he was taught, it's disappointment. 

“I don’t know,” is all he mumbles and he thinks about saying fuck it when Wille giggles beside him.

He rips out a piece of paper and doesn't shy away even the slightest bit when their cold fingertips brush.

“Writing it down might help," he says, placing the empty piece of paper and a pen between them.

His book is open in his lap and he smiles when, to no one's surprise, because Simon is way more nosy than he thought, his list is read aloud. 

"Fall in love, see the ocean, get a tattoo..." number 4 is blank and Simon hums, curious as to what he was gonna put there before, apparently, losing bravery. "Get a tattoo?" he asks with a smirk, looking over at Wilhelm in amusement.

“What? Is that so hard to believe?” he asks, a mock expression of hurt on his face; he knows nothing would look more bizarre than him covered in tattoos.

Simon smiles at that very thought, a sleeve of colorful artwork on his arm, pastel sweater rolled up neatly. 

“Kind of, yeah,” he chuckles, Wille smiling sweetly beside him.

The air between them is different, charged with something new, and Simon can't lie and say he doesn't like it.

That it's not something causing him to smile more, hold back laughs more, that it's not something he ever expected to feel but especially with Wilhelm. Wille. 

He needs Wille to stop laughing so his chest stops feeling weird. 

"Why do you even have one, though?" Simon asks, because he's heard of bucket lists before but only in tragic cases. "Don't only people who are like..." he cringes once he remembers where they are, surrounding by corpses who probably have no fucking idea what bucket lists are.

Or what books have come out since their untimely deaths but hear a sweet, soft voice reading to them every so often.

"Don't you only make bucket lists when you're gonna die? Get news that you have, like, a year left to live or some shit?"

Just like in the car that day, when he asked the boy why he doesn't care about what other people think about him, he doesn't think about how sadly cryptic the answer is.

How odd the dreary words sound coming from the mouth of a high school boy whose only cares should be about prom and college acceptance letters.

“I could only have a year left to live,” he says softly, eyes moving to Erik's headstone. "I could even only have a month left. You never really know, do you?”

Simon can only nod after the words sink in, and he really digests them, because while they're true it's also-

"Damn, pretty fucking morbid, Wille." 

A small chuckles leaves his mouth as he shrugs, gesturing to the hundreds of graves around them. 

"I don't know, I think everyone here would agree with me."

He's never heard Simon laugh the way he does, loud and booming and so pretty, it sounds like a song.

The prettiest song that Wilhelm gets the knowledge of hearing, unreleased to the public but something he'll cherish. Something he'll remember the next time he comes to the cemetery to tell Erik all about.

He knows if Erik's ghost could talk, he'd be making fun of his pink cheeks right now.

"Good point," Simon says, once his laughter dies down and he's only smiling into the darkness.

He didn't know much about Wilhelm, he never cared to, but he's positive he's never met anyone like him in his life. 

It’s an odd place and time to learn about someone, to spend the rest of the night sharing shy smiles, stolen glances, and inappropriate laughter, but it happens nonetheless.

Simon makes sure the boy next to him isn't looking when he takes his pen, grazing his fingers as he does but Wilhelm too distracted by his book to notice, as he starts his list. 

Simon's Bucket List:

1. kiss a boy in a sweater vest