A fanfiction archive and fanshrine 2026-03-20T21:31:27Z https://rikkai.club/ adevyish 2026-03-20T21:31:27Z https://rikkai.club/fic/tumblrina-luca-haas/ <h1>1. luca haas moves to ottawa</h1> <p>It’s a Monday when Luca accidentally starts a Tumblr war.</p> <figure class="tumblr rollzy"> <div class="bio"> <img class="header" src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/rollzy-header.jpg"> <h1>#1 Ilyabot</h1> <p><strong>@rollzy</strong></p> <p>ell. 19. he/they. manifesting 2021 cens playoff run</p> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">rollzy</div> <div class="reblogged-from">micmacline</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user micmacline"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">micmacline</div> </div> <div class="tp-image"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/driving-everywhere.png" alt="Tweet (in very old Twitter UI) by Connor McKenzie @cmckenzie97: The videos in drivers ed make u never want to get ur license #drivingeverywhere"> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>#tbt</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#not to post edm but hard same</div> <div>#ottawa transit is so awful but i don’t want to learn how to drive 😭</div> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="tumblr"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> <div class="reblogged-from">rollzy</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rollzy</div> </div> <div class="tp-ask teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="ask-content"> <div class="ask-triangle"></div> <div class="asker"><b>teddyroz</b> asked:</div> <p>wait you’re in ottawa now 👀👀 </p> </div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>yeah i’m here for university!</p> </div> <div class="tp-user teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>starting a gofundme for <u>@rollzy</u> to get rinkside seats so we can get some rozy thirst traps 🤪</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#it’s for ell’s wellbeing!!</div> <div>#and mine</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header marleaus"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">marleaus</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>h*llanovs are so disgusting they’re stalking roz to OTTAWA</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#what if a h*llanov shipper meets roz 🤢</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header bostonbaers"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">bostonbaers</div> <div class="reblogged-from">zaddyboodram</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user zaddyboodram"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">zaddyboodram</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>the concept that anyone would subject themselves to the ottawa LRT for rozy 🤣🤣</p> </div> <div class="tp-user bostonbaers"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">bostonbaers</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>lmao as if it were hard to meet rozy in boston. he was literally at [redacted] dunkin all the time</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#that’s our masshole cryptid</div> <div>#real talk though i’m still sad about roz leaving :(((</div> <div>#boston management when you catch these hands!!</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header shaneism"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">shaneism</div> <div class="reblogged-from">bleublancrouge</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user shaneism"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">shaneism</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>not a raiders fan (ofc) but it’s insane that r*zanov fans blame boston management when boston wasn’t anywhere near a rebuild and they still have cap space for his current contract. do the math</p> </div> <div class="tp-user bleublancrouge"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">bleublancrouge</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>i bet rozanov did something he shouldn’t have and got chased out</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#i didn’t want to say but.</div> <div>#this man is not your poor lil meow meow</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header marleaus"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">marleaus</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>m*tros fans keep ilya rozanov’s name out of your goddamn mouths</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#OUR masshole</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header cobrachicken"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">cobrachicken</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>i thought we all agreed roz moved to ottawa to be with alexandre trudeau???</p> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="tumblr rollzy"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">rollzy</div> <div class="reblogged-from">liartoldyouthat</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rollzy</div> </div> <div class="tp-ask anonymous"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="ask-content"> <div class="ask-triangle"></div> <div class="asker"><strong>Anonymous</strong> asked:</div> <p>Did you see what sh*neism reblogged about Roz?</p> </div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>he’s still on good terms with most of the raiders?? marley still constantly comments on roz’s cryptic posts and they hung out last ASG</p> </div> <div class="tp-user liartoldyouthat"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">liartoldyouthat</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>yeah but what can you expect from a fan of someone who never fights yet fought scott hunter</p> </div> <div class="tp-user rollzy"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">rollzy</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>let’s not do this</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#shane congratulated hunter on twitter even though he rarely posts nonspon</div> <div>#while a ton of other players including captains have stayed silent</div> <div>#the fight was probably over smth stupid but i rly dont think shane is homophobic</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rollzy</div> </div> <div class="tp-ask anonymous"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="ask-content"> <div class="ask-triangle"></div> <div class="asker"><strong>Anonymous</strong> asked:</div> <p>a fujoshi fetishizing gay men while excusing homophobia, fork found in kitchen</p> </div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>did you even check my bio? i am a guy. if anything i am a fudanshi</p> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="tumblr"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>they don’t know that <u>@rollzy</u> is vital part of the fan ecosystem (my m/m sex beta)</p> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="tumblr rollzy"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>.</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#uhhh apparently the t*rfs found me</div> <div>#turning off anon asks now</div> <div>#ftr i am basically cis</div> <div>#but also.</div> <div>#trans men are men</div> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="whatsapp"> <div class="header thomas"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="name">Thomas L</div> </div> <div class="content"> <div class="message">Hey saw your latest post. You ok?</div> <blockquote> <div class="message">yeah i’m fine it’s nbd</div> </blockquote> <div class="message">I know you don’t usually use the nb label but if you’re taking it personally that’s ok. You’re allowed to do that</div> <blockquote> <div class="message">thx</div> <div class="message">it’s so stupid this is supposed to be my safe queer space away from the hockey. and yet</div> </blockquote> <div class="message">That sucks baby 😔 want to call?</div> <blockquote> <div class="message">it’s so late for you </div> </blockquote> <div class="video call in"> <div class="icon"></div> <div class="description"> <div>Video call</div> <div>41 min</div> </div> </div> </div> </figure> <hr> <h1>2. training camp/preseason.</h1> <figure class="whatsapp"> <div class="header thomas"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="name">Thomas L</div> </div> <div class="content"> <blockquote> <div class="message">i surviveddddd</div> <div class="message">ilya rozanov said “i love you” and ruffled my hair and i did not die</div> <div class="message">ok we’re all invited to a party at boodram’s</div> <div class="message">HERRGOTT THESE JERK WINGS I’M DYING</div> <div class="message">oh shit i think theres vodka in this punch</div> <div class="message">how is rozs jawline real that is not a real man howwwww</div> </blockquote> <div class="message">I am going to assume you are asleep now</div> <div class="message">You look super cute in the photos Zane Boodram posted 😍</div> <div class="message">Glad you had fun at training camp!</div> </div> </figure> <figure class="tumblr"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> <div class="reblogged-from">rozttawa</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user rozttawa"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rozttawa</div> </div> <div class="tp-image"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/luca-headshot.jpg" alt="Photo of Luca Haas in a red jersey, with a generic grey photo studio backsplash behind him"> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>Luca Haas official MLH photo</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#new team baby!!!</div> <div>#luca haas</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header rozttawa"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rozttawa</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>no but what do you mean there’s a shy swiss baby joining the centaurs this year</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#could you imagine if he was boarding with roz</div> <div>#cens lb</div> <div>#luca haas</div> </div> </div> </figure> <p>Thankfully for everyone involved, Luca is staying with Wyatt and Lisa.</p> <figure class="tumblr"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header bostonbaers"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">bostonbaers</div> <div class="reblogged-from">rozttawa</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user rozttawa"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rozttawa</div> </div> <div class="tp-image"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/timhos.jpg" alt="Blurry photo of Ilya Rozanov and Luca Haas inside a Tim Hortons"> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>Roz and Luca Haas spotted at Gatineau Tims</p> </div> <div class="tp-user bostonbaers"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">bostonbaers</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>roz how could you betray our beloved dunkin like this 😭</p> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> <div class="reblogged-from">rollzy</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rollzy</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>my coworker said that for teambuilding we were going to “pick up birds”. why is he like this</p> </div> <div class="tp-user rollzy"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">rollzy</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>sorry i should have been more specific. he meant actual birds. members of the class Aves</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#oh good i was worried i was going to have to come to ottawa and murder your coworker for acephobia</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header rozttawa"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">rozttawa</div> <div class="reblogged-from">rozanovs</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user rozanovs"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rozanovs</div> </div> <div class="tp-image"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/hiking.jpg" alt="Instagram video by @ottawacentaurs: the thumbnail shows Ilya Rozanov overlooking a lake near Gatineau"> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>Ilya Rozanov goes hiking with Luca Haas, Max Holmberg, Mathieu LaPointe, and Will Young</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#let’s go birding with mama</div> <div>#cens lb</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header bostonbaers"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">bostonbaers</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>ilya rozanov becoming a birder was not on my 2020 bingo card</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#it’s very funny watching the cens babies follow him like tiny chicks though</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header cobrachicken"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">cobrachicken</div> <div class="reblogged-from">teddyroz</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>ilya becoming a birder when shane is famously a birder? i said i’m sure</p> </div> <div class="tp-user cobrachicken"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">cobrachicken</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>forget the scoring race it’s all about the birds logged race</p> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="tumblr rollzy"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">rollzy</div> <div class="reblogged-from">cobrachicken</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user cobrachicken"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">cobrachicken</div> </div> <div class="tp-image"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/ebird.png" alt="eBird checklist with 36 species observed, 167 individuals. 8 Canada Goose are listed with the note ‘Loud demon birds’"> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>who wants to bet this is rozy’s ebird account </p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#lol he was eyeing those birds so warily</div> <div>#in the video</div> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="tumblr"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> <div class="reblogged-from">haasluca</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user haasluca"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">haasluca</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>luca looks like he’s going to bolt every time he’s asked question of the day</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#he looks like a baby deer</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> <div class="reblogged-from">rollzy</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rollzy</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>my coworker asked me if i was dating anyone and i panicked and said i was on tinder</p> </div> <div class="tp-user teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>do you even know what tinder looks like</p> </div> <div class="tp-user rollzy"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">rollzy</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>no 😭😭😭</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#they’re making my ace bestie talk about tinder</div> <div>#free them</div> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="tumblr rollzy"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">rollzy</div> <div class="reblogged-from">rozttawa</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user cobrachicken"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rozttawa</div> </div> <div class="tp-image"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/thomas-gym.jpg" alt="Thomas Loeffer in a gym, grinning"> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>Thomas Loeffer talks about strength training</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#yessss thank you for giffing this video oomfie</div> <div>#he looks so good 😩</div> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="whatsapp"> <div class="header thomas"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="name">Thomas L</div> </div> <div class="content"> <div class="message">There are gifs of me!?</div> <blockquote> <div class="message">uhhh my mutuals know i’m a ~fan~ of you</div> </blockquote> <div class="message">A fan huh 😏</div> <div class="message">Want to show me how much?</div> <blockquote> <div class="video call out"> <div class="icon"></div> <div class="description"> <div>Video call</div> <div>32 min</div> </div> </div> </blockquote> <div class="message">I’m a fan of you too 😘</div> </div> </figure> <hr> <h1>the pike/roz war is over.</h1> <figure class="tumblr"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header bleublancrouge"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">bleublancrouge</div> <div class="reblogged-from">shaneism</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user shaneism"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">shaneism</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>hayden feels so bad about ottawa’s losing streak that he’s barely tussling with rozanov</p> </div> <div class="tp-user bleublancrouge"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">bleublancrouge</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>atp i think piker and rozanov arrange fights. they aren’t even trying 💀</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#piker où est ta loyauté envers ton capitaine</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header bostonbaers"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">bostonbaers</div> <div class="reblogged-from">teddyroz</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user bostonbaers"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">bostonbaers</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>hate to agree with sh*neism on anything but the pike/roz war is over</p> </div> <div class="tp-user teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>say it</p> </div> <div class="tp-user bostonbaers"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">bostonbaers</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>……they’re seeding</p> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header marleaus"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">marleaus</div> <div class="reblogged-from">ilyushenka</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user marleaus"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">marleaus</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>that one h*llanov who moved to ottawa sure is quiet now huh</p> </div> <div class="tp-user ilyushenka"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">ilyushenka</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>saw roz at the club making out with four different girls and deleted tumblr off their phone</p> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header zaddyboodram"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">zaddyboodram</div> <div class="reblogged-from">marleaus</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user zaddyboodram"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">zaddyboodram</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>everyone. rozy is FAMOUSLY not clubbing in ottawa. i have seen more mps at the club than ilya rozanov</p> </div> <div class="tp-user marleaus"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">marleaus</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>another h*llanov stalker. yike</p> </div> <div class="tp-user zaddyboodram"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">zaddyboodram</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>every ottawan knows which bar the centaurs go to it’s not a secret??? also, i don’t ship anyone except maybe zane boodram and his grill</p> </div> <div class="tp-user marleaus"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">marleaus</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>you’re clearly not cool enough to go to the clubs roz goes to</p> </div> <div class="tp-user zaddyboodram"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">zaddyboodram</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>idk what you think ottawa nightlife looks like but it is the opposite of cool</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#our clubs close at 2 am</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> <div class="reblogged-from">rollzy</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rollzy</div> </div> <div class="tp-ask hollynov"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="ask-content"> <div class="ask-triangle"></div> <div class="asker"><strong>hollynov</strong> asked:</div> <p>is ottawa’s nightlife really that bad?</p> </div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>it’s cozy! i generally go to bars and student pubs but my friends have dragged me out clubbing a few times and it was still p chill. some people do weekend trips to montreal to club but that seems excessive to me</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#two hours each way to montreal… i see i see</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header bostonbaers"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">bostonbaers</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>ilya rozanov started a charity with shane hollander and moved to a city two hours away from him. that is married behaviour</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#2013 me could only dream of times like this</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header bostonbaers"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">bostonbaers</div> <div class="reblogged-from">zaddyboodram</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user bostonbaers"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">bostonbaers</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>ilya rozanov started a charity with shane hollander and moved to a city two hours away from him. that is married behaviour</p> </div> <div class="tp-user zaddyboodram"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">zaddyboodram</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>you never googled how far montreal is from ottawa???</p> </div> <div class="tp-user bostonbaers"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">bostonbaers</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>…… no i did not. that is on me</p> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header inneonlights"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">inneonlights</div> <div class="reblogged-from">hollynov</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user hollynov"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">hollynov</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>the concept of party boy ilya rozanov living in dead as fuck ottawa while shane hollander who nurses one (1) drink for an entire mlh award ceremony lives in party central</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#don’t forget we’re also riot central!</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header inneonlights"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">inneonlights</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>.</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#oops i have finally been blocked by sh*nenism</div> <div>#i’m not even a hollanov i ship shayden 😭</div> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="tumblr rollzy"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rollzy</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>if sh*neism starts blocking shaydeners my mutual will become thee gifmaker for all of hockey tumblr</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#rozttawa your time has come</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">rollzy</div> <div class="reblogged-from">rozttawa</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user rozttawa"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rozttawa</div> </div> <div class="tp-image"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/shayden-headbonk.jpg" alt="Hayden Pike bonking his helmet into Shane Hollander’s"> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>Metros @ Orcas | Oct 25, 2020</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#noooo i didnt mean it like this</div> <div>#great gif even if it is of my notp</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">rollzy</div> <div class="reblogged-from">rozttawa</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user rozttawa"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rozttawa</div> </div> <div class="tp-image"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/ilya-thirst-trap.jpg" alt="Ilya Rozanov shirtless and wet"> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>Ilya Rozanov in Tampa</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#thank you oomfie!</div> </div> </div> </figure> <hr> <h1>the troy barrett trade.</h1> <figure class="tumblr rollzy"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">rollzy</div> <div class="reblogged-from">bostonbaers</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user bostonbaers"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">bostonbaers</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>i am so sorry ottawa fans. maybe tr*y b*rrett has suddenly become a better person but i’ll believe it when i see it</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#😶‍🌫️</div> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="whatsapp"> <div class="header thomas"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="name">Thomas L</div> </div> <div class="content"> <div class="message">I just saw the news. How are you</div> <blockquote> <div class="message">the rest of the team have been really good about lgbt+ stuff</div> <div class="message">i’m hoping one guy cant ruin that</div> <div class="message">worst case i can always go home after my elc is up</div> </blockquote> <div class="message">I don’t want you to give up your dreams because of homophobes 😢</div> <div class="message">You said Rozanov was nice about Scott Hunter right?</div> <blockquote> <div class="message">not *nice*, but he was positive about hunter’s award speech</div> </blockquote> <div class="message">I think you should talk to Rozanov about it</div> <blockquote> <div class="message">???? i would rather die</div> </blockquote> <div class="message">He’s the person in the best position to stop anything. Other than maybe your coach but we both know how locker rooms are</div> <blockquote> <div class="message">ughhhhhh</div> </blockquote> <div class="message">I can practice the convo with you</div> <blockquote> <div class="message">yes pls you are amazing</div> </blockquote> <div class="video call in"> <div class="icon"></div> <div class="description"> <div>Video call</div> <div>33 min</div> </div> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="tumblr"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> <div class="reblogged-from">rozanovs</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user rozanovs"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rozanovs</div> </div> <div class="tp-image"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/not-today-dustin.png" alt="Instagram comment section. dustinriver says: ‘Dear lord please be with Dallas Kent, Troy Barrett and all of the Toronto Guardians tonight as they play game 7 against the Boston raiders..’. ilyarozanov replies: ‘Not today Dustin!’"> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#bringing this back for no particular reason</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> <div class="reblogged-from">rozttawa</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user rozttawa"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rozttawa</div> </div> <div class="tp-image"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/luca-camera.jpg" alt="Luca Haas in a red hoodie hiding behind a camera rig"> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>Luca Haas as the Cens’ new camera operator</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#luca hiding from censmin</div> <div>#quick someone get chiron</div> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="tumblr rollzy"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">rollzy</div> <div class="reblogged-from">rozttawa</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user rozttawa"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rozttawa</div> </div> <div class="tp-image"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/chiron.jpg" alt="Instagram video by @ottawacentaurs of a black Labranese puppy"> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>The new Centaurs mascot, Chiron!</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#i miss him :(((</div> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="tumblr"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> <div class="reblogged-from">haasluca</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user rozttawa"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rozttawa</div> </div> <div class="tp-image"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/luca-hospital.jpg" alt="Luca Haas, in a red jersey and Centaurs’ cap, with a children’s book in hid lap"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/lapointe-hospital.jpg" alt="LaPointe, in a red jersey and Centaurs’ cap, in front of some children’s reading certificates"> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>Luca Haas and Mathieu LaPointe visiting Children’s Hospital of Eastern Ontario</p> </div> <div class="tp-user haasluca"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">haasluca</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>luca and mat reading to children my heart 😭</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#pointer can read???</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header cobrachicken"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">cobrachicken</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>they really think putting tr*y b*rrett in front of a bunch of kids will suddenly make the fans accept him 🥴</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#i cannot wait for him to be traded again</div> <div>#cens lb</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header zaddyboodram"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">zaddyboodram</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>can we get an ebug but for a winger</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#cens lb</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header leshabitants"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">leshabitants</div> <div class="reblogged-from">shaneism</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user shaneism"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">shaneism</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p><b><u>J.J. Dagenais donates $10m to Montreal Children’s Hospital, the biggest philanthropic commitments by any sports figure in Canadian history</u></b></p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#first shane with the irina foundation and now this</div> <div>#those are my boys!!!</div> <div>#metros lb</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header bostonbaers"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">bostonbaers</div> <div class="reblogged-from">hollynov</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user bostonbaers"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">bostonbaers</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>“ilya rozanov isn’t a philanthropist” first of all. the irina foundation is literally named after his mom. second of all. as a rookie he singlehandedly saved local print journalism</p> </div> <div class="tp-user hollynov"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">hollynov</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>wait i never heard about this?</p> </div> <div class="tp-user bostonbaers"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">bostonbaers</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>so you know the famous photo of a team doctor staring at roz’s abs? it was taken by a boston herald photog and the herald ran it on the front page and it sold out everywhere. roz found out, said he’s happy to support local news and offered to do a full photoshoot. and that’s why we have those photos of him half naked in hockey gear</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#bostonian ilya rozanov you will always be famous</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>our baby luca haas on first line!!!!</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#soon that homophobe will drop to fourth line 🕯️</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> <div class="reblogged-from">rollzy</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rollzy</div> </div> <div class="tp-image"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/thomas-ig.jpg" alt="Instagram post by @thomasloeffer: Thomas Loeffer holding up Nordica skate boots"> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#how you know ski cross season has started:</div> <div>#ell starts spamming this guy again</div> <div>#actually he’s swiss too right?</div> <div>#time to crackship him with luca</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header rozttawa"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rozttawa</div> </div> <div class="tp-image"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/lumas.png" alt="Four images of Luca Haas and Thomas Loeffer together"> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#blame sarah for this</div> <div>#we need a ship name…</div> <div>#lumas?</div> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="tumblr rollzy"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rollzy</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>not to encourage any of you but you know that they’re almost the same age right?</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#lumas</div> </div> </div> </figure> <hr> <h1>the plane scare.</h1> <figure class="whatsapp"> <div class="header thomas"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="name">Thomas L</div> </div> <div class="content"> <div class="missed video call in"> <div class="icon"></div> <div class="description"> <div>Missed video call</div> <div>Tap to call back</div> </div> </div> <div class="message">Call me when you see this</div> <div class="message">Fuck luca i’m losing my mind</div> <blockquote> <div class="video call out"> <div class="icon"></div> <div class="description"> <div>Video call</div> <div>3 min</div> </div> </div> <div class="video call out"> <div class="icon"></div> <div class="description"> <div>Video call</div> <div>2 hr 5 min</div> </div> </div> </blockquote> </div> </figure> <figure class="tumblr"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> <div class="reblogged-from">rozttawa</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user rozttawa"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rozttawa</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>CENTAURS ARE FINE. I REPEAT. CENTAURS ARE FINE</p> </div> <div class="tp-user rozttawa"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">rozttawa</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>Harris (who was on the plane) has confirmed there were minor injuries but everyone is back in the hotel and resting</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#harris deserves a medal and a nap 😭😭</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> <div class="reblogged-from">rollzy</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rollzy</div> </div> <div class="tp-image"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/luca-tampa.png" alt="A grid of four photos. 1) Luca Haas and Mathieu LaPointe in an IHOP. 2) IHOP breakfast. 3) Luca Haas and Mathieu LaPointe walking on a beach at night. 4) Ilya Rozanov in a tank top with tank top, sunglasses, and fuck-off headphones."> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>posted just now</p> </div> <div class="tp-user teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>LUCA HAAS PROOF OF LIFE PHOTODUMP</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#ell how did you repost this so fast i JUST saw the notif</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header haasluca"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">haasluca</div> </div> <div class="tp-image"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/luca-selfie.png" alt="Two selfies of Mathieu LaPointe and Luca Haas"> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>Mat posted this photo with Luca today</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#i can’t believe it took a plane malfunction to finally get luca selfies</div> <div>#cens lb</div> <div>#luca haas</div> <div>#mathieu lapointe</div> </div> </div> </figure> <hr> <h1>the pride tape ban.</h1> <figure class="tumblr"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header bostonbaers"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">bostonbaers</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>banning the use of pride tape in (checks notes) warm ups?? just bc a few little homophobes fweelings were hurt?? the mlh is a joke</p> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header vaughner"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">vaughner</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>They’re banning Pride Tape? In Scott Hunter’s MLH????</p> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header micmacline"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">micmacline</div> </div> <div class="tp-link ctv-mckenzie"> <div class="title-container"> <div class="title">Explorers' McKenzie wants MLH to reverse ban on theme tape including for Pride</div> </div> <div class="bottom"> <div class="hed">Connor McKenzie is not on board with an MLH policy — again.</div> <div class="source">CTVNews</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>“It’s not my call, but obviously it’s disappointing,” Connor McKenzie, the captain of the Edmonton Explorers, said after a game on Monday.</p> <p>“I certainly can’t speak for every organization,” said McKenzie. “I know in Edmonton, we were one of the first teams to use the Pride tape. We strongly feel hockey is for everybody, and that includes Pride Nights.”</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#exps lb</div> <div>#connor mckenzie</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header shaneism"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">shaneism</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>Hayden Pike on pride tape ban: “It’s unfortunate… As a player and as a person I’m going to continue to look for ways to support the 2SLGBTQI+ community.”</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#montreal metros</div> <div>#hayden pike</div> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="whatsapp"> <div class="header thomas"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="name">Thomas L</div> </div> <div class="content"> <blockquote> <div class="message">sooooo i (and most of my team) may be getting kicked out of the mlh today</div> </blockquote> <div class="missed video call in"> <div class="icon"></div> <div class="description"> <div>Missed video call</div> <div>Tap to call back</div> </div> </div> <div class="message">Proud of you 🏳️‍🌈💞</div> </div> </figure> <figure class="tumblr rollzy"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">rollzy</div> <div class="reblogged-from">rozttawa</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user rozttawa"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rozttawa</div> </div> <div class="tp-link cbc-rozanov"> <div class="title-container"> <div class="title">Centaurs use Pride tape in defiance of ban | CBC News</div> </div> <div class="bottom"> <div class="hed">Ilya Rozanov and 19 other Centaurs became the first players to defy MLH edict on supporting social causes — including Pride…</div> <div class="source">CBC</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>they really said BAN US!! it’s not even pride night yet lmaoo</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#proud of the team!</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">rollzy</div> <div class="reblogged-from">rozanovs</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user rozanovs"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rozanovs</div> </div> <div class="tp-link ap-pride"> <div class="title-container"> <div class="title">MLH rescinds ban on Pride tape, allowing players to use tape for social causes</div> </div> <div class="bottom"> <div class="hed">The league, players union, and a committee for player inclusion have agreed that players will be allowed to use stick tape to…</div> <div class="source">AP News</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>The league, players union, and a committee for player inclusion have agreed that players will be allowed to use stick tape to represent social causes on Tuesday.</p> <p>The agreement comes days after the entire Ottawa Centaurs roster, including captain Ilya Rozanov and goalie Wyatt Hayes, defied the league’s ban on Pride tape in a game Saturday against the San Francisco Missions.</p> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="tumblr"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> <div class="reblogged-from">cobrachicken</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user cobrachicken"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">cobrachicken</div> </div> <div class="tp-image"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/troy-barrett.jpg" alt="Instagram post by @ottawacentaurs and @troybarrett17 of Troy Barrett skating in a Centaurs Pride jersey"> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>TROY BARRETT?????</p> </div> <div class="tp-user teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>harris drover the man you are</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#actual saint for turning troy barrett into a Real Boy</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header vaughner"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">vaughner</div> <div class="reblogged-from">teddyroz</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> </div> <div class="tp-image"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/domino-1.jpg" alt="Domino meme where the first domino is Roger Crowell bans Pride Tape and the last domino is Troy Barrett comes out"> </div> <div class="tp-user vaughner"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">vaughner</div> </div> <div class="tp-image"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/domino-2.jpg" alt="Edited version of the previous image, where the first domino is Scott Hunter goes for a smoothie, the penultimate domino is Roger Crowell bans Pride Tape, and the last domino is Troy Barrett comes out"> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header bostonbaers"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">bostonbaers</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>if roger crowell keeps going we’re getting canon hollanov by playoffs (for legal reasons this is a joke)</p> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header shaneism"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">shaneism</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>.</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#pride initiatives are not about your ship 🤮</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> <div class="reblogged-from">bostonbaers</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user bostonbaers"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">bostonbaers</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>um.</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#also all of the cens used pride tape on pride night</div> <div>#several players did not during montreal’s last pride night</div> <div>#they don’t even have russian politics as an excuse</div> <div>#which ilya does and yet he consistently participates in pride nights</div> <div>#not to mention WHILE pride tape was banned</div> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="tumblr rollzy"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">rollzy</div> <div class="reblogged-from">rozttawa</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user rozttawa"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rozttawa</div> </div> <div class="tp-image"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/pride-set.png" alt="Four photos of Ilya Rozanov. 1) Posing in a Boston Pride jersey. 2) On ice in an Ottawa Pride jersey with Pride tape on stick. 3) In the locker room wrapping Pride tape around stick handle. 3) On ice in regular Ottawa jersey with Pride tape on stick."> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>ilya rozanov pride compilation!</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#🌈</div> </div> </div> </figure> <hr> <h1>hayden pike is cancelled.</h1> <figure class="tumblr"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header inneonlights"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">inneonlights</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>i have a lot of thoughts but first of all: WHAT THE FUCK HAYDEN PIKE</p> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header shaneism"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">shaneism</div> <div class="reblogged-from">bleublancrouge</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user bleublancrouge"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">bleublancrouge</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>oh good we’re finally cancelling hayden “acronym soup” pike</p> </div> <div class="tp-user shaneism"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">shaneism</div> </div> <div class="tp-image"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/hayden-quote.png" alt="Text (in CBC font) reading: “It’s unfortunate,” Metros player Hayden Pike said on Friday. “As a player and as a person I’m going to continue to look for ways to support the 2SLGBTQI+ community.” [2SLGBTQI+ is highlighted.]"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/2slgbtqi.png" alt="Text reading: 2SLGBTQI+. Following the launch of Canada’s First Federal 2SLGBTQI+ Action Plan… Building our future, with pride, the Government of Canada adopted the use of a new acronym, 2SLGBTQI+, as communities in Canada called, during public consultations, for the acronym used by the Government of Canada to be updated. This acronym represents Two-Spirit, lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, intersex, and additional people who identify as part of sexual and gender diverse communities. The “2S” at the front recognizes Two-Spirit people as the first 2SLGBTQI+ communities. The “I” for intersex considers sex characteristics beyond sexual orientation, gender identity and gender expression. The “+” is inclusive of people who identify as part of sexual and gender diverse communities, who use additional terminologies."> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>delete your account osti de colon</p> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header cobrachicken"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">cobrachicken</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>.</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#rare sh*neism W?</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> <div class="reblogged-from">inneonlights</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user inneonlights2"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">inneonlights</div> </div> <div class="tp-ask anonymous"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="ask-content"> <div class="ask-triangle"></div> <div class="asker"><strong>Anonymous</strong> asked:</div> <p>are you going to stop shipping shayden now?</p> </div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>i don’t know honestly? i’m so angry at hayden right now that’s it’s hard to think about anything else. i feel terrible for shane and ilya. </p> </div> <div class="tp-user teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>yeah this isn’t about shipping rn. this is about a massive invasion of privacy. like ilya and shane could lose their jobs over this</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#i don’t even want to think about ilya’s visa situation</div> </div> </div> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header marleaus"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">marleaus</div> <div class="reblogged-from">marleaus</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user marleaus"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">marleaus</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>h*llanovs are still creepy and invasive btw. you’re no different than brad</p> </div> <div class="tp-user marleaus"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">marleaus</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>wtf all my years of metros hate and shaneism blocked me for this???</p> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="tumblr rollzy"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rollzy</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>Thank you everyone who contacted me about organizing a local fan action! The Cens are on a road trip next week but for the first home game back we’re going to get permission to set up tables with free pride flags. Bring your own big pride flags if you have them!!</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#cens lb</div><div>#ottawa centaurs</div> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="sms android pixel harris"> <div class="header"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="name">Harris Drover</div> </div> <div class="content"> <blockquote> <div class="message">Hey Harris idk who to ask but a few of my friends are wondering if it is possible to give out paper pride flags at the home game on thursday? If it’s ok they want to order the flags asap</div> </blockquote> <div class="message-set"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="message">Hi Luca that’s a great idea! I asked Theresa and we can run this as an official thing. Your friends don’t have to foot the bill!</div> </div> <blockquote> <div class="message">thank you so much harris!</div> <div class="message">um idk how to tell my friends though. they don’t know i play for the centaurs</div> </blockquote> <div class="message-set"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="message">Luca…</div> <div class="message">OK tell them that you DM’d me on Instagram. I have been known to respond to fans there.</div> <div class="message">Please don’t out your finsta until playoffs are over.</div> <div class="message">Or if you want to out your finsta run it by me first.</div> </div> <blockquote> <div class="message">🫡</div> </blockquote> <div class="message-set"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="message">🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈</div> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="whatsapp"> <div class="header cens-rainbow-project"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="name">Cens Rainbow Project</div> <div class="members">Amanda, Laura, Nisha, Sam, …</div> </div> </div> <div class="content"> <blockquote> <div class="message">i dm’d censmin and he said the cens are willing to buy and distribute the pride flags on thursday</div> </blockquote> <div class="message-set sarah"> <div class="avatar">S</div> <div class="message"><b class="name">Sarah</b> HARRIS DROVER!!!</div> <div class="message"><b class="name">Sarah</b> give that man a sainthood for real</div> </div> <div class="message-set nisha"> <div class="avatar">N</div> <div class="message"><b class="name">Nisha</b> I’m still driving up to wave my BIG ASS FLAG</div> </div> <div class="message-set laura"> <div class="avatar">L</div> <div class="message"><b class="name">Laura</b> you’re coming from boston too right? wanna carpool?</div> </div> <div class="message-set sam"> <div class="avatar">S</div> <div class="message"><b class="name">Sam</b> thank you so much ell! good luck on your midterm</div> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="tumblr"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> </div> <div class="tp-image"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/thomas-pride.jpg" alt="Instagram story by @thomasloeffer posted 27m ago: Pride flags scattered among rinkside crowd. Text overlaid on top reads: thanks for the invite @lucahaashockey."> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>hello????</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#did we manifest our crackship?????</div> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="tumblr rollzy"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">rollzy</div> <div class="reblogged-from">teddyroz</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user rozttawa"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">rozttawa</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p><u>@rollzy</u> as the leading tumblr authority on thomas loeffer PLEASE give us your insights on lumas</p> </div> <div class="tp-user rollzy"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">rollzy</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>thomas was on the swiss u18 hockey team before he switched to ski cross, they know each other from there</p> </div> <div class="tp-user teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>BESTIE WE WERE CRACKSHIPPING LUMAS THE WHOLE TIME AND YOU DIDN’T THINK TO TELL US IT WASN’T A CRACKSHIP AT ALL???</p> </div> <div class="tp-user rollzy"> <div class="avatar"><div class="reblog-icon"></div></div> <div class="username">rollzy</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>no</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#if any of you write any fic i do NOT see it</div> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="tumblr"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header teddyroz"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">teddyroz</div> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <h2><u>soft revolution</u></h2> <p>Luca Haas/Thomas Loeffer | 4k words | explicit</p> <div class="quote"> <p>It took years and an ocean to make him admit they were in love.</p> </div> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#ell refused to beta this lol</div> <div>#lumas</div> </div> </div> </figure> <figure class="whatsapp"> <div class="header thomas"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="name">Thomas L</div> </div> <div class="content"> <blockquote> <div class="message">so you probably should know there’s fic about us now</div> <div class="message"><u>https://archiveofourown.org/ works/76368791</u></div> <div class="message">i promise i have NOT read it</div> </blockquote> <div class="message">It’s actually really sweet</div> <div class="message">I’m glad we did not go through years of yearning though ♥️</div> <blockquote> <div class="message">♥️</div> </blockquote> </div> </figure> <figure class="tumblr rollzy"> <div class="post"> <div class="tp-header rollzy"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username-set"> <div class="username">rollzy</div> <div class="reblogged-from">teddyroz</div> </div> </div> <div class="tp-user haasluca"> <div class="avatar"></div> <div class="username">haasluca</div> </div> <div class="tp-image"> <img src="https://rikkai.club/img/tumblrina-luca-haas/luca-epilogue.png" alt="Four photos and a screenshot. 1) Luca Haas on the ice in black Centaurs jersey. 2) Luca Haas reading at the hospital. 3) A lake near Gatineau. 4) Pride flags in the audience at a rink. 5) lucahaashockey writes: “Thank you to my teammates, everyone behind the scenes, and all the fans for an unforgettable rookie year. A special thanks to the best mentor and Captain @roz81.” This caption is liked by thomasloeffer and others."> </div> <div class="tp-content"> <p>Posted by Luca</p> </div> <div class="tp-tags"> <div>#🌈</div> </div> </div> </figure> 2025-12-19T00:00:00Z https://rikkai.club/fic/blame-it-on-the-boys/chapter-3/ <div class="biotb"> <div class="phone tweets"> <blockquote> <div class="avatar princewilhelmupdates"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Prince Wilhelm Updates</strong> @PrinceWilhelmUpdates</div> <div>Prince Wilhelm greets the Stockholm Cathedral Chamber Choir in Stockholm Cathedral on St. Lucia’s Day!</div> <div class="card"> <div>Image</div> </div> </blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar annaemone"></div> <div class="user"><strong>anna 💚</strong> @annaemone</div> <div><span class="at">@PrinceWilhelmUpdates</span> isn’t that the <span class="at">@sweden</span> asshole who hates the monarchy???</div> </blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar soedermanland"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Maja 👸🏼</strong> @soedermanland</div> <div><span class="at">@PrinceWilhelmUpdates @sweden @annaemone</span> omg you’re right i checked the choir’s instagram and he def is</div></blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar annaemone"></div> <div class="user"><strong>anna 💚</strong> @annaemone</div> <div><span class="at">@PrinceWilhelmUpdates @sweden @soedermanland</span> what a two-faced dick</div></blockquote> <div class="deleted">This Tweet was deleted by the Tweet author. <span class="at">Learn more</span></div> <blockquote> <div class="avatar grodprinsen"></div> <div class="user"><strong>🐸</strong> @grodprinsen</div> <div><span class="at">@PrinceWilhelmUpdates @sweden @annaemone</span> What’s wrong with you? You’re invading people’s privacy</div></blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar annaemone"></div> <div class="user"><strong>anna 💚</strong> @annaemone</div> <div><span class="at">@PrinceWilhelmUpdates @sweden @grodprinsen</span> lol this is all online? it’s not private</div></blockquote> <div class="deleted">This Tweet was deleted by the Tweet author. <span class="at">Learn more</span></div> </div> <p>Wilhelm has been reading about accounting law for three hours straight when his phone lights up next.</p> <div class="phone tweets"> <blockquote> <div class="avatar its_ayub"></div> <div class="user"><strong>ayub</strong> @its_ayub</div> <div> look at your bf defending you <span class="at">@estrallado</span></div> <div class="quote"> <div class="avatar grodprinsen"></div> <div class="user"><strong>🐸</strong> @grodprinsen</div> <div><span class="at">@PrinceWilhelmUpdates @sweden @annaemone</span> What’s wrong with you? You’re invading people’s privacy</div> </div> </blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar estrallado"></div> <div class="user"><strong>simme</strong> <span class="lock" role="img" aria-label="Locked account"></span> @estrallado</div> <div> <span class="at">@its_ayub</span> he’s not my bf!</div></blockquote> </div> <p>He’s been reading about accounting law for three hours, and he cannot be blamed for what he does next.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <div class="header"> <div class="avatar estrallado"></div> <div><strong>simme</strong> <span class="lock" role="img" aria-label="Locked account"></span></div> </div> <blockquote> <p>Wait so do you have a boyfriend?</p> <p>Sorry if I’m being nosy</p> <p>You can tell me to shut up</p> </blockquote> <p>Ayub is my annoying best friend ignore him</p> <p>No I don’t have a bf</p> </figure> <p>Wilhelm wants to yell. What does that mean? But he’s in Ångström Library and he cannot become the weirdo prince who yells in libraries. He wants to be the campus cryptid.</p> <p>He has to reply; it’d seem weird if he doesn’t. After a few different messages typed out and unsent, he decides on:</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <blockquote> <blockquote> <p>That’s cool.</p> </blockquote> </blockquote> </figure> <p>That was not cool.</p> <figure class="phone sms android samsung"> <div class="header"> <div class="avatar erik"></div> <div><strong>Erik</strong></div> </div> <blockquote> <div class="message"> <div>How do I talk to the person I’m interested in</div> </div></blockquote> <div class="message"> <div class="avatar erik"></div> <div>Just talk to him!</div> </div> </figure> <p>Useless. This is why he can’t ask Erik for dating advice; Erik dates models.</p> <figure class="phone sms android samsung"> <blockquote> <div class="message"> What if I am talking to him? </div> </blockquote> </figure> <p>No response, but he’s fairly certain Erik is up in Östersund breaking ground on a school today. He pulls up Twitter, intending to message one of the anonymous online friends he’s made in the past few months.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <blockquote> <blockquote> <p>Hey Em</p> <p>How do you know if a guy is interested in you</p> </blockquote> </blockquote> </figure> <p>He tries to get back to accounting law. His phone lights up instead.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <p>??? I’m not em but just ask them out</p> </figure> <p>Wait.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <div class="header"> <div class="avatar estrallado"></div> <div><strong>simme</strong> <span class="lock" role="img" aria-label="Locked account"></span></div> </div> <blockquote> <p>I’m so sorry pretend you didn’t see that</p> <p>Please I didn’t send that to you</p> </blockquote> <p>Um sure?</p> <p>I mean it’s not a big deal if you like guys</p> <p>I kind of assumed you did because of the Prince Wilhelm fan account</p> </figure> <p>The typing dots appear, and reappear.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <p>Oh is this why you asked if I have a bf</p> <p>I haven’t online dated before but we can meet up the next time you’re in Stockholm? Over Christmas holiday if you want?</p> <p>🙂</p> </figure> <p>Oh god is he that transparent!? And what does that smiley face even mean. And wait a minute, Simon is willing to meet him? For a date? This Christmas break?</p> <p>He can’t melt into the carpet in the library, he has to respond before it becomes even more awkward and he’s left Simon on read for three weeks.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <blockquote> <p>I’d love to but</p> <p>I don’t know if you’d like who I am in person.</p> </blockquote> </figure> <p>An understatement. </p> <p>Simon types and deletes for a while, which does not reassure Wilhelm. A message finally pops up.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <p>I mean, that’s true of any date. I might be assuming too much but I guess you don’t have much dating experience with guys? That’s pretty normal too</p> <blockquote> <p>You could say so.</p> <p>In general I mean.</p> </blockquote> <p>If you’re busy with school or family or whatever we don’t have to do anything either. I know break is coming up pretty soon.</p> </figure> <p>Wilhelm does want to say he’s busy. It’d be the easy way out. But he knows, if he says that now, then he’ll always be busy. The entire school year will pass and they’ll never meet.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <blockquote> <p>I’ll be in Stockholm</p> </blockquote> <p>Yay! Anywhere you want to go?</p> <blockquote> <p>I don’t know. Somewhere quiet?</p> </blockquote> <p>What about Djurgården?</p> </figure> <p>Wilhelm grimaces. That’s asking to be spotted by royal groupies.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <blockquote> <p>Maybe somewhere less public? Not a park?</p> </blockquote> <p>A café?</p> <blockquote> <p>Not too busy either</p> </blockquote> <p>Um usually first dates are somewhere more public</p> <blockquote> <p>I have agoraphobia.</p> </blockquote> <p>Sorry I didn’t know. What kind of places would you prefer?</p> </figure> <p>Wilhelm feels bad now. It feels like a lie — he really is afraid of crowds, he gets panic attacks being in public, but it’s not exactly agoraphobia. He can’t say, <em>I can’t go outside because I’ve actually been Prince Wilhelm of Sweden the whole time.</em> Even if he does have to say that to Simon eventually. He trusts Simon, overall, to keep things quiet — Wilhelm’s gotten pretty good at judging that over the years — but part of him still worries that Simon will be angry that he lied.</p> <p>Because he is lying.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <p>I’m worried you haven’t been replying</p> <p>I really am sorry</p> <p>If you’re ok with it, there’s a small Venezuelan restaurant. It’s usually closed in the afternoon but I go there all the time and they won’t mind me in there during their break</p> <blockquote> <p>It’s fine! I got caught up with stuff.</p> <p>That sounds good. Are you sure the owners won’t mind?</p> </blockquote> <p>I am basically their adopted nephew now. They won’t mind at all</p> <p>I am expecting them to tease me for bringing a date though 😅</p> </figure> <p>So they set the date and the time, and Wilhelm starts thinking about how he’s going to get there. What he’s going to wear. How Simon is going to react.</p> <p>Maybe Wilhelm will take the train. He’ll wear the blue sweater Stella says brings out his eyes, and he’ll get there before Simon. The restaurant door is locked so he stands outside. Simon sees him from afar and turns around right there, and blocks him on Twitter.</p> <p>Maybe Wilhelm will ask for the car service. He’ll wear a nondescript navy coat. He’ll open the door to a small tidy restaurant. Simon rises to greet him, sees who he is, and turns to tell the owners to kick him out.</p> <p>By Thursday night, Wilhelm has called Erik in a panic, and Erik has cancelled unspecified plans with his latest girlfriend to drive up the last Friday before Christmas break. Wilhelm wasn’t even aware his building had a parking lot, but Erik’s new Ferrari has found its way there.</p> <p>“So tell me about this online friend,” Erik says, preparing their dinners for them. Erik never used to cook, but he’s been on a health kick recently thanks to the girlfriend who is some kind of wellness influencer. Dinner is red cabbage salad, baked salmon, and rye flatbread.</p> <p>“You were right,” Wilhelm mutters. “We’re going on a date tomorrow.”</p> <p>Erik places two very sad plates in the middle of the kitchen island. “Congratulations! Where are you going? Fotografiska? Operakällaren?”</p> <p>Wilhelm googled it, and it’s nowhere as fancy as either of those. “We’re going to a restaurant owned by friends of his,” he says.</p> <p>“Nice,” Erik says, digging into his red cabbage much too enthusiastically for what is essentially rabbit food. “What’s the restaurant?”</p> <p>“It’s a fast food place,” Wilhelm mumbles.</p> <p>“Oh, some young entrepreneurs,” Erik says.</p> <p>“I think it’s owned by an older couple,” Wilhelm says, slathering as much butter as he can onto his flatbread. “I think I should just tell you. It’s the guy I was arguing with on Twitter.”</p> <p>Erik puts his fork down. A small scrape against the china. “The antimonarchist you were arguing with on Twitter. How did you start talking exactly.”</p> <p>Wilhelm tries not to cringe. “Twitter?”</p> <p>Erik heaves the deep, deep sigh of someone who doesn’t want to know. “Okay. Are you sure it’s safe? Do we need to send security?” He pauses. “Does he know it’s you?”</p> <p>“He doesn’t know,” Wilhelm mutters. “But we have met in person before and he seems normal so I think it’ll be fine.”</p> <p>“How does he not know it’s you and you’ve met before?”</p> <p>“It’s a long story,” Wilhelm says, and proceeds to explain as he picks at his cabbage.</p> <p>“Okay. Alright. I’m going to drop you off in one of the palace cars and stay outside in case anything happens.” Erik collects their plates and comes back with dessert.</p> <p>Wilhelm takes one bite of the vegan brownies. He’s grateful for Erik, always, but he hopes Erik and wellness girl break up soon.</p> <hr> <p>Breakfast is waffles, thankfully. There’s even proper hot chocolate, which Erik must have gone out and bought as Wilhelm only has sad hot chocolate mix in his cupboards.</p> <p>“I made it from last night’s cocoa powder and your milk,” Erik explains. “I’m going to get a shopping list for Petter because your pantry is pitiful.”</p> <p>“I’m not going to cook that much,” Wilhelm protests. “Isn’t student life all about eating takeout?”</p> <p>“Processed foods are bad for you,” Erik says. “You should start cooking more. We can do cooking classes together, you and I.”</p> <p>Wilhelm agrees, because it is one of the less objectionable brotherly bonding activities Erik has proposed even if it’s only thanks to influencer girlfriend. Wilhelm still holds a grudge over outdoorsy girlfriend and canoeing last year.</p> <p>The brothers arrive at the palace just after 9 am. It is much too early, so Wilhelm begs off and crashes on his bed and tries not to scream in his pillows. He manages to doze for a bit before Erik wakes him up for lunch. It’s another of Erik’s salads, this one with arugula and nuts, and some cheese and bread.</p> <p>Wilhelm hopes Simon’s Venezuelan restaurant has some actual meat.</p> <p>After lunch, Erik shoos him off to the shower without much too teasing or worry. He exits to a soft orange cashmere sweater and a pair of navy jeans on his bed. He didn’t even know he owned jeans. He puts them on without pause, as Erik’s fashion sense is far superior to his (according to Felice, the PR team, and the editors of <em>Vogue Scandinavia</em>). He smooths out the sweater, takes a deep breath, and opens the door.</p> <p>“You look nice,” Erik says.</p> <p>“Thanks for the help,” Wilhelm says, trying not to blush.</p> <p>Erik slaps his back. “Always.”</p> <p>At Wilhelm’s insistence, Erik drops him off a couple blocks away from the restaurant. Wilhelm’s regretting it though, for by the time he makes it to the door there’s a light dusting of rain over his coat and his hair.</p> <p>He pushes the door open. An electronic bell tinkles, drowned out by the TV playing football behind the bar. There’s some loud swearing at the screen that Wilhelm only understands thanks to Felipe Carlos — of Bourbon and Andalusia, his brain automatically adds. Wilhelm follows the noise to a counter where Simon is sitting beside an middle-aged man.</p> <p>“Hello?” Wilhelm tentatively asks.</p> <p>They don’t hear him, too focused on the match.</p> <p>He steps closer. “Sorry, hello?”</p> <p>“Oh hi!” Simon says, turning around. “It’s nice — <em>Prince Wilhelm</em>!?”</p> <p>Wilhelm feels a hot flush instantly take over his cheeks. “Er yeah. Hi. Um. Please just call me Wille.”</p> <p>Simon turns his head to his older friend, and turns back to stare again at Wilhelm. This repeats once or twice, before the older man stands up and has pushed them both towards a small table in the back with a firm order to sit.</p> <p>“So,” Simon says. “Not a Prince Wilhelm fanboy after all.”</p> <p>“Er, yeah. Surprise?”</p> <p>Simon stares for a split second more. And then he picks up a napkin, balls it, and throws it straight at Wilhelm’s face. “Don’t you know you’re never supposed to search yourself online? Or argue with people on Twitter? And — and —” Simon throws his arms up in the air. “You’re an idiot.”</p> <p>“Sorry,” Wilhelm says, staring at the vague direction of the kitchen where he’s hoping someone will come to save him from his entire life.</p> <p>“No, don’t — okay. Let’s try this again. Hi, I’m Simon. I’m a first year at KI studying psychology, and in my spare time I sing with the Stockholm Cathedral Chamber Choir and play No Man’s Sky.”</p> <p>“Uh. Hi, I’m Wille, I’m a first year at UU, studying economics, and in my spare time I. Um. I hide in the library.”</p> <hr> <div class="phone tweets"> <blockquote> <div class="avatar sweden2"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Wilhelm Bernadotte</strong> @sweden</div> <div>Hi! I’m Wilhelm, he/him, 20. I’m from Stockholm and studying economics at Uppsala University, and I’ll introducing different student activities at my university 🙂</div></blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar simmeriksson"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Simon Eriksson</strong> @simmeriksson</div> <div> <span class="at">@sweden</span> You forgot to mention you’re a prince</div></blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar sweden2"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Wilhelm Bernadotte</strong> @sweden</div> <div><span class="at">@simmeriksson</span> Stop holding that against me</div></blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar simmeriksson"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Simon Eriksson</strong> @simmeriksson</div> <div> <span class="at">@sweden</span> forgot to tell his actual boyfriend (me) this when we first met</div></blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar annaemone"></div> <div class="user"><strong>anna 💚</strong> @annaemone</div> <div><span class="at">@sweden @simmeriksson</span> PRINCE WILHELM HAS A BOYFRIEND!?</div></blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar soedermanland"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Maja 🌈</strong> @soedermanland</div> <div><span class="at">@sweden @simmeriksson @annaemone</span> omg you don’t even knowwwww</div></blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar soedermanland"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Maja 🌈</strong> @soedermanland</div> <div><span class="at">@sweden @simmeriksson @annaemone</span> simme goes to royal events they’re all but engaged by now 😭</div></blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar sweden2"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Wilhelm Bernadotte</strong> @sweden</div> <div> <span class="at">@simmeriksson @annaemone @soedermanland</span> We’re not engaged yet! We’re still in university, there’s plenty of time</div></blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar simmeriksson"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Simon Eriksson</strong> @simmeriksson</div> <div> <span class="at">@sweden @annaemone @soedermanland</span> It’ll happen the day he remembers to introduce himself as a prince</div></blockquote> </div> <p>Wilhelm snakes his leg across the mattress to give Simon’s ankle a nudge. “Is that a promise?”</p> <p>“No,” Simon says. “Now log off and kiss me.”</p> </div> 2024-03-13T00:00:00Z https://rikkai.club/fic/blame-it-on-the-boys/chapter-2/ <p>Wilhelm’s phone buzzes while he’s in class. He glances down, sees it’s Simon, and surreptitiously reaches to swipe it open.</p> <div class="phone tweets"> <blockquote> <div class="avatar estrallado"></div> <div class="user"><strong>simme</strong> <span class="lock" role="img" aria-label="Locked account"></span> @estrallado</div> <div>Did you all miss me? 🌚</div> </blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar its_ayub"></div> <div class="user"><strong>ayub</strong> @its_ayub</div> <div><span class="at">@estrallado</span> go on steam!</div> </blockquote> </div> <p>He manages to wait until dinner to message Simon, partly because he needs to focus but mostly because he doesn’t want to look like he’s a desperate person who’s turned on notifications for his crush.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <div class="header"> <div class="avatar estrallado"></div> <div><strong>simme</strong> <span class="lock" role="img" aria-label="Locked account"></span></div> </div> <blockquote> <p>How is being not famous on Twitter?</p> </blockquote> <p>Back to normal…</p> <p>I have a written exam next week 💀</p> <p>I want to never think about unconscious perception again</p> <blockquote> <p>If you think about it, isn’t it conscious?</p> </blockquote> <p>STOP</p> <p>If you mention psych again I will open a wikipedia article about economics and paste it here</p> <blockquote> <p>No 😱</p> <div class="clearfix"></div> <p>Fine, truce</p> </blockquote> <p>😊😊</p> <blockquote> <p>Should I not complain my course then?</p> </blockquote> <p>You can talk about your course but not mine</p> <blockquote> <p>And vice versa?</p> </blockquote> <p>“Vice versa”??? ok YOU have been studying too much</p> <p>Yeah and vice versa</p> </figure> <hr> <p>Wilhelm has not, actually, been studying enough, because his written exam on costing is coming up and he still cannot remember a single one of these mind-numbing cash flow diagrams.</p> <p>First, though, he has a group assignment to do. One of their group mates has dropped off the face of the earth, so it’s down to him and Stella. They’ve claimed a corner in one of the smaller study halls in Carolina Rediviva for their books and notes, and with a wool hat on people don’t even notice Wilhelm. If anything, they’re more likely to notice the enormous pink pom pom on Stella’s pencil.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <div class="header"> <div class="avatar estrallado"></div> <div><strong>simme</strong> <span class="lock" role="img" aria-label="Locked account"></span></div> </div> <p>Why does this old dude keep going on about bats I’m starting to think he might be a batphile</p> <p>Batophile?</p> </figure> <p>Stella pokes him with a puffy pom pom. “Friend messaging you?” Her whisper is too loud for a library, and someone across the room makes a loud shushing noise. Stella ignores them. “So?”</p> <p>Wilhelm, brain still in Simon mode, blurts out the truth. “Kind of? On Twitter.”</p> <p>“Huh, didn’t expect you to be so online,” Stella says. “You’re like the only person in our course who never brings a laptop.”</p> <p>“They’re clunky,” Wilhelm says.</p> <p>“Well, Mr Folding Phone, stop being distracted by Twitter drama and help me list examples of traceable costs.”</p> <p>They have to list three to five examples, with a paragraph of explanation each. It takes a while to write everything down while through their notes and textbook. Wilhelm manages not to look at his phone once. Stella is first to cave to her curiosity. </p><p>“So, <em>is</em> there new Twitter drama?” she asks, still slightly short of a whisper. “Should I pretend I don’t know that you’re the subject of one?”</p> <p>“It’s not like it really involved me?” Wilhelm says uneasily, biting his lip. “I mostly just ignored it.”</p> <p>Stella gives him a speaking look. “Just so you know, that’s not what your cousin August is claiming.”</p> <p>Wilhelm’s face flickers from neutral to grimace. “That’s definitely not true,” he says. He stops himself before he accidentally reveals his opinion of August, because much as he gets along with Stella, he doesn’t really know her. He knows that she’s in love with her best friend, and that she attended Hillerska like Erik, August, and —</p> <p>“So you know Simon?” Wilhelm asks Stella.</p> <p>The pom pom lowers, Stella taken aback. “What?”</p> <p>“The person who made the tweet about me?”</p> <p>Stella furrows her eyebrows. “Yeah, actually. How’d you guess?”</p> <p>“I heard that he’s from Hillerska too,” Wilhelm says as casually as possible.</p> <p>Fortunately, Stella fills in the wrong gaps. “August should keep his mouth shut,” she mutters. She leans over the table and pokes him emphatically, such that the pom pom feels more pencil than pom. “Look. I know it seemed like Simon was attacking you personally, but I’m friends with his sister and he’s really nice when he’s not picking a political fight. Don’t, like, go after him for it okay?”</p> <p>“I’m not going to,” Wilhelm says quickly.</p> <p>“I mean it. I’ll tank your grade if you dare.” Her plastic of her pencil clacks against her laptop in emphasis.</p> <p>“Got it,” Wilhelm says.</p> <p>Stella nods forcefully. “So. Mobile costs?”</p> <hr> <div class="phone tweets"> <blockquote> <div class="avatar grodprinsen"></div> <div class="user"><strong>🐸 </strong> <span class="lock" role="img" aria-label="Locked account"></span> @grodprinsen</div> <div>My parents keep asking if I’m going out with a girl in my course even though she has a gf</div> </blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar estrallado"></div> <div class="user"><strong>simme</strong> @estrallado</div> <div><span class="at">@grodprinsen</span> wait do they know she has a gf</div> </blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar grodprinsen"></div> <div class="user"><strong>🐸 </strong> <span class="lock" role="img" aria-label="Locked account"></span> @grodprinsen</div> <div><span class="at">@estrallado</span> yes I’ve told them before 🙃</div> </blockquote> </div> <p>The direct message icon lights up.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <div class="header"> <div class="avatar estrallado"></div> <div><strong>simme</strong> <span class="lock" role="img" aria-label="Locked account"></span></div> </div> <p>Sorry that your parents are homophobic</p> <blockquote> <p>They’re not homophobic, they support gay marriage and all</p> <p>They just think everyone is straight</p> </blockquote> <p>That’s another form of homophobia tho</p> <p>Just because they say they’re okay with it, doesn’t mean they actually accept it</p> <blockquote> <p>I suppose</p> <p>Not much you can do about that generation</p> </blockquote> <p>I don’t believe that</p> <p>I mean, my mom has always been super supportive long before I came out to her, so I’m lucky in that way</p> <p>But also if you believe you can’t change people’s minds, you’re never going to change them</p> <p>There are a lot of people who are dedicated to their own ignorance or out to harm others</p> <p>But I think the majority of people just need a push</p> <blockquote> <p>I’m glad that your mom is supportive!</p> <p>My parents aren’t like yours. They don’t consider my opinions worth listening to. To them I might as well be a five-year-old child</p> </blockquote> </figure> <p>Over a long minute, a typing bubble appears and disappears.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <p>You’ve moved out right? So you have a bit of distance from your parents?</p> <blockquote> <p>I moved out for uni but I didn’t move far enough</p> <p>Not that moving across the Atlantic would stop them either</p> </blockquote> <p>Helicopter parents?</p> </figure> <p>Wilhelm supposes that’s as accurate as any label.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <blockquote> <p>Yes. More or less</p> </blockquote> </figure> <p>The typing bubble reappears. It hovers for a long while, three blinking dots of unease.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <p>Are you and your brother close? Does he know about you?</p> <blockquote> <p>I guess he knows, but we haven’t really talked about it</p> </blockquote> <p>Is he supportive?</p> </figure> <p>Wilhelm blushes, as he remembers Erik teasing him about his online friend, Erik’s non-chalance at Wilhelm’s use of <i>he</i>.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <blockquote> <p>He is</p> </blockquote> <p>Maybe he could help ease your parents into it?</p> <blockquote> <p>Maybe? He’s the good son out of the two of us</p> <p>He’s kind of the peacemaker</p> </blockquote> <p>You should talk to him about it!</p> <p>Up to you of course, but I think it would help</p> </figure> <hr> <p>Wilhelm, of course, does not talk to Erik about it. First he has to study for an exam, then they’re on to accounting and he wants to rip his hair out over debits and credits.</p> <p>Because it’s been a slow news month, apparently, the morning papers are continuing to discuss Simon’s take on the monarchy’s spend. Namely: that Wilhelm has reached an age where he could have his own official household soon, with an official budget on top of what the Royal Family currently receives. His <em>antics</em>, as his mother calls them, have fomented antipathy towards him receiving his own earmarked taxpayers’ money.</p> <p>“Why can’t I just not take the money and use mom’s?” Wilhelm complains to Erik. “It’s not like I’m never going to need it.”</p> <p>“You’ll have to take up your full duties after school,” Erik counters. Erik, as usual, is lounging in the armchair in his sitting room. “You’ll need your own full-time staff.”</p> <p>“Farima is already full-time and she’s part of the Queen’s Household.”</p> <p>“Yes, but convention dictates that once you’re an adult in society you should have a full household, not just one — frankly overworked — press person.”</p> <p>Wilhelm rolls his eyes. “That’s such a stupid convention.”</p> <p>Erik sighs. He leans forward, blocking the sitting room from view. “Wille, I know that you don’t want to deal with this, but the Royal Family is short on representatives even compared to families of other countries with similar GDPs. It is unfortunate there are few members of the Royal Family to share the duties, but we must show that the Royal Family is a stable and lasting institution. Mamma would never cut you off, of course, but one day you must be an adult Prince with the Household that accompanies it.”</p> <p>Wilhelm scoffs. “Until your first child turns eighteen. And then I’ll be back in yours or Mamma’s household.”</p> <p>Erik rubs his forehead. “Why even bring that up? I’m not even engaged yet. You always say <em>I</em> sound like Mamma, but you sounded like her right then.”</p> <p>A weight makes itself known in his throat. “I’m sorry,” Wilhelm mumbles. He bites at a knuckle.</p> <p>Erik sighs again. “It’s fine. I just want you to remember you’re not alone in this.” His fingers tap at an upholstered armrest. “Look, there’s a Lucia morning choir filming at the main palace this year. It’s not an event we usually attend, especially since you’re at school, but a ‘spontaneous’ appearance would make a good headline. I’m sure Farima would be happy to arrange it.”</p> <p>Waking up before dawn is not exactly what Wilhelm wants to be doing during his school break, but he acquiesces. ”Okay, I’ll go. I’ll phone Farima.”</p> <p>“Great,” Erik says. Leaning back into the camera, he smiles. “So. Enough about the press. How’s that online romance of yours going?”</p> <p>Wilhelm sputters. “It’s not a romance! We’re still just friends!”</p> <p>“Okay.” Erik raises an eyebrow. “But you message all the time.”</p> <p>“Yeah, but, friends do that too don’t they?”</p> <p>“Do you message any of your other friends this much?”</p> <p>“Well, no…” Wilhelm says, trying not to sink into his bed.</p> <p>“And does he message you just as much?” Erik asks, a playful lilt to his words.</p> <p>“Maybe? I guess so?” Wilhelm says, fully one with his duvet now. “Maybe he has a lot of free time in between classes.”</p> <p>“I’m sure he’s just as busy as you are with classes. Unless you’re not telling me something?” Erik teases.</p> <p>“Hey! I do study!”</p> <p>“I know you do; PrinceWilhelmUpdates posted a grainy photo of you in the library yesterday.”</p> <p>Wilhelm sputters. “Why are you following a stalker account of mine!”</p> <p>“I don’t. It’s in the daily press briefing that you should be thankful you don’t attend.”</p> <p>Is this why Farima is overworked? If so, Wilhelm will gladly tell her to stop following fan accounts.</p> <p>“I’m sure he’s interested,” Erik says, being a supportive older brother. “Since you’re less abrasive online than you are offline.” The <em>least</em> supportive older brother ever, Wilhelm grumbles. Erik pretends to think, and adds: “Or maybe not, since you got into an online fight the other day that, you know, caused this whole issue.”</p> <p>“Like I said, I didn’t cause it,” Wilhelm insists. “Simon did.”</p> <p>The teasing smile fades from Erik’s face. “Don’t tell me you’re stalking your online nemeses now,” he says, and Wilhelm knows he’s holding back a sigh.</p> <p>Wilhelm doesn’t know if it would be better or worse if Erik figures out Wilhelm’s online antagonist is the same person as Wilhelm’s online friend. “Stella went to school with him,” Wilhelm mutters.</p> <p>“I’m not going to ask you how you know that, for the sake of both your and my plausible deniability,” Erik decides. “Maybe if you start dating your internet friend, you’ll have of a less chance to cause internet outrage.”</p> <p>Given that Simon doesn’t know who Wilhelm is, and Erik doesn’t know who his internet crush is? Wilhelm can only hope.</p> <hr> <p>Lucia morning comes sooner that Wilhelm expects. He arrived back in Stockholm late last night, and barely had three hours of sleep before he had to wake up again so a makeup team could prep him.</p> <p>As this isn’t an official appearance, he’s found a shadowed corner a few pews from the front as the film crew finishes setting up around him. There’s a false start as a chorist starts moving before their mark, and another reset when something comes into shot that isn’t supposed to. Wilhelm is valiantly managing to stay awake, mostly thanks to the icy and stiff bench he’s sat on.</p> <p>Slowly, a united hum starts around him, echoing through the eaves: <em>Natten går tunga fjät…</em></p> <p>A Lucia leads a candle-lit procession down the aisle, shuffling slowly towards the crossing as white-robed singers flow behind her. Singer and candle and candle and singer pass by in a tranquil haze, when a silhouette catches Wilhelm’s eye. His eyes follow the figure, all the way to the apse, until they stop beside the Lucia. They turn; the candles coruscate upon their cheeks.</p> <p>It’s Simon.</p> <p>As the choir carries away, <em>vitklädd med ljus i hår</em>, Wilhelm finds himself stock upright, trying to get a good glance of Simon. He regrets choosing such a hidden seat; he had no idea Simon still sung, never mind that he would be hear today. He’s never heard Simon’s voice before today, and he curses himself as he tries to pick Simon out in the layers and layers of harmony. Perhaps the clear tenor is Simon, ringing across the chapel to him; <em>så hon ett underbart ord till oss talar.</em></p> <p>The last chorus of <em>Sankta Lucia</em> echo through the chapel. Wilhelm wakes from his daze when a loud “Cut!” rends the ethereal calm. The film crew shuffle their way to wherever film crews go in the palace. The Royal Photographer is still here though, and Farima’s heels click on the ground towards Wilhelm.</p> <p>“The prince didn’t need to choose such a good hiding place,” Farima says, quiet so that only Wilhelm would hear.</p> <p>“I didn’t want to take attention away from the choir,” Wilhelm prevaricates.</p> <p>Farima’s lips quirk, and Wilhelm is not sure if she approves or is judging him. “Well,” she says, “it’s the prince’s turn now.”</p> <p>Wilhelm rises. Farima takes a moment to fuss over his hair and smooth down his lapel. He follows her out of the shadow and towards to the bright apse of the church, where the chorists are chatting amongst themselves. The choirmistress is already looking his way. Wilhelm rolls his shoulders back, once, and looks straight ahead.</p> <p>“May I introduce His Royal Highness Prince Wilhelm,” Farima says. “The choirmistress, Anna Johansson.”</p> <p>“Good morning, Your Royal Highness.” The choirmistress shakes his hand. “I’m so grateful you’ve come to see our performance today.”</p> <p>“I couldn’t miss it, of course,” Wilhelm says, with a polite smile. He thanks her with some rote complements, rushing his way through so that he can ask: “May I be introduced to your talented chorists?”</p> <p>“Of course, of course!” the choirmistress says. She begins, “Here is our Lucia, Ebba.”</p> <p>Ebba is shaking and has stars in her eyes, which makes Wilhelm anxious in turn. He reminds himself that it’s a much bigger deal for Ebba, meeting someone she’s a fan of. She will probably think of Wilhelm fondly no matter what he does. It doesn’t really help his anxiety, but he focuses on her shaking hand and holds it firmly between both hands. “Hi Ebba, it’s nice to meet you.”</p> <p>“It’s — it’s really nice to met you too!”</p> <p>The choirmistress moves Ebba on with a gentle, practiced hand. “Our lead tenor, Simon.”</p> <p>Wilhelm tries not to bite his tongue as he places his hand in front of Simon. A stranger, he reminds himself.</p> <p>“It was nice to see you today,” Wilhelm says, wrapping his hand around Simon’s. He corrects himself. “Your voice was nice.”</p> <p>“Thanks?” Simon says.</p> <p>“It was nice,” Wilhelm repeats.</p> <p>Silence descends upon the chapel, and Farima and the choirmistress are both looking at him strangely. Simon raises his eyebrows and looks down at their hands, where Wilhelm still stiffly clutching onto Simon.</p> <p>“Sorry,” Wilhelm says.</p> <p>The line moves along. “Our lead alto, Josefine…”</p> <hr> <figure class="phone dm"> <div class="header"> <div class="avatar estrallado"></div> <div><strong>simme</strong> <span class="lock" role="img" aria-label="Locked account"></span></div> </div> <p>I met Prince Wilhelm today</p> <p>I can’t believe I met him before you, Prince Wilhelm fanboy #1</p> <blockquote> <p>I am not Prince Wilhelm fanboy #1!!</p> </blockquote> </figure> <p>Wilhelm wants to say he is not a Prince Wilhelm fanboy at all, but he thinks that Simon might ask questions about why he knows so much about the Royal Family otherwise. A Hillerska alum of an older brother can only be so much of an excuse. Simon continues messaging him.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <p>Uh huh</p> <p>So you don’t want to hear how I met him?</p> </figure> <p>Wilhelm already knows, seeing as he was there himself. To allay suspicion, he asks Simon anyway.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <blockquote> <p>How’d you meet him?</p> </blockquote> <p>My choir performed at an event he attended</p> <p>He seemed a little nervous, it was cute</p> </figure> <p>Wilhelm blushes at the idea of the cutest boy he’s ever met calling him cute in any way, shape, or form. He tries to recover the conversation.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <blockquote> <p>I didn’t know you sung!</p> <p>Still sung that is</p> </blockquote> <p>Yeah, my choirmaster in Bjärstad recommended I audition for it, so here I am</p> <blockquote> <p>Pretty impressive if your choir got chosen to perform at the Royal Palace</p> </blockquote> <p>They like to choose a different choir every year but I guess so? Didn’t expect the prince to show up though, we weren’t told about it until he was already in front of us!</p> <blockquote> <p>Haha I guess to prevent people like you from bringing a protest sign</p> </blockquote> <p>I wouldn’t have brought a protest sign, I don’t want to be kicked from a choir I enjoy!</p> <blockquote> <p>I’m just kidding</p> </blockquote> <p>Maybe if I saw him on the street</p> <p>Nah, he seems like a pretty normal guy irl. Not what I thought about him?</p> <p>Definitely less of an asshole than August Horn</p> <blockquote> <p>Wow setting a low bar there</p> </blockquote> <p>No he seems nice</p> <p>I’m not issuing a public apology though 😝</p> </figure> <p>Maybe Wilhelm could have a chance with Simon, he thinks.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <p>You can rest reassured I know longer judge you for being a Prince Wilhelm fanboy</p> </figure> <p>Or maybe not.</p> <hr> <div class="phone tweets"> <blockquote> <div class="avatar its_ayub"></div> <div class="user"><strong>ayub</strong> @its_ayub</div> <div>our boy <span class="at">@estrallado</span> is climbing the social ladder! his bf is prolly jealous 🤣</div> </blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar estrallado"></div> <div class="user"><strong>simme</strong> <span class="lock" role="img" aria-label="Locked account"></span> @estrallado</div> <div><span class="at">@its_ayub</span> delete this!!</div> </blockquote> </div> 2023-03-09T00:00:00Z https://rikkai.club/fic/blame-it-on-the-boys/chapter-1/ <p>Like everything else, Wilhelm finds out about it when some “friend” he only sees at parties texts him.</p> <figure class="phone sms android samsung"> <div class="message"> <div class="avatar"><strong>RG</strong></div> <div>did you see the newest sweden twitter guy? haha what a joker as if tweeting is doing something for the country</div> </div> </figure> <p>Wilhelm’s vaguely aware of the @sweden account, whose authorship rotates through ordinary Swedes every week, from whenever something particularly funny or rude that makes the news. He goes to check it, expecting something along the same lines. The account is wholly in English, and right at the top are two tweets with tens of thousands of likes.</p> <div class="phone tweets"> <blockquote> <div class="avatar sweden"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Simon Eriksson</strong> @sweden</div> <div>Prince Wilhelm is in the news for fighting at a party again. We pay SEK 137 million every year to support the royal family even though they have no constitutional power. What do they do anyway?</div> </blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar sweden"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Simon Eriksson</strong> @sweden</div> <div>Someone pay me to party my way through university.</div> </blockquote> </div> <p>Wilhelm scoffs: it’s yet another person who assumes they know who he is just from a couple of headlines and photos. The profile picture shows a young man who is good looking, in a smug way, and Wilhelm resents everything about him.</p> <p>He starts scrolling down, so he can judge this man over the internet in full. There’s several tweets highlighting various Swedish choirs with Youtube links, tweets about the expensive rental market in Stockholm, and then —</p> <div class="phone tweets"> <blockquote> <div class="avatar sweden"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Simon Eriksson</strong> @sweden</div> <div>Hi! I’m Simon, he/him, 19. I’m from Bjärstad and am studying psychology at Karolinska Institute. This week I’ll be tweeting about the youth choir scene in Sweden and what it’s like to move from a small town to the capital.</div> </blockquote> </div> <p>Wilhelm videocalls Erik.</p> <p>“How can they let someone say that about me? Isn’t this Twitter supposed to promote Sweden?”</p> <p>Erik blinks as he catches up with Wilhelm’s thoughts. He gets that frown on his face. “You know as public figures we’ll always have detractors.”</p> <p>“This guy said all I do is party!”</p> <p>“Rise above them,” Erik instructs. “And don’t respond.”</p> <p>Wilhelm juts his lip. “Okay.”</p> <p>He opens an incognito window and proceeds to log into his anonymous Twitter account, the one he uses to follow people he can’t follow on his public account. He figures out how to make his tweets public, then tweets, in English:</p> <div class="phone tweets"> <blockquote> <div class="avatar grodprinsen"></div> <div class="user"><strong>🐸</strong> @grodprinsen</div> <div><span class="at">@sweden</span> You’re going to parrot everything the tabloids say? You’re 19 I bet you party too</div> </blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar sweden"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Simon Eriksson</strong> @sweden</div> <div><span class="at">@grodprinsen</span> yeah I party but I don’t get into fights.</div> </blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar grodprinsen"></div> <div class="user"><strong>🐸</strong> @grodprinsen</div> <div><span class="at">@sweden</span> You don’t know anything about the prince.</div> </blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar sweden"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Simon Eriksson</strong> @sweden</div> <div><span class="at">@grodprinsen</span> lol neither do you? Why are you so weirdly into the monarchy, it’s not like they pay you.</div> </blockquote> </div> <p>This makes Wilhelm pause, because he is, in fact, paid by the monarchy. Specifically his mom. Farima rings him, probably about whatever bullshit ribbon cutting he has to do redeem his public image this week.</p> <p>When he hangs up, he finds his screen taken over by notifications. He taps the top one, only for Twitter to hang as it tries to load.</p> <div class="phone tweets"> <blockquote> <div class="avatar soedermanland"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Maja 👸🏼</strong> @soedermanland</div> <div><span class="at">@sweden @grodprinsen</span> YOU don’t know prince wilhelm. he supports so many charities and he’s always kind with children with he visits hospitals</div> </blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar lucasyng"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Lucas Yng</strong> @lucasyng</div> <div><span class="at">@sweden @grodprinsen</span> Aren’t you supposed to represent Sweden? Where’s your national pride?</div> </blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar republicstaff"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Republic</strong> @RepublicStaff</div> <div>.<span class="at">@sweden</span> is right. Monarchies do not serve the people, only themselves.</div> </blockquote> </div> <p>Wilhelm paces in his living room. He’s mortified. He didn’t mean for others to take his anonymous tweet as some sort of rallying cry.</p> <p>The first thing he does is turn his profile back to private. Then next he DMs @sweden, switching into Swedish.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <div class="header"> <div class="avatar sweden"></div> <div><strong>Simon Eriksson</strong></div> </div> <blockquote> <p>Sorry I didn’t mean to cause a riot in your replies.</p> </blockquote> </figure> <p>He’s surprised when he gets a reply.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <p>Didn’t you??</p> <p>Sorry checked your account and you look like a Twitter newbie… don’t worry this is a normal Tuesday on Twitter</p> <p>I expected some controversy but not a Buzzfeed article</p> <p>Don’t take anything personally</p> </figure> <p>A Buzzfeed article? Wilhelm wants to hide in his bed, in the insulated safety of a winter duvet. Still, he tries to apologize properly.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <blockquote> <p>It’s my fault for accusing you first.</p> <p>I don’t disagree that the monarchy can be superfluous.</p> </blockquote> <p>You just didn’t like my attack on Prince Wilhelm</p> <blockquote> <p>No.</p> </blockquote> <p>Yeah I guess I was a little mean… I wouldn’t like a permanent spotlight on me at 19 either.</p> <p>A one week spotlight is probably my max</p> <blockquote> <p>No one is bothering you too much right now are they?</p> </blockquote> <p>Lol it’s fine… I’d changed my number a while ago so my asshole ex-schoolmate failed to doxx me</p> <blockquote> <p>WAIT WHAT have you told the police???</p> </blockquote> <p>Don’t worry! I have social media staff right now as @sweden… they’re helping monitor it.</p> <p>Not that the charges would stick because the dude is related to the royals</p> </figure> <p>Wilhelm frowns. There are relatives he hasn’t met, but he knows all of the ones living in Sweden, and there are only a few around his age.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <blockquote> <p>You went to school with someone related to the royals?</p> </blockquote> <p>I went to Hillerska… the same school Crown Prince Erik attended</p> <blockquote> <p>I’m surprised that someone who went to Hillerska would criticize the royals</p> <p>Not to say that you can’t.</p> </blockquote> <p>I was one of the “poor” students</p> </figure> <p>Suddenly, the source of @sweden’s animosity becomes clear. If he’s the same age as Wilhelm, he must know August. August has never been shy about his disdain for the local day students he went to school with for three years. That disdain never seemed to stop August from dating and dumping them. Just to check, Wilhelm asks:</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <blockquote> <p>Who is your asshole ex-schoolmate?</p> </blockquote> <p>What are you going to google him?</p> <p>August Horn</p> <blockquote> <p>Oh yeah total asshole</p> </blockquote> <p>Wait you know him?</p> </figure> <p>Wilhelm doesn’t want to lie, necessarily, so:</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <blockquote> <p>My older brother went to Hillerska with him.</p> </blockquote> <p>So… you’re one of the rich kids</p> <blockquote> <p>Yes 🙃</p> </blockquote> <p>Lol you seem fine so far… no boasting about weekend trips to the French Riveria yet</p> <blockquote> <p>If I ever do you have permission to punch me</p> </blockquote> <p>Over the internet? I wish I had that power lol</p> <p>Hey do you want my real account… I didn’t publicize it because I didn’t want the attention but a lot of other people can read these messages</p> </figure> <p>Fuck, Wilhelm didn’t even think of that. He starts to panic, and then the counselling kicks in. It isn’t too bad, he tells himself. No one working at the Swedish Institute would or could reasonably look up the two hundred or so students August went to school with and then their younger siblings. He repeats it to himself once more, before focusing back onto his conversation with @sweden.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <blockquote> <p>Yes</p> </blockquote> <p>Ok it’s @estrallado</p> </figure> <p>@estrallado has a fish as its a profile photo, and is locked. Wilhelm requests to be added, and chews at a hangnail until the DM button shows up.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <div class="header"> <div class="avatar estrallado"></div> <div><strong>simme</strong> <span class="lock" role="img" aria-label="Locked account"></span></div> </div> <blockquote> <p>Hi</p> </blockquote> <p>Hi! So you know a ton about me now do you mind if I ask a bit about you?</p> </figure> <p>Wilhelm does, a little bit, but an age would be fine. And his university has forty thousand students so that couldn’t be very revealing either.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <blockquote> <p>I’m 19 too. I go to Uppsala</p> </blockquote> <p>Same as Prince Wilhelm lol</p> <p>Wait do you know him? If you do I’m sorry for going off on you</p> </figure> <p>There is no way for Wilhelm to answer that question directly without lying. He prevaricates.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <blockquote> <p>I’ve seen him around</p> </blockquote> <p>That would be weird if you did know him… though we both know that asshole August so maybe not that weird</p> <p>What are you studying?</p> <blockquote> <p>Economics.</p> </blockquote> <p>I would have guessed business with your background 😛</p> <blockquote> <p>You’re studying psychology?</p> </blockquote> <p>How did you know?</p> </figure> <p>Is Wilhelm being creepy? He reaches for the closest pillow, on his sofa, and muffles a scream into it. Picking his phone back up, he tries for casual.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <blockquote> <p>You said so in your intro</p> </blockquote> <p>For a sec I thought the rich kids group chat was talking shit about me</p> <blockquote> <p>If there is one I’m not in it</p> </blockquote> <p>Maybe you should get into one… be my person on the inside.</p> <p>Wait do you mind me asking your gender? Kinda assumed you were a girl since you’re in the Prince Wilhelm fanclub but realized I don’t know</p> <blockquote> <p>Guy actually</p> <p>Prince Wilhelm fanclub really 😑</p> </blockquote> <p>You were so passionate about defending him!</p> <p>But yeah, I guess you’re right that he could be a normal guy that we don’t know much about</p> <p>It’s hard not to generalize when I went to school with so many rich assholes and they’re worse out of the public eye</p> <blockquote> <p>Were all of them that awful?</p> </blockquote> <p>Not every single person individually maybe</p> <p>As a whole… the culture of privilege encourages bullying/hazing</p> <p>Hillerska and so many other ~elite~ schools have had pupils convicted for assaults due to hazing</p> <p>There’s an in-group/out-group dynamic at these schools enforced through a culture of silence and violence, and it extends to later life when these students are out in wider society but still have these in-group bonds formed during their formative years</p> <p>And this culture of hazing inducts these people into upholding the “old boys culture” even when they’re adults years out of school</p> </figure> <p>Wilhelm doesn’t know what to say to all of that.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <blockquote> <p>I hope you’re okay now</p> </blockquote> <p>I was a day student, so it wasn’t as bad for me</p> <p>Sorry for going off like that on you… you probably went through something similar</p> <blockquote> <p>I wouldn’t know. I went to a non-boarding independent school in Stockholm so it was very different.</p> <p>My brother didn’t tell me much about Hillerska</p> </blockquote> <p>Maybe he didn’t want to worry you about it</p> </figure> <p>Maybe, Wilhelm thinks.</p> <hr> <div class="phone tweets"> <blockquote> <div class="avatar sweden"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Simon Eriksson</strong> @sweden</div> <div>Please don’t harass other people on my behalf! We can disagree on the monarchy without resorting to personal attacks.</div> </blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar soedermanland"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Maja 👸🏼</strong> @soedermanland</div> <div><span class="at">@sweden</span> you’re not even going to apologize to <span class="at">@grodprinsen</span>? what a fake</div> </blockquote> </div> <hr> <p>When Wilhelm asks Erik about it later, Erik’s reticence is visible even through fuzzy video.</p> <p>“It’s just a bunch of kids cooped up with nothing to do,” Erik says. “It’s nothing to write home about.”</p> <p>Wilhelm feels an ember of anger rising in him. “Do you mean there’s nothing to write because it wasn’t that bad, or because there is a culture of silence that prevents the acknowledgement of the harm and trauma caused?”</p> <p>On screen, Erik’s head tilts in a minute nod. “Is this something you’ve been talking about in your university-provided counselling sessions?”</p> <p>“No.” Wilhelm runs a hand through his hair. “It came up in class when we were talking about organizations.”</p> <p>“Corporate organizations,” Erik repeats with an eyebrow raised. He pauses, like he’s thinking it through. “I thought most of it was harmless, but I can see if some people may have felt harmed.”</p> <p>“I googled it. Two students were convicted of burning another student the year before you started there, Erik. There’s no way you didn’t know about that.”</p> <p>Erik looks away and sighs. “I’d like to say that the faculty and staff were more vigilant when I was there, but that wasn’t completely true. I did <em>not</em> see anything close to that severe when I was there, though.”</p> <p>“Fine,” Wilhelm says.</p> <hr> <div class="phone tweets"> <blockquote> <div class="avatar sweden"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Simon Eriksson</strong> @sweden</div> <div>When you think of Swedish choirs, you probably imagine them singing traditional hymns. They also sound great singing pop music</div> <div class="card"> <div>youtube.com</div> <div class="title">Without You - Rytmus Youth Choir</div> <div>We had the privilege of performing Without You on P3 Guld at the start…</div> </div> </blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar janabanana"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Jana</strong> @janabanana</div> <div><span class="at">@sweden</span> Is that your choir?</div> </blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar sweden"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Simon Eriksson</strong> @sweden</div> <div><span class="at">@janabanana</span> No 😅</div> </blockquote> </div> <hr> <p>The next day, Wilhelm has a monotonous lecture about cooperation and negotiation in economics. It ought to be an interesting topic, but this course makes any topic as long and dry as winter. Wilhelm’s thoughts return to what Simon said.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <div class="header"> <div class="avatar estrallado"></div> <div><strong>simme</strong> <span class="lock" role="img" aria-label="Locked account"></span></div> </div> <blockquote> <p>Do you think I’m one of those rich assholes?</p> </blockquote> <p>We’ve only talked online so I don’t really know you…</p> <p>Do you want me to be honest?</p> <blockquote> <p>Please.</p> </blockquote> </figure> <p>A bubble with three dots appears, and disappears. Wilhelm bites at his nails. It reappears, and disappears. Then:</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <p>You seem a little sheltered? Like sometimes you’ll say something that is really privileged but if I call you out on it you’ll think about it a little bit and take what I say into account</p> <p>So you’re more self-aware than the average rich asshole, at least</p> <p>I’d have to meet you in person to know for sure haha</p> <blockquote> <p>Lol</p> <p>Thanks for telling me</p> </blockquote> <p>I’ll consider it my civic duty… making sure you don’t turn out to be an asshole 😉</p> <p>Seriously though if you want to meet up we definitely could</p> </figure> <p>Wilhelm is definitely never going to meet Simon, or Minou might lock him in the palace.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <blockquote> <p>Sorry I’m busy with school</p> </blockquote> <p>No pressure! But we could meet over break if you want to. You could come down to Stockholm or I could go to Uppsala.</p> <blockquote> <p>I’ll have to see</p> <p>Thanks for the offer though</p> </blockquote> </figure> <hr> <figure class="phone tweets"> <blockquote> <div class="avatar sweden"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Simon Eriksson</strong> @sweden</div> <div>.<span class="at">@chrismt</span> Some universities have housing for international students. In Stockholm the SSSB also provides accommodation for students regardless of university but there’s a queue so some people share flats instead or sublet</div> </blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar chrismt"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Chris</strong> @chrismt</div> <div><span class="at">@sweden</span> that sounds difficult</div> </blockquote> <blockquote> <div class="avatar sweden"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Simon Eriksson</strong> @sweden</div> <div><span class="at">@chrismt</span> Universities outside Stockholm will be better 😅</div> </blockquote> </figure> <hr> <p>As it turns out, Wilhelm has to be in Stockholm over the weekend. He arrives outside his flat to find a black Audi with a driver standing beside it, early than agreed upon. He goes into his flat, sets an alarm for five minutes before when he’s supposed to leave, and eats a snack until the alarm goes off.</p> <p>He messages Simon as they drive out of the parking lot: </p> <figure class="phone dm"> <div class="header"> <div class="avatar estrallado"></div> <div><strong>simme</strong> <span class="lock" role="img" aria-label="Locked account"></span></div> </div> <blockquote> <p>Busy this weekend :( Won’t be able to message as often</p> </blockquote> <p>Don’t get too swamped with coursework… remember to take breaks and drink water!</p> </figure> <p>By the time Wilhelm arrives at the palace, the sky has darkened, a reminder of the approaching winter. His mother and Erik are both away for events, so it is just him and his father, eating a quiet meal before retiring to bed. He checks his Twitter once before bed, though there no new messages and no new tweets from Simon.</p> <p>Saturday morning, Wilhelm wakes to a loud knock. He checks his phone: seven-thirty. He stumbles out of bed, dresses himself well enough for someone getting re-dressed by a PR department in a few hours, and sleepily makes his way to the private formal dining room.</p> <p>“The prince will arrive at Astrid Lingen’s Children Hospital at ten,” Farima recites. “The prince will meet several children in the newly opened gardens. Here are their names, photos, and brief biographies.”</p> <p>Wilhelm takes a gulp of water to wash down the bread in his mouth. “Are the biographies necessary? I’m only going to be there for an hour.”</p> <p>“We don’t want a repeat of the prince’s last engagement,” Minou says, demanding his obedience with a firm look. His father, the prince consort, eats in silence.</p> <p>Wilhelm returns her stare. “Let me finish breakfast first at least.” He waits, refusing to blink. A long silence later, Minou makes a gesture and Farima retracts the printout. Wilhelm resumes eating.</p> <p>After, he changes into the outfit the PR department have chosen for him and studies the profiles he’s been given. He rarely remembers everything he’s told to memorize, but he goes over them a few more times as Minou orders the hair and makeup artist around.</p> <p>Once he’s in the car, he’s finally able to check his phone. There’s a notification from Twitter right at the very top.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <div class="header"> <div class="avatar estrallado"></div> <div><strong>simme</strong> <span class="lock" role="img" aria-label="Locked account"></span></div> </div> <p>Glad I don’t have to be on campus this weekend… Prince Wilhelm’s fanclub has staged a takeover</p> </figure> <p>Wilhelm plays dumb.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <blockquote> <p>What, why?</p> </blockquote> <p>They say he’s visiting ALB? Half my class are convinced they can be the Swedish Kate Middleton</p> <p>People are totally embarrassing themselves for 137 million kr a year</p> <p>Judging by Prince Erik they should probably try webcamming first</p> </figure> <p>Wilhelm winces at the reminder. It’s brought up whenever Erik’s gone without scandal for too long, and although Wilhelm was too young to notice when it happened, he now understands that his mother’s public and private opinion on Erik’s exes are polar opposites.</p> <p>Wilhelm types several responses, and eventually goes with what he thinks is the most neutral one.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <blockquote> <p>People have gone on reality TV for less</p> </blockquote> <p>Don’t tell me you watch Paradise Hotel! I’d have to stop talking to you</p> <p>jk I watch it when I’m bored</p> </figure> <p>Without thinking about it, he writes:</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <blockquote> <p>Wow, you weren’t who I thought you were</p> </blockquote> </figure> <p>He presses enter before he fully realizes what he’s written. He panics. What if he’s offended Simon? What if Simon stops talking to him?</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <p>Lmao gotta keep our relationship exciting</p> <p>Now that you’ve mentioned it, the royal family is kind of like a reality show</p> <p>You could play a game with Aftonbladet headlines: Paradise Hotel contestant or royal?</p> <p>Ugh imagine if Mos were a royal </p> <blockquote> <p>See? It could get worse</p> </blockquote> <p>Don’t remind me that August is almost a royal</p> </figure> <p>Wilhelm grimaces at the thought too.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <p>Yeah I’m pro-Wilhelm now… anything to keep August out of the line of succession</p> <blockquote> <p>I suppose I’ve convinced you to my side?</p> </blockquote> <p>I guess 😂</p> </figure> <p>Wilhelm arrives at the hospital, where he’s ushered to a photo op with a few child patients in the garden. The photos don’t take much time. He thinks about what Simon’s said about the royal family, and spends a few more minutes than usual talking with each child before they leave the garden.</p> <p>He doesn’t have to be anywhere the rest of the day, so he turns to Farima and asks, “Could we tour of one of the wards? Not if it’s too much of a hassle of course.”</p> <p>A genuine smile appears on Farima’s face. “If you could accommodate the prince,” she says to the hospital director beside them.</p> <p>“Of course, of course, the children would love it.”</p> <p>Wilhelm surprises a few parents, who likely would have snapped a photo of Farima wasn’t there to glare at them. The children, however, greet his presence with a pure and simple joy. He’s a storybook hero to them, one happy to chatter away about their treatments and their best friends, human or otherwise. One gap-toothed girl gives him a well-worn plush lion, telling him to take good care of it. He touches his thumb to hers in a solemn promise.</p> <p>Wilhelm keeps the toy snug against his chest all the way back to the palace. He only lets go of it once to place it by his bed, where his frog prince once sat. Tomorrow it’ll join his frog prince in Uppsala.</p> <hr> <p>Wilhelm returns home in the mid-afternoon, when the autumn sun is shining full-tilt through his curtains. He’s barely changed into his home clothes when his phone chirps.</p> <div class="phone tweets"> <blockquote> <div class="avatar sweden"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Simon Eriksson</strong> @sweden</div> <div>To everyone asking: no I didn’t see Prince Wilhelm when he was in Stockholm today. Stockholm isn’t that small!</div> </blockquote> </div> <p>Wilhelm can’t help but tease.</p> <figure class="phone dm"> <div class="header"> <div class="avatar estrallado"></div> <div><strong>simme</strong> <span class="lock" role="img" aria-label="Locked account"></span></div> </div> <blockquote> <p>“Stockholm isn’t that small” and yet your university is beside the hospital</p> </blockquote> <p>🤫</p> <p>Also it takes me 30 minutes to get to campus by bus so no Stockholm isn’t that small</p> <blockquote> <p>That’s a bit of a commute</p> </blockquote> <p>All of the closer dorms require at least a year of queuing 😢</p> <p>Isn’t it also hard to find student housing in Uppsala?</p> <blockquote> <p>My parents arranged mine 😬</p> </blockquote> <p>Lucky</p> <p>Class warfare abandoned if you can get me a flat within walking distance of KI</p> <blockquote> <p>You are not immune to upward mobility.jpg</p> </blockquote> <div><p>😆</p></div> <p>I love sleep more!</p> </figure> <p>There’s a knock on his door. “It’s me,” comes Erik’s voice.</p> <p>“Come in!”</p> <p>His phone chirps again. Simon’s sent him a meme of a cat sleeping across two tram seats, captioned <em>ME IRL</em>.</p> <p>“Who are you texting?” comes Erik’s voice from up close.</p> <p>Wilhelm startles, his phone falling onto his bed with a muffled thump.</p> <p>“Um,” he says. “A friend.”</p> <p>Erik grins, poking at Wilhelm’s cheek. “A <em>friend</em>.”</p> <p>Wilhelm sputters, looking down as his cheeks pull into a shy smile.</p> <p>Erik pulls him and ruffles his hair. “I thought I’d never get to tease you over a crush,” he says cheerily.</p> <p>“Erik,” Wilhelm protests. “It’s not like that! We just talk online.”</p> <p>“But you think they’re cute?”</p> <p>Wilhelm stares at the scruffy lion plush beside his bed. “Maybe.”</p> <p>Erik smooths the duvet and sits beside Wilhelm. “I’m happy for you, you know? You should live your life a little bit. You don’t have to be so serious all the time.”</p> <p>With a groan, Wilhelm falls back and collapses into his pillows. “It’s not like that,” he insists.</p> <p>“But it’s a little like that?”</p> <p>Wilhelm makes another noise of despair, covering his face with his hands. He shakes his head a little. “He doesn’t know who I am.”</p> <p>Erik hums, considering his words. “You’re getting to know him as a person rather than as a prince. That’s more honest, right?”</p> <p>“But I’m lying to him about who I am?”</p> <p>“A lie of omission is not too bad. I’m sure you’ll be able to explain.”</p> <p>“Erik,” Wilhelm whines. “We’ve talked about me before! Me as in the prince.”</p> <p>“Okay,” Erik says. “That is not so great.” He tries to cheers him up. “But I’m sure he would understand.”</p> <p>Wilhelm looks back to the lion. “I hope.”</p> <p></p> <hr> <div class="phone tweets"> <blockquote> <div class="avatar sweden"></div> <div class="user"><strong>Simon Eriksson</strong> @sweden</div> <div>Bye everyone 👋🏽 Going back to lurking now</div> </blockquote> </div> 2022-11-01T00:00:00Z https://rikkai.club/fic/morning-song/ <h2>1.</h2> <p>Intellectually, Simon knew that Prince Wilhelm attended the prestigious boarding school on the other side of the lake from Bjärstad. It’s not exactly something Simon thinks about day to day. So when he sees an olive brown lump in the pale green field behind his townhouse, it takes a second for Simon to realize it’s a person curled into a ball. It takes a few metres for Simon to recognize it’s the crown prince.</p> <p>Simon’s knees drop into icy grass. His fingers find the prince’s neck, dig into the divot until he finds a pulse. His phone is out, <em>112</em> entered, but Simon pauses before he dials. Prince Wilhelm’s older brother has just died, and Simon is thinking that the last thing the teen prince needs right now to land in the news.</p> <p>“Hey,” Simon says. He tries carefully, but firmly, to shake the prince awake.</p> <p>The boy rolls onto his back with a groan. Eyes blink open, only to be immediately covered by both arms. “Ugh. Where am I.”</p> <p>“You’re in Bjärstad,” Simon says quickly.</p> <p>An arm lifts a few degrees. Underneath, bleary eyes widen in confusion. “Did we meet last night?”</p> <p>“No, I found you here just now,” Simon replies.</p> <p>That seems to make the prince relax, and with a disgruntled noise he covers his eyes again.</p> <p>Simon can’t leave a random boy in the middle of a field, especially not someone who is wet and cold and might or might not be hungover. “My home is just over there,” he says. “You can have some food and warm up if you want.” He extends a hand, palm up, for the prince to take. “I’m Simon.”</p> <p>The prince pushes himself up onto his elbows. “Thanks. I’m Wilhelm,” the prince says, taking Simon’s hand and for some reason shaking it. “Sorry, but — can you help me up?”</p> <p>Fortunately, Wilhelm isn’t too heavy and it’s only a few dozen metres to the entrance of Simon’s home. Sara is sleeping in and their mom is out running errands, so Simon tells Wilhelm to be quiet and leads him to Simon’s bedroom.</p> <p>Wilhelm removes his wool blazer, then seems to realize the rest of his clothes are also wet. “Sorry,” he says, standing stiffly in the small room, clutching a blazer that’s probably worth more than all of Simon’s clothes combined.</p> <p>Simon flicks his eyes over Wilhelm’s soaked and sorry frame, and sighs. “I don’t know if you’d fit most of my clothes, but I can take yours and hang them in the drying cupboard,” Simon offers. “The bathroom is over there, if you want to take a shower.”</p> <p>“Thanks,” Wilhelm says, fiddling with his sleeve. “That’d be good.”</p> <p>Simon nods. “Sure, okay, I’ll get you a towel and some clothes. Is there anything you don’t eat?”</p> <p>There’s a feigned, polite friendliness on Wilhelm’s face. “Anything is fine,” Wilhelm says. “Something simple,” he adds, like he doesn’t want to impose.</p> <p>“Cereal okay?”</p> <p>Wilhelm’s expression grows realer, relieved. “That’ll be great.”</p> <p>Once Wilhelm is in the bathroom and his clothes are hanging in the drying cupboard, Simon makes his way to the kitchen. Simon sets an open box of cereal and their nicest bowl on the counter, then stares at the bathroom door as he waits.</p> <p>The sound of the shower cuts off, and the door opens. Simon scrambles upright, unprepared for the sight of the crown prince stepping out in only underpants and one of Simon’s larger hoodies. Wilhelm looks like he might still be hungover, but he looks better now, pink on previously pale cheeks. The sunflower yellow hoodie, so oversized on Simon, fits perfectly on Wilhelm, coming just over the hem of Wilhelm’s checkered blue boxers. Simon never thought of the prince as hot, necessarily, but in person and in Simon’s home he’s really kind of cute.</p> <p>“Here’s the cereal,” Simon declares, shoving the box and the bowl towards Wilhelm without looking. “There’s milk in the fridge.”</p> <p>“Thanks,” Wilhelm says.</p> <p>Both of them are frozen awkwardly in their corners of the kitchen. Simon steps back to give Wilhelm space to shuffle to the fridge.</p> <p>Wilhelm pauses with the milk carton in hand. “Are you not eating?”</p> <p>Simon leans back on the kitchen counter, trying to look casual, and shakes his head. “I ate already.”</p> <p>The apple of Wilhelm’s throat bobs. “Sorry.”</p> <p>Simon smiles, a nervous appeasement. “Don’t worry, it’s just cereal.”</p> <p>That does nothing to reassure Wilhelm; even once he’s sat at the dining table he keeps glancing nervously at Simon, enough that Simon eventually grabs a cup of yoghurt from the fridge and a spoon to keep Wilhelm company.</p> <p>Wilhelm takes it as permission to start eating in earnest. Hunched over Simon’s dining table in a supermarket hoodie, he looks like he could be any one of Simon’s friends, and the cereal disappears quickly. Wilhelm turns down Simon’s offer of seconds, Simon suspects more out of shyness than anything else, then makes to the sink like he’s about to wash the bowl.</p> <p>“It’s fine,” Simon says quickly. “Just leave it there.”</p> <p>“Oh, okay.”</p> <p>Wilhelm leaves the bowl in the sink with a dubious mien, then they’re standing in awkward silence in a kitchen again. Wilhelm takes his phone out of a pocket and flips it open. He tries to press a few things, then press them again. It’s obviously dead.</p> <p>“Do you have a charger?” Wilhelm asks.</p> <p>Simon looks at the brand-new, high-end electronic. “Probably not for your phone, sorry,” he says. “I can look.”</p> <p>Wilhelm grimaces. “It’s fine. Do you know how get back to Hillerska from here?” he asks. “That’s my school,” he specifies, because he comes from somewhere that’s big enough to have more than three gymnasiums in a two-town radius.</p> <p>“I think there’s a bus,” says Simon, “but I don’t know if it runs on weekends.”</p> <p>Wilhelm looks to the side. “I can call for a driver to pick me up.”</p> <p>Simon takes in the avoidant eyes, the haunched shoulders. “You don’t want them to know you snuck out,” he guesses.</p> <p>Wilhelm purses his lips, and says, all at once, “Not really.”</p> <p>Simon exhales. Wilhelm has only been shy and polite so far, and he doesn’t think Wilhelm deserves to get in trouble. Not given everything he’s gone through recently.</p> <p>“I can get someone to drop you off,” Simon offers. It would mean either asking Rosh and Ayub or his mom. Both choices would net him teasing comments, but Simon can live with a bit of embarrassment.</p> <p>“You don’t have to go out of your way,” Wilhelm says, looking slightly panicked.</p> <p>Simon shrugs, and gives Wilhelm a smile he hopes looks reassuring. “It’s fine. I’d do it for any friend.”</p> <p>The word <em>friend</em> makes Wilhelm startle. Wilhelm doesn’t refute it, and Simon suddenly wonders if this boy has any friends at all.</p> <p>With Wilhelm’s clothes still wet, there’s nothing to do but return to Simon’s room. Simon shuffles to sit on his bed, and waves to his desk chair. “You can sit if you want.”</p> <p>“Oh. Sure,” Wilhelm says, taking a few careful steps and slowly lowering himself down. His eyes flit about, taking in the room properly this time. “You have fish?”</p> <p>“Yeah,” Simon says. “Olle, Oski, and Felle.”</p> <p>Wilhelm looks genuinely curious, like a kid at Skansen Aquarium rather than Simon’s small fish tank. “You can tell them apart?”</p> <p>Simon shrugs, palms pushing against his bedcovers. “Sure,” he claims. Eighty percent of the time.</p> <p>Wilhelm studies the colourful fish as they swim around, sparkling in the warm lamplight. “Are they easy to take care of?”</p> <p>“Yeah,” Simon replies. “I feed them before and after school, and change a third of the water in the tank every week.” At the crease in Wilhelm’s brow, Simon explains, “You have to keep something familiar. It stresses them out otherwise.”</p> <p>Wilhelm’s chin dips, as if he’s nodding to himself. “That makes sense.” He looks around the room, as if grasping for another conversation topic.</p> <p>“There’s not much to do in my room,” Simon says. “We can play video games, but I only have one controller.”</p> <p>Wilhelm looks surprised. “I don’t play video games.”</p> <p>Of course he doesn’t, Simon thinks, the crown prince is too cultured for video games.</p> <p>“I could learn?” Wilhelm sounds awkward and earnest, and it makes Simon thaw.</p> <p>“Yeah, of course,” Simon says, and it’s easy then, for Wilhelm to settle in beside Simon at the end of Simon’s bed, watching Simon go through his dailies. Simon keeps his mic off so that he can keep talking to Wilhelm, and try to explain the rules to someone who’s never played anything other than Mario Kart.</p> <p>“You’re pretty good,” Wilhelm says, looking golden in the hoodie and the light of Simon’s room. It makes Simon smile, even though Wilhelm doesn’t know anything about the game he’s watching.</p> <p>“I’m okay,” says Simon, pleased nonetheless.</p> <p>At some point they sneak out of Simon’s room to check the drying cupboard together. Wilhelm’s sweater and trousers have managed to dry, though the wool blazer has stayed stubbornly damp.</p> <p>“There’s no point in putting on a wet jacket,” Simon says. They retreat again to Simon’s bedroom and Simon teaches Wilhelm how to aim with a joystick. They’re unsuccessful, but Wilhelm seems delighted anyway.</p> <p>Wilhelm ends up staying for lunch, which gets Simon strange looks from Sara and much too knowing looks from their mom. Their mom offers to drive Wilhelm back to Hillerska.</p> <p>“I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” Wilhelm says, over a plate of patischo.</p> <p>Simon shakes his head and gives Wilhelm a reassuring look. “It’s what friends do for each other.”</p> <p>Sara comments, matter of fact, “You’ve just met.”</p> <p>Wilhelm’s eyes dart between the three of them without his face moving an inch.</p> <p>“Don’t worry,” their mom says. “It’s not a problem for me, and I’m sure you and Simon would like more time to chat on the way over.” She smiles warmly at Wilhelm. Simon’s so grateful for his mom.</p> <p>The trip takes about twenty minutes. Wilhelm asks Simon’s mom to stop a distance away from his school, so that he won’t be noticed sneaking in. His mom agrees without complaint, although her face tells Simon that they will be talking about this later. Before Wilhelm disembarks, he exchanges phone numbers with Simon.</p> <p>“Thanks for helping me today,” Wilhelm says. He looks lighthearted and at ease, a far cry from the prince that Simon found in a field this morning and the prince Simon’s seen in the news the past few months.</p> <p>“I was happy to,” Simon says, and it’s completely true.</p> <p>Wilhelm waves one more time, and jogs back to his school.</p> <hr> <p>Simon tells his mom everything he knows on the way back. It’s clear she disapproves of whatever brought Wilhelm to their field, but she tells Simon that she trusts him.</p> <p>“<em>Make sure you keep yourself safe,</em>” his mom says to him. “<em>I don’t want some rich party boy to lead you astray.</em>”</p> <p>“<em>I will, mamá</em>.” Simon is a notorious teetotaler at Marieberg parties. Not even a crown prince is going to change that.</p> <p>There’s a text waiting for Simon when they arrive home.</p> <p><em>Thanks again for the food and the ride,</em> Wilhelm’s written. <em>Tell your mother the same.</em></p> <p><em>I will,</em> Simon replies. <em>Did you sneak in okay?</em></p> <p><em>Yeah. Got in through the window, no one noticed.</em></p> <p><em>Nice,</em> Simon replies, adding a cheeky smiley face.</p> <p><em>It makes me want to try again without getting soaked.</em></p> <p>Simon grins, warming with hope and anticipation. <em>I can show you around Bjärstad next time.</em></p> <p><em>That sounds great.</em></p> <hr> <p>Simon doesn’t see Wilhelm for a few weeks. There’s some disciplinary issue at Wilhelm’s school and Wilhelm is lying low for a while. They text all the time though, school rants and fish updates and obscure cat memes.</p> <p><em>Where do you even find this stuff!</em> Wilhelm sends. Simon has fun envisioning his bewildered expression.</p> <p><em>Us normal people have to get creative when it comes to entertainment…</em> Simon responds. <em>You should experience it some time.</em></p> <p>A few weeks later, Wilhelm finally agrees on sneaking out for a weekend. Simon waits for him by the Coop near downtown Bjärstad, if one could call a handful of shops downtown. The sky is a pale, perfectly clear blue.</p> <p>“Hey,” Simon says.</p> <p>Wilhelm ducks his head. “Hey.”</p> <p>Simon shoves the bundle in his arms towards Wilhelm. “Here. A disguise.”</p> <p>Wilhelm takes the bundle, looks down at the folded sunflower yellow hoodie and the forest green beanie, then back up at Simon.</p> <p>Simon shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “So you won’t get in trouble for being out of school.”</p> <p>A smile breaks on Wilhelm’s face. “Thanks.”</p> <p>The beanie goes on Willhelm’s head, the hoodie over it, and Wilhelm’s navy wool coat over the whole ensemble. Wilhelm seems inordinately proud of being undercover. The hoodie and beanie together do a decent job of distracting from Wilhelm’s face, except that Wilhelm’s distinctive bangs are still visible. Simon reaches out to adjust them, then stops.</p> <p>“Sorry,” Simon says, fingers paused midair. “Do you mind if I —?”</p> <p>“Go ahead,” Wilhelm says. His head tilts down a fraction.</p> <p>Slowly, Simon tucks the other boy’s bangs, soft like gossamer, into the beanie. He steps back. “That okay?” he asks, a bit too loudly.</p> <p>Wilhelm’s hand comes up to check, lingering on the same patch of skin Simon brushed. “Uh,” Wilhelm says. “Yes, it’s fine.”</p> <p>Simon leads Wilhelm towards the main street, and stops at its mouth. “So here it is. Downtown Bjärstad.”</p> <p>Wilhelm does a half turn, taking in the collection of squat square buildings with little to distinguish them. “It seems … nice. Cozy?”</p> <p>A bark of laughter escapes Simon. “You can tell me the truth. It’s small. It’s boring. You’d rather be anywhere else.”</p> <p>Wilhelm turns back to Simon. “I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else. You’re here.” He says it so forthrightly that Simon’s heart can’t help but skip a beat.</p> <p>Simon smiles, all nerves and hope. “Yeah?”</p> <p>Wilhelm’s eyes crinkle. “Yeah.”</p> <p>They wander around the shops for a while, ducking into every little place and leaving in with hushed giggles whenever a shopkeeper starts glaring at them for making too much noise and not buying anything.</p> <p>“I thought that woman was going to kick us out!” Wilhelm whispers loudly as they exit yet another shop. Beside him, Simon is laughing so hard he’s struggling to hold himself upright.</p> <p>“It’s because you look like a hoodlum,” Simon says, hiccupping into Wilhelm’s shoulder. “With your hoodie and all. You’re a real tough now.”</p> <p>The corners of Wilhelm’s mouth flutter. “Does that mean I’m a bad influence on you?”</p> <p>“Of course,” Simon says, pushing himself upright. “I’m a choir boy. I’m innocent.”</p> <p>Wilhelm’s loud laugh swirls around him, a cloud of happiness in the autumn air. As it dissipates, his cheeks soften and his eyes turns earnest. “I’d like to hear you sing sometime,” Wilhelm says. “I’d join the school choir, but I can’t sing.”</p> <p>“I’ll invite you the next time we have a concert,” Simon says. He’s close enough to feel Wilhelm’s warmth through the cold air. He glances to see if Wilhelm’s blushing, and instead is caught by how long Wilhelm’s eyelashes are. He swallows, and tries to detach himself. “Are you in any clubs at school, then?” Simon asks.</p> <p>Wilhelm scrunches his brow. Simon tries not to find it cute. “No,” Wilhelm says. “My cousin keeps trying to get me to join the rowing team, but it’s not really my thing.”</p> <p>“Too much sports?” Simon asks.</p> <p>“Too early to wake up,” Wilhelm replies. They both laugh. “Honestly,” Wilhelm says, “he’s annoying enough when it’s not six in the morning.”</p> <p>“One of those cousins,” Simon says knowingly.</p> <p>Wilhelm’s hands twitch. “Yeah, I suppose,” he replies, just a touch too stiff. Simon doesn’t push him, and starts talking about his choir’s performances instead.</p> <p>There really isn’t much to do in Bjärstad. They’ve seen almost every store by lunchtime, even the Coop. Simon takes Wilhelm to the pizzeria, one of maybe three nice restaurants in town, and learns that Wilhelm hates pineapple on pizza.</p> <p>“Sweet and savoury things aren’t meant to go together,” Wilhelm insists. He has a slice of boring salami pizza in front of him.</p> <p>Simon takes a bite of Hawaiian pizza and chews exaggeratedly. “Mm.” Wilhelm makes an unimpressed face at him, and Simon’s shoulders shake with laughter.</p> <p>“So you don’t like pineapple, but what about banana on pizza?” Simon asks.</p> <p>“Banana isn’t as bad as pineapple,” Wilhelm says with a straight face, though delight glitters in his eyes.</p> <p>Simon shakes his head, grinning. “They’re both fruits!”</p> <p>“Tomato is also a fruit,” Wilhelm points out.</p> <p>“See,” Simon says. “That means pineapple belongs on pizza.”</p> <p>Wilhelm groans, loud enough that both of them look around to check if anyone’s staring. They turn back to each other, and break down into giggles.</p> <p>The bill comes, which they split. Simon and Wilhelm stare at each other to figure out the etiquette for what comes next.</p> <p>“You can come to my house if you want,” Simon starts.</p> <p>“I shouldn’t stay out too long,” Wilhelm says, twisting at his watch. “I have homework.”</p> <p>Simon isn’t sure how much of it is the truth and how much of it is Wilhelm not wanting to impose. “Next time?” he offers, trying to sound casual.</p> <p>“Yeah,” Wilhelm says. Joy flickers across his face, leaving behind a small but earnest smile. “Of course, next time.”</p> <hr> <h2>2.</h2> <p>Christmas break drags on. Simon usually loves school holidays. He loves the opportunity to hang out with his friends whenever, to waste hours on the bus just to watch a movie in a theatre and play games at an arcade. But now Simon has all this free time while Wilhelm is constantly busy.</p> <p>It’s strange to see Wilhelm from afar as the Crown Prince. Now that he knows Wille as a boy. Now that he knows Wilhelm is lonely and hurting under the pomp and glamour. Simon’s mom has started changing the channel whenever Wilhelm appears.</p> <p><em>I hate this</em>, Wilhelm texts late one night.</p> <p><em>Same,</em> Simon admits. He decides to distract Wilhelm. <em>What do you want to do when you get back?</em></p> <p><em>See you sing of course!</em></p> <p><em>Haha…</em> Simon responds. <em>We don’t have a concert until after sport break.</em></p> <p><em>I don’t mind waiting,</em> Wilhelm replies.</p> <p><em>If you want to come… my friend Rosh has a football match after Christmas break ends,</em> Simon offers.</p> <p><em>Can we hang out at your house before?</em></p> <p><em>Sure,</em> Simon responds. He’ll have to make up excuses for Ayub for not hanging out like they usually do.</p> <p><em>How are Olle, Oski, and Felle?</em> Wilhelm asks.</p> <p><em>They’re good… Swimming along.</em></p> <p><em>That’s good,</em> Wilhelm sends. <em>I have to go to sleep now. Early morning tomorrow.</em></p> <p><em>Good night,</em> Simon replies. Without thinking much of it, he adds, <em>Sweet dreams.</em> A read indicator appears on the first message but not the second. It’s now in the intangible digital space between Simon and Wilhelm for the next eight or however many hours. Simon buries his head into a pillow and feels his heart thump against the bed.</p> <hr> <p>The first weekend after term starts brings a light drizzle and Wilhelm again at Simon’s townhouse. Simon’s mom welcomes him warmly, while Sara returns Wilhelm’s greeting blandly and looks at Simon as if to say, <em>really</em>.</p> <p>Simon ignores her and leads Wilhelm down to his room. They stand there for a few seconds, until Simon shrugs and they wordlessly settle to sit on the bed.</p> <p>“How was Christmas?” Simon asks.</p> <p>A grimace flickers across Wilhelm’s face before resolving into polite neutrality. “We received Christmas trees. We visited a church and listening to Christmas carols. We decorated a Christmas tree and filmed it so that everyone can see.” It’s all recited in such banal tones that it’s obvious Wilhelm had hated every second.</p> <p>“That sucks,” Simon says.</p> <p>“No one sung like you,” Wilhelm says. “In the choir.”</p> <p>It’s so absurd Simon can’t help but laugh and shake his head. “You don’t even know what I sound like.”</p> <p>Wilhelm is looking down at the stitching on Simon’s navy duvet, picking at it with his fingers. “I looked your school choir up on Youtube,” he mumbles.</p> <p>“Oh,” Simon says, warmth overtaking him. “I’m just someone in a public school choir in a tiny town; I’m not anything amazing.”</p> <p>Wilhelm turns to Simon, eyes imparting their full earnest attention. “You are,” he says. “Those chorists, they’re so focused on singing perfectly. When you sing, you sing from your heart.”</p> <p>Simon turns away to hide his overheated cheeks. “Thanks,” he murmurs. His eyes rise to peek at Wilhelm. Though it is noon outside, the winter sun is muted within Simon’s bedroom, and instead it is soft orange lamplight that draws a halo around Wilhelm.</p> <p>“How was your break?” Wilhelm asks.</p> <p>Simon jolts out of his reverie. He shifts his weight, tries to wind himself back to casual and friendly. “The usual,” he says. “Went to the city for a day with my friends.”</p> <p>“What’d you do?”</p> <p>Simon shrugs. “Movies, arcade, then we went to a BBQ place.”</p> <p>“Nice,” Wilhelm says, grinning. He sounds as impressed as any other teenager stuck in a small town, and not at all like someone who had spent the last few weeks in ornate churches and palaces.</p> <p>Simon had assumed somehow that this Christmas’ isolation was new for Wilhelm. Out of grief, he’d thought, even if they’d never spoken of it. Now that Simon thinks about it, the first time they’d met, Wilhelm had been alone, too. Alone in a frosty field in Bjärstad on a Saturday morning.</p> <p>“You can come next time,” Simon promises Wilhelm. “Tell me whenever.”</p> <p>“I will.” The words linger between them as they sit watching goldfish swim and sneaking glances in the bedroom glow.</p> <p>Simon breaks the silence. “I didn’t think you’d visit me so soon. Wanted to get away from school?”</p> <p>He says it lightly, a joke between friends. Yet it makes Wilhelm’s lips tighten and his hands curl into his trousers, makes him take a coarse breath. “Do you remember my cousin?” Wilhelm asks.</p> <p>Simon thinks through his words. “Yeah,” he says, cautiously. “You don’t get along.”</p> <p>“I wouldn’t say that.”</p> <p>“It’s kind of obvious,” Simon says.</p> <p>Wilhelm looks up at the window, then down to the white knuckles in his lap. He begins talking, in slow, halting words. “August and my brother were close, I think. He was around over Christmas. As soon as we got back he wanted to throw another party, and I didn’t want to go. Hanging out with him is fun, for a while, but some of the things his friends say when they’re drunk and high —” It’s almost violent, how Wilhelm shakes his head.</p> <p>“So you came to hang out with me,” Simon finishes.</p> <p>“I would have hung out with you anyway. But I didn’t want to stay there.” Wilhelm’s shoulders are stiff, his arms unnervingly still.</p> <p>“You don’t have to hang out with him,” Simon says.</p> <p>Wilhelm jerks, looking away into the corridor. “He’s family.”</p> <p>Simon scoffs. “That doesn’t mean shit.”</p> <p>Wilhelm stays quiet.</p> <p>“He’s older than you, right? If he’s making you uncomfortable, tell him to back off. You’re not obligated to do anything for him.”</p> <p>Wilhelm jerks his head in a negative.</p> <p>“Hey,” Simon says, softer. He waits until Wilhelm is facing him, and gives him a smile. “You can come here whenever you want. I don’t mind.”</p> <p>A small joy sparks in the corners of Wilhelm’s eyes. His head tilts to the left, strands of hair falling into his face. “What if I come every weekend?” he asks with a hint of humour, a lilt that might be inviting.</p> <p>“That’s fine,” Simon murmurs. Heartbeat throbbing on his skin, eyes sliding closed, he finds the courage to lean in. With the softest pressure, his lips meet Wilhelm’s and linger for an infinitesimal moment.</p> <p>There’s no reaction from Wilhelm. Simon thinks he might have read this wrong, and starts to inch backward to give Wilhelm space. Suddenly, Wilhelm’s weight is on top of Simon and Simon’s back is against a wall of pillows. He relaxes into the kiss and coaxes Wilhelm’s anxious lips into softening. Eventually, he guides them both back up and gently detaches from Wilhelm. He tucks Wilhelm’s bangs back into place.</p> <p>Wilhelm catches Simon’s hand, pulling it away and enveloping it with his own. Their lips meet again, like air diffusing, like a breeze coming home. Wilhelm’s shoulders loosen, his eyes brighten, and some worry Simon didn’t even know he had eases. He turns his hand in Wilhelm’s, entwines their fingers, and holds on.</p> <hr> <p>The next week, it’s Rosh’s match. Ayub had seen through Simon as soon as Simon said he was bringing a friend along <em>and</em> hanging out with the friend beforehand, but had managed to not tease Simon too much.</p> <p>Simon and Wilhelm meet at the steakhouse, because Simon is not taking Wilhelm to the same place twice in a row. It does also serve pizza, but at least it has hamburgers and salads as well.</p> <p>“I know this isn’t what you’re used to,” Simon can’t help but apologize. “There’s only, like, three restaurants in Bjärstad.”</p> <p>Wilhelm grins. “I used to sneak out to get hamburgers. It’s a nice change from restaurants with three forks. And unlike McDonald’s, this place has a barn-house charm to it.”</p> <p><em>Barn-house charm</em> might be overly generous. Even Simon, who gets out of his province maybe twice a year, can tell the steakhouse is best described as roadside tacky. Wilhelm finishes his hamburger and fries with gusto, so he’s probably not lying to Simon to be polite. Simon resolves to take Wilhelm to the city next time anyway.</p> <p>They make their way to the football field, passing the pizzeria they visited last time along the way. There’s already a decent crowd — Simon had timed it so that they would arrive just as the match was starting, to minimize distractions for Rosh and teasing from Ayub.</p> <p>Ayub seems to treat Wilhelm like any other prospective boyfriend of Simon’s, or so Simon thinks since he’s had none before now. Once the match starts, all awkwardness is forgotten as Simon and Ayub throw themselves into cheering Rosh on and Wilhelm joins in. Simon finds his eyes captured by Wilhelm’s exuberance. Under the field lights, he glitters.</p> <p>Half-time comes, along with the return of the real world. Simon can’t help but hear the whispers, and notice Wilhelm’s tension returning. He leans in and quietly asks, “Wanna leave?”</p> <p>“It’s fine,” Wilhelm says, but the carefree joy of the last forty-five minutes is gone.</p> <p>No one comes up to them, fortunately, but Wilhelm spends the second half of the match clapping politely whenever either team scores a goal. Simon keeps an eye on him and barely notices Rosh completing a hat trick.</p> <p>The match over, Rosh jogs over from the victory celebration. Simon introduces Wilhelm to her; Wilhelm’s greeting to her is much cooler than the one he gave Ayub an hour and fifty-odd minutes ago.</p> <p>“Mila is throwing a party,” Rosh announces. “Everyone’s invited.”</p> <p>Wilhelm’s eyes dart to Simon with an anxious shine. His shoulders are visibly stiff under his navy coat and the stark floodlights.</p> <p>“There’s always a party when they win a match,” Ayub says easily. He’s always been observant.</p> <p>Wilhelm looks like he’s going to accept despite his misgivings, so Simon decides to decline for both of them. “We’ll skip. Wilhelm has to get back to his school and I don’t want him to wait for the bus alone.”</p> <p>Rosh acquiesces easily and Ayub waggles his eyebrows at Simon like he’s teasing them for sneaking off to make out like a normal couple. Simon says goodbye to them with half-hugs, squeezing their shoulders with the full force of his gratitude. Wilhelm’s goodbyes are polite but kind.</p> <p>“Are we going to the bus stop?” Wilhelm asks as they’re walking past the pizzeria they went to last time.</p> <p>“You can stay if you want, although my mom will probably not be happy about it.”</p> <p>“It’s fine,” Wilhelm says. “I want to stay on Linda’s good side.”</p> <p>There’s a laugh in his voice, and Simon is glad that he hasn’t ruined their night. He sees Wilhelm on to the bus and walks home, feeling warm in the winter cold.</p> <hr> <p>The gossip is all over Marieberg the next Monday. Prince Wilhelm was at the girls’ football match; Rosh talked to him. Simon was wholly excised from the telling of it, and he doesn’t know whether to be glad at the anonymity or annoyed at the heteronormativity.</p> <p>“I think you should be glad,” Ayub says. “Rosh looks like she’s about to murder someone.”</p> <p>“Rosh always looks like she’s about to murder someone,” Simon says, and gets a murderous glare from Rosh for it.</p> <p>“Both of you are idiots,” she says.</p> <p>If anyone finds them in their out-of-the-way stairwell right now, Simon thinks that Rosh might shout enough to land all three of them in the headteacher’s office.</p> <p>“How did you become friends with the most famous teenager in Sweden anyway?” Ayub saks.</p> <p>Simon shrugs. “We ran into each other in Bjärstad,” he says, as nonchalant as he can manage.</p> <p>“I don’t believe that,” Rosh says. “You wouldn’t have gone up to him. And he wouldn’t go up to you. He seems shy.”</p> <p>“Our Simon here is pretty enough, you never know.”</p> <p>Dead silence.</p> <p>“Wait,” Ayub says. He stands up, peers up the stairwell and down to the landing below. He sits back on the steps, leans close, and says in a low voice, “Don’t tell me you’re dating him.”</p> <p>Simon makes a face. “We’re not dating,” he says. “Technically.”</p> <p>Rosh drops her face into her hands.</p> <hr> <p>Sport break arrives upon Bjärstad as February fades into March. Sara signs up for a biology program, Rosh leaves town for football camp, and Simon and Ayub agree to stay inside and play video games for the entire week.</p> <p>Wilhelm, like most other rich kids, decamps to a distant ski resort with his family.</p> <p><em>Come visit me,</em> Wilhelm texts on the first day.</p> <p><em>Aren’t you skiing right now?</em> Simon asks.</p> <p><em>I’m taking a break.</em></p> <p>It’s barely past two in the afternoon; Wilhelm must be bored or desperate. Simon bites the inside of his lip. <em>I can’t,</em> he replies. He doesn’t want Wilhelm to think he’s declining for no reason, so he elaborates. <em>Åre is hours away… How would I get there? Where would I stay?</em></p> <p><em>I can handle that.</em></p> <p>Simon exhales into the dim light of his room.</p> <p><em>Please</em>, Wilhelm writes. <em>I don’t have anyone here.</em></p> <p>Simon’s angry, angry enough to text, <em>It’s not even your money. It’s taxpayer money. I don’t even know how to ski.</em></p> <p><em>Sorry</em>, Wilhelm replies. Simon’s not sure if it’s for the show of privilege or the assumption of privilege. Simon doesn’t respond.</p> <p>He sees the photos later, of the royal family in ski gear, the queen and prince consort with plasticine smiles and Wilhelm with sullen eyes and taut, upturned lips. He aches for the boy in the glossy cage of his phone.</p> <p><em>Do you have a laptop with you?</em> he texts Wilhelm.</p> <p>A half hour later, Wilhelm replies, <em>Yes. Why?</em></p> <p><em>Let’s play a video game together,</em> Simon offers.</p> <p><em>I don’t have any,</em> Wilhelm texts back.</p> <p><em>I’ll help you set one up.</em></p> <p>Simon walks Wilhelm through buying and downloading a game. The internet at the ski resort is mediocre, even for the royal family, so Simon texts Wilhelm about Sara’s fieldwork and Rosh’s training camp until Wilhelm can join Simon in game and over audio.</p> <p><em>“Hey,”</em> Wilhelm says, voice unsure even through the digital distortion.</p> <p>“Hey,” Simon says. He makes sure to sound upbeat and eager, for Wilhelm’s sake, and he thinks he’s starting to feel it. “Ready to kill some creatures?”</p> <p><em>“Sure.”</em></p> <p>Wilhelm is in fact not ready.</p> <p><em>“How do you move and shoot and the same time!”</em> Wilhelm whisper-yells at him.</p> <p>“You’re doing great,” Simon says, just as Wilhelm’s character dies.</p> <p><em>“I suck at this,”</em> Wilhelm moans. <em>“Why does respawning take so long.”</em></p> <p>Simon laughs. “That’s what you get for dying.”</p> <p>It’s not long before Wilhelm gets into it for real, shouting to Simon’s encouragement and occasional joshing.</p> <p><em>“Did you see that? One hit K.O.!”</em></p> <p>“That was great! See, I knew you’d learn.”</p> <p>There’s a snort over the line. “<em>I still suck compared to you</em>,” Wilhelm says.</p> <p>“I play this game every day,” Simon responds. “If all you did was play video games ten hours a week, your grades might drop.”</p> <p>“<em>Hey! Are you saying you’re smarter than me?</em>”</p> <p>“Maybe,” Simon teases. “Aren’t you supposed to agree, as my boyfriend?”</p> <p>There’s a hush on the other end.</p> <p>“<em>Is that what we are?</em>” Wilhelm says quietly. It’s barely audible over the ambient video game noise.</p> <p>Filled with sudden brash confidence, Simon says, “Yeah, of course.” Then the nerves come. “Only if you want to be.”</p> <p>“<em>Okay then</em>,” Wilhelm says, clear and sure. “<em>Boyfriend.</em>”</p> <hr> <p>Simon’s new boyfriend arrives back in Bjärstad early Sunday afternoon. He finds out when he gets a text informing him that Wilhelm’s outside his home.</p> <p>“Hey,” Simon says, opening the door to Wilhelm’s rosy, grinning cheeks, looking fresh off a ski course.</p> <p>“Hey,” Wilhelm greets, enveloping Simon in a tight hug. Simon brings his arms around Wilhelm, tries to pretend he knows what he’s doing and holds him steady. Wilhelm whispers into Simon’s hoodie, “I missed you.”</p> <p>They let go, slowly, tentatively. Wilhelm hangs his wool coat up and toes off his shoes. “You’re supposed to come back from vacation with luggage,” Simon says.</p> <p>“I dropped off everything at school first,” Wilhelm says.</p> <p>Simon checks the clock on the wall. It’s just past two. “Have you had lunch?”</p> <p>“No,” Wilhelm says, sheepish.</p> <p>Simon rolls his eyes and gestures to the dining table. “Sit down.”</p> <p>He hears a chair moving as he turns to open the fridge. There’s some arepas, and enough eggs and vegetables to make perico. If it were just him alone, he probably would have shoved the arepas into his mouth plain.</p> <p>“You don’t have to make food,” Wilhelm says, an anxious note to his voice. “I can just eat some cereal.”</p> <p>Simon twists to give Wilhelm an unimpressed look. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you go hungry?”</p> <p>The words make Wilhelm blush, and Simon’s cheeks warm in sympathy. Simon turns away and busies himself with chopping tomatoes and onions.</p> <p>“Where’s Linda and Sara?” Wilhelm asks, looking around the townhouse.</p> <p>“They’ve gone to the city. Sara needs to buy some stationary.”</p> <p>“So it’s just the two of us?”</p> <p>“For the next few hours,” Simon replies.</p> <p>There’s no response. Simon turns to check on Wilhelm, who is still blushing but smiles when their eyes meet.</p> <p>Simon’s perico receives Wilhelm’s effusive praise. “It’s not that good,” Simon says, eyes slipping towards the table. “I only know how to make three things and none of them very well.”</p> <p>“It’s better than anything at the palace or at school,” Wilhelm says.</p> <p>Simon laughs. “Now I know you’re lying to me.”</p> <p>“I’m not,” Wilhelm says. “The food there is so bland and staid.”</p> <p>“Don’t you have chefs or something?”</p> <p>Wilhelm rolls his eyes. “It’s all the same things in the same ways every time. There’s seasonal ingredients because we have to support local farmers, but it’s the same things every year. We have a forage trip every year and then it’s berry jam for the next month even though we picked approximately five berries each.” Wilhelm pauses. “Sorry, it sounds like I’m complaining about free food, aren’t I.”</p> <p>Simon shakes his head. “No, no, I get it. Good cafeteria food is still cafeteria food.” He adds, “My mom won’t mind you coming for lunch and dinner more.”</p> <p>“I don’t want to impose.”</p> <p>“You wouldn’t,” Simon says. “Really. Rosh and Ayub eat over all the time.”</p> <p>“Do they also eat your cooking?”</p> <p>Simon laughs. “No, no way. That’s just for family. My mom won’t even let me chop veg when guests are over.”</p> <p>Wilhelm grins. “Then I’m happy I get this to myself.”</p> <p>When they’re done, Wilhelm leans over the kitchen sink to give him a kiss. The dirty dishes are left forgotten as Wilhelm presses Simon against the countertop, lips asking Simon’s to open. Simon feels Wilhelm’s hands brush against his shoulders, on their way to his hair. There’s a loud thump against the kitchen cupboards.</p> <p>They jump apart. Wilhelm looks mortified.</p> <p>Simon grabs Wilhelm’s hands and turns to check them. They look fine, but Simon keeps holding them. “We probably shouldn’t make out in a tiny kitchen.”</p> <p>“It’s not tiny! It’s cozy.”</p> <p>Simon laughs. He drops their conjoined hands to their sides, and says, “Let’s go to my room.”</p> <p>A soft smile lights Wilhelm up. “Yeah, of course.”</p> <hr> <h2>3.</h2> <p>On Saturday morning, Simon wakes in his dim basement room to the insistent buzzing of his phone.</p> <p><em>“Hey,”</em> Wilhelm says. There’s a hitch in his voice.</p> <p>Simon’s heart drops. “What’s wrong?”</p> <p>There’s a sigh, and then a muffled sound like Wilhelm’s fallen into a sofa or a bed. <em>“Erik’s birthday is this week,”</em> Wilhelm whispers, almost too quiet to be heard.</p> <p>“Shit,” Simon says. “I’m sorry.”</p> <p>He keeps Wilhelm talking as he unearths earbuds from a coat pocket and shoves his feet into a pair of trainers, runs into the March cold with a coat clutched in one hand and looking up bus routes in the other. The bus he finds is nearly empty, and he ignores the one or two people who stare at him as he stays on his earbuds on the phone. He’s the last person left when he steps off at Hillerska.</p> <p>The crisp cold lake air presses against his face. He tries to determine where the dorms are. “Which one’s your room again?”</p> <p><em>“What?”</em></p> <p>“I’m at the bus stop outside your school.”</p> <p><em>“Wait there,”</em> Wilhelm exclaims. There’s a thud on the other end of the line, a faint <em>‘ow’</em>, and the sound of running footsteps.</p> <p>Simon sees a familiar mop of hair running towards the bus stop. He’s barely started moving before Wilhelm collides into him.</p> <p>“You’re here,” Wilhelm says into the cotton hood bunched around Simon’s neck.</p> <p>Simon places an arm, then another, on Wilhelm’s back. He breathes with Wilhelm, stands there until Wilhelm finally lets go.</p> <p>Wilhelm steps back. He meets Simon’s eyes for a brief moment, tugs Simon’s jacket in a signal to follow. It’s quiet but for the scuff of their shoes and the rustle of their jackets. Simon follows Wilhelm across the lawn, into a forest path, until they stop at an unremarkable window. The wood frame opens with a loud scrape. Wilhelm tumbles in first, Simon following him with a bit more grace.</p> <p>The dorm room they’ve landed in is much larger than Simon’s bedroom, and much barer. Two sets of furniture in dated wood decorate the plain white walls. The second desk is empty; the second bed is perfectly made. Even Wilhelm’s side of the room is sparse, like he could disappear tomorrow without a word.</p> <p>A tentative tug on his jacket pulls Simon from his thoughts. He sits on Wilhelm’s bed, much tidier than his. Beside him, Wilhelm shuffles, placing and replacing his head until he finds a dip in Simon’s shoulder that he accepts. His eyes gaze straight ahead, towards the motes of dust floating in the winter light and the shadowed room beyond.</p> <p>Simon wraps an arm around Wilhelm, his loose hand falling on Wilhelm’s shoulder.</p> <p>“I’ve visited Hillerska before,” he says. “My mom was thinking of sending me and Sara here.”</p> <p>Wilhelm still does not look at him. “Why didn’t you come?”</p> <p>Simon shrugs, lifting Wilhelm’s head moves with the rise and fall of his shoulders. “It felt weird being around all these rich kids. Sara was the one who wanted to come in the first place, and in the end she decided to stay at Marieberg.”</p> <p>Silence lingers like the daytime dust. A weight presses into Simon’s free hand, onto Simon’s leg. He tilts his head to look: Wilhelm’s pale hand rests in his lap.</p> <p>“I feel that way sometimes too,” Wilhelm says, slowly. “Like I’m not meant to fit in with all of these people.” His hand finds Simon’s, curls into its grooves like a plant clinging to a cliff. “It wasn’t meant to be me, here.”</p> <p>Simon doesn’t know what to say in the face of grief. Anger he understands, anger’s easy. He can’t understand what Wilhelm is going through, but he’s the one who Wilhelm called. He’s the one who Wilhelm needs.</p> <p>He turns his hand in Wilhelm’s, and laces his fingers in return. It’s all he can do.</p> <hr> <p>His phone rings again the next day.</p> <p><em>“Hey,”</em> Wilhelm says. <em>“Sorry for calling out of the blue.”</em></p> <p>“I don’t mind,” Simon says. It’s not out of the blue, he doesn’t say. It’s what I’m here for, he doesn’t say.</p> <p><em>“I wanted to let you know, and I’ve been told I shouldn’t text you this,”</em> Wilhelm says, slowly.</p> <p>“Okay?”</p> <p>There’s a silence, then a sharp intake of air. <em>“My bodyguards found out about you. They have to accompany me when we hang out from now on,”</em> Wilhelm says all at once.</p> <p>Simon’s hand tightens around his phone. He hadn’t realized that Wilhelm had bodyguards, although he must have known at an intellectual level. He turns his chair away from the computer. “Are you supposed to be outside of school at all?”</p> <p>Wilhelm groans on the other side. <em>“Security would rather I break the school’s rules than their rules. So they’re willing to go along with it, as long as I’m not obviously flouting school rules and don’t go to any parties.”</em></p> <p>Simon bites the inside of the cheek. He was always aware, really, that Wilhelm was from a different world than him. A world he has never been comfortable with. Breaking school rules — everyone does that. The adults entrusted with Wilhelm’s safety enabling him to break school rules — that is something completely different.</p> <p>“I’m just glad that we can still hang out,” he says.</p> <p><em>“Yeah</em>,” Wilhelm says happily. <em>“Me too.”</em></p> <hr> <p>As much as Wilhelm seems up to meeting Simon with a cadre of bodyguards trailing him, Simon is not. Simon pretends that he has homework, or choir practice, or anything else he can think of. He’s excruciatingly aware of how transparent his excuses are. Wilhelm doesn’t seem to have caught on.</p> <p>“Do you want to play another game?” Simon asks, after watching Wilhelm’s character die five times in three minutes.</p> <p><em>“Maybe I’m just bad at video games</em>,” Wilhelm mumbles.</p> <p>“We can do something else.”</p> <p><em>“I want to do something that you like with you.”</em></p> <p>Simon tries to think of alternatives. If there’s something Wilhelm already knows and likes. “Do you play any games on your phone?”</p> <p><em>“No</em>,” Wilhelm says.</p> <p>Nothing, then. Simon considers what other people like, but everyone he knows plays first-person shooters if they play video games at all. “I think I have a few puzzle games,” is what he comes up with. “We could try those and see if you like them?”</p> <p>It’s a disaster.</p> <p><em>“What’s going on? Everything’s too fast I can’t see — fuck!”</em></p> <p>“Ha I beat you! Oh — shit, no!”</p> <p><em>“That’s what you get for bragging!”</em></p> <p>Best out of three becomes best out of ten, and in the end they’re laughing so hard that they’re losing as soon as they start.</p> <p><em>“I’m going to practice, and I’m going to beat you next time.”</em></p> <p>Simon hums a sarcastic agreement.</p> <p><em>“I will!”</em> Wilhelm insists. Softer, he asks, <em>“Saturday night? Will you be free?”</em></p> <p>Simon smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”</p> <hr> <p>Before their rematch can happen, someone claiming to be a member of the royal staff shows up at Simon’s door. It’s early Saturday morning, and Simon is barely awake, but he has enough awareness to call Wilhelm to check.</p> <p><em>“Shit,”</em> Wilhelm says. <em>“Let me call Minou.”</em></p> <p>A minute later, Wilhelm texts him.</p> <p><em>It’s Minou. You don’t have to talk to her if you don’t want to.</em></p> <p>Simon suspects that if he doesn’t talk to this Minou, she could make Wilhelm’s life difficult. He steps back from the door.</p> <p>Minou strides in with a perfunctory thank you and sits at the dining table like she belongs there. Simon closes the door behind her. He stands in the entranceway for a moment, pushes down his annoyance and follows her lead.</p> <p>“I’m the Court Secretary for His Royal Highness the Crown Prince,” Minou begins. Her face is perfectly placid and perfectly serious.</p> <p>“Wille?” Simon questions.“Okay? This affects me how?”</p> <p>“You’re a friend of the crown prince.” Her voice is assured, and it welcomes no arguments.</p> <p>“It’s not like anyone knows we are,” Simon can’t help but retort. All of Marieberg is still gossiping about who might know Wilhelm. They have moved on from Rosh and through every girl on the Bjärstad youth team. None of their guesses come close to involving Simon.</p> <p>“The crown prince has been in public with you already,” Minou states. “We prefer to be proactive.”</p> <p>Minou reels out a list of things he should and should not do as a friend of the crown prince. At first, Simon wants to accuse her of classism — there is no way that all of Wilhelm’s rich schoolmates have gotten this treatment; it would have gotten out online. He slowly realizes, however, that even though no rules overtly address a romantic relationship, a lot of them address potential ones. He keeps his mouth shut and nods at the right times.</p> <p>That is, until Minou orders, “You’ll also have to cut contact with your father.”</p> <p>A flush of anger rushes through Simon. “Don’t worry,” he snaps. “I’m not in any contact with that man.”</p> <p>Minou barely acknowledges his words, instead carefully suggesting a discreet rehab hours away. Simon fights the scoff bubbling up his throat. He wants to be disgusted. If he becomes inconvenient to the crown prince, will he also be sent away?</p> <p>Simon doesn’t say any of that to Minou. “If you can get him to go,” he bites out. He doesn’t give a shit about Micke as long as he doesn’t have to deal with him.</p> <p>Minou makes a mark in her notebook. “We will,” she declares with ease. An ease, Simon supposes, comes with knowing one’s power.</p> <p>Simon’s not sure what it says about him, that he’s joining the royals in their habit of spending taxpayer money to fix their family problems. He doesn’t want to become the kind of person that Wilhelm’s family could turn him into.</p> <p>Interruption over, Minou continues with her never-ending list of rules. Simon can’t imagine how Wilhelm feels, stifling under so many restrictions. He pays attention to the safety measures, because he doesn’t want Wilhelm to get hurt. Some of them make him all too aware that Wilhelm is not like him.</p> <p>Minou hands him a packet of papers in the form of an envelope before she leaves with her driver.</p> <p>Simon calls Wilhelm as soon as the door closes behind her. One of the new rules is that they should avoid communicating over text, because texts aren’t secure.</p> <p>“Hey,” Simon says. “Your advisor or whatever just left.” He drops the packet on the table and falls into a dining chair.</p> <p>On the other side of the line, Wilhelm makes a disgruntled noise. <em>“She works for my mom, not me,”</em> he says. <em>“If I could ignore her, I would.”</em></p> <p>Simon bends the packet to check its thickness; it’s stiffer than he expected. “I don’t want you to get in trouble,” he says. “But I’m not going to help them make you follow all these rules.”</p> <p>There’s a rough, frizzled exhale. <em>“Thank you,”</em> Wilhelm says.</p> <p>Simon scoffs. “I’m not a snitch. Bjärstad teens have to stick together.”</p> <p><em>“I’m a Bjärstad teen now?”</em> Wilhelm asks. His voice is a little teasing and a bit more apprehensive, like when Wilhelm knows he is terrible at video games but keeps agreeing to play them anyway.</p> <p>“Of course,” Simon declares.</p> <p><em>“Who decides? You?”</em></p> <p>“Rosh.”</p> <p>Wilhelm giggles. <em>“Of course.”</em></p> <p>The laughter fades, into the wireless ether and the hum of the refrigerator. Simon doesn’t want to break the easy atmosphere but knows he has to ask. “Do your parents know? That we’re dating?”</p> <p><em>“I didn’t tell them, or any of the staff.”</em> The staff, Wilhelm says, like it’s normal to communicate with your parents through an intermediary.</p> <p>Simon fusses with the envelope flap, running his finger along the sharp edge. “But your bodyguards found out about us,” he says.</p> <p><em>“I told them we’re friends.”</em></p> <p>“Wille,” he says. “I think they might know.”</p> <hr> <p>It’s Wilhelm’s turn to pretend that he’s too busy to meet up. Simon knows that it’s only fair, that he did it first. It still hurts. They still play puzzle games together on weekends, but there’s no texts greeting him every morning, no texts keeping him up every weeknight.</p> <p>Still, Simon promised to invite him, all those months ago, and his next concert is fast approaching. “Do you still want to come to see me perform with my choir?” he asks. He expects Wilhelm to say no.</p> <p><em>“Yes. Of course I do.”</em></p> <p>“And your bodyguards know?”</p> <p>There’s a static-laced sigh. <em>“It’s going to be an official engagement. Minou’s coming with one of the photographers.”</em></p> <p>“A photographer?”</p> <p><em>”He’s one of ours. I can tell them if you don’t want to be in the photos.”</em></p> <p>“It’s fine,” Simon says automatically. He doesn’t know if it is.</p> <p>The night of the concert arrives. Simon skims the crowd of winter coats as he walks in with the choir. It looks like it always does. His mom and Sara are near the front, with the familiar faces of his choirmates’ friends and family scattered throughout the wooden pews.</p> <p>Wilhelm is nowhere. Simon forces himself to pack his anxiety away and focus on singing.</p> <p>After the performance, Simon hears a crescendo of whispers before he glimpses Wilhelm’s light brown hair. Wilhelm greets the choirmaster first, then each member of the choir. A click of a camera accompanies each handshake. As one of the lead singers, Simon is at the front of the makeshift line almost immediately. He fears it will be awkward, talking to Wilhelm with such formality.</p> <p>“Hello,” Wilhelm says. His smile is polite but his eyes are sparking with joy. “That was beautiful.”</p> <p>Simon lowers his eyes. “Thanks,” Simon mumbles, and Wilhelm moves on to the next person.</p> <p>Simon escapes the front and the crowd surrounding it. The whispers recede behind him. So many people are trying to get a glimpse of Wilhelm, and it takes patience and effort for Simon to weave through the crowd and reach his family.</p> <p>“Hey,” Simon says.</p> <p>His mom has a knowing smile on her face. “This is quite an event. It’s nice that Wilhelm came to support you.”</p> <p>“It’s an official royal engagement,” Simon protests. Sara rolls her eyes in clear disbelief, and his mom’s amusement is obvious.</p> <p>Simon sneaks a glance at the front where Wilhelm is in a throng of people. He brings his attention back as someone he vaguely recognizes from Marieberg comes up to say hi. They’re followed by a trickle of family friends and chorists’ families, and Simon tries not to fidget and not to look at Wilhelm.</p> <p>His mom is chatting with one of the altos’ parents when the whispers make an encore. Simon turns around.</p> <p>“Hi,” Wilhelm says, coming to a stop in front of Simon. He sounds casual, but there’s a slightest hint of a stutter. It’s so very Wilhelm.</p> <p>Simon can only grin. “Hi.” His hands go to shove into a pair of pockets, but he never took the pocket stitches out of these trousers so he brushes his blazer awkwardly instead. His mom gives him a pointed look about his lack of manners. “Thanks for coming,” he appends.</p> <p>“You were great,” Wilhelm says. “Even better in person.”</p> <p>“I didn’t see you earlier,” Simon says.</p> <p>“I was at the back, with Malin and Joakim,” Wilhelm explains. “I wasn’t lying you know. It really was beautiful.”</p> <p>Simon ducks his head and hopes he’s not blushing. “Okay.”</p> <p>Complete strangers start coming by to praise Simon. It turns into a constant stream, and after congratulating Simon they always turn to Wilhelm and stutter a polite greeting. A few of the younger girls giggle. Wilhelm doesn’t look wholly comfortable with it, but he is clearly practiced.</p> <p>“You’re really popular for a dork,” Simon whispers with a snicker after yet another rubbernecker leaves.</p> <p>Wilhelm shushes him, and turns to greet the next person before Simon even notices them.</p> <hr> <p>The concert is what finally clues the gossips of Marieberg in that Simon is the one who’s friends with Wilhelm. No one really bothers him about it, but it makes Simon apprehensive about Wilhelm coming into Bjärstad again. Instead, he suggests that he visits Wilhelm at Hillerska. Simon’s not technically allowed inside the school, but other than Wilhelm’s bodyguards, there’s no one checking the forest surrounding the school. After all, Bjärstad is the middle of nowhere, and Hillerska is even further out.</p> <p>Walking around with Wilhelm, it strikes Simon suddenly that the forest he grew up near is beautiful. The water and sky are deep, beautiful blues, and the sun a warm, golden balm whenever the wind is still. The green blanket of conifers cast a cold shade, so Simon and Wilhelm stick as close to the lake as possible. Wilhelm’s bodyguards stay a polite distance away, giving Wilhelm and Simon a pretence of privacy.</p> <p>Wilhelm breaks the silence. “How are you doing?”</p> <p>Simon looks down at his sneakers, bright against the earthen path, and shrugs. “Fine. Marieberg students don’t give a fuck about rich people.” It’s not quite true — he’s been getting more stares than usual — but it’s not anything tangible.</p> <p>Wilhelm grimaces. “You say that, but some people would do anything for Instagram followers.”</p> <p>“It’s fine,” Simon says again. “The one time some second year guy tried to take a photo of me, a janitor found his phone two days later in one of the girls’ toilets.”</p> <p>“Wow. Girls are vicious.”</p> <p>“Rosh swears it wasn’t her, but I think she knows who it is and just isn’t telling me.”</p> <p>“Plausible deniability.”</p> <p>“Yup.”</p> <p>They lapse into silence again. Their footsteps rasp against the dirt, and the lake provides a soft, susurrous lull. Wilhelm stops, half a step ahead of him, in a cozy spot protected by a copse of trees, and turns towards Simon. He starts to sit.</p> <p>Simon catches his arm before he descends further. “Wait, it’s going to be wet there,” he says. He tugs Wilhelm to a sunny patch. “Here.”</p> <p>Wilhelm laughs sheepishly, and makes a show of patting the ground before sitting down. Legs crossed, back straight, he looks like the carefree boy Simon first got to know. The sun catches his hair, turning it to honey as he grins up at Simon.</p> <p>“Thanks for saving me from wet trousers.”</p> <p>“It was more for me,” Simon jokes. He finds his own spot on the forest ground across from Wilhelm, and bumps Wilhelm’s sneaker with his own. Wilhelm nudges him back.</p> <p>“Here,” Wilhelm says, pulling two sandwiches out of his bookbag. “This one’s for you.”</p> <p>“Thanks.” The sandwich Simon receives is neatly if hastily wrapped in a couple of napkins. He crumples the napkins and stuffs them into a jacket pocket, and takes a bite of the sandwich. It is surprisingly mediocre. Normal.</p> <p>He looks up and takes in the lake, calm and blue and still. Out here, it’s like nothing is real but the dirt and trees and Wilhelm beside him. They chat lazily, about Wilhelm’s awkward dorm-slash-classmates and Simon’s exuberant Swedish-slash-choir teacher.</p> <p>“Who’s that?” Simon says, pointing to a faraway speck on the lake.</p> <p>Wilhelm rolls his eyes. “That’s probably my cousin August.” The one Wilhelm doesn’t seem to like, Simon recalls. “Rowing is his entire personality.”</p> <p>“No wonder you’re not on the team. He’d have dragged you out there with him.”</p> <p>“Much nicer to relax and be here with you.” Wilhelm knocks his shoulder lightly into Simon’s. Simon leans into it, basks in its solidity and the comfort of this little patch of lakeside that’s all theirs.</p> <p>“Yeah.”</p> <hr> <h2>4.</h2> <p>Simon does not find out from Wilhelm, but from his classmates.</p> <p>“Prince Wilhelm can’t be gay. Who’s going to take the throne after him, that tryhard August?”</p> <p>Rosh turns around. “Shut the fuck up. No wonder you’re getting E’s if you believe anything in the tabloids.”</p> <p>The teacher walks in then, so Simon pulls out his phone under his desk. He googles Wilhelm — the top hit is a headline screaming <em><small>EXCLUSIVE</small>: Who is the Crown Prince’s boyfriend? Royal family in shock. Insider tells all.</em></p> <p><em>All</em> turns out to be very little: some anonymous source associated with the palace claims that Wilhelm has a boyfriend who, the article claims, attends Hillerska. (As if.) There are outraged quotes from a relative claiming to be close to the royal family, a so-called royal observer, and some shithead SD politician, all predicting the end of the monarchy. Simon screenshots the absurdest bits, scrolls past a video about Love Island Sweden, and reads: <em>The Royal Court has issued a statement that Prince Wilhelm is not in a relationship and is focusing on his studies. Although Prince Wilhelm is heterosexual, he is supportive of LGBT rights …</em></p> <p>Simon’s phone clatters to the floor.</p> <p>He barely hears the teacher say she’s confiscating his phone as he blurts out something about having to leave and rushes to the closest alcove.</p> <p>“Simon,” he hears Ayub say. There’s a rustle as Ayub sits down on the cold tile beside him.</p> <p>“He said he isn’t gay,” Simon mutters into his jeans.</p> <p>“It’s all speculation,” Ayub says. Simon swipes open his phone, where the the tabloid website is still open, and hands it to Ayub.</p> <p>Ayub scrolls through the article silently.</p> <p>“Shit,” he says.</p> <p>“Yeah.”</p> <p>Ayub returns the phone. “It’s a statement from the Court,” Ayub says, in a reassuring voice that isn’t making Simon feel any better. “Wilhelm didn’t say it himself.”</p> <p>“He might as well have,” Simon says with a scoff.</p> <p>“But you don’t know that,” Ayub says. “You should talk to him. Don’t jump to conclusions. Okay?”</p> <p>Simon sighs. “Fine.”</p> <hr> <p>Simon’s first call doesn’t go through. Neither does his second. He knows Wilhelm has a lunch break right now, but no one’s picking up. He gives up and texts Wilhelm, and throws his phone in his bag.</p> <p>“Fuck.”</p> <p>By the end of the day, Rosh has earned herself a detention. Sara has volunteering, and so it is just him and Ayub on the bus home. Ayub, thankfully, keeps the conversation to light topics — video games, UEFA standings, Hadid sisters — all the way until Simon’s stop.</p> <p>“See you tomorrow,” Simon says.</p> <p>“Just talk to him,” Ayub says. “See you.”</p> <p>Wilhelm finally calls back around eleven.</p> <p><em>“I’m sorry,”</em> is what Wilhelm opens with. His room is near-black, the shadows of his face lit wanly by fairy lights. <em>“I didn’t know about the statement until they told me.”</em></p> <p>Simon doesn’t really know what to say. He’s angry, but at the same time — “Are you okay?”</p> <p>On the tiny, poorly lit screen, Wilhelm shakes his head. A pair of knuckles comes into frame, hovering just out of range of Wilhelm’s mouth, like he wants to chew them but is trying his best not to.</p> <p>“Okay. Okay,” Simon says. “I’m — I guess I’m mad at your family, at the fucking tabloid rags. I promise, I’m not mad at you.”</p> <p><em>“I’m sorry,”</em> Wilhelm repeats.</p> <hr> <p>Wilhelm calls him on Friday night, saying he’s on a car to Stockholm and will meet him when he’s on his way back. Simon spends all weekend thinking of what he wants to say, of what he thinks Wilhelm might say. On Sunday morning, anxious and bleary, Simon asks his mom to take Sara out.</p> <p>When Simon opens the door, Wilhelm is dressed in a coat Simon’s never seen before. A bodyguard follows him in, and moves to close the curtains. He and Wilhelm are frozen in the entryway, Wilhelm with his coat still on, looking more out of place than he’s ever been.</p> <p>“Can we sit in the living room?” Wilhelm asks.</p> <p>Simon rolls his eyes. “So this is an official visit,” he says.</p> <p>Wilhelm turns to him. Icily, he says, “If this was an official visit, Minou would be here.”</p> <p>The bodyguard, whose name Simon still doesn’t know, remains at the door, a silent bystander.</p> <p>Wilhelm exhales loudly, running his hands through his hair until it’s a nest of messy strands. “That’s not what I planned to say. We have a plan —”</p> <p>“Who’s <em>we</em>?”</p> <p>Wilhelm’s gaze is implacable. “Minou, my mom. Me.”</p> <p>“So I don’t get a say?”</p> <p>“Could you just <em>listen</em>. We — my mom, Minou, and I — have a plan for when — if — I want to come out, but it’s a longterm plan. Sweden is not ready for me — <em>I’m</em> not ready for me — to come out yet.”</p> <p>Simon takes a deep breath. “I’m not asking you to come out. Okay? I respect your choices.” Simon looks straight at Wilhelm, and waits until he thinks Wilhelm believes him. “I respect how you feel about this,” he says. “But I don’t want this relationship to between me and all ten million people in Sweden.” He glances to the nameless bodyguard, still standing at the door. “I don’t want this relationship to be between me and your mom and the royal advisers. It has to be between me and you.”</p> <p>“That’s not possible,” Wilhelm says.</p> <p>“Wille,” he says, “all I need is for you to ask me things. I can’t find out things like this from the news. I’ve listened to all of your rules, all of the rules your staff gave. You have to respect me too.”</p> <p>“There’s a longterm plan —”</p> <p>“Then let me know the plan!” Simon exclaims. “Or do you think I’m not going to be around for the longterm?”</p> <p>Wilhelm stands there, saying nothing.</p> <p>“Leave. I don’t want to see you right now.”</p> <p>Wilhelm stares at him, red rims around his eyes. Simon turns away and shuts his eyes.</p> <p>An unbearable moment later, he hears two dreaded pairs of footsteps, and finally, the door clicking closed. He turns around, and stares at the closed curtains between him and Wilhelm. He locks the door.</p> <hr> <p>On Monday, the headlines change. <em><small>EXCLUSIVE</small>: Royal cousin in debt! The Royal Court says: we won’t intervene.</em></p> <p>Simon doesn’t think much of it at first, not until he and Rosh and Ayub are holed up in their stairwell eating lunch.</p> <p>“The royal family totally threw the Horns under the bus,” Rosh says.</p> <p>Simon takes a bite of his sandwich, as Ayub asks, “The who?”</p> <p>“The Horns. You know, the Queen’s dead cousin’s family. The widow, her new husband, and their son. Word is, the husband blew all their money on bad stocks.”</p> <p>“What does that have to do with the royal family?” Ayub asks. “They aren’t allowed to spend taxpayer money on some idiots who aren’t part of the royal family.”</p> <p>“They can’t,” Rosh says.</p> <p>Simon frowns. “The royal advisor came to visit me, remember?”</p> <p>“I think that’s like, still part of Wilhelm’s costs though,” Ayub says. “Not like handing over however many millions these cousins probably need.”</p> <p>“Only August is of royal blood, though he’s not part of the royal family,” Rosh points out.</p> <p>Simon makes a face at August’s name.</p> <p>Ayub takes a bite of his pizza. “You know him?”</p> <p>Simon makes a seesaw motion with his hand. “Not actually. But you know.”</p> <p>Rosh and Ayub both nod.</p> <p>Rosh puts her falafel down. “So there isn’t an official spare heir in the royal family right now, and there were rumours that the royal family might entitle August and confirm him as the spare. But if royal family leaked this story to the press…”</p> <p>“Come on,” Simon says. “It’s bad news for them. They’d want to bury it.”</p> <p>“The timing is too coincidental,” Rosh says. “They’d think it’s worth it if there’s worse news they’re burying — you know I don’t mean it that way Simme.”</p> <p>“That’s crazy,” Simon says. “Don’t they need a spare?</p> <p>“You’re the one who told us the royal family wanted to institutionalize Micke to get him out of the way,” Rosh retorts.</p> <p>Simon grimaces. “It’s not an institution, it’s a rehab.”</p> <p>Rosh doesn’t give in. “I’m just saying. They’d do anything to protect the crown prince right now. You should be careful.”</p> <p>Simon looks from Rosh’s stern face to Ayub’s more sympathetic one.</p> <p>“Don’t worry about it too much,” Ayub says. “He loves you right? Then he’ll fight for you.”</p> <p>“Maybe that won’t be enough,” Simon says.</p> <p>“Hey,” Rosh says. “If he doesn’t, I’ll kick his ass.”</p> <hr> <p>That night, Simon texts Wilhelm for the first time in thirty-eight hours.</p> <p><em>I’m still here if you want to talk.</em></p> <p>Moments later, Simon sees a read indicator. There’s nothing else even as seconds turn into minutes. He sighs, dropping his phone onto his bed, and buries his face in a pillow. All he can think of is everything he should have said yesterday. He gets up, and tries to distract himself with homework.</p> <p>There’s a soft knock on his door. Thinking it’s his mom, he doesn’t bother saying anything.</p> <p>“Hey,” comes Wilhelm’s soft, quiet voice. Simon spins so hard in his chair its back hits his desk.</p> <p>“Sorry,” Wilhelm says. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”</p> <p>“No don’t be — sit down.”</p> <p>“I have to say this first,” Wilhelm says. His arms are wrapped around each other, his fingers tugging at the cloth of his hoodie in the yellow fluorescent light. “I don’t want us to fight.”</p> <p>It hurts to see Wilhelm so unsure of himself, so lost. Simon takes a step up and forward, wrapping his arms around Wilhelm, pulling Wilhelm and his elbows up against Simon’s chest.</p> <p>Wilhelm presses his face into Simon’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to fight with you. There’s just so many things that you don’t see about being who I am. That I don’t really want you to have to see.”</p> <p>“I didn’t want to fight with you either,” Simon says. He’s torn between soothing Wilhelm with his hands and holding Wilhelm tighter. “I know there’s things we don’t talk about. But I <em>want</em> to talk about them with you. I’m not — I’m serious about you, you know.”</p> <p>Into Simon’s shoulder, Wilhelm says, “I do. I am, too.”</p> <p>“<em>Can</em> we talk about it?” Simon asks.</p> <p>A nose digs into Simon’s clavicle in an affirmative.</p> <p>“Okay.” Simon thinks about what he wants to say. “Are you okay?”</p> <p>Silently, Wilhelm drags the two of them to Simon’s bed. He makes a pile out of the pillows, and pulls Simon into it to sit beside him. Only then does Wilhelm speak.</p> <p>“I don’t know if I’m okay,” Wilhelm says. “I don’t like that you’re angry. My family tells me that everything’s taken care of, that no one believes the tabloids, but it doesn’t feel that way.”</p> <p>“You were still outed,” Simon says. “You can be upset about it.”</p> <p>Wilhelm shakes his head. “They didn’t tell me about the denial until it was already released,” he says, suddenly.</p> <p>“And I jumped to conclusions,” Simon adds.</p> <p>Wilhelm stares at his lap, where he’s wrangling his fingers into a knot. “I don’t blame you for assuming. I never tell you about that part of my life.” Wilhelm says. He sits up straighter, looks at Simon. “Minou has to run statements by me from now on,” he declares.</p> <p>“And will she?”</p> <p>“She’s part of my household now, not my mom’s, so technically, yes,” Wilhelm explains. He slouches again, eyes back on the shadowed floor. “I don’t — I don’t disagree with what she did. But I wish I could have told you before it was going to happen.”</p> <p>“Do they know who told the papers?” asks Simon.</p> <p>Wilhelm exhales. “You really can’t tell anyone this, okay? This might actually be worse than me dating you getting out.”</p> <p>Simon hates that their relationship is something negative, to Wilhelm’s family, but he understands Wilhelm’s meaning. “It’s that bad?”</p> <p>“August was the one who leaked it,” Wilhelm says with a bleak exhale. “He actually knows about you, too, not your name but he’s seen you around and knows you go to Marieberg. It would have been enough for the tabloids to find you. He was holding onto that info for more money, but Minou got to him first and made him sign an NDA in exchange for hush money.”</p> <p>A few pieces connect in Simon’s mind. “That’s what happened? Is that why the palace leaked that his family was bankrupt?”</p> <p>Wilhelm’s hands reach up to run through his bangs. “No, that wasn’t us. The tabloids had been sitting on the story for a while; the Royal Court simply stopped protecting his family. I don’t think my mom would have allowed it if August hadn’t leaked information first, but I haven’t asked.”</p> <p>“And your mom thinks he’s going to stay silent?”</p> <p>Wilhelm laughs, and it sounds utterly hollow. “We’re giving him enough money to finish at Hillerska, and then an Ivy League school to keep him out of the way. It’ll be paid out over the next four and a half years. He and his family won’t do anything.”</p> <p>“Wow. That’s shitty.”</p> <p>“It is,” Wilhelm says. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to date me any more.”</p> <p>“You know Minou already gave me the shovel talk weeks ago,” Simon says, trying for a hint of levity.</p> <p>Wilhelm shakes his head. “But now you’re seeing what actually happens. This is what it’s like, all the time.”</p> <p>Simon quietly gathers Wilhelm’s hands into his, and gathers the words he wants to say. “I know it might be hard, and I know it might not always be what i want, but I want to try. With you. As long as you’re willing to try with me.”</p> <p>Wilhelm leans his weight into Simon’s and rests his head on Simon’s shoulder. “I will. I’ll try.”</p> <hr> <p>In the blink of an eye, the days get longer. The tabloid rumours dissipate. Hillerska students have started greeting him by name, the few times he’s been there since. Even August, that asshole, has said hi to him, although he left as soon as Wilhelm’s bodyguard Malin approached.</p> <p>Slowly, it becomes the two of them again.</p> <p>“Hey,” Simon says. “So you’re staying overnight this time?” It’s so easy to sink back into the way they were in Simon’s room, so that’s where they keep finding themselves.</p> <p>“Yup!” Wilhelm chirrups, wiggling into place beside Simon in his bed. “So you better get ready for me to beat you.”</p> <p>Simon laughs, retorting, “I’ll believe it when I see it.” Then, “Wait! That’s my controller! Use your own!”</p> <p>“I’m evening out the playing field,” Wilhelm says, sparking golden in the spring light.</p> <p>“Your controller is <em>shit</em> — hey, that’s cheating!”</p> <p>The controllers fall to the floor as Simon hits Wilhelm with a pillow and Wilhelm grabs his own, and before long they’re a tangle of bedsheets and pillows with Wilhelm flat on the bed.</p> <p>“Hey,” Simon says, kneeling over Wilhelm.</p> <p>“Help me up?”</p> <p>Simon extends a hand to Wilhelm, who pulls it and tugs Simon down into the mess of bedding. They jostle and tumble until Wilhelm’s lying on top of Simon, a heavy, steady weight.</p> <p>“I like it here,” Wilhelm says into Simon’s shoulder. “I’m going to sleep now.”</p> <p>So Simon encircles Wilhelm with his arms and duvet, and Wilhelm tucks his legs against Simon’s, and like breathing, they fall asleep.</p> 2022-02-13T00:00:00Z https://rikkai.club/fic/meringue/ <p>Reki flies to Canada as soon as his university exams end and Langa’s winter term break starts. It’s a fifteen-hour flight with a three-hour stopover, and when he finally reaches arrivals and spots Langa, he runs.</p> <p>“Langa!” he yells, leaping onto the blue-haired boy.</p> <p>Langa catches him and spins him in the air. “Reki!”</p> <p>Reki loosens his legs and alights on the ground, arms staying looped around Langa’s neck. Langa has impossibly grown a bit taller since Reki last saw him two months ago, when Langa returned to Okinawa for Christmas.</p> <p>“I haven’t seen you in so long,” Reki says. “It’s not been the same skating without you.”</p> <p>“Same,” Langa says.</p> <p>Langa leads him outside, and the cold hits him immediately. When Reki thinks of Canada and winter, he always thinks of snow, but it’s is still, somehow, not cold enough for snow.</p> <p>Night has already fallen, and it’s two metro lines and a bus to get to where Langa is staying. Langa starts their journey by eagerly sharing their plans for the week, but by the time they’re on the bus Langa’s predictably falling asleep. Langa jolts awake just in time for their stop, a skill that never stops impressing Reki.</p> <p>It’s a short walk in a nice suburban neighbourhood before they reach the house, a family friend’s home where Langa lives as a homestay. “This is pretty nice,” Reki says as he takes in the modern design in the streetlight. “And it’s on a hill!”</p> <p>“Yeah, it’s pretty fun to skate down,” Langa replies. “I’ll have to show you the spots around here.”</p> <p>He introduces Reki to his homestay parents, a middle-aged Okinawan couple. Langa seems happy and settled around them, and it eases a worry Reki didn’t realize he had. By the end of dinner, Reki’s nodding off, even though he has so much more he wants to talk about with Langa. He falls asleep as soon as he touches the futon in Langa’s room.</p> <p align="center">*</p> <p>Langa spends the weekend showing him the touristy sights. They skate around the waterfront, leaping off landings and sliding down rails, sailing past blue water and deep green hills through the chilly wind. Reki’s glad he bought a winter jacket.</p> <p>Monday, they have to wake up at five a.m. to go snowboarding, because Reki promised to see Langa snowboard months and months ago. Reki can’t wait. He’s been awake since three, so at four fifty-five he jumps onto Langa’s bed and shakes him awake.</p> <p>They take a bus up, Langa falling asleep on Reki yet again. Reki is too jet-lagged to sleep, and stares out the window into the twilight. As the sun rises, it slowly reveals the winding coastline, casting a golden light upon endless slopes of evergreen. Two hours later, Langa wakes up when the bus turns into a bustling alpine village.</p> <p>The cold hits Reki as soon as he follows Langa off the bus. “Langa, I’m going to become a popsicle.”</p> <p>“Do you want my spare hat?”</p> <p>“<em>Please</em>,” Reki begs.</p> <p>Langa hands him a knitted hat, which Reki replaces his sweatband with immediately. Reki tucks the sweatband into one of his jacket’s many pockets. Langa, on the other hand, looks perfectly at home in the winter cold, loose hair complementing his robin blue jacket. Langa’s gear comes out of the cargo hold, and they’re off.</p> <p>Their first stop is a rental shop, where Langa looks on as one of the staff fit Reki with a snowboard. Reki pays, though Langa gets him some sort of student discount because he’s in some club at his university.</p> <p>Once they’re outside, Langa gets him practicing gliding with one foot strapped onto the board. Reki now understands why Langa was so weirded out by skateboards initially, because Reki keeps expecting his foot on the board to be adjustable and movable and it’s not. He also tries to propel with his free foot like on a skateboard, but his front foot is at too awkward an angle and the flat snow eats any momentum.</p> <p>“Stop laughing,” Reki exclaims.</p> <p>“I’m not!” Langa says, obviously trying to hold in a spate of giggles.</p> <p>Eventually, Reki’s able to move in a straight line for a few metres without his arms pinwheeling in the air, so Langa deems him ready for the next challenge: getting on a chairlift.</p> <p>Reki’s eyes follow the precarious cables and high towers up the mountain. “And when they tell me to enter, I have to be at the correct spot within sixty seconds?”</p> <p>“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Langa says. “They can stop the lift.”</p> <p>That is not as reassuring as Langa thinks. Reki manages to shuffle to the lift without any issue, though it’s uncanny feeling the metal seat scoop him up. Then they’re rising through the air, watching tiny specks cut through the snow below them. Getting off the lift is another chaotic scramble where Langa has to pull him out of the disembarkation zone.</p> <p>Reki is panting and he hasn’t even snowboarded yet.</p> <p>Langa leads them to an open space on a long, wide slope for beginners. It takes a few tries for Reki to manage to put his right foot into the remaining foothold, and when he leans down to tighten the straps he ends up on his back. Langa laughs, but crouches down beside him and assists with the straps.</p> <p>Then Langa lets Reki try to get up by himself. Key word: <em>try</em>. The first time, Reki overbalances and falls forward into the snow. The next few times, he doesn’t get up far enough, and lands on his ass. Reki thought snow would be soft. It’s not.</p> <p>“Want help?” Langa says, offering his hand with a grin.</p> <p>“Fine,” Reki grouses. He reaches out, grabbing Langa’s hands and pulling until he’s upright, face a breath from Langa’s.</p> <p>Langa loosens his hold, but keeps Reki’s hands in his. “Keep your board horizontal. Tilt it forward if you want to go faster, and bring it back up if you want to slow down.”</p> <p>He lets Reki try a few times, inching backwards down the slope as Reki inches forward.</p> <p>“Got it?” Langa asks.</p> <p>Reki lets go of Langa’s hands. “Got it.”</p> <p>Langa’s lips quirk up. “Don’t go too fast at first, ’kay?”</p> <p>Reki makes a face. <em>Langa</em> telling someone not to go too fast.</p> <p>Langa shifts out of the way, and the slope stretches out in front of Reki. It looks longer and steeper than any beginner’s course Reki’s seen in the videos he looked up before this. It’s the type of slope he’d skate down without thinking, but it’s just a little intimidating when he’s in gear that feels off in the tiniest ways.</p> <p>Reki pitches his board and starts moving downhill. As he starts to gain confidence, he leans in a bit more, and then he’s going way faster than he thought he would be. He tries to pull the board back, only to tumble and slide another metre down on his ass.</p> <p>“Help,” Reki yells back up the hill where Langa is standing.</p> <p>Langa jumps, knees lifting as his body turns. He lands with his board straight down the slope and quickly gains speed as he approaches Reki. Just when Reki thinks Langa’s about to barrel right past him, Langa twists and carves a sharp corner. He brakes right in front of Reki, sending up a plume of snow over the two of them.</p> <p>With a snap, Langa pulls up his ski goggles up, uncovering his aquamarine eyes. “Having fun?”</p> <p>Reki grins up at Langa. “Of course!”</p> <p>Langa pulls Reki up and brushes the snow off Reki’s hat. He follows Reki closer this time, giving Reki tips as Reki slides down the slope in tiny increments. Eventually, Reki starts to find his groove, angling his board to zigzag across the course. Langa encourages him to try turning, but that involves going backwards downhill and Reki isn’t quite ready for that. Instead, when Reki reaches the edge of the course, he slows to a stop and makes a small hop before starting towards the other side in switch.</p> <p>Reki falls less and less and goes faster and faster, and by the end he’s only falling on purpose when he can’t brake in time to dodge a kid. He’s way too used to being able to just hop off his board. They come to a stop at the end of the hill, Langa braking in a graceful curve and Reki with a stop-turned-tumble.</p> <p>“Wanna try something harder?” Langa asks.</p> <p>Reki says, in a smug tone, “I’m that good already, right?” He doesn’t bother brushing the snow off his sleeve.</p> <p>“Sure,” Langa says with a laugh. “But really, there’s going to be more space and less people up there.”</p> <p>Reki agrees, so they both unstrap a foot — Langa’s left and Reki’s right — and make their way to the line for the chairlift. This time, Reki finds it easier to propel himself one-footed through the line, even if the board still feels oddly large and attached. The ride is longer this time, and Langa spends it explaining the colour coding system for ski runs.</p> <p>When the chairlift pauses and leaves them suspended a few stories above the ground, Reki loses his nerve. “Is something wrong?”</p> <p>“No, this happens all the time,” Langa says.</p> <p>“And you just sit here?” Reki gesticulates as he says this, causing their chair to sway in midair. He clutches onto the safety bar.</p> <p>“This isn’t any more dangerous than S,” Langa says.</p> <p>“Yeah, and you nearly gave me a heart attack several times.”</p> <p>The lift manages to stop twice while they’re on it, and Reki is glad when they’re back on solid ground. Langa is right about the different course, which he tells Reki is a green run. It’s longer and narrower, and sometimes there’s no one in sight but the two of them and metres of trees. Reki experiments with different angles and curves and Langa mirrors him, weaving around and beside each other. It’s just like skating through the streets of Okinawa with Langa.</p> <p>Reki still hasn’t figured out how to brake like Langa does by the time they reach the end of the run, but it’s close to lunch and both of them agree to a break. Langa takes him to a building that, inside, looks like a wooden ski lodge straight out of a movie, if said lodge had a cafeteria that could feed a few hundred people. Or one Langa.</p> <p>Langa orders several burgers and a large plate of poutine. Reki gets two burgers — bison, because he wanted to try it, and regular beef — and regular fries. They take their trays and manage to find a free table up in the loft.</p> <p>“You have to try this poutine,” Langa says.</p> <p>“I’ve had poutine before,” Reki says. “You made me eat some the first time we went to A&amp;W together.”</p> <p>“That’s because most of the stuff in Okinawa called poutine doesn’t even have gravy, never mind cheese curds,” Langa says. “This stuff is better than A&amp;W.”</p> <p>Reki tries some. He can’t tell the difference, but it’s fried and fatty so he won’t say no.</p> <p>“I’ll take you to <em>La Belle Patate</em> sometime this week,” Langa says. “That’s the best poutine place unless you want to visit Québec with me.”</p> <p>It’s kind of rude to bring up money, but Reki is surprised that Langa could afford to travel, considering he already returned to Okinawa a few months ago. “Isn’t university here expensive?”</p> <p>“I’m a domestic student,” Langa explains. “It’s about the same for me as in Japan, and there’s no entrance fee here. Also, my parents had set up an, um.” Langa struggles a bit to translate. “It’s a bank account, government thing, for my education. And I might qualify for a scholarship next year.”</p> <p>“Right,” Reki says, “I heard that you were getting recruited for the national team.”</p> <p>Langa says into his soda, “Skateboarding or snowboarding?”</p> <p>“Both of them?!”</p> <p>“And the Canadian team too, for snowboarding,” Langa says. “Although I don’t think I would make the cut. It’s way more competitive; I’ve seen some of the guys on the team around. I also met a few of the guys trying out for the Canadian skateboarding team after I sent you and Miya the videos, but the timing is —” Langa makes a see-saw motion with a hand.</p> <p>Reki reaches out, holds the hand still, and looks straight into Langa’s eyes. “You can do it.”</p> <p>Langa looks bashful. “Thanks,” he says. “It’s a fun thing for me, I guess, and I’m not sure how fun it’ll be with so many rules.” Reki nods his head in understanding. “Still,” Langa says, “I’d prefer a scholarship to finding a new part-time job.”</p> <p>“Oka says you can come back for the summer,” Reki replies. Oka had suggested it after constantly finding Reki watching videos of Langa sent of him skating in Canada.</p> <p>The corners of Langa’s mouth lift up. “Tell him I will.”</p> <p>After their lunch, Reki insists on Langa showing him his snowboarding skills. There’s a half-pipe on the mountain, and Reki wants to see Langa on it.</p> <p>They make their way up a few lifts and to the top of the half-pipe. Langa finds a spot on the side, straps into his snowboard, and drops in. He starts by weaving back and forth, gaining speed. Soon, he’s lifting up at the lip of the pipe, hanging in the air before rushing back down. He builds up more and more air, into method grabs and three-sixties and McTwists. It’s astounding, to watch Langa fly into the air, body revolving suspended in space and time, hair glittering in the alpine sun.</p> <p>Langa reaches the end of the pipe, and a spell lifts from Reki. Langa has to trek back up the pipe from the side, but when he returns to the top he’s still glowing, his cheeks flushed and his eyes sparkling.</p> <p>“You were amazing,” Reki gushes.</p> <p>“Really?”</p> <p>“Of course you were,” Reki says. “That was a warm-up, right?” Langa nods. “C’mon, I wanna see you for real.”</p> <p>Langa agrees easily to a few more runs down the half-pipe, going higher and harder each time. Reki wants so badly to join him, be beside him.</p> <p>“There’s a terrain park here,” Langa says, somehow noticing Reki’s unvoiced yearning. “You’d like it.”</p> <p>Reki thinks Langa might be being overconfident about Reki’s skills after half a day of snowboarding, but when they get there, it’s actually not too bad. The slope is less steep than the bunny hill they were on in the morning, and the rails and ramps look familiar.</p> <p>Reki sticks to the boring side as he trails Langa down the hill, watching him doing basic indys and 180s and boardslides. Then Langa turns and grins at him, and Reki can’t help but be caught up in his exhilaration. Reki veers left, straightening before he’s on one of the small ramps and up in the air. For a brief second, he’s flying in the air, then his board hits the snow and his feet slide out from under him.</p> <p>“I’m fine!” Reki shouts. He sits up and pulls his goggles back into position.</p> <p>Langa is in front of him, hand extended to pull him up. “Next time, shift your weight towards your toes when you’re landing.”</p> <p>It takes Reki a few more ramps to figure it out, and when he does, he’s so excited he snowboards right into Langa and takes him down into the snow.</p> <p>“You did it!”</p> <p>“I did it!”</p> <p>Reki sticks to the ramps and doesn’t try any of the rails or pipes, but they do another couple runs down the terrain park before it starts getting dark and the chair lifts start shutting down. They make their way back to the rental shop, where Reki returns his gear with a grin on his face that stays there through the bus ride back until he falls asleep on Langa.</p> <p>Langa wakes him up when they reach their transfer stop. Langa drops his gear off at a friend’s, and they have dinner at the poutine place as promised. Reki’s still not sold on poutine, but the smoked ham <em>is</em> pretty good.</p> <p>“Did I ever tell you you’re amazing?”</p> <p>Langa lights up. “You are too.”</p> <p>Langa takes him to get hot chocolate afterwards, and there’s a heart drawn in foam on top of both of their drinks. Reki snaps a photo to share on Line.</p> <p>“Um,” Langa says. “The barista thinks we’re on a date.”</p> <p>Reki’s finger freezes on top of the send button. He tries for a laugh. “That’s pretty funny?”</p> <p>“ I don’t mind,” Langa says. “If you don’t mind.”</p> <p>Reki’s brain screeches to a halt. “I don’t. I don’t mind.” Reki can’t say he’s thought about it before, but he <em>really</em> doesn’t mind. Langa’s his best friend and he spends all of his time with Langa anyway. Or chatting with him, now that Langa’s studying overseas.</p> <p>“Yeah?” And Langa’s smiling at him, head tilted in that way he does right before he asks Reki to do something a little stupid and a lot daring with him.</p> <p>Reki grins. “Yeah. Of course.”</p> 2021-08-19T00:00:00Z https://rikkai.club/fic/do-agents-dream/chapter-2/ <p><strong>SILICON ROUNDABOUT</strong><br> <strong>Friday, 18:55</strong></p> <p>M did not seem to think a backdoor to one of the Big Five of tech adequate penance, for two weeks later he orders Q to the very neighbourhood Q once swore to never again step foot in. An outfit Six has been tracking for months has resurfaced as a venture capital firm in Shoreditch’s tech scene, and none of their agents have the right background to quickly gain an in. None as quickly as Q.</p> <p>As soon as Q mentions to any relevant acquaintance that he is finally willing to visit Shoreditch, every single one showers him with invitations from sold-out events to VIP lunches. Q turns down the more unbearable ones, and agrees to Mat Hoyle’s offer of a popular pitch night. Hoyle and Q had run in the same circles during their times in Silicon Valley and Q found him slightly tolerable for a compulsive networker. More importantly, Hoyle is now in venture capital.</p> <p>Thus tonight, Q finds himself in a renovated warehouse, compelled to socialize with the entrepreneurial masses. A list of talking points resides in his head and a piece is nestled in his ear disguised as a Bluetooth headset. Q is doomed to become a Silicon Roundabout stereotype. He waits for Hoyle by a column in the steadily filling lounge and pretends to sip subpar craft beer.</p> <p>Hoyle finds him first. Years and an ocean ago, Hoyle had always worn the Valley uniform: a Patagonia vest over a startup t-shirt <em>du jour</em> and oversized jeans. Now he’s in a smart shirt and pressed trousers.</p> <p>“Chris! I am so glad to see you here,” Hoyle says. He claps Q’s back with enthusiasm and Q struggles not to spill his full bottle of beer. “How are you?” Q opens his mouth to reply, but Hoyle keeps talking. “You have to meet Spencer — Spencer!” he shouts across the room, waving, and a man in a crisp shirt and jeans makes his way past a few groups of people to reach them. Hoyle does introductions. “Spencer, this is Chris Penrose; you must have heard of him. Chris, this is Spencer. He’s the founder of InnoLabs and he knows <em>everyone</em>.”</p> <p>Spencer Rhys, aspiring kingpin of London’s Tech City, reaches out for a firm handshake. Q returns it. “Our most famous recluse!” Rhys booms, bouncing on his feet. “Mat’s mentioned you before. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you — the man, the myth, the mystery!”</p> <p><em>“This man is respected in the startup scene?”</em> R asks in his ear. <em>“No wonder you stick to Home.”</em></p> <p>Q manages to keep a straight face. “Busy hacking,” he says dryly. He means it, but it’s also the way tech entrepreneurs proclaim they are building yet another dime-a-dozen app. “You know how it is.”</p> <p>“Of course, of course,” Rhys says. “Stealth-mode startup, can’t talk about it.” Rhys waggles his eyebrows. Once again Q thanks startup founder paranoia for his go-to excuse. Rhys continues, “Are you looking for investors then?”</p> <p>Q quirks his lips; the one thing SIS doesn’t lack is funding. “We’re covered,” he says with a smug quirk of his lips.</p> <p>Hoyle puts an arm around Q’s shoulder as if Q was his shy younger brother. “Chris here was an early employee at Vidtube.”</p> <p>“<em>Vidtube!</em>” Rhys exclaims, nearly spilling his drink. “Have you thought about being an angel investor? Our Demo Day is coming up soon.” Q can tell what Rhys means is: you must be rich and my incubator needs another investor with more money than sense.</p> <p>“I prefer to stay on the operational side of things,” Q says with an affected shrug. “I’d rather leave investing to the people who have the time.”</p> <p>Thankfully, they barely have time to exchange more small talk before Rhys is called away by someone else wanting to make introductions.</p> <p>Hoyle turns his attention to Q, and gives him an unnerving stare. “You never told me you knew Nathan Barley.” He has the casual tone of someone who’s been waiting the past fortnight to ask, but didn’t want to seem too invested by committing his query to email.</p> <p>Q deploys the neutral tone he’s been practicing all week. “We’re acquainted,” he says.</p> <p>Hoyle laughs as if Q’s said a witty joke. “Bleeding-edge video tech out of London? Should have known it was you, but everyone thought you went to America directly out of uni.”</p> <p>“I did,” Q says, casual and final. He wants to end this line of conversation now.</p> <p>Hoyle isn’t deterred. “I’ve always wondered, what happened to the missing <code>trashbat.co.ck</code> videos? There was a bounty for retrieving them when I was at Oxford; I spent a summer trying with no luck.”</p> <p><em>“Envy would like it noted that anyone good would have realized they were ‘gone gone’ within five hours,”</em> R says. (The fact that Envy — Niko — of all people had a look when it happened makes Q want to grimace. Niko’s good, though, if not as good as Q, and Niko found nothing.)</p> <p>Q tries to focus on the mission. With measured nonchalance he says to Hoyle, “I wouldn’t know for sure, of course, but with these things it’s always a faulty disk or an electrical short.”</p> <p>Hoyle tsks in disappointment. “Perhaps it’s for the best. Nathan Barley said recently that he was freed by having to start again from scratch.” He adds, proudly, “I’ve been telling my founders that.”</p> <p>Q wonders if he should pity Hoyle’s portfolio companies, but it’s a good opening to steer this conversation back to the script. “Are you still at Rhydon Capital?”</p> <p>Hoyle puffs up. “Made junior partner last year.”</p> <p>“I heard the market was getting more competitive,” Q continues, prodding. “Too much money floating around, nothing like it was in our day.” It’s a basic restatement of Hoyle’s most recent Medium thinkpiece — Q couldn’t care less.</p> <p>Hoyle lights up. “I know!” he exlaims. “Some founders think they’re hot shit and want to dictate all of their terms, as if they’re any different from the hundred other founders I’ve met that same day. But now PB goes around writing cheques to any Tom, Dick, or Harry that can put a few buzzwords in a slide deck.”</p> <p>“PB?” Q queries, as if he does not have terabytes of data on them back at Six.</p> <p>Hoyle leans in and lowers his voice. “The PB Fund,” he relates in a gossipy tone. “Came out of nowhere throwing money around like it’s candy. No one knows any of their partners and their principals are all straight out of B-school. It’s abhorrent.”</p> <p>Q makes a noise of false sympathy. “No operating experience?”</p> <p>“<em>None</em>,” Hoyle agrees. “And their deals don’t make any sense. It’s like they don’t care about making money at all. Terrible to deal with. I try to drop out of funding rounds if they get involved but it’s not always possible.”</p> <p>Q hums. “I know a good forensic accountant.”</p> <p>Hoyle expresses interest, so Q puts down his untouched beer, and removes a metal card case from his pocket that doubles as a lockpick set. He presses the more benign hatch and the case springs open to reveal a stack of assorted business cards. Q thumbs through a few and slips out the plainest one, containing 007’s latest alias.</p> <p>Hoyle takes out his phone and shows off an app — one of his portfolio companies’ — that reads the card and creates a contact. He hands the card back to Q.</p> <p>Job done, Q lets the discussion fade into catching up on Hoyle’s latest investments and their mutual acquaintances still in America, until one of his founders calls Hoyle away for introductions.</p> <p><em>“Do you think Hoyle knows any more about the target?”</em> R asks.</p> <p>Taking out his customized mission phone, Q types a quick <em>no</em>. He adds, <em>maybe his senior partners do</em>, but that’s up to 007 to discover.</p> <p>Q begins to mingle, and is finally settling into a sense of safety when R’s voice returns to his ear. <em>“Nathan Barley at your five o’clock.”</em></p> <p>Q takes one last moment to exhale deeply.</p> <p>“Who’re you texting?” Nathan Barley says, popping up in front of Q. With no sense of decorum, Nathan leans into Q’s personal space to look at Q’s screen.</p> <p>Q has to hold back his instinct to jump away. “No one,” he says. He suppresses his instinct to hide the screen wholly and suspiciously, as it’s designed to look like a vanilla Android texting app and Q has been careful.</p> <p>Nathan continues undeterred. “A girlfriend?”</p> <p>R, who knows too well Q’s complete disinterest in <em>girlfriends</em>, chokes back a laugh.</p> <p>Nathan’s presence makes every single aspirant and hanger-on in the room flock to them. Q is unable to escape through the ring of people, not when Nathan is so insistent about filling him in on his latest media startup exploits and Spencer Rhys has returned to capitalize on Nathan Barley’s name.</p> <p>“You <em>must</em> come by InnoLabs to give our startups a talk,” Rhys is saying. “PB Fund is interested in investing, and we want to prepare our startups the best we can for Demo Day and fundraising after that.”</p> <p><em>Oh fuck,</em> Q thinks.</p> <p>“<em>Get yourself an invite,</em>” R orders in a rush, as if Q were a complete newb.</p> <p>“I haven’t heard you give a talk before,” Q says to Nathan, going for a curious lilt. It’s blatantly transparent and possibly false, depending on how one classified <code>trashbat.co.ck</code> videos and Nathan’s speeches for or about Claire Ashcroft. Nathan, of course, falls for it.</p> <p>“Of course I’ll give your startups a talk, it’ll be well ice,” Nathan says to Rhys, before turning to Q. He puts both hands on Q and it takes everything Q has not to flip him to the concrete ground. “You gotta come, promise.”</p> <p>“Sure,” Q says, and manages to make himself smile instead of scowl.</p> <hr> <p><strong>SOMEWHERE IN LONDON</strong><br> <strong>Saturday, 07:30</strong></p> <p>His living room is still dim and shrouded by curtains when Q hears a smooth, “Hello, Q.”</p> <p>He slams at the light switch. “Christ, Bond!”</p> <p>In a black v-neck cardigan and tailored grey chinos, Bond fits in better with the orange fabric of Q’s retro lounge chair than Q himself. Bond is perfectly at ease reaching down to pet Kirk, currently rubbing orange fur all over his trousers. Spock is nowhere to be seen, likely sleeping. Q envies him right now.</p> <p>Q, feeling exposed in his pyjamas, crosses his arms. “I suppose a gadget as simple as a doorbell is beyond you.”</p> <p>“Perhaps if I had incentive,” Bond replies. His tone and face are studiously neutral, but Q knows exactly how Bond operates.</p> <p>“No,” Q declares. He retreats to the kitchen and busies himself fishing out two mugs, a teapot, and a Whittard’s tin from his cabinets. Bond is unnervingly silent, and only as the electric kettle starts to burble does he speak again.</p> <p>“Last night was illuminating,” Bond says.</p> <p>Startled, the spoon Q was holding drops with a clink into a mug. He spins around. “You were listening in?”</p> <p>“It <em>is</em> my assignment,” Bond replies. “You hide the fact you’re a startup millionaire fairly well.”</p> <p>“Hid,” Q grumbles, trying to fade into the kitchen counter.</p> <p>Bond’s mouth twitches. “Not yet. I tried looking up your former name — Chris Penrose — but it returned precious little.”</p> <p>“Good,” Q says with virulent vindication.</p> <p>The kettle whistles. Q pours its water into the teapot, and Bond lets him pretend to measure sugar and milk while it steeps.</p> <p>Three minutes later, Q has run out of polite excuses. He hands a mug to Bond and sits in the matching chair.</p> <p>Bond takes a polite sip and places the mug on the side table. “Why didn’t you stay in industry when you returned to London?”</p> <p>Q scoffs into his tea. “If I wanted to be a rich immoral arsehole with a trophy husband I’d just have stayed in the Valley; I wouldn’t have bothered moving back. But the former Q wanted me quite badly.”</p> <p>“Ah,” Bond says. “You didn’t like industry.”</p> <p>Instead of responding, Q tries to drink his tea. It’s still much too hot, and he has to hold back a sputter. Bond simply looks on, and his eyes sparkle with what is probably amusement. Q lowers his tea to his lap in defeat.</p> <p>“How did you get from online video to cybersecurity?” Bond asks. “I may be ancient according to you, but I do know they’re not the same.”</p> <p>“It was more the other way around,” Q says. “Video protocols were a detour.”</p> <p>Kirk, satisfied with his redecoration of Bond’s shins, jumps into Bond’s lap and nuzzles into Bond’s arm. Bond indulges him with a few scratch behind the ears.</p> <p>“You once told me you had a mortgage,” Bond remarks idly. “I can’t believe you lied to me, Q.”</p> <p>“Interest rates are at a historic low and there are better uses of my money than letting it be locked up in a flat,” Q replies.</p> <p>Bond looks amused. “Here I thought you were a secret anarcho-communist and you turn out to be a tech millionaire libertarian.”</p> <p>Q raises an haughty eyebrow. “I’m a SIS department head, the definition of authoritarianism — and, no thanks to your equipment losses, government largesse. Additionally, I pay my full share of taxes unlike some people I could name. Call me a libertarian again and you will mysteriously lose your non-dom status.”</p> <p>“I don’t live here three quarters of the year.”</p> <p>Q sniffs. “But we’re civil partners, that’s impossible. Or so the HMRC will say.”</p> <p>“I could divorce you,” Bond says. A hint of amusement flickers across his lips.</p> <p>“And I could get rid of the non-domicile loophole,” Q retorts. “It’s so easy to manufacture a grassroots campaign nowadays.”</p> <p>“Please do,” Bond says. “I’m not allowed to go after Ben Goldsmith myself.”</p> <p>Q harrumphs.</p> <hr> <p><strong>PARSONS GREEN</strong><br> <strong>Saturday, 08:07</strong></p> <p>Bond, who apparently does possess some manners, offers to treat Q to breakfast in return for the morning harassment and tea. It doesn’t prevent a moue of disapproval from appearing when Q orders beetroot and turmeric juice.</p> <p>“You don’t have to convince me you consume those awful health drinks,” Bond says. “I know you prefer tea.”</p> <p>Q rolls his eyes. “I can like more than one thing, Bond. I don’t know how you’ve survived this long subsisting wholly on caffeine, alcohol, and red meat.”</p> <p>“Surely I am more sophisticated than that,” Bond says.</p> <p>A barista calls Bond’s double espresso. Q coughs.</p> <p>Although it’s far from Q’s first time at this café, he’s halfway followed Bond to a table in the back before he remembers to be indignant about Bond’s presumption. Bond, as usual, sits against the wall, and Q makes do with the aisle seat. It’s not long before the dark wood of their table is decorated by large plates of food.</p> <p>Bond cuts into his poached egg and dips a bit of toast into it. “Tell me about him.”</p> <p>“Who?” Q asks, as it is eight in the morning and his brain is not yet online. Despite the government job schedule, his circadian rhythm is still very much a hacker’s. He probably should have ordered a chai latte.</p> <p>“Barley,” Bond says.</p> <p>“Shh,” Q vocalizes a bit too loudly. The table next to theirs turns around and stares. Bond gives them a look that’s just pleasant enough to be polite, and they turn back to their breakfast. Q, on the other hand, gets an unimpressed look.</p> <p>“You’ve seen his — résumé,” Q hedges, as they are in public.</p> <p>Bond shifts, infinitesimally, and into the role of an executive or investor discussing a hire or prospect. “Who a person is on paper is very different from who they are in reality.”</p> <p>Q takes a bite of his rusticata. “He’s a — personality,” Q says, trying to sound professional now that this is a fake work conversation.</p> <p>Bond raises an eyebrow.</p> <p>“He’s the <em>worst</em>,” Q exclaims. “He’s never been disabused of the public schoolboy notion that there’s no such thing as consequences. Everything’s always worked out for him, no matter what. I <em>know</em> I haven’t worked with him in years, but mental development stops by the mid-twenties, and he’s gone from a buzzy semi-underground website to published bestselling author in that time. When he ought to be in jail.”</p> <p>“That’s a strong statement,” Bond says, all mild manners. Dangerous, when it comes to Bond.</p> <p>“I mean it,” Q says. “Some of those videos — he’s lucky they’ve disappeared.”</p> <p>Bond gives him a look. “I was under the impression that was your doing.”</p> <p>“Who told?”</p> <p>“Your department are incurable gossips,” Bond says.</p> <p>Q takes a sip of his smoothie. Those videos are gone from the collective conscious and it’s better that way. Q is glad he got out before he could suffer a nervous breakdown like the Ashcroft brother.</p> <p>Bond, seeming to understand that he won’t get anything more about this out of Q, changes tack. “For someone who advertises that he made his fame through the world wide web, Barley seems to lack technical knowledge.”</p> <p>Q is unsure if Bond is saying that to appease him, or if even a troglodyte like Bond has noticed Nathan Barley’s total incompetence. Maybe Nathan’s pompous bragging is a giveaway to the spy.</p> <p>“There’s any number of new graduates willing to work for him, with the money he has.” Including Q himself at one time, Q leaves unsaid. “And he’s very good at claiming credit for himself. You repeat a few buzzwords and plaster your laptop with geeky stickers and suddenly, you’re a ‘hacker’ and a ‘disruptor’ with a Guardian column. Collective amnesia at work.”</p> <p>“But collective amnesia works so well,” Bond says, and Q laughs.</p> <p>“Are you admitting you need a handicap finally?”</p> <p>“It’s deployable knowledge,” Bond claims, with one of his trademark smirks.</p> <p>Q has an excellent retort that he cannot <em>deploy</em> as they are in public, which only makes Bond more insufferably smug. He pointedly ignores Bond and goes back to atomizing his rusticata.</p> <p>Bond, however, is not finished. “It surprises me, with your dislike of nepotism and incompetence, that you came to work for your current employer,” he comments, completely abandoning their ruse of executive weekend brunch.</p> <p>Q raises an eyebrow. “After working for one of the most morally corrupt people in the UK, my current employment is wonderfully pleasant.”</p> <p>A chai latte appears on their table, as if by magic or co-opted serving staff, just as Q notices his smoothie has run low.</p> <p>“You’re just showing off now,” Q accuses. He’s not too proud to pick it up and drink it, and savour the warm spice on his tongue.</p> <p>“You once accused me of being inconsiderate,” Bond says. “I’m simply rectifying it.”</p> <p>Q takes another warm, indulgent sip. “Next time, we’re going somewhere I can expense,” he says.</p> <p>Bond cocks his head. “Who says I can’t expense this?”</p> <p>“I pity Finance, I really do.”</p> <p>Soon the cup of chai is gone, as is Bond’s second espresso. Despite sitting in the aisle and thus closer to the exit, Q still ends up following Bond out of the café. Bond even gallantly holds the door open for him.</p> <p>“If you glare so much, you’ll get frown lines,” Bond teases.</p> <p>Q sniffs. “That’s rich coming from you.”</p> <p>Amusement teases in the lines of Bond’s face. A breath later, there’s a brush of chapped lips and beard bristle against Q. Then Bond is gone, disappeared into the streets of Fulham, and Q is left with a hand hovering at his mouth. He won’t be able to return to this café for <em>months</em>.</p> 2021-07-10T00:00:00Z https://rikkai.club/fic/be-near-me/ <p><em>“I was going to stay here on the weekend. Just to study.”</em></p> <p><em>“My little brother, staying behind to study? Come on, we haven’t brotherly bonding time in weeks.”</em></p> <p><em>“Fine, fine, I’ll go.”</em></p> <p><em>“Great. I’ll pick you up.”</em></p> <hr> <p>Wilhelm startles awake and upright to the sound of a beeping monitor.</p> <p>“Where’s Erik?” he demands, looking around the hospital room he’s in. There’s two bodyguards he doesn’t recognize, and they’re sharing the kind of look people get when they don’t want to tell him something.</p> <p>“The Crown Prince is in another room,” the woman says. “Her Majesty the Queen and the Prince Consort are with him.”</p> <p>“Is he alright? He’s fine right?”</p> <p>The two strangers exchange another look.</p> <p>“Her Majesty the Queen will speak to you.”</p> <hr> <p>Erik is in a coma. Erik is in a coma, and the doctors don’t know when or if he’ll ever get better. They say it’s a miracle he even survived.</p> <p>Matters of the state stop for no one, and Wilhelm’s visit from his parents is brief. His mother insists on sending Wilhelm back to Hillerska as soon as possible, to give the nation a sense of stability. Wilhelm knows what she means is that the public cannot think that both heirs are dying. She talks about Wilhelm stepping in for crown prince duties, if Erik does not improve by Christmas break. Wilhelm tunes it out. Erik will wake up any day now.</p> <p>His parents leave. Wilhelm sits there, blank and unable to move, heart monitor beating faster and faster until a nurse comes running in. She asks Wilhelm to breathe with her and Wilhelm can’t open his mouth or move his hands or do anything to tell her he can’t.</p> <p>Later, nurse gone and bodyguards outside, Wilhelm starts worrying again. He needs to know what’s going on. His phone is gone, likely in the same wreck as Erik’s Ferrari. The bodyguards won’t tell him any more than he already knows. The hospital room does have a television, and the television has news channels. Erik would tell him not to look, but there’s no one to stop him now. The crash is on every chyron, on the lips of every talking head. There are no details on Erik, or him, only that both princes are in the hospital.</p> <p>Wilhelm can’t stop looking.</p> <hr> <p>Wilhelm gets one visit. One of his new bodyguards, Malin, wheels him to Erik’s room.</p> <p>The first thing he sees is how unnaturally still Erik is. In a white bed in a white room surrounded by grey machines, Erik looks washed out. For a moment Wilhelm thinks he’s losing his vision to a fainting spell, but he isn’t even able to pass out.</p> <p>The only colour in the room is a tasteful vase of flowers, newly cut, tucked away on a corner table. Wilhelm keeps expecting Erik to snark about them, but Erik is still, silent. He places his hand in Erik’s, like they’re five and thirteen again.</p> <p>He wishes it had been him.</p> <hr> <p>Wilhelm departs for Hillerska the following week with a cast and newly fitted crutches. His face is a series of bruises, but despite the blatant plastic and metal accoutrements, he gets a full layer of makeup to greet the paparazzi outside the hospital.</p> <p>Malin helps him out of the Audi, but Wilhelm stubbornly makes his own way up Hillerska’s stairs. He never realized how many stairs Hillerska has until today. He curses every single one in his head.</p> <p>The headmistress and housefather lead Wilhelm to his new room. The headmistress says, “We thought it would be more comfortable for you while you recover.” Wilhelm understands that, like everyone else, they are treating him as the crown prince now, <em>de facto</em> if not <em>de jure</em> until Erik wakes up. If Erik wakes up.</p> <p>Wilhelm collapses on his bed, heart pounding out of his ribs, and tries to think of anything else.</p> <hr> <p>A minute or an hour later, his phone buzzes. It’s a text from Simon, saying, <em>There’s security outside your room… I dunno if they’ll let me in.</em></p> <p><em>I’ll come out.</em></p> <p>Wilhelm sits up, runs his hands through his hair. He pushes himself out of bed, jerks the door open, and peeks out. Simon is loitering at the end of the hallway, staring at his phone. A tension that’s been with Wilhelm since the hospital leaves, and he gives Simon a tentative, encouraging nod.</p> <p>“This is Simon, my friend,” Wilhelm says to Malin. A bit of confidence has newly sprouted inside him, and he asks, “Could you let him in when he’s here?”</p> <p>“We’ll let you know if he’s outside,” Malin responds. Wilhelm can live with that.</p> <p>He lets Simon enter first, lets his hands brush against Simon’s coat as he follows. He shuts the door.</p> <p>“‘We’ll let you know,’” Simon mimics in a sing-song tone, and loses it giggling into Wilhelm’s shoulder.</p> <p>Wilhelm shushes Simon, tries to cover his mouth.</p> <p>Simon grasps his wrists and pulls them down. “She won’t hear us,” he laughs. His eyes sparkle as he leads Wilhelm by the wrists backwards and into the bed.</p> <p>Later, hair mussed and clothes wrinkled, Simon helps him unpack. They set out Wilhelm’s frog prince, his string of LED lights. A photo of Erik and Wilhelm that Simon’s clipped from a magazine, because Wilhelm brought no photos to Hillerska. A folded piece of handwritten sheet music, to remember Simon by.</p> <p>“It’s what I was singing when we met,” Simon says, soft and bashful.</p> <p>Wilhelm scans the mountains and valleys of notes easily. “I remember. You wrote it out?”</p> <p>“Yeah,” Simon whispers. “Still can’t really read it though.” He shuffles closer, comes to a stop in a breath away from Wilhelm. “Maybe you should give me more lessons.”</p> <p>“I will,” Wilhelm promises, and closes the distance again.</p> <hr> <p>The days pass, a haze of lessons and classrooms with brief flashes of clarity tucked in the nooks of Hillerska with Simon. Wilhelm’s off the rowing team for now, doctor’s orders, though he comes to practice some mornings to cheer Simon on. August mistakes it as dedication and team spirit; Wilhelm doesn’t correct him.</p> <p>No one will tell Wilhelm anything about Erik — not his parents, not Minou, not Malin or Joakim. No one even mentions Erik around him. He starts worrying that something has happened to Erik and everyone has neglected to tell him. He starts reading the headlines between classes for any scrap of news, even though Erik was the one to tell him to never read headlines. Simon finds him, once, in the dark, clutching his phone in one hand and his heart in the other, and leads him from the window to his bed and holds his hands until time and space make sense again.</p> <p>“How are you,” Simon asks.</p> <p>Wilhelm raises his head, stares into Simon’s soft eyes. He turns his hands in Simon’s, tangling up their fingers in hopes they’ll never be apart. “Better now.”</p> <p>Simon’s warmth lulls him to sleep.</p> <hr> <p>Wilhelm suspects politics or privilege, but in two weeks he gets to skip class for a check-up. He leaves Hillerska in an Audi, with only his security team and two drivers to escort him. The prognosis is positive; his leg is healing fine. Doctor Edgren repeats every care instruction that Wilhelm has already heard. After, even though it’s not on the schedule, he asks Malin to lead him to Erik.</p> <p>Erik looks paler and smaller, somehow, in his hospital bed. The monitors on the machines are busy beeping reassuringly, drawing and redrawing the same incomprehensible graphs. Erik, though, is still. Wilhelm’s hand lurches into Erik’s. Like this, he convince himself that Erik is warm, Erik is real, Erik is alive.</p> <p>Wilhelm sees Simon’s text on the car back to Hillerska. <em>How was your check-up?</em></p> <p><em>It went fine</em>, Wilhelm replies. He fiddles with his phone. He types and deletes and re-types. <em>I saw Erik</em>.</p> <p><em>Do you want me to call?</em></p> <p>Wilhelm dials. It connects immediately.</p> <p>“Hey,” he says.</p> <p><em>“Fuck, are you okay?”</em></p> <p>“I don’t know,” Wilhelm says, because he doesn’t and Simon’s the only one left he can talk to. “I wasn’t ready to see him like this.”</p> <p><em>“You didn’t get to visit him before?”</em> Simon says it so matter of fact but he knows Simon’s mad on his behalf.</p> <p>“I did,” Wilhelm clarifies. “When I was still in hospital. It’s realer now.”</p> <p>There’s a pause, a moment of muted static. <em>“I wish I could be there with you right now.”</em></p> <p>“You are,” Wilhelm whispers into his phone. “You are.”</p> <hr> <p>The cast comes off and the crutches are taken away. Wilhelm stands up, gingerly, and it takes every childhood lesson for him to walk without a limp. He gathers his coat and prepares to thank Doctor Edgren for the last time.</p> <p>Just before he speaks, Edgren tells Wilhelm he has to come back every week for physiotherapy.</p> <p>“I thought I’m fine?” Wilhelm asks, even as he’s discreetly shifting weight off his injured foot.</p> <p>“No, you’ve lost muscle mass in your leg while you were in a cast,” Edgren explains. “You’ll need time and guidance for a full recovery.”</p> <p>It’s the last thing he’s ever gotten, Wilhelm thinks. His hand hovers over a lingering bruise, caked in makeup.</p> <p>That night, he does his physical therapy exercises in his dorm room and struggles to even balance on his left leg. After the prescribed minute, he lets his leg buckle and hits his bed headfirst.</p> <p>He doesn’t have crutches any more. His leg has to be perfect, now.</p> <p>That night, lying in bed and unable to sleep, Wilhelm texts Simon. <em>Have you ever wished an injury wouldn’t heal?</em></p> <p>Simon calls. <em>“What’s going on, Wille?”</em></p> <p>“I got my cast off,” Wilhelm says.</p> <p>A shuffle, on the other side of the line. <em>“That’s good, right?”</em></p> <p>“It’s like everyone’s moved on, but Erik,” Wilhelm whispers. “Even me.”</p> <hr> <p>Wilhelm isn’t sure if he can still swim. He doesn’t ask Doctor Edgren, and stays off the rowing team. Everything else goes back to normal, though Wilhelm has to catch himself on banisters or walls sometimes when his leg aches, though he’s still going for physio every week.</p> <p>The press have moved on, convinced like everyone else that Wilhelm is fully recovered and ready to step into the role of crown prince. There’s already speculation about what the annual royal Christmas video will be like this year. It’s more detail than anything Wilhelm’s been told.</p> <p>Wilhelm calls Simon, to talk of anything else.</p> <hr> <p>Simon finds a weekend to sneak away from home and stay in Wilhelm’s room. With Malin and Joakim stationed outside barring anyone but Simon entry, it’s the one place Wilhelm has for himself that he can feel safe in.</p> <p>The room is silent but for a faint echo of students enjoying themselves outside in the clear afternoon, and the sound of Simon breathing, alive, beside him.</p> <p>Simon’s hand reaches towards his hair, and Wilhelm doesn’t manage to hide a wince when a finger brushes against a bruise.</p> <p>Simon reciprocates his wince and pulls his hand away. “Fuck, sorry, I thought you’d healed. I’ll be more careful.”</p> <p>“I have to put makeup on it,” Wilhelm says. “Every day.”</p> <p>Simon lets his hand fall into the space between their laps. “Is that why you aren’t rowing?”</p> <p>Wilhelm’s lips twitch with nerves. “No but. Yeah. I’m still in physio.”</p> <p>“That sucks,” says Simon. “I thought you were only visiting your brother.”</p> <p>“I wouldn’t accept that kind of special privilege,” Wilhelm says, harsher than what Simon deserves. He turns away and bites his lips.</p> <p>Simon’s warmth envelops Wilhelm’s hands. He brings them together, holds them as one. “No one would blame you.”</p> <p>Wilhelm stays silent.</p> <p>“It’s your brother. No one would blame you.” Simon lifts a hand again, more carefully this time, and slowly tucks Wilhelm’s bangs back. “You’re allowed to worry about him. You’re allowed to want to see him.”</p> <p>Gently, carefully, Simon rearranges them until Wilhelm is lying in his lap, bruise on the side facing away from Simon without Wilhelm even noticing. Slowly, he tangles his fingers in Wilhelm’s hair. “Tell me about him,” Simon says. “Tell me about your brother.”</p> <p>Wilhelm blinks drowsily. “Don’t you know?”</p> <p>“About the crown prince, maybe. I want to know about your brother.”</p> <p>So Wilhelm talks. Talks about Erik giving him piggyback rides around the palace, about Erik turning state events into games, about Erik always knowing when Wilhelm needing space and finding a way for Wilhelm to have it.</p> <p>“He’d get in trouble, whenever he helped me run and hide. He only ever got into trouble because of me.”</p> <p>“He sounds like an amazing brother,” Simon murmurs.</p> <p>“He is.”</p> <p>Wilhelm thinks he should feel bad that’s he’s talked about himself for so long, so he asks Simon about how he met Rosh and Ayub. Simon talks about meeting them in grade school, about how Rosh is the cool one and Ayub the fun one, about Rosh’s love of football and Ayub’s love of video games.</p> <p>“You have such good friends,” Wilhelm says. He wonders if he would have had such friends, if he’d been normal and not a royal.</p> <p>Simon hears what he doesn’t say. “I’m your friend.”</p> <p>“You are,” Wilhelm says. He wants to tell Simon that he’s more than that, but he isn’t brave enough.</p> <p>All he can do is pull Simon down, pull Simon closer. Until there’s nothing between them but warmth and laughter, bare skin and tangled legs. Until his eyes have studied every jut of bone, his lips have kissed dimples and divots, his hands have traced every intimate place. Until all he can see and feel and know is Simon, here, real, safe.</p> <hr> <p>Headmistress Lilja calls Wilhelm to her office all of a sudden. The entire walk there he worries that it’s going to be Erik. Something happened to Erik. Erik is dead.</p> <p>What he gets is very different.</p> <p>“Where were you last Saturday night?” the headmistress asks.</p> <p>“I was in my dorm room.” Wilhelm doesn’t much go anywhere else these days.</p> <p>“Was there anyone with you?”</p> <p>That was the night Simon stayed over. Wilhelm stays silent and stone-faced.</p> <p>“You’re not in trouble,” Lilja adds. “There was an incident that happened on school grounds, and we are asking everyone the same questions.”</p> <p>Wilhelm wonders exactly what kind of incident there was, that even he is in the headmistress’s office. He makes up his mind. “Simon was with me.”</p> <p>“Do you remember when he left?”</p> <p>“Around nine,” Wilhelm says. “He had to catch the last bus.”</p> <p>Lilja smiles, a sham congenial turn of her lips to encourage rapport. “You’re on the rowing team with Simon?”</p> <p>Wilhelm smiles back, equally fake. “I’m taking a break from the team, but yes.”</p> <p>“Would you say Simon has a lot of friends at Hillerska?”</p> <p>The politic answer would be yes, but Wilhelm is beginning to get an inkling there is something being talked around. Is Simon being bullied? “Simon is close with his sister and me,” he says. “Some of the other students look down on him, because of his background.”</p> <p>“Are any of those students on the rowing team?”</p> <p>Wilhelm hides his grimace, his racing mind. “Yes,” he says, curtly. There’s a few more perfunctory questions before Lilja lets Wilhelm go.</p> <p>Wilhelm texts Simon. <em>Can we go out tonight?</em></p> <p><em>Of course. I’ll show you around Bjärstad.</em></p> <p>He takes the bus into town with Simon. The trip starts inauspiciously; Simon pays for Wilhelm when Wilhelm has no transit card or app.</p> <p>“Where do you want to go?” Simon asks.</p> <p>“Anywhere,” Wilhelm says.</p> <p>Simon takes him to a kebab shop, where Wilhelm buys their food. They eat as they wander, Simon pointing out occasional landmarks that only local teens would appreciate. For an interim, Wilhelm lets himself be a normal boy out on a normal night with his not-quite-boyfriend. He spots an empty field and pulls Simon down to lie on the grass like a normal boy would.</p> <p>“Hey,” Simon says, head propped on his elbow, contentment woven in his lips.</p> <p>Wilhelm traces the faintest hint of streetlights in the curls of Simon’s hair. “Hey,” he says.</p> <p>There’s a lull in the air, a car puttering in the far distance. Wilhelm wishes he could have this forever. But as loathe as he is to ruin the spell, Wilhelm’s asked Simon out tonight for a reason. He forces the words out. “Is anyone bullying you at school?”</p> <p>A small furrow touches Simon’s brows. “No more than usual. Why do you ask?”</p> <p>“I don’t know,” Wilhelm says. “The headmistress was asking me weird questions today.”</p> <p>Simon jolts upright. “Oh fuck.”</p> <p>Wilhelm scrambles to a sitting position. “What? What’s going on?”</p> <p>“I — fuck. How do I say this.”</p> <p>“You can tell me,” Wilhelm vows.</p> <p>Simon breathes out, a jarring, audible thing. “Shit. So. August owes me money.”</p> <p>Simon is the only person beside Erik that Wilhelm trusts, but even still, Wilhelm can’t process what Simon’s just said. “August owes you money?”</p> <p>“Yeah, for the booze? For your initiation.”</p> <p>Wilhelm’s eyes widen. “That was you?”</p> <p>Simon fiddles with his jacket. “Yeah.”</p> <p>Wilhelm can’t help but grin. “That’s pretty cool.” It clicks, suddenly, and Wilhelm’s mind plummets. “Did the school find out?”</p> <p>Simon clenches his fists, releases them. “August convinced me to sell him pills. He started selling them to pay me back, because he’s broke.” That’s bad. That’s much worse than anything Wilhelm thought. Alcohol might not be worth an expulsion, but drugs definitely are. Selling drugs absolutely is. “One of his friends was caught with them and August decided to pin the blame on me.”</p> <p>Wilhelm sits there, hands grasping frigid grass. There’s nothing he can think to say.</p> <p>“August tried to buy ADHD medication from Sara but Sara refused, and he’s had it out for the two of us since,” Simon recounts. “That’s what I told Lilja.”</p> <p>“Did he — did he try to buy medication from Sara?”</p> <p>“He did,” Simon replies.</p> <p>Wilhelm swallows. “Sara always tells the truth, so the headmistress will believe her when she says the same.” Wilhelm pauses. He reaches out, grabs Simon’s hand to reassure Simon as much as himself. He shoves his question out. “Did you use me as your other alibi?”</p> <p>Simon looks straight into his eyes. “I did,” he says, frank and without hesitation. “I’m sorry.”</p> <p>Wilhelm doesn’t know how he feels about this, about Simon and August each trying to throw the other to the wolves. He supposes he’s already said his part to Headmistress Lilja, and none of it’s in his hands. His heart is oddly calm.</p> <p>“If you want to turn me in, I understand,” says Simon.</p> <p>Wilhelm turns Simon’s hands in his and imparts his promises. “I wouldn’t. I won’t.”</p> <hr> <p>Wilhelm gets a strange text with a link on Lucia night. He sees the first frame of the video, and knows immediately what day it was taken. He can’t believe he forgot the curtains, that he was so stupid. It’s like the party that sent him to Hillerska all over again. Except now it’s worse, because that’s Simon’s face, and Wilhelm might have grown up under the spotlight but Simon didn’t. Simon doesn’t deserve this.</p> <p>Simon can’t deny this. He doesn’t want Wilhelm to deny it, either.</p> <p>In the royal car, his mother’s disapproval lingers in the silence. When she speaks, it’s only about his position. His <em>privilege</em>. “You are the only one who can take over as Crown Prince after Erik,” she states.</p> <p>“Erik’s not dead,” Wilhelm spits out. “Stop talking as though he’s already dead!”</p> <p>His mother says he’ll get a visit to Erik after the interview, like he’s a child who needs incentive for good behaviour. He knows what Erik would say. To keep up appearances. To reflect well on the family.</p> <p>Wilhelm bounces a ball in his gilded, impersonal room and imagines a future as the crown prince.</p> <p>He thinks about Erik, in his hospital room, and prays to the empty air.</p> <hr> <p>He’s shut in his room for remainder of the weekend.</p> <p><em>Are you coming back to school,</em> Simon texts.</p> <p><em>My mother thinks it can’t be worse than the palace,</em> Wilhelm replies. <em>Yes.</em></p> <p><em>Good. I miss you.</em> A pause. <em>I’m proud of you.</em></p> <hr> <p>School is odd, now that everyone can acknowledge that he and Simon are together. The staff do a phenomenal job of pretending nothing happened, although they do ban Simon from Wilhelm’s room. Among the first years of Forest Ridge house, there’s an unspoken pact to leave space for Wilhelm and Simon to sit together in the dining hall. It’s an unexpected gesture, a kind one, but it leaves the two of them to eat in self-conscious silence while Wilhelm’s housemates hold stilted conversations around them.</p> <p>Wilhelm and Simon find their escape on the grounds. The leg only gives Wilhelm small twinges now when they meander about the lake, out of sight of gossiping students and disapproving staff. The change to their relationship feels too new, too raw, and Wilhelm doesn’t know what to say to Simon to make it better.</p> <p>“Are you allowed out?” Simon asks, as they make the same turn for a fourth time.</p> <p>“No,” Wilhelm says, hands tucked in his pockets. “Joakim is now posted outside the window to make sure there are no more lapses in security.”</p> <p>A hint of a smile forms on Simon’s face. “I’m surprised they still let me around you,” he says.</p> <p>Wilhelm lets out a small, jaded chuckle. “Not much they can do about it now.”</p> <p>A hand grasps Wilhelm’s arm and brings Wilhelm to a stop facing Simon. “I miss you,” Simon confesses. The words form a tangible plume in the cold air.</p> <p>Wilhelm brings his other hand up, and laces their fingers against the wool of his coat. “I do too.”</p> <hr> <p>Wilhelm gets a call from Minou. Erik’s woken up. They’re saying it’s a miracle.</p> <p>It’s the middle of a school week and Wilhelm has physio in a couple days anyway, but he kicks up a fuss and a two-Audi motorcade delivers him to Karolinska University Hospital that night.</p> <p>Wilhelm sees Erik upright, moving, and rushes to him.</p> <p>“You’re here,” he blurts into Erik’s hospital gown. The fabric is so thin that Erik’s warmth seeps through it, grounding him.</p> <p>“I’m here,” Erik says. The fabric rustles, and slowly a hand comes to rest in the small of Wilhelm’s back. “I’m here.”</p> <p>Wilhelm lets go long enough to ask Erik if he needs or wants for anything.</p> <p>Erik laughs, a sound Wilhelm’s desperately missed, and tousles Wilhelm’s hair. “I have a whole hospital here,” Erik says. “How’s Hillerska while I’ve been away?”</p> <p>Wilhelm fidgets, stays quiet and hopes Erik’s heard nothing.</p> <p>Erik gives him a look, the one that says he knows better and has already forgiven him, and reaches his now-frail arms out for a hug. Wilhelm collapses back into him.</p> <p>“A sex tape?” Erik says, in the teasing voice that Wilhelm’s missed so much.</p> <p>Wilhelm says nothing. Nods twice into Erik’s shoulder.</p> <p>Erik leads Wilhelm down and tucks him under his chin. “Do you love him?”</p> <p>Wilhelm clutches Erik tighter. “Yes,” he whispers. It’s the first time he’s admitted it to anyone, even himself, and he feels warm and anxious and weightless.</p> <p>Erik sighs into Wilhelm’s hair. “What’s done is done,” he says. “It’ll be fine. I’ll take care of it.”</p> <p>“It was August,” Wilhelm says, all of a sudden.</p> <p>Wilhelm feels Erik tense the slightest bit around him. “August what?”</p> <p>“August who posted the tape.”</p> <p>Erik tries to push Wilhelm’s shoulders back and Wilhelm complies and loosens his hold. Erik says to him, “No one told me that.”</p> <p>“No one told me either,” Wilhelm mutters. “Felice figured it out. Mamma already knew.”</p> <p>Erik purses his lips. “She’s buried it, of course.”</p> <p>Wilhelm scoffs. “Of course. I guess I can only be glad he didn’t try to blackmail me over it.” At a small hint of confusion on Erik’s face, Wilhelm adds, “August is broke. We’re paying the tuition for his final term.”</p> <p>“And he <em>still</em> posted that video? The fucking devil, he should be glad I’m still in the hospital or else I’d go rip his fucking guts out from his fucking skull.”</p> <p>To hear Erik, who speaks in public relations, say this kind of diatribe makes Wilhelm relax, comforted that there’s one person in his family on his side. The security detail, Malin and one of Erik’s, dutifully pretend they heard no bodily threats from the crown prince.</p> <p>Erik looks at Wilhelm. Studies him, as only an older brother could. “Tell me about Simon.”</p> <p>Wilhelm does. He tells Erik about class, about choir, about rowing. About exploring the grounds of Hillerska with Simon talking about nothing at all. He tells Erik about Simon’s goldfish, about Simon’s friends.</p> <p>“Then I want to meet him.”</p> <p>“Here?” Wilhelm questions. Seeing Erik this weakened is only for family and household staff.</p> <p>“Yes,” Erik says, the way he does when he’s made up his mind. “Here.”</p> <hr> <p>Simon takes the train up from Bjärstad. Malin agrees to escort him into the hospital as Erik’s security is also around to protect Wilhelm. It’s a three-hour trip one way, so Erik has also arranged a room for Simon to stay in overnight. It’s at a boutique hotel and under neither prince’s name. Erik doesn’t say it’s for Wilhelm too, but Erik’s mirth says enough.</p> <p>When Simon walks through the hospital room door, Wilhelm rushes to hug him. Moments, minutes later, they let go of each other, and Wilhelm takes Simon’s wrist and leads him to Erik’s bedside.</p> <p>“Simon, this is my brother Erik. Erik, Simon.”</p> <p>Simon, the boy who has no time for teen nobility and flirted fearlessly with Wilhelm, hesitantly mumbles, “It’s an honour to meet you.”</p> <p>Wilhelm leans into Simon and teasingly whispers, “Now you’re shy around a prince?”</p> <p>“He’s your brother!” Simon whispers back. “I need to impress him.”</p> <p>Erik interjects, “I can hear you two, you know.”</p> <p>Simon hides his head in Wilhelm’s shoulder.</p> <p>“Please, sit,” Erik says. “Wilhelm, I can’t reach your hair from here.”</p> <p>Wilhelm rolls his eyes, but obliges by sitting down and dragging Simon with him. He leans in enough so that Erik can ruffle his hair.</p> <p>Simon laughs at the result. “You look like you’ve been out in a storm.”</p> <p>Erik smiles, his loose, private smile. “He looks better this way, don’t you agree?”</p> <p>Wilhelm shakes his hair loose and runs his hands through it. “Of course you’d bond over messing up my hair.”</p> <p>In response, Erik ruins his hair again. He follows it by telling Simon embarrassing stories about Wilhelm’s childhood. They’re the silly ones, about teaching Wilhelm to ride a bike or to ice skate, that are fit for public consumption and make them sound like ordinary people. Simon, in turn, tells Erik about Wilhelm teaching him to read music and him sneaking Wilhelm out of Hillerska. That gets Wilhelm the eyebrow raise.</p> <p>“I’m glad Wilhelm has someone like you at Hillerska,” Erik says, and though Erik seems proper and cold Wilhelm can read the honest acceptance in the turn of his lips.</p> <p>Wilhelm nudges Simon, gives him an encouraging, sideways smile.</p> <p>Simon’s face blooms. “I’m glad to have someone like Wilhelm at Hillerska too.”</p> <hr> <p>The drivers drop Wilhelm and Simon, plus security detail, off at an unassuming hotel tucked away in a residential district. Wilhelm has no idea how Erik managed to talk their mother into Wilhelm staying here, with Simon no less. Wilhelm had fully been expecting to sneak out of the palace.</p> <p>The hotel room turns out to be a split-level suite. It’s cozy, like Simon’s house or some of the hidden corners of the palace, and Wilhelm is glad for it. He doesn’t want Simon to feel uncomfortable. Malin and Joakim settle themselves outside while Wilhelm and Simon catalogue the care package Erik arranged. There’s junk food, a lot of it, and a couple of controllers for the Playstation by the television. Wilhelm suspects it’s brand new.</p> <p>Simon pulls something out of the basket. “Condoms and lube,” he calls.</p> <p>Wilhelm hides his face in Simon’s chest. “I hate Erik. As soon as he’s discharged from the hospital I’m going to suffocate him with a pillow.” He insists Simon put away those supplies.</p> <p>They end up eating junk food on a capacious hotel bed and chatting about anything and everything, from Simon’s video games to Wilhelm’s engagements. Wilhelm was worried, after everything, that his and Simon’s relationship was on a slow decline from hypothermia to death. Having this night, knowing that they are still the same people after everything, is a breathtaking relief.</p> <p>The hotel sends up dinner, and they decamp to a breakfast nook. There are plates and plates of food.</p> <p>“This is way better than the food at Hillerska,” Simon says. “I was starting to think rich people had no tastebuds.”</p> <p>Wilhelm, a rich person with no tastebuds who burned his tongue the first time he ate Simon’s mother’s cooking, gives Simon a light kick.</p> <p>They try everything, swapping things they hate onto the other’s plates and making fun of each other’s choices. At one point, Simon tries to feed him, only to end up with Wilhelm choking and Simon hitting his back as hard as he can.</p> <p>When the crisis is over, Simon collapses onto Wilhelm’s back. “We’re never doing that again,” Wilhelm says.</p> <p>“Definitely not.”</p> <p>Later, food mostly done and empty plates in a corner, they settle back into the warm, soft bed.</p> <p>“So,” Simon says. “Want to play a video game?”</p> <p>“I’m sensing a pattern,” Wilhelm says. “It does turn you on, doesn’t it?”</p> <p>Simon swats Wilhelm. “For real this time! I’ve never touched a PS5 before!”</p> <p>“Neither have I,” Wilhelm says. “I’m not allowed.”</p> <p>“Then we have to,” says Simon.</p> <p>They buy a few games, Simon picking since he actually knows some of them. Simon is a better player than Wilhelm. That’s not saying much because Wilhelm is terrible, and the two of them quickly stop trying to win and start trying to prank each other in the most outrageous ways possible.</p> <p>They stop playing when they’re falling over each other laughing too hard to do anything but gasp and dissolve into giggles again.</p> <p>Wilhelm grabs the controllers and lets them tumble to the ground, and looks up into Simon’s face, lit by a warm cartoon glow. “Hey.”</p> <p>“Hey,” Simon breathes. “How are you?”</p> <p>“Good,” Wilhelm whispers. He leans in and closes his eyes.</p> 2021-05-03T00:00:00Z https://rikkai.club/fic/blooming-years/chapter-1/ <p>Less than a month into third year, Thanatos is swamped. His life is lectures, labs, and libraries. He lunches while studying and dozes while commuting, and the most he sees of the outdoors is rushing across campus and waiting for the bus. Even the potato pizza at Pie R Squared is starting to taste good.</p> <p>Today, though, Zagreus is hosting an impromptu picnic. In the half hour after the end of his class, Zagreus has gone off campus for food and come back and re-parked his car. By the time Thanatos leaves his class, Main Mall is teeming with like-minded students lounging on the lawn, enjoying the last hurrah of summer. The air is balmy, nary a breeze, and the verdure canopy above mottles commons and commoners with sunlight and shade.</p> <p>The canopy hiding tiny dangling inchworms.</p> <p>Zagreus is up on his knees, black denim buried in grass, humming to himself as he unpacks flat plastic takeout boxes and arrays them on the lawn. There’s yakisoba, a couple sushi rolls, sashimi, and chicken karaage — all perfect landing sites for a miniature worm.</p> <p>“What if a worm falls into our food,” Thanatos asks. His hand hovers over his watermelon juice, attempting to shield its cover and its straw.</p> <p>“It’s fine,” Zagreus says, concentration still on takeout lids. “They only hang from the low branches over the sidewalks. And they only appear once it gets rainier in October.”</p> <p>“I walked into one <em>last week</em>,” Thanatos insists. He eyes the tall trees around them. He doesn’t dare look straight up, because tiny pendent worms.</p> <p>Zagreus laughs with the hubris of someone who barely walks between classes. His classes this term are confined to two blocks nowhere near any tree-lined boulevards. “C’mon, it’s not that bad,” Zagreus says. “Think of it as extra protein!”</p> <p>“<em>Extra pro—</em>”</p> <p>Zagreus leans forward and plops a piece of karaage on top of Thanatos’ yakisoba. “C’mon,” he says, rocking back onto his toes. “Eat.”</p> <p>Thanatos lets out a put-upon sigh and raises a few strands of noodles with his chopsticks to his mouth. It’s as good as he remembers. He forgoes the pretence and digs into the yakisoba in earnest.</p> <p>A few bites of food in, Thanatos notices Zagreus daydreaming, his food and drink untouched. He reaches forward and nudges a box of sushi. Zagreus smiles, a sheepish tilt of his mouth, and reaches for a soy sauce packet and some wasabi.</p> <p>“How’s your week been?” Zagreus asks.</p> <p>Thanatos lowers his yakisoba and gives Zagreus a look of dead-eyed despair. “I live in the lab now.”</p> <p>“Um.” A piece of dynamite roll pauses halfway to Zagreus’ mouth. “That’s what you wanted to do right? Lab research?” He sounds confused, somewhere between supportive boyfriend and sympathetic commiserator.</p> <p>“Yes, that’s still what I want to do,” Thanatos says. “I’m just complaining.” He pauses to drink his watermelon juice. “I didn’t think through being stuck in a windowless lab seven hours a week with third years who are still smashing pipettes. That guy’s pre-med. I can only hope he doesn’t go into surgery.”</p> <p>“<em>You’re</em> technically pre-med,” Zagreus points out. “You took the MCAT last month!”</p> <p>Thanatos spears a piece of karaage. “Please don’t remind me until I get my score.”</p> <p>Zagreus snorts. “If you say so,” he says. He dunks a slice of sashimi in his soy-wasabi sauce.</p> <p>“You’re the one getting a degree because your dad wanted you to, don’t throw any stones,” Thanatos replies. He borrows Zagreus’ malt milk tea for an experimental sip. “This isn’t bad.”</p> <p>A corner of Zagreus’ lip tilts up. He leans in as he lowers his head, his eyes on Thanatos through a veil of lashes. His mouth closes around the straw. Thanatos doesn’t even notice when he frees the cup from Thanatos’ grasp.</p> <p>“It tastes even better now,” a smug Zagreus says.</p> <p>Thanatos covers the thump of his heart with a roll of his eyes. “Just for that, I’m having the rest of the karaage.”</p> <p>Thanatos has already finished most of his yakisoba, and it’s quick work before the karaage is gone too. Zagreus chats about his classes, interspersing sentences with bites of sushi and drinks of tea. Before long, his empty containers join Thanatos’, and with a dramatic stretch he flops onto the grass. He wriggles like a starfish until his head is settled in Thanatos’ lap.</p> <p>“Really?” Thanatos says. His hand strays, finding a few loose strands of Zagreus’ hair, black and a golden caramel at the fringes where the sun finds it. His gaze follows the curve of Zagreus’ features, to where a collarbone dips into a white Stüssy t-shirt. “You got a tan,” Thanatos says.</p> <p>Zagreus brings up a bare arm to study it. “I guess so.” Light and shadow catch his hand as he turns it. “It’s what I get for being in Chengdu in August.”</p> <p>Thanatos brushes a tuft of hair down. “I thought you said you stayed indoors where there was A/C?”</p> <p>Zagreus sinks further into Thanatos’ lap. “I had to go golfing with my dad’s business partners,” he says. His expression conveys how much he disliked it, and Thanatos wonders if it was part of the fight he had with his dad. Still, despite any hours spent in the Sichuan sun, Zagreus’ complexion is pale beside Thanatos’ arms.</p> <p>“Did you go outside at all this summer?” Zagreus asks, tilting his head into Thanatos’ thigh. “After you finished with the MCAT?”</p> <p>“Once,” Thanatos says. “Hector had to drag me out.”</p> <p>Zagreus’ eyes crinkle, his cheeks catching the sunlight. “Then I’m glad I got you out today.” A beat. “Despite the worms.”</p> <hr> <p>They’d met in ENGL 112 in first year. Thanatos, who had yet to learn to schedule his courses using a map, had been sprinting late from another class. He’d tried to slip in, but the classroom only had thirty-odd students and a single door at the front. He had slunk along the wall to the closest open seat, behind a boy in a loud hoodie that he’d immediately pegged as a rich kid with a sports car.</p> <p>Thanatos hadn’t exactly been wrong.</p> <p>“I hate group presentations,” Zagreus declares. He’s sprawled over one of Pearl Fever’s dining chairs, wearing a different loud hoodie and idly stabbing floating taro chunks with a straw. “It’s the absolute worst part of being in Sauder.”</p> <p>Thanatos takes a sip of his blueberry green tea. “I thought that was when you have to wear suits,” he says, tone bland. He knows, thanks to Zagreus’ complaints, that as a business school Sauder has business attire nights. “Even though you wore a Saints uniform with a blazer for six years,” Thanatos adds.</p> <p>Zagreus makes a face. “I’ve erased that from my memory and it didn’t happen.” Zagreus might like to pretend he never attended private school, yet he’s the one wearing an Off-White hoodie here on campus. “At least with suits I look good,” he continues. “Group presentations though? I have to make sure no one else looks bad.”</p> <p>Thanatos hums into his straw. “That sucks.”</p> <p>“I’m not supposed to be the person propping this group up,” Zagreus laments. He pushes his drink away, and thuds his head into his arms into the table. “Ugh.”</p> <p>Thanatos taps the doodle-decorated film covering his cup. “Think of it this way. It’s good practice for being a CEO.”</p> <p>Zagreus pushes himself back up. “Group presentations?” he scoffs. “No. All I’m going to do is dictate and golf.” For a moment, Thanatos sees it, in his crisp voice and imperious posture. Then Zagreus is fiddling with his drink again.</p> <p>A few more revolutions of his taro-tilt-a-whirl later, Zagreus pauses and looks up. “You said you were looking at grad schools,” he says. “Isn’t it a bit early?”</p> <p>Thanatos stares. “Application deadlines are in exactly one year. I’ll need recommendation letters and preferably a lab by then. And if I’m in a lab, it’ll influence which profs will want to supervise me.”</p> <p>Zagreus waves his hand to the red and black walls around them. “What about here?”</p> <p>Thanatos sighs into his straw. “If only.”</p> <p>“Your TA is part of your dream lab, right? You could network?”</p> <p>“Athena is the least likely person to stand for networking I’ve ever met,” Thanatos says. “I’m more likely to go to Saskatchewan.”</p> <p>“I draw the line at visiting Saskatchewan,” Zagreus says. It sounds like it might be a flippant joke, but Thanatos can’t tell.</p> <p>Thanatos buries his apprehension and tries for levity. “Winnipeg?”</p> <p>Zagreus knocks into his drink with the force of his laughter. “You hate mosquitoes,” he says, still chuckling as he steadies his cup. “You specifically said weren’t going anywhere near Manitoba because you hate mosquitoes.”</p> <p>Thanatos shrugs. “Maybe I can avoid it as long as I’m not there over the summer,” he equivocates.</p> <p>“Take it from someone who lived in Sichuan for twelve years: that’s not how mosquitoes work.” Zagreus pauses, looking at Thanatos with bright eyes. “You <em>could</em> go to med school.”</p> <p>Thanatos shakes his head in fond exasperation.</p> <p>Zagreus’ face softens to a contented warmth, and then to something more earnest, more grounded. “Have you told your mom yet?” he asks.</p> <p>Thanatos shakes his head. “She just saw my MCAT score.” Fortunately or unfortunately, Thanatos had tested well. Well enough to get into UBC Med if he seriously wanted to.</p> <p>Zagreus takes a drink of his taro milk. “You’re going to have to tell her at some point, you know. You’re the one who doesn’t want to tell her after you’re already there.”</p> <p>Thanatos looks away. “That’s what you would do. You’re a terrible influence.”</p> <p>Zagreus’ eyes light up with mischief. “So, you’re thinking about it.”</p> <p>“No,” Thanatos says. Zagreus beams some more.</p> <p>Something nags at Thanatos’ subconscious. Distracted, he turns to find Hypnos and his apple red jacket had somehow entered through the door and spent some time in line before Thanatos noticed. Hypnos sees him looking and waggles his fingers.</p> <p>When Hypnos reaches the counter and turns to order, Zagreus leans in. “Is that your brother? With the perm?”</p> <p>“Not a perm,” Thanatos says lowly. “But yes.”</p> <p>Thanatos looks to the door, thinking of ways to escape, but Hypnos is already approaching. His twin pulls up a spare chair with a wink at the burgled table’s inhabitants. He straddles it, arms landing on the wooden back to form a perch for his chin.</p> <p>“Thanatos!” Hypnos trills. “Who’s this who made you come out of your cave!” He swipes Thanatos’ drink and like always grimaces as soon as he tastes it.</p> <p>Thanatos rolls his eyes and reclaims his drink with a pointed swig. “At least my classes are all above-ground. Your classes are in Kenny, a half-underground concrete monolith from the ’80s. One might say, a cave?”</p> <p>“Are you sure you aren’t talking about BioSci?” Hypnos replies. “Besides, you’re in the Chem building half the time. Place is haunted.” He makes a spooky gesture that Thanatos ignores. Thanatos immediately regrets this when Hypnos turns his attentions to Zagreus.</p> <p>“Hi, I’m Hypnos,” he says, smug as well-fed cat. “And who might <em>you</em> be?”</p> <p>Zagreus gives Hypnos a boy-next-door smile and extends his hand. Hypnos looks awed and delighted as he shakes it. “Nice to meet you, I’m Zagreus,” he says. “You’re Than’s brother, right?”</p> <p>“That’s me,” Hypnos chirps. He mouths <em>Than</em> with raised eyebrows at Thanatos.</p> <p>Zagreus, still in charming Commerce student mode, seems to miss the byplay. “I didn’t know you were in Psych,” he chatters.</p> <p>“’Course I am,” Hypnos says. He tilts his seat into the table and stage-whispers, “’Cause Kenny’s closer to Wreck Beach.” He makes a conspicuous toking motion.</p> <p>“You wouldn’t go to Wreck Beach,” Thanatos mutters. “You’re too lazy to climb two flights of stairs, never mind three hundred steps. No one’s going to stop you from smoking in front of Kenny.”</p> <p>Hypnos shakes his head with studied disappointment. “It’s about the <em>ambience</em>, bro.”</p> <p>Thanatos breathes out. “How many times have I said. Don’t call me bro.”</p> <p>“<em>Fine</em>, <code>yih gō</code>,” Hypnos says, dragging out the fraternal address until it loses any shade of deference.</p> <p>Thanatos tsks and picks a brown leaf off the shoulder of Hypnos’ red jacket. “Do you even go to class?”</p> <p>Hypnos rolls his eyes. “You sound like mom.”</p> <p>There’s a snort, and Thanatos and Hypnos spin to look at its source. “Sorry!” Zagreus says, mirth on his face. “But it’s cute that the two of you have such a good relationship.”</p> <p>“<em>We do not</em>,” Thanatos says forbiddingly.</p> <p>“I’m going to tell mom you said that,” Hypnos says.</p> <p>“If you do, I’m telling her where your weed stash is,” Thanatos retorts.</p> <p>Hypnos raises his palms to the sky in an indolent shrug. “It’s your weed stash too.”</p> <p>“Wow,” Zagreus blurts out. “I thought you didn’t smoke.” He looks as if his image of Thanatos Lau, Dean’s List Student And Filial Son, is crumbling before his eyes.</p> <p>“I smoked <em>once</em> in high school,” Thanatos swears, glaring at Zagreus and Hypnos in turn. To Hypnos, he adds, “<code>If you don’t shut up I’m seriously going to tell māa mī</code>.”</p> <p>Zagreus, who only speaks Mandarin and English, darts his eyes between the two of them.</p> <p>“Pudding milk with pudding jelly,” the barista calls.</p> <p>“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Hypnos says brightly, pushing himself out of the chair with a graceless swing. “Bye, <em>Than</em>. It was good meeting you Zagreus!”</p> <p>“Anyway,” Zagreus breathes into the table-sized vacuum of silence.</p> <p>Thanatos says nothing and drinks his tea.</p> <hr> <p>Thanatos finds himself thinking about grad school instead of studying for classes that will get him into grad school. Even if rapport were impossible, he’d wanted to establish a glimmer of respect with his TAs before sounding them out. At this rate, though, he’s going to come across as an undedicated student or get Bs on his midterms.</p> <p>He takes his time packing at the end of lab. When the huddle of students around Athena thins, he makes his approach.</p> <p>“I’m doing an honours thesis next year,” Thanatos begins. “Do you have any tips for getting a lab placement?”</p> <p>Athena regards him like she’s been asked this exact question countless times and she knows exactly what he’s actually asking. She picks up a stack of binders, ready to leave, and Thanatos resigns himself to asking one of the other TAs whom he doesn’t know personally. Or maybe desperately approaching a prof.</p> <p>“An honours thesis,” Athena says. Thanatos, not sure if he should speak, makes two tentative nods. Athena harrumphs. “Come with me.”</p> <p>Thanatos has a tutorial in five minutes, but he doesn’t know how to tell Athena this. He tries to keep up with her brisk pace down the hallway and stairs of Copp, through the crowd on University Boulevard, into Michael Smith and across its atrium. They stop at the foot of a stairwell.</p> <p>Athena spins and looks him in the eye. “If you’re here to waste time and resources for a shiny line on your med school application, you can leave now.”</p> <p>Thanatos doesn’t move. The atrium’s enormous wood ribcage looms against the grey sky.</p> <p>Athena releases him from her regard, and they go forth. Some metres later, a rap on a door startles Thanatos out of his ambulatory daze. Athena lowers her hand, letting Thanatos read the nameplate behind it. <em>Achilles Phthia</em>: professor and lead researcher of the lab Athena’s in. That Thanatos wants to be in. There’s a lump in his throat.</p> <p>“Come in,” a muffled voice calls.</p> <p>Athena strides into the office with every right to be there. Thanatos shuffles in, awkward and furtive.</p> <p>“Hello Athena,” Achilles says, tone warm and countenance inviting. He’s seated at a white L-shaped desk, with a utilitarian laptop and stacks of papers. A frame rests tucked into a corner, a photo of Achilles and another man in contrasting, complementing suits within an idyllic garden.</p> <p>“Here’s the results for you to review,” Athena says briskly. “Also, Thanatos here is one of my students in Biochem 301. He’s looking for a lab for his honours thesis next year.” This was <em>not</em> what Thanatos was reading from this situation, and he hopes his panic doesn’t show on his face.</p> <p>Even Achilles seems mildly surprised that Athena brought a random undergrad to his office, but he is gracious all the same. “You must have impressed Athena to be here.” He waves at a pair of honeydew plastic chairs in front of his desk. “Please, sit.”</p> <p>Thanatos draws out a honeydew chair and sits down at its very edge. The words tumble out of his mouth. “I’ve been looking at a few labs that match what I want to focus on in grad school,” he says in a rush. “The gene expression papers that we’ve been reading for class are really interesting.”</p> <p>Achilles’ smile is open and kind. “It’s always good to see bright young minds with enthusiasm about my field.”</p> <p>Thanatos thinks he might be being too obsequious. “I’m also interested in prions,” he blurts out. “I haven’t really decided on what I want to do yet.” He tries not to slap himself as soon as he says it.</p> <p>Achilles chuckles, and Thanatos responds with a nervous smile. “Every good scientist will have more passions than time,” the professor says. “Except perhaps myself. I’ve always known I wanted to focus on cancer, although I suppose I didn’t expect to end up in research.” The phrasing is well-worn, a common introduction, interrupted only by a glance in the direction of the wedding photo. “What about my research interests you?” asks Achilles.</p> <p>“The concept of being able to prevent a disease from inception is compelling,” Thanatos answers, more confident than he’s feeling. “I’ve read some of your papers and I know we’re very far from that, but I think it’s the most promising future tool for treatment.”</p> <p>“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Achilles says. “No surprise you are also interested in prions.” He looks to Athena, who is standing tall behind Thanatos. “I am always looking for enthusiastic students,” he avers. “If, at the end of this year, Athena vouches for you, I’m willing to supervise your honours thesis.”</p> <p>Somehow, Thanatos’ countenance stays professional as his heart races. This kind of opportunity is better than anything he could hope for.</p> <p>“I believe your class will be touring my lab soon,” Achilles says. He gives Thanatos another smile. “I hope you’ll make up your mind your research interests then.”</p> <p>“I will,” Thanatos says, “thank you.”</p> <p>Thanatos manages to leave Achilles’ office and reach the end of the corridor at a calm, composed pace. Then he sprints — he’s definitely late for his tutorial.</p> 2020-07-31T00:00:00Z https://rikkai.club/fic/sleepless-beauty/ <p>“It’s late”, Yukimura says.</p> <p>Sanada looks up; he had not heard Yukimura open the heavy door. Yukimura glides, past the executive desk and past Sanada sat behind, to stare out the tall windows into the endless city. Sanada notices, suddenly, that the night has bloomed outside his cognizance.</p> <p>Sanada’s fountain pen clinks against his desk. “There’s trouble with the shatei-gashira”, he says.</p> <p>“Isn’t there always?” Yukimura replies, as if the shatei-gashira are not violent men forever on the verge of factional war. The speckles of light from the window illuminate his profile, making his cheshire smile stark and imposing. “It’s late,” Yukimura repeats, the words softened like an echo.</p> <p>“I have to go over these numbers,” Sanada says, but he’s already lost track of where he was.</p> <p>“The kumichou is telling you to take a break,” Yukimura says. He moves closer, turns Sanada’s chair to face him. “Let me take your mind off it.”</p> <p>Yukimura leans in like he’s done ten thousand times, arms bracketed so Sanada sees only the man he’s sworn to in innumerable ways. The kiss comes slow, coaxing at first. Sanada reaches up; one hand in the waves of Yukimura’s hair, turning his mouth to Sanada’s; one hand against the fabric of Yukimura’s suit, trying to bring him closer.</p> <p>Yukimura breaks the kiss, pulls back the slightest distance. Their breaths mingle. So close, Sanada thinks he could be consumed by the hunger in those eyes. “My hard-working waka-gashira deserves a reward,” Yukimura murmurs, and moves Sanada’s hand around to cup his bottom.</p> <p>Sanada shifts to get a better grip and fingers bump against something hard. With a rush of adrenalin, he yanks Yukimura down into a dirty kiss and presses tight against the plug hidden by the soft wool of Yukimura’s trousers. Yukimura gasps into his mouth.</p> <p>“Is this what you wanted?” Sanada says, nudging the plug again and again.</p> <p>“Yes,” Yukimura says, riding back into Sanada’s hand.</p> <p>“I must serve my kumichou as he wishes,” Sanada says. He lets go of the plug to haphazardly sweep his desk and with one swift move he lifts Yukimura onto it. Yukimura moans as he lands, arching in a way that must be driving the plug deeper into him.</p> <p>“You do,” Yukimura says, still shifting. Sanada hears the order finely weaved in.</p> <p>“I apologize for neglecting my duties,” Sanada replies, and slips off Yukimura’s suit jacket. It leaves Yukimura’s white shirt shining with reflected city light against the dark of the office.</p> <p>Sanada makes quick work of Yukimura’s tie so he can worship at the sakura atop Yukimura’s collarbone, and as he opens up Yukimura’s shirt, he traces the design downward with his tongue.</p> <p>Finally, the last button comes loose, and he nips at the delicate edge Yukimura’s navel.</p> <p>“Don’t tease,” Yukimura gasps. “That’s my job.”</p> <p>Sanada hums, and reaches to jab the plug further in.</p> <p>“Sanada,” Yukimura pants, and Sanada relents. The belt comes off in a practiced motion. In unspoken coordination, Yukimura leans back onto his elbows and lifts his bottom up invitingly as Sanada’s reaching to tug off Yukimura’s trousers.</p> <p>Yukimura smirks. “Like it?”</p> <p>Sanada stares. There’s lace panties low on Yukimura’s hips; in the barely lit office Sanada can see a hint of royal blue on the intricate fabric. Yukimura’s cock and plug are both jutting out, stretching at the thin fabric.</p> <p>“You’re perfect,” Sanada says fervently, diving in to lap hungrily at the base of Yukimura’s cock through the panties as he grasps the plug. He moves his tongue up, thoroughly laving every knot and hole in the lace, until he’s playing with the hem of the panties, licking Yukimura’s sensitive skin one second and pushing lace into it the next.</p> <p>Yukimura’s gasping in time with thrusts of the plug, pushing at Sanada’s hand below him and Sanada’s mouth above him. “You’re still teasing,” Yukimura manages to say.</p> <p>“If you say so,” Sanada says, and envelops the head of Yukimura’s cock. He tongues at the foreskin for a while, but Yukimura insistently pushes him down until he finds his lips brushing the panties’ frilled hem. He gives one last good suck before he forces himself back up so that he can use both hands to rip the underwear off.</p> <p>With a loose unbuttoned shirt framing his delicate tattoos and jutting cock and lit by the sparkling night, Yukimura is ethereal. He looks nothing and everything like one of the most powerful and harsh men in Japan.</p> <p>Sanada dives down. Yukimura meets him in a ravenous kiss. Sanada’s hand drifts to toy with the plug again, but Yukimura pulls back and bats his hand away. Instead Yukimura pulls it out with a squelch of lube and tosses it away.</p> <p>“Fill me,” Yukimura says, tilting his head coquettishly and playing with a nipple. With a sudden twist of his torso Yukimura plunges three fingers knuckle-deep into his hole, lube dripping out onto the mahogany.</p> <p>Sanada struggles to undo his belt. He barely gets his zipper and briefs down before he’s yanking Yukimura’s fingers out and pulling him closer so he can slam in.</p> <p>“Finally,” Yukimura sighs. He puts his arms and legs around Sanada, and levers himself to meet every thrust forcefully. Sanada has to clutch the far edge of the desk to keep them both on the desk.</p> <p>Yukimura has a hand on his own cock now, fast strokes in time with his inner muscles tightening like a vise on Sanada’s cock. It makes Sanada rams in even harder, chasing as the man below him commands.</p> <p>“Come,” Yukimura orders. Sanada’s body instantly obeys, filling Yukimura’s tight heat with his seed. Yukimura’s hole pulses around Sanada’s aftershocks, and Sanada has to pull out through Yukimura clutching him tight.</p> <p>Yukimura is handing him the plug. Sanada works in back into Yukimura’s now wetter hole, as he takes over pleasuring the man’s cock. Sanada’s removing nearly the whole plug before he pushes it back in, and every thrust more lube and come spill out from Yukimura onto his hand and desk.</p> <p>There’s a pool of precome glistening below Yukimura’s navel, and Sanada leans to nose at it, licking any patch of skin he can reach and the cock he’s still stroking zealously.</p> <p>Yukimura lets out a hitching gasp, and Sanada jams the plug in hard as Yukimura comes over his other hand and face.</p> <p>Sanada collapses back into his chair. Yukimura lies languidly on the desk, propping himself on an elbow. His shirt drapes wide open, displaying tattoos decorated with come; his legs are splayed so that Sanada can see the plug covered with come.</p> <p>“Come here,” Yukimura says. Sanada lifts himself out of the chair again. Yukimura cups his face and wipes at the come with a deliberate thumb, smudging it to cover his cheek.</p> <p>“You look good like this,” Yukimura says. “Mine.”</p> <p>Sanada turns into the hand, kisses the inside of Yukimura’s wrist. “Kumichou.”</p>