Multiships

AO3 - SimonXWillhem

After everything, Simon's world shrunk down to minutes and hours that wouldn't pass quickly.

"It's just the first week. The first week is the hardest after heartbreak," Simon's mother had cooed, stroking his hair, while he cried into his pillow.

The first week is the hardest.

It was the hardest for Simon at least, restless and bereft. (He couldn't know if it was hard for Wilhelm – he also didn't know if he wanted it to be.)

Simon slept in short spurts, survived on junk food and soda, kept the TV on constantly, or games, or music. Anything to drown out his own brain. He was sure the laundry he couldn't bring himself to do smelled horrible – if Sara's face when she sat next to him on the bus was anything to go by.

He still thought of Wilhelm when he wasn't supposed to. He'd made a rule that he wouldn't think about the prince at all. But it still came to him at night, the whispered I love you, the line of Wille's shoulders as he walked alone down the gravel path.

"Try to get some sleep," his mom had shushed. "Just get some sleep."

It happened during one of those blessed hours. Simon woke up, his phone still clutched in his hand. He'd had it set to "Do Not Disturb" as if he wasn't scrolling through it obsessively at all hours of the day and night, as if he had any sort of sleep schedule to protect.

There was a missed call from a number Simon didn't recognize. A voicemail that was a minute and twenty seconds long, from 2:35 am. He checked the time now, it was just past 4 am.

Simon clicked on the new message. When at first all he heard was shuffling and breathing, he panicked. There had been strange comments and DMs on his instagram ever since the video, some death threats even. They'd filled him with dread. How had they gotten his phone number? He was halfway out of bed, feet tangled in the blankets, heart stuttering in his chest, before he heard it.

"Simon," Wille said raggedly through the line, voice cracking and gravelly. "I miss you so much." Then a sharp breath, as if he remembered himself, and the low tone of his phone beeping as the recording cut off.

Simon sank to the floor. The carpet felt rough and cutting under his knees.

They hadn't spoken in days.

Simon curled in on himself, pulling his legs to his bare chest. He was cold.

Whatever hopes of healing he felt he'd collected in the past few days, small glimmers like sea glass scattered among the dull sand, felt like they disintegrated in his hands.

Even as his fingers moved across the screen, he wasn't sure why he did it. He messaged the number.

Don't call me anymore.

He deleted the contact.

Wilhelm never responded – but he didn't try again.

~~

The next few weeks after that, Wilhelm kept his distance. He didn't even look at Simon.

It was then that Simon realized how much he'd come to expect their shared glances throughout the school day. Before, covert, when they thought the other wasn't looking. After, with meaning, when they shared a romantic secret. After after, in torment, as they weathered the storm. And now, no glances at all.

Or at least, none from Wilhelm.

The Crown Prince kept his eyes steadfastly forward, or determinedly down, every time he was in public. He came to class, flanked by his security guards, sat quietly throughout the lesson, and left.