Simon is already halfway down the hill, almost at the bus stop, when the first, dry sob rattles his rib cage. He gasps from the force of it, gripping onto the straps of his backpack more tightly, stomps his feet into the gravel a little harder than necessary to shake off the ugly feeling. Tries to keep himself together before her bursts into a million pieces in the middle of Hillerska's driveway.
This doesn't make sense, none of it. Simon doesn't think he said anything wrong, feels like some of those texts must have shown Wille that Simon wanted to be there for him, wanted to be- something. Something, someone that isn't this, a person Wille wants around one second and then can't seem to stand to even look in the eye another.
Simon feels the prickle of angry tears in his eyes and rubs over them aggressively. He doesn't understand why it has to be like this, why Wille doesn't even want to speak to him. Or let Simon speak, let him tell Wille some the things he thought about saying while Wille was gone, home, dealing with everything. Nothing sounded particularly good or comforting, but he wanted to try at least.
His phone feels like it's burning a hole into his pocket, holding the texts still, and Simon clenches his fists to fight the urge to grab it and text Wille, out of spite, is what he thinks, but there's something else, stronger, more aching, that makes him want to try one last time to ask, to make Wille explain it so Simon understands-
Simon stops abruptly. He is not leaving without an explanation.
***
Just as he is starting to think the student he asked for the way to the prince's room was fucking with him, Simon rounds the corner and almost collides with a distraught Wille. A last spark of Simon's defiance flares up and he is ready to fight if he has to, but as soon as Wille's head whips around, his eyes meeting Simon's through the strands of hair he has falling into his face, Wille freezes.
His shoulders sag, as do the corners of his mouth, his eyes go soft, but not like Simon wishes they would. He looks like a frightened animal caught in the headlights, like he's looking up at Simon even with him being taller. And if there wasn't a crack in his heart already, Simon knows there's one now.
Simon feels dumb all of a sudden, a gnawing voice telling him he's presumptuous and selfish for showing up again. He hasn't seen Wille grieving yet, he realizes with a start, not like this. He's seen the grieving prince, in a lots more clips and photos than felt comfortable, but he hasn't seen the Wille he knows, he thought he knew, he-
"Simon...," Wille's voice cracks, the word breathy and unsteady. As if he's only just realized that he can still move his body, that Simon hasn't put a spell on him, Wille raises a quivering hand to his face, trying to put his hair back into place. Something about the gesture cuts Simon deep. Feels out of place and wrong, and like the Wille with the unruly bangs and the toothy smile shouldn't be the same one who has to give a eulogy to his dead brother in front of the entire school.
Simon's eyes flit to the two tall figures looming in the back of the hallway, then back to Wille. Maybe he is interrupting something, maybe he shouldn't even be here, maybe the bodyguards shouldn't see him, maybe this is all part of the problem, and maybe he should've just gone home and deleted everything and forgotten about whatever it was that this could've been.
But Wille is shaking, Simon can tell, even with how hard Wille is trying not to show it. And for a silly little moment, Simon wonders if anyone even thought to hug the crown prince. Simon shakes off the thought, squares his shoulders and raises his chin. Because despite everything in him screaming to reach out and do something, he needs to know if Wille wants him to at all. Or if he needs to suck it up and forget about this, for good this time. He clears his throat, takes a deep breath.
"Tell me the truth," he says, and hopes it sounds more confident to Wille's ears than to his own. Wille's eyes quickly move over Simon's face like he's unsure where he's allowed to look. Simon straightens his back a little more, tries to make himself look taller and less nervous about the answer he might be getting. Despite it all, his breath catches inside his throat when he tries to continue. He lowers his voice, thinks it's so the bodyguards don't hear, but knows he has to to keep speaking at all.
"Do you really want me to go and forget about this?"
Wille's eyes find Simon's, wild, wide, dark, unreadable. For a few horrible seconds, Simon thinks coming here might've been one of the stupidest decisions he's ever made. But then Wille drops his eyes again. Simon follows his gaze and watches, breath quickening, how Wille slowly, carefully, grabs his hand.
Wille shakes his head once, then again, more fervently, and Simon's heart drops. But Wille pulls him closer by his hand, takes a tentative step, waits to see if Simon will follow.
"Stay," he says, so quiet that Simon barely gets to hear it over the sound of his own blood rushing in his head. "Stay, please."
