Work Text:
Wilhelm took one last look around the locker room before taking a deep breath and shoving the envelope into the locker. It was the dead of night on a Monday. No one was awake. Logically, Wilhelm knew this.
That didn’t help his anxiety, though. As soon as the envelope slipped through the crack and Wilhelm heard it hit the bottom, he took three big, swift steps back and stared at the locker. At the green metal and the black numbers reading 36.
Then he turned on his heel and marched back to his room, staring resolutely at the ground, regretting his every choice but being unable to change it. There was no way to get that locker open without the key. He just had to pray that what he had written wasn’t obviously written by him. After all, he had only poured his heart and soul into the words as he wrote them in a spiral induced by St. Valentine’s preparations and encouraged by Erik.
But whatever. It would surely be fine.
[<3]
When Simon opened his locker to grab his books on Tuesday morning, he was unexpectedly greeted by a red envelope falling to the floor. Sara made a high-pitched noise as he reached down to pick it up.
“No way,” she said, grabbing his shoulder in a vice-like grip. “No way. It’s been a day. But who am I kidding? Of course, you got one.”
“What?” Simon asked, looking at his sister with concern over her reaction. “What is it? Is it bad?” Now he wasn’t so sure about opening the envelope despite how his finger was already picking at the seal.
Sara made another concerning high-pitched noise as she grabbed Simon by both his shoulders and shook him a bit. “Simon, are you telling me you don’t know what this is?”
His face must have said it all because she didn’t let him respond before continuing in an urgent whisper, “Simon, this is a St. Valentine’s letter!” He didn’t understand what that meant or why it was important. Sara was a lot more invested in everything Hillerska than he was. “Someone’s asking you to the ball!”
“The ball?” He actually knew what that was. The choir performed at the event happening this upcoming weekend. And now that he thought about it, he remembered hearing something about letters. A handful of boys were working on theirs during workies yesterday.
But he hadn’t paid much attention. He wouldn’t dare to write to the one person he had eyes on. It was a pointless crush that he was more waiting to go away than to actually go anywhere. And he certainly hadn’t been expecting to receive any letters.
“Well,” Sara prompted, “are you going to open it?”
Simon stared at the letter in his hand. A love letter. Or as close as you could get to it at the age of sixteen. His fingers brushed the edges, and he picked at the seal, wondering who could have written it. Could he dare to hope…
“No,” Simon said, startling himself almost as much as Sara, who jumped back with a dropped jaw.
“What do you mean ‘no’? Don’t you want to figure out who wrote it and go to the ball with them?”
“No,” Simon said again, much more resolutely and sure of himself. He had no interest in going with anyone to the ball. (Anyone other than him, at least, but there was no way that was possible.)
Sara’s jaw was still dropped. “Simon!” She sounded so offended. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want to.” Simon placed the letter back in his locker and grabbed his books. “I have no desire to involve myself any more than I have to with dumb Hillerska traditions.”
“But Simon.” Sara was still appalled. Simon shut his locker and started walking to class. “You got a letter! Someone here likes you. It could be—”
“Nope!” Simon shut down Sara’s train of thought immediately, willing himself not to think about the possibility (that realistically wasn’t possible), and fighting the blush rising to his cheeks as he walked into class. “This conversation is over.” He emphasized his point by dramatically dropping his books onto his desk. “I will be throwing out the letter the next time I go to my locker.”
[<3]
Wilhelm would surely NOT be fine, because Wilhelm now had the terrible fate of watching locker 36 be opened the next morning. He had the misfortune of witnessing a certain non-boarder pick up the letter after it fell to the floor, have an intense conversation with his sister, then put it right back in his locker without opening it.
He wasn’t sure if he should rejoice or be mortified. With shaking hands, he texted Erik.
Me
help
he got the letter
Wilhelm was hesitant to relay further information. He still didn’t know how to react. The seconds before Erik’s response were painful. His response was unhelpful.
Erik
And???
You can’t just send that without further information
Me
…
he didn’t open it
Erik
Wtf?
Why?
Me
isk
idk*
why would i know?
Erik
Send another one. Maybe he’ll open that one
Wilhelm had to take a few moments to compose himself before responding, because why the hell would Erik suggest that? The first letter had been painful enough.
Me
wtf
no
why would i do that?
terrible idea erik
terrible idea
Erik
So he’ll open it and you can go to the ball together
Duh
Me
NO!?!
we are NOT going to the ball together
Erik
I thought that was the point
Me
no
all of this was your idea and i shouldnt have done it
im glad he didnt open it
saves me the embarrassment
hell pron throw it out the next chanve he gets
chance*
prob*
Erik
Are u?
Me
am i what?
Erik
Glad he didn’t open it?
Wilhelm hesitated.
Erik
Do you really want him to throw it out?
He really wasn’t sure.
Erik
Bc the way u were talking abt him u want him to read it and go to the ball with him
That got Wilhelm out of his stupor.
Me
fuck off erik!
Erik
Write him another letter, Wille
Wilhelm left him on ‘read’ and hurried to class.
[<3]
When Simon opened his locker after choir rehearsal that same Tuesday, he was faced once again with the letter. It sat perfectly propped up in the back of his locker, Simon written in perfect cursive. And he couldn’t help but wonder…
No, he told himself sternly before placing his books back in his locker, he will not be wondering anything. But he grabbed the letter to stuff in his backpack anyway. He should throw it out at home just to ensure that whoever wrote it wouldn’t find it in the trash here at Hillerska. That would just be cruel.
He didn’t throw it out when he got home, though. To be fair, he got distracted by Rosh and Ayub asking to play video games on the way home, and the letter totally slipped his mind. But as he unpacked his backpack to start on his homework, he pulled out the red envelope.
It was strange how he was so utterly captivated by the thing. He really shouldn’t be playing into stupid Hillerska traditions, but at the same time, he really wanted to know…
The letter was open before Simon could even think to open it. His eyes read the words before he could even process them. He read it again and could hardly comprehend how unexpected the letter was. It… it’s indescribable.
Simon thought back to the boys he overheard writing their letters yesterday. This letter was nothing like them, writing to girls—many girls, apparently—just to get a date. This letter was personal, written with care, and dare he say devotion. This letter had the author’s heart poured into it. He didn’t know what to think.
Simon,
When it comes to you, there are many things that people see
You have the voice of an angel
The looks of a Greek God
You’re opinionated and unafraid to share your thoughts
Then there are the things that others don’t see, the things that I see
You’re the younger brother, but you care for your sister more than anything
You love music because of your dad, but sometimes that makes it hard
You’re strong—the strongest person I know
You see, Simon, I think I’ve figured it out
You’re different
Everything else is fake—everyone else in the world is fake
But I like you, and that is not fake
[<3]
Wilhelm once again sat at his desk with a pen, notebook paper, and a red envelope. It was 10 pm on Tuesday night, and it was all Erik’s fault.
“Just do it, Wille,” his brother encouraged from the phone. “You’ve gotta put in the effort if you wanna take him to the ball.”
Wilhelm resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“Erik, he didn’t even read the first one.”
“But if you send him a second—”
Wilhelm cut him off with a groan as he dropped his pen and thunked his head down onto the desk. “I don’t wanna do this,” he whined, dragging out the vowel of the last word.
“Wille,” Erik said calmly, “just write exactly what you wrote before.”
Heat flooded Wilhelm’s cheeks. “No!” he screeched, probably way too loud for the time of night. “I– I don’t remember what I wrote anyway.” That was a lie. Or, mostly a lie. He remembered most of what he wrote and had no desire to repeat any of the sappy crap he had written in it. There was also the slim chance that the letter actually was read, and sending the same thing twice would just be embarrassing.
Erik laughed and raised his eyebrows. “Alright, fine. Write something else, then. Talk about… your relationship! If you don’t wanna talk more about him, then talk about the two of you. You’re like– besties, right? He’s all you ever talk about.”
Wilhelm felt his face flush more. “Shut– shut up!”
Over the line, Erik cackled. Wilhelm was done. “I’m hanging up on you. All of your ideas are terrible,” he informed his brother.
“I love you, too, Wille! Write that letter and ask ou—”
The call ended before Wilhelm could hear any more. That didn’t stop the heat on his cheeks, though. He rested his head on his desk for a few moments longer, his gaze catching on a book of contemporary poetry, a gift for his sixteenth birthday. Write something else.
Erik was truly insufferable, but the letter was finished and delivered within the hour.
[<3]
On Wednesday, Simon was once again greeted by a letter falling to his feet. As he watched it fall—his name written on the front of the red envelope was in that same, perfect cursive—he could sense Sara’s buzzing excitement.
There was his own curiosity, as well. He couldn’t withhold it. Swiftly, he reached down and opened the envelope. Sara squealed from beside him, and he tried not to think about how she was definitely reading over his shoulder as he scrambled to do the same.
Simon,
There are many things I wish to share with you:
An interest in mythology—for it is truly fascinating
Or my love for literature, for others who are far more composed
Let me to share the words of a favorite, of sentiments I could never write so well
when I think of us I think of the lakewater
near [Hillerska], what might not technically
constitute a lake but I prefer that word for
the open mouth of its vowel, how it called
us to its throat [and] held us there, in the sun,
the high points of our faces slick with light
[and] its arc around our shoulders, the soft
gathering of flesh around our knees,
the [empty space] we found near the shore
where we took turns posing, jutting out
an eloquent hip, cackling in the bright language
of flowers for whom I downloaded an app
[and] learned their names: beautyberry, yarrow,
cornus florida, black-eyed susan, [and] you,
[and] you, my bright hibiscus, my every color
His… unfortunate crush’s favorite book series was Percy Jackson; he recommended it to Simon immediately when he mentioned wanting to read more books. There was a book of poetry on the boy’s shelf, and he checked out others from the library, has begged Simon to take him to the small book store in Bjärstad, where he bought Frankenstein and Dracula of all things.
Simon thought back to one of his favorite fall days, when Hillerska hadn’t felt so terrible and a certain Prince had broken all expectations. They had walked to the lake because he had mentioned just wanting to get out, and Simon could do nothing but indulge him.
But no. It couldn’t be. There was no way…
“Oh, I think I know who it is,” Sara said, thankfully quietly, but her tone suggested that she was thinking the same thing.
“Sara,” he said warningly, voice just as low. There was no need to get his hopes up. Every day he regretted ever mentioning his silly little crush to his sister.
“You should write back.”
“What?” Simon shrieked before he could stop himself. A student or two looked over before returning to their own business. In a much quieter voice, he continued, “No, that’s a terrible idea. It’s probably not even him, and I don’t want a date to the ball, anyway. I’ll be there for the choir’s performance, and that’s it.”
Sara fixed him with a look. “Simon.”
“No.” He shut her down swiftly, putting the letter back in his locker, grabbing his books, closing the door firmly, and walking to class.
“Simon,” Sara pushed, following him despite the fact that her class was in the opposite direction. “You know as well as I do that it’s him.”
Simon continued to ignore her as he walked into class. Surprisingly, Sara admitted defeat when he sat down. She huffed, but left the room without further comment. She had her own class to get to, after all.
As class started, Simon was still distracted, though. No matter who had written the letters, it was still strange that they decided to send another. It was Simon’s understanding that you really only sent one letter to whomever you wished to attend the ball with. Not two. Whoever his… secret admirer was, they were clearly determined to get his attention. And they had succeeded.
[<3]
Wihelm was well and truly fucked. For better or for worse, the letter had been opened by a certain choir boy who promptly made an egregious sound and put it back. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
Well, it for sure meant that he would not be writing any more letters. The second one had been opened—which was the point—so there was no need for further embarrassment, right?
Apparently, Erik did not agree.
“No! Absolutely not!” Wilhelm cried after Erik had suggested the clearly terrible idea of writing another letter.
“Why not, lillebror? You’ve got his attention now. You’ve got to keep it!”
Wilhelm gaped. He was absolutely flabbergasted. There was no way Erik was suggesting that. Could he not see the many, many reasons that it was a terrible idea? A truly terrible, terrible idea.
“No!” he cried again, unable to convey just how bad the idea was. “I will not be writing another letter, Erik. It went terribly the first and second times! I will not be subjecting myself to the same fate for a third time.”
“It did not go terribly the second time,” Erik argued. “He read the second one!”
“Then shoved it back into his locker!”
Erik smirked. “But he read it.” Wilhelm groaned. His brother was impossible. How could he not see it? This was a hopeless endeavor, and he had to stop embarrassing himself before he was figured out and hated forever. “I never should have let you talk me into this,” he muttered.
“You still did all of this of your own free will, Wille. So part of you thinks that it’ll work. I’m just here to make sure you don’t give up. We can’t let the Prince go to the ball by himself! Now, if you’re so against another letter, why don’t you get him a gift?”
Against his will, Wilhelm sat up a bit. “I’m not trying to take him to the ball,” he corrected. “And how would I get a gift into his locker anyway?”
“So you’ll get him a gift?”
Wilhelm groaned. “No, Erik. I’m pointing out the flaw in your idea.”
“Sounds to me like you want to get him a gift.”
“Shut up!” Wilhelm’s cheeks were on fire. To be fair, they had been for most of the conversation due to Erik’s endless teasing, but they were hit with a new heat at the suggestion. But what would he even get? And how would he get it into his locker?
Forcefully, Wilhelm shook his head. No, he would not be putting any more St. Valentine’s letters or gifts in locker 36.
“Goodnight, Erik,” he said, ending the call with determination before Erik could say any other dumb or stupid ideas.
[<3]
On Thursday, what was awaiting Simon thankfully didn’t fall to his feet. Because it was the disc for none other than Cyberpunk 2077. Without the case, because it wouldn’t fit through the cracks in the locker otherwise. His secret admirer at least had the sense to put it in a plastic bag, but it was still so fragile outside the hard plastic case it belonged in. Simon would have murdered said secret admirer for the lack of care they had for this precious video game if he weren’t so grateful for even having it.
Stuck to the outside of the bag was a Post-it note. A frog-shaped one. (He had bought them for a certain someone as a joke, the one time they’d stopped in a convenience store in Bjärstad. They were now a certain Prince’s favorite.) With that same perfect Simon written on it. And nothing else. But Simon didn’t need anything else to know exactly who gave this to him.
Of course, he talked about video games with Rosh and Ayub all the time, but this was a single-player RPG. He’d been interested in it since he first saw a video talking about it shortly before its release in December. But it was close enough to Christmas that he didn’t want to burden Rosh and Ayub with the idea when they had all asked for the new Call of Duty, a multiplayer game, for Christmas. And Mamá was already buying him one video game. He didn’t need another.
He had told him, though. He didn’t remember why. Maybe the topic had just come up. But he told him all about Cyberpunk 2077, how he was never one for single-player games (he liked playing with his friends) or even RPGs (he was more of a first-person shooter kind of guy), but this game had simply captured him. He had seen so many reviews and watched so many gameplay videos. He just knew he would like the game, but he had to wait all the way until his birthday in July to ask for it.
Not anymore, though. The game was right there in his hands, and he knew exactly who had given it to him.
[<3]
When Wilhelm opened his locker on Friday morning, a red envelope tumbled to his feet, and his throat constricted. Oh, lord. He had made it through the whole week without a letter. He had been successful in avoiding having to deny some student the dream of taking the Prince to the ball. Of course, he couldn’t make it through the last day.
The night before, he had avoided a call with Erik and any further delusion. The gift had definitely been too far. He had overstepped. It was uncalled for and a gross misuse of money. Wilhelm hadn’t seen him open his locker, but he just knew it was hated. He was hated.
So he hadn’t slipped anything through the cracks in locker 36. Maybe that was why he had received something in his own. He was cursed. St. Valentine was surely out to get him. He couldn’t escape it.
With a suppressed groan, Wilhelm picked up the letter. He would go about this with grace and respect. He would not humiliate the student who had given it to him by having a poor reaction. Whether or not they were watching, any severe reaction of his would spread like wildfire throughout the school by the time lunch came around.
His entire plan went out the window when he flipped over the envelope—labeled Wille (he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hope it was someone he knew or just a student thinking they were close enough to call him that) in slightly messy handwriting—to open it and read:
Wille,
I better be right about guessing that you’ve been putting stuff in my locker this past week. If I’m wrong, please just disregard this letter. But I hope I’m not wrong because this wouldn’t make sense otherwise.
Anyway, I haven’t got a way with words like you do. At least not in a letter, so sorry that this isn’t as poetic or romantic as yours.
I would love to go to the ball with you if you would like to go with me.
–Simon
[<3]
There was a buzz throughout the dining room during lunch that Simon couldn’t identify. He also didn’t care much for figuring it out, as wound up as he was. He hadn’t had any classes with Wille in the morning, so lunch would be the first time he was seeing the other boy since he undoubtedly saw the letter. Simon was in a constant state of praying that he got it right. Despite the surmounting evidence, there was still a part of him thinking that there was no way, that it just wasn’t possible.
Speaking of Wille, where the hell was he? The second-years were already standing up to get their food, and there was no sign of him.
“So, who do we think asked the Prince out?” Walter asked generally, and Simon’s blood ran cold. So that was what had the whole room buzzing. People had seen Wille open the letter. Wille had opened the letter. Oh, fuck. And people were talking about it. Did that mean he reacted horribly? But Walter didn’t sound like he was looking to make fun of anybody. So did that mean he reacted positively? Or maybe they just saw him receive a letter and are making a big deal out of it. That was standard Hillerska behavior.
“Personally, I’m surprised anybody had the guts to send him a letter. He’s clearly after Felice,” Henry said.
Walter turned to look at him with a curious expression. “What makes you say that?”
Henry shrugged. “Well, they’re always together.”
“If that’s the only criterion we’re going off of, maybe you should be asking Simon something,” Alexander said, and Simon choked. What?
“What?” Walter said for him, and Henry looked over at Simon. “Yeah, you’re right,” Henry started. “Hey, Simon, do you think Wille is into Felice?”
Alexander smacked his forehead, and Simon stared, dumbfounded, at Henry. They were all saved by August, calling the first-years to get their lunch. Simon was the first one up.
On his way back to his seat, Wille appeared out of nowhere, pulling on Simon’s sleeve, nearly causing him to drop his entire lunch on the floor.
“Wille, oh my God!” he exclaimed. Wille just waited for him to collect himself before tugging on his sleeve and gesturing to the hallway with his head.
“Can you come with me?” he asked, and Simon had already started walking before he realized that Wille, the same Wille he had asked to the ball in a letter that morning, was bringing him somewhere secluded during lunch. Probably to talk.
Simon was so fucked. So, so, so fucked. Wille was about to reject him and break his heart by saying they couldn’t be friends anymore. Oh, Lord. Holy fuck. He was so screwed.
Wille led them to a windowsill and sat down. Simon stood awkwardly in front of him with his plate.
“Oh, shoot, sorry,” Wille said, seemingly realising for the first time that he had dragged Simon away from lunch as he was about to eat. “Sorry, I didn’t… you can set it down. Sorry. I just… wanted to get away from everyone.” He raked a hand through his hair like he so often did, then picked at his nails in his lap, looking between Simon and everything but him.
Simon smiled. Wille was just as nervous, if not even more than him. Even if he was about to crush Simon’s soul, it wasn’t a decision he was making lightly. Simon set his plate on the sill next to Wille and grabbed the other boy’s hands to stop his picking.
“You know that’s not good, Wille.”
Instead of pulling away like he usually did, Wille looked up at him and squeezed his hands tighter. Simon held his breath. If Wille needed reassurance to say what he was going to say, then he was surely done for.
The seconds between Wille’s shaky inhale and the words that followed were pure, agonizing torture.
“Simon…” His heart beat in his throat. “I’d love to go to the ball with you.” His heart stopped. He stared, eyes bouncing around Wille’s face, searching for any sign that he was joking, lying, that this wasn’t real. He couldn’t find any.
He wasn’t sure if he could believe his ears, believe he wasn’t dreaming. He hadn’t thought that this was possible. He had dreamed of this more times than he’d like to admit, but… it couldn’t be real.
Overcome with emotions, Simon did the one thing his adrenaline-swamped brain could think to do to prove that this was happening.
In one swift motion, Simon stepped into the space between Wille’s legs, squeezed his hands tighter, and kissed him. Once. Quick. Hardly there. Holy shit. His entire body was buzzing. He couldn’t believe he did that. He kissed him again. Another. Slightly longer. Just as exhilarating.
When he pulled back, he could think a little clearer. He panted and clutched at Wille’s hands. The other boy stared up at him all intense-eyed and slack-lipped. Simon would have run if it weren’t for the fact that this was the boy who had been sending him love letters all week.
The moment where they just stared at each other was long but blissful. Until Wille moved his hands to Simon’s waist and pulled him into another kiss. Hands no longer occupied, Simon took the opportunity to move them up to the back of Wille’s neck, pulling him in closer, the kiss longer, deeper.
That was much more blissful. Until—
“Oh, hello!” Of course, it was Henry. Simon jumped a full meter away from Wille while Wille flinched back into the windowsill, nearly knocking down the plate full of food next to him. “I found them!” Henry hollered as he turned around, face flushed despite his proud words. “And I think I figured out who gave the Prince a letter!”
[<3]
Dancing with Simon was everything. Even if Wilhelm was wearing fluffy trousers and a cravat. And a dumb, scratchy wig. They were also hardly dancing. They may all be dressed as 1800s aristocrats, but the party was as 21st-century as it got.
Simon, who had somehow escaped wearing an agonizingly uncomfortable costume and was instead in his school uniform, stepped closer to him.
“So, I’ve been wondering,” he said, throwing his arms over Wilhelm’s shoulders, “why did you send me two letters and a gift? I thought you were only supposed to send one letter.”
Wilhelm’s face flushed crimson, and he groaned, pulling Simon closer to hide his face in his shoulder.
“It was Erik’s fault,” he whined, drawing out the last word. Simon’s shoulders moved as he giggled.
“Is it now?” he asked, tone teasing, probably with a smirk on his face. “Should I be thanking him then?”
Ignoring the implication of Simon’s words, Wilhelm deflected, “Why did you write to me? Actually—” He leaned back to look Simon in the eyes at the sudden realization. “How did you know it was me?” He hadn’t thought he’d been that obvious.
Simon burst out laughing. “Oh my God, sorry,” he said between fits. “Its just that…” He laughed again. “It was obvious? Or… the video game was a dead give away.”
Wilhelm groaned, throwing his head back and pulling Simon closer. “I knew a gift was a bad idea! But I didn’t want to write another letter… fucking Erik!”
Simon giggled at his agony and tucked his face into Wilhelm’s neck. “Thank you,” he muttered there, and Wilhelm returned his attention to him. Simon took a deep breath and leaned back, bringing his hands to Wilhelm’s cheeks. “I really appreciate the game, and Sara was convinced from the start. She wanted me to write. I… was just hesitant to hope.”
“‘Hope?’” Wilhelm wasn’t sure if he dared to.
Simon flushed and ducked his head momentarily. “Uh– yeah. I’ve– I’ve had a crush on you for ages.”
Wilhelm froze. On a level, it made sense. He had agreed to go to the ball with him, but still…
“God, I’ve liked you since the first day, Simon.”
The other boy looked up, and they locked eyes. Wilhelm’s breath left his body. Simon grinned and huffed a laugh. “So we could have been doing this the whole time?”
With a slightly delusional smile, Wilhelm shook his head in disbelief. “Never tell Erik I’m glad he made me write.”
Simon laughed brightly and nodded. “As long as you promise not to tell Sara I’m glad she was so confident you were writing me.”
They sealed their deal with a kiss.