Like Because, Love Despite, Chapter 1. PG-13, Set It Up AU, Wille/Simon, romance/fluff/slight drama.
Wilhelm and Simon— a pair of overworked, underpaid assistants— team up to gain their supervisors' favor by bringing them together for a joint venture while making them think it's their idea. Their plan may not work, but there's much more to gain from it than just a promotion and some downtime. There is also love.
Note: There is more August in this fic than I normally write. It was necessary for plot reasons, but still... I'm so sorry.
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Simon sighed from behind the glass window as he spied an unknown car leaving the building's parking garage some 10 floors below. "Lucky bastard," he muttered under his breath. His watch informed him it was now 8:34 in the evening, and he was seriously contemplating if the window would be strong enough for him to bang his head violently against it, or if it would break and he'd only be saddled with the bill on top of a concussion.
"Eriksson!"
Simon jumped in surprise and turned away from the window and toward the door of the conference room where his boss, Mr. Englund, was glaring at him. "Do we pay you to daydream or what?" Englund shook his head. "Where's our dinner?"
Simon cleared his throat, ignoring the jibe. "The dinner you asked for ten minutes ago?" he asked. The man couldn't seriously expect the food to have already been prepared, packed, and delivered in the few minutes since Simon had made the call. Especially not when considering it was a dinner for six.
If Englund's granite expression was any indication, though, that was exactly what he was expecting. "...It hasn't been delivered yet," Simon explained, trying very hard not to sound like he was speaking patronizingly to a five-year-old. Oh, he wanted to, and in any other situation he would have, but it was probably not wise to respond that way to his boss, who could fire him.
Englund's glare only got sharper. "Well, then you should have ordered it earlier."
Simon frowned. "I should've ordered it before you asked me to order dinner?"
Englund made a gesture like that was precisely what he meant. "Eriksson, wake up. You understand we need to have this schedule ready by ten a.m. tomorrow, correct? I hardly think starving to death would be conducive to meeting our deadline. If you can't anticipate stuff like this, then what use are you?"
The older man shook his head. "Call the damn service and tell them to hurry up. And did you drop my blue suit off at the dry cleaner's?"
"Yes," Simon replied right away. At least that was one thing he could say he did right. "They'll have it ready by tomorrow afternoon—"
"I'll need it in the morning," Englund interrupted him, crushing his one little glimmer of relief in the process that maybe his job was not a complete trainwreck.
"I... will call and ask them to rush it," Simon said between clenched teeth. Because that was something he could do, right? Sure, the dry cleaning place was probably closed by now, but the owner's personal phone number had to be on the internet somewhere? Right?
"Make sure you do that," Englund said, the last remnants of his teacher-like glare making Simon's skin prickle. "And let me know when the food gets here. If it ever does," he added in a mumble, but not quiet enough for Simon to miss it. Then he went back inside the conference room, glass door swinging closed behind him.
Simon took a deep breath and counted to ten. He snuck a glance into the conference room and saw Englund and his team— most of them around Simon's age or younger— brainstorming ideas for the fundraiser schedule they had to show to the director in the morning. He clamped his jaw tight.
When he'd begged for a job at Hillerska LGBTQ+ Support Foundation (HSF for short), it had been because he wanted to help the LGBTQ+ community and make a difference in people's lives. Unfortunately for him, at the time the only open position was as an administrative assistant to Mr. Englund, who was one of the team leaders.
Director Lilja seemed to like Simon, though, so she'd offered him the job even with his limited work experience. She'd mentioned that good performance could possibly earn him a promotion to one of the work teams later on. So Simon had taken the job and set out to make himself the best damn assistant he could be, to snatch that promotion as soon as it was available.
Except he became so good at his job, he'd made himself basically indispensable. He knew all the ins and outs of Englund's team and kept it running like a well-oiled machine, and no one else could do the job as well as him. Which was why he was still there two years later, getting people's food and fetching Englund's dry cleaning at ridiculous hours of the night without even getting paid overtime.
And he hated Englund, too. The man was the fucking worst. Simon had no idea how he'd made it all the way to team leader when he didn't have even the least bit of empathy for the LGBTQ+ people he was supposed to be helping. He wasn't homophobic, at least as far as Simon could tell, but it was more that he didn't have any empathy for anyone, queer or not. The man saw everything as a transaction. An equal-opportunity misanthropist is what he was.
His best friends Rosh and Ayub loved teasing him about it— how Simon, the most prone out of them to randomly break out into anti-Capitalist rants in the middle of the street, was being exploited at what he thought would be his dream job. At least they teased him about it until they realized he was actually upset about it, which always made them switch their attitude to fully commiserating.
Rosh usually got pretty intense about how he deserved better than the way they treated him and that he should quit. The thing was, Simon did still want to work at HSF, be part of one of the work teams. They did so much good. He just had to ingratiate himself with Englund so he would put him up for that promotion. But he had no idea how to go about it.
With a sigh, he made his way to his cubicle and opened the browser on his computer at the same time he made a call on his phone. "Yes, hello? My name is Simon Eriksson. I placed an order with you a little while ago..." He held the phone against his ear with his shoulder while he frantically typed Google search strings. "What do you mean you're backed up? It's nine pm, you should be well past the dinner rush at this point..."
He rubbed the back of his head with his hand as he browsed the website for the dry cleaning place in search of some kind of emergency contact. "Forty-five minutes? You're kidding me. Is there any way you could have the food ready in five?"
The search was a no-go, and so was the question. "Yeah, okay. I had to try, I guess," he mumbled, more to himself than to the person on the other end of the line, who at this point had to be laughing at him. "It's fine. I'll still be here in forty-five minutes, anyway. Thank you."
He let his head drop on his desk with a groan. Unless he learned to search the dark web in the time it took for the food to get here, there was no way to find another number for the dry cleaning place. He was just going to have to wake up at an ungodly hour of the morning to get there right when they opened. Fuck. Some days this job really sucked.
Nah, who was he kidding? This was pretty much how it went most days.
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Wilhelm groaned as he looked down at his— Erik's— watch. It was officially nine now, and he was sure Felice was going to kill him; he'd been the one to ask them to have the party early so that he'd be able to attend, and now he was late. Really late.
Again.
Beside him, similarly resting against the door of his mother's car, was his mother's driver, Malin, not-so-discreetly pinning an amused look on him. Even the bouncer at the door had noticed how fidgety he was, looking at him with poorly disguised curiosity.
"Just... waiting for my bosses, yeah," Wilhelm explained awkwardly. "You might know them? They have a lot of business meetings here." The man's expression did not change. "Kristina Berwald? Krona Ventures? No?" Still no reaction. "They were early investors in Spotify—"
"Well, only members are allowed in," the bouncer finally said, serious.
"No, yeah, I know." Wilhelm readily ignored Malin's snickers and crossed his arms with a sigh. He was technically a member of this club— his entire family was— but his mother had summarily banned him from any high-level meetings, particularly ones involving alcohol, since his little stunt at that bar last year.
Which was really unfair, if you asked him. It wasn't his fault his cousin had pumped him full of booze in an attempt to "distract him" from the whole Erik thing, and then some pompous asshole had the audacity to badmouth his brother right in front of him.
Could he be blamed for flying a tiny bit off the handle when his only brother, who was his best friend in the whole world and the only person in his entire family who actually gave a flying fuck about him, had just up and moved out the country for good, leaving all the responsibility of carrying on his family's legacy on Wilhelm's shoulders?
Or, well, he'd thought the responsibility fell to him at that point.
He was going to stand there and stew a bit more on the shitty hand he'd been dealt, but that's when his phone rang. He hurried to pick up the call. "Felice? Listen, I'm so sorry I'm late, but Mamma and August are in a business meeting and it ran long, but it should be over soon, and I will head right back home when— whoops, gotta go," he cut himself when he saw his mother and cousin come out of the club's main entrance.
He shoved his phone back into his pocket. "Hey, how did it go?" he asked in place of a greeting. He stepped away from the car so that Malin could open the back door. "Are we going to invest?"
"Not even if they were the last startup on the planet," his mother said as she approached the car. She paused before getting in. "August, make sure to triple-check the financials for the ones we're meeting with next week. We can't let them waste our time like this."
"Of course, Aunt Kristina," his cousin replied dutifully.
The woman then turned to Wilhelm, lifting a hand to lightly caress his cheek with the back of her knuckles. "You need a haircut, darling. That length makes you look like a sixteen-year-old boy." Pulling her hand back, she made to get in the car. "I will see you both tomorrow at the office."
August nodded. Wilhelm frowned. "Wait, weren't we going with—" Malin had already closed the car door before he could even get the question out. She gave him an apologetic glance before walking around the car to get in the driver's seat.
As they drove off, Wilhelm turned to his cousin. "I thought they were going to drop us off."
August scoffed as he pulled out a joint and a lighter out of his pocket. "Drop us off where? You heard her. We're going back to the office." He shook his head as if disappointed in him for just making that comment, then proceeded to put the joint in his mouth and lit it.
Wilhelm watched him in disbelief. "Is that weed?" August had some balls doing that out in the open. Lucky they were in a country club in a private estate away from any main streets, where no one was likely to report it. But it still galled Wilhelm that he got reprimanded for drinking a bit too much— and, okay, headbutting some guy, fine— while his cousin could do drugs out in public like he was untouchable.
August nodded, putting the lighter back in his pocket as he inhaled. "I took a hit earlier to get myself nice and relaxed for the meeting, but I didn't get to finish it." He caught on to Wilhelm's disapproving gaze. "What? Don't be a baby."
"I suppose I should order us some dinner, then," Wilhelm suggested, anticipating that his cousin was bound to get the munchies later. He held back a groan; he already ended up with enough of August's job on his plate when he was sober.
His cousin shook his head, though. "We got plenty of appetizers in there," he said, pointing back toward the building he'd just walked out of with his thumb. "It's fine. Now, don't be lazy. Order us an Uber, come on." He ruffled Wilhelm's hair with the hand that wasn't holding the joint. It was something August had been doing since they'd been in gymnasieskola together, and Wilhelm hated it; he thought it such a condescending gesture. But even years down the line he had a hard time anticipating it, let alone dodging it.
He bit back a resigned sound and pulled out his phone to do as August said because he had no other choice. This was, unfortunately, his lot in life: being August's errand boy until he earned enough goodwill from his mother to get promoted to an actual associate position. And he had to do it with a smile on his face because he needed his supervisor's— his cousin's— recommendation if he wanted to get there. And August was, well... August.
His eyes fixated on the time when he unlocked his phone to open the ride-sharing app. Fuck, Felice was really going to murder him. He'd have to get on full groveling mode when he made it back to his apartment tonight. If he made it back to his apartment tonight. At this rate, he wouldn't be surprised if he ended up sleeping at his desk.
It certainly wouldn't be the first time.
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Simon hurried into the meeting room with a stack of still-warm, recently printed papers in his arms. He went around the table handing them out to each of the work team's members. "Why is the text purple?" one of them asked as he glanced over the papers.
"We're running out of toner," Simon said as he moved on to the next person. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Englund look at him sharply, so he hurried to add, "I've already put in an order for it; it just hasn't been delivered yet. But no worries, I will go wrestle it from the provider myself tomorrow morning if I have to so that the printouts for the board meeting are pristine."
He cleared his throat and continued in a slightly softer tone. "I just have to make sure I go there right after I stop by the dry cleaner's, and that I'll have enough time to get here and print everything for the meeting at ten..."
"I thought the board meeting was at eleven," another member of the team interjected, confused.
"The board meeting starts at ten," Englund corrected as Simon handed him his printout. "Eriksson, make sure you call everyone in the morning and ensure that they're up on time." Simon nodded; it wouldn't be the first time he had to act as the team's personal alarm. "And I've changed my mind on the blue suit. I'm going to wear my tweed blazer, instead. I'll need it dry cleaned as well. You can grab it from the coat closet."
Simon paused. "You're not going to wear the suit that's already at the dry cleaner's, so you want me to drop off a different piece at the dry cleaner's tomorrow morning and for them to have it dry cleaned in a rush for the meeting that's scheduled for... tomorrow morning?"
Englund looked at him like he thought Simon was the dimmest person he had ever had the misfortune of knowing. "Is that so hard to understand?" he asked dryly before going back to his reading. "And make sure you get a refund for the suit; I'm not paying for three pieces when I only need one."
"Right," Simon muttered under his breath as he handed over the last of the papers and turned back toward his cubicle. "Of course. I can do that." Except he had no idea how the hell he was going to do that. Maybe if he cried a little, the dry cleaner might take pity on him and do the blazer while he waited outside in the sun at ridiculous o'clock in the a.m.
"And why aren't there more ideas for our next fundraiser?" Englund continued ranting, this time directed at everyone else in the room. "There are five of you, and yet I only see three proposals here. Did you all think the job was over after we pitch this event tomorrow, or what? This work doesn't just end!" He shook his head. "We need more new, fresh ideas, pronto."
"I might have an idea." The words were out of Simon's mouth before he even realized he was saying them. He winced as he halted at the doorway. The room had gone silent.
He turned around. Everybody was staring at him. Englund himself was giving him a "Well, out with it" kind of stare. It was weird, being in the spotlight like this, but one had to shoot their shot at some point, right? Simon cleared his throat. "Um, I was thinking of... a concert," he finally said, stumbling only a little over his words.
"But not just any concert," he added. "More like, if we can get a bunch of different artists to participate, we could pair them up, maybe, with some of the young people HSF has helped, and they could perform together—"
"Like a Make-A-Wish situation?" one of the team members asked, a befuddled expression on his face.
"Dude, shut up," another reprimanded. "You can't just make jokes about kids with cancer."
"No, no, I meant it more as a celebration of success," Simon clarified. He'd been thinking about this for months, and hoping against hope that he'd get a chance to pitch it somehow, so now that he was, he had to make it count. "It's probably silly, I know—"
"If you don't think your idea is good, then stop wasting our time, Eriksson," Englund was quick to point out.
The jab shook Simon out of his hesitance, bringing out his determined side. "I just think if we can show the public that these young queer people who are struggling right now— that with just a little bit of a helping hand, it is possible for them to find stable footing again and have a better life," he explained.
He knew he was getting a little intense about this, but he couldn't help it; he just felt the mission of HSF was so important and they could make such a significant difference in the lives of young queer people. "And to see them on stage with some big artist or band, happy and proud of themselves and celebrating how far they've come since they were at their lowest point... it could really inspire people—"
He was interrupted by the sound of his ringtone. On top of being annoying (why wasn't his phone on silent mode? He always put it on silent mode while he was at the office), it had the unfortunate side effect of reminding him that he was not part of the work team, and he really had no place pitching anything to anyone around here. Because he was just an assistant. No matter how much it sucked.
"—to go get your food," he finished weakly. "Which is what I'm... gonna go do right now." With his gaze fixed on the floor in front of his feet, he spun on his heel and made his way out of the meeting room, headed toward the lobby of the building where the delivery person was surely waiting. Thankfully, no one made any comments as he left.
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As soon as they got back to the office, August went to make a call to a contact in Brazil, leaving Wilhelm with very little to do except wait. He tried to text Felice, to apologize for missing Maddie's party, but she wasn't seeing his texts— he hoped that was because they were having so much fun that she forgot to check her phone. He didn't text Maddie; she deserved to get an apology (and congratulations) in person.
Bored out of his mind, he started playing with a bunch of USB sticks he had lying around on his incoming documents tray. He started stacking them up; they were all different shapes and sizes, so his little Jenga tower kept crashing down every few minutes.
After it fell for maybe the fifteenth time, Wilhelm leaned back in his chair and ran both hands through his hair. He caught sight of the framed picture of himself and Erik he kept on a corner of his desk and sighed. A familiar pang reverberated inside his chest, and he lifted a hand to rub at it as if that would make it go away.
He didn't want to resent Erik, or blame him for all his misfortunes— and he usually didn't. He loved his brother and missed him immensely. But on days like today, when he was exhausted and lonely and feeling sorry for himself, it was hard not to think that if Erik hadn't left— the firm, at least, though certainly the country— his life would be so much better.
It was Erik who had betrayed the firm— the family— in such a public fashion. It was Erik who resigned from the executive position he'd been granted by sheer virtue of his last name. It was Erik who had made their mother so angry that she'd decided not to offer the same type of position to Wilhelm, forcing him to make his way up from the very bottom of the corporate totem pole, instead. And it was Erik the one who moved to freaking London when Wilhelm could've used his support in dealing with all this stress.
That sounded terrible. It's not that he wanted to be a nepotism baby, or that he thought it was okay to be handed a top job just because he happened to be the boss's son. But an assistant? He had a goddamn business degree! He should've gotten at least an analyst position. More than anything, though, he just hated having to run around cleaning up August's messes. He didn't even like his cousin, and yet his mother had made him Wilhelm's supervisor, making him totally dependent on August's favor if he wanted to get a promotion.
Which meant kissing his cousin's ass and generally making himself his gofer on a daily basis.
He ran a hand over his face. He was being unfair. Erik had done the right thing in exposing the firm's failures, and it was definitely not Erik's fault that their mother didn't have confidence in Wilhelm; that had been there all along, unfortunately. And it's not like his brother had disappeared off the face of the earth; he could always call him and vent, and Erik would always try his best to give him good, supportive advice. It just wasn't the same, and Wilhelm missed how things used to be.
He reached for the USB sticks, trying a different way to prop them up. He was only halfway to the total height of his tower when August poked his head out of his office. "God, these people don't know when to shut up," he groaned, sounding more like a whiny teenager than the 28-year-old man he was. He frowned down at Wilhelm's wonky, half-built art project. "What the hell is that?"
"Nothing, just—" Wilhelm hurried to knock down the USB sticks so that he didn't end up looking like a little kid playing with LEGOs. "These are the, uh, song samples you asked for, for the corporate social responsibility ad." Aka the marketing ploy they had to cobble together to show regulators that they cared about something other than just money, though in practice, they didn't. "We just have to choose one."
"Right. Well, you should probably get on that, then," August said with a roll of his eyes that made Wilhelm's jaw clench. "Anyway, what's my schedule looking like tomorrow?"
Wilhelm checked the calendar on his computer. "Uh, tomorrow morning you have that deposition you've been pushing back for that lawsuit we got last year..."
August made a face. "Ah, yeah. Get me a doctor's note or something to get me out of it, will you?" he said, waving a hand like it was a magic wand. "Fucking waste of time. Can't we countersue them for harassment or something?"
Wilhelm frowned. "Um, I don't think that's how the law works..."
"Whatever." August shook his head. "Just pass the idea on to Legal. They'll figure something out." Wilhelm just stared. He was pretty sure the Legal department was already up to their ears with this civil proceeding; they didn't need any more protracted court battles to deal with. Erik had made sure he'd gone out with a bang. "Who am I having lunch with tomorrow?"
"You're meeting Hedda Olofsson at 1 pm at Ekstedt," Wilhelm confirmed after checking the calendar again.
August's expression turned disgusted. "Nah, it was fine at the beginning, but I'm kind of over that. Her voice is too damn nasally; I can't stand it." He shook his head. "Call her and tell her I'm breaking up with her. Set up lunch with Juni Lundin instead. Make reservations at Frantzén."
He made to go back to his office but stopped abruptly. "Actually, book me a room at the Scandic. She puts out easy." He smirked in a way that made Wilhelm's stomach turn. He hated the way August treated women. Well, he was pretty disdainful to just about anyone who wasn't a rich white man, Wilhelm's mother being the one exception, but it was especially egregious when it came to the women he dated. Casually socialized with. Hooked up with? Wilhelm didn't even know what to call it. And the worst part was, Wilhelm was usually the one who had to do the dirty work for him when it came to ending things with them. He'd had drinks thrown at his face more than once.
It might be worth it, he thought, if he at least was able to take some time to relax and not think about work while August was busy with one of his conquests. But no— even when his cousin was off getting his dick wet, Wilhelm had to be the one to pick up the slack at the office. It was awful.
He should take a stand. He should tell his cousin what a douchebag he was and to fuck off. But then August would blab to Wilhelm's mother and he would remain an assistant for the rest of his life. He wouldn't put it past her to fire him. And then what the hell would he do?
It made him sick to his gut, but he nodded and made the note on his calendar. August seemed satisfied, but only for a second, as his smug smile turned into an impatient frown. "And where the hell is my food, man? I'm starving."
Wilhelm was startled. "But you said you didn't—" August just gave him an impatient stare that made him backtrack immediately. "Uh, sure. Yeah. I'll go get some food for you right now," he said, resigned.
His cousin was magnanimous enough to grudgingly wait a few more minutes for the meal he'd explicitly told Wilhelm earlier not to order and went back inside his office. As soon as the door closed behind him, Wilhelm made for the building's lobby in a mad dash.
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Down at the main entrance to the building, Simon was on the verge of committing deliverycide.
"Are you kidding me?" he threw back at the delivery man. "Not only did I order six meals and you're only bringing me two, but now you won't even take cash?" He let out a frustrated huff. "I order from you guys like three times a week. You'd think you could bend the rules just a little on this. Would you take a money transfer?"
The man just stared back at him with a stony expression. "Card only."
Simon groaned. When his card was declined on the app and he got a notice saying he would have to pay on delivery, he'd assumed that it wouldn't be a problem if he paid with cash. "Dude, I am trying to give you my money here. Why must you make it so hard for me to do that? Look, you get paid, and I get my food. It's a mutually beneficial transaction."
"It's actually really dangerous for us delivery people to carry cash on us, you know?" the man informed him seriously. "I could get mugged, and then that would be on you. Would you want that on your conscience? I mean, why would you want to make my job more dangerous?"
"It's 450 kronor. I think you'll be safe," Simon retorted dryly.
"And who doesn't have a card in this day and age, anyway?" The man kept going like Simon hadn't even said anything.
Simon's jaw clenched. He had a card, thankyouverymuch; it was just overdrawn. Not that that was any of this guy's business. "Lots of people don't have cards, actually," he doubled back, fueled by righteous fire. "Bank cards are a scam concocted by the financial establishment to swindle fees and credit penalties out of hardworking middle-class citizens while pretending to be the silver bullet that solves all the problems capitalism itself created—"
"Sure, bring down the system, Karl Marx," the delivery guy said with a snort. "But until you do that, if you can't pay for this food, I'm outta here."
Simon was about to launch into another tirade when he was distracted by a voice coming from the direction of the elevators. "No, no. Siri. Siri, I said Chateaubriand." The word was pronounced with a frou-frou French accent.
Simon looked over his shoulder. Making his way from behind was a young man, probably around Simon's age, with floppy dark-blond hair, wearing a fancy business suit and speaking agitatedly at his (very expensive) phone. "I said slow-cooked Chateaubriand with Béarnaise sauce and fondant potatoes. Find nearby."
"I'm not sure I understand," the robotic voice of the virtual assistant said in return. The man groaned and ran the hand that wasn't holding his phone through his hair. It would've been almost endearing in a hapless sort of way if it weren't very likely that this guy was some rich asshole.
The man lifted his gaze from his phone and met Simon's, staying there for a beat before taking in the wider context around him. His eyes widened. "Hey, whose food is that?" he asked, making his way to where Simon and the delivery guy were standing.
Simon bristled. "Mine." He glared at the newcomer.
"If you can pay with a card, it's yours," the delivery guy said.
The blond guy beamed like he'd won the damn lottery. "I can pay with a card. I have so many cards." He hurried to pull out his wallet and take out one of what looked, indeed, like a lot of bank cards.
"Hey, hey, wait," Simon intervened before the man could hand the card over to the delivery guy. "That's mine— that's my boss's." He gestured frantically toward the elevators. "And if I'm not back at the office with that food in two minutes, I'm going to get fired."
The delivery man, hand still extended in front of him to receive the card, did not look moved. The blond guy, at least, appeared chagrined. "Listen, I'm really sorry," he said, and he did seem sincere; Simon had to give him that. "But we're kind of on the same boat here. If I don't take this food to my boss in the next two minutes, I'm gonna get fired."
Simon couldn't help himself: he scoffed. "No, you won't," he threw back with a disbelieving smirk. "You'll just sashay back to your office in your designer suit"— He tapped the man's tie with the Giorgio Armani logo print— "and chat your boss up like he's one of your, I don't know, lacrosse buddies or something, while reminiscing about the good old days of private boarding school." He shook his head. "And before you know it, you'll be right back to failing all the way up the corporate ladder, just as designed."
The man's eyes widened more and more with each word that came out of Simon's mouth. Simon could only imagine he was affronted— which was, technically, what he'd intended with his rant, but he did feel a smidge of guilt: he didn't know this guy, and he shouldn't be taking out his frustrations on strangers. Even rich ones. It was something he was trying to work on, really.
Simon let himself examine his newfound delivery rival in detail for the first time. He was taller than Simon; tall enough that he had to tilt his head up just slightly to look at him. His eyes were brown, almost golden in the warm lighting of the lobby, and his hair fell in a soft wave at his temples, framing his gaze like curtains.
His skin was fair, but his cheeks were pockmarked with long-healed acne scars. His teeth were slightly crooked, too, which Simon appreciated because it made him look a little less perfect. He was kinda cute in a helpless puppy sort of way, fancy suit notwithstanding, and Simon might've found him handsome in other circumstances— if he wasn't about to steal his boss's dinner, that was.
The corners of his mouth were crinkling up, though, like he was trying to hold back a smile and failing. So maybe he was more amused than affronted, after all. Huh.
"Actually, uh," he started bashfully, "I don't play lacrosse. I did rowing."
Simon let out a quick "ha!" under his breath. "And you've just proved my point," he said, sweeping his hands in a "well, there you go" gesture.
The man's smile widened. "Honestly, you're mostly right. I won't deny it," he admitted with a nod and a shrug. Simon really hadn't been expecting him to take his tirade in stride; not many of his finance colleagues in the building— because of course this dude had to be in finance— would have.
"But," the guy added, "I still have to get this food. Sorry." He handed his card to the delivery man, who quickly tapped it against his point-of-sale device. "Have a good night." Before Simon could snap out of his indignation, the blond man was walking back toward the elevators with a paper bag in his hand.
"Hey, Armani boy, wait!" Simon rushed after him. The guy just looked back over his shoulder, much like Simon had done earlier, but didn't stop. Simon finally caught up to him just before he turned the corner. "Okay, okay, listen: there are two meals in there." The blond man peeked into the bag to check and seemed satisfied that Simon was telling the truth.
"So maybe we can reach a compromise here, yes?" Simon continued. "Let me have the seafood platter— it should be large enough to split between six people in tiny portions." He paused as a thought crossed his mind. "Well, except for that one guy who's allergic to shellfish. But he was making bad jokes about childhood cancer patients earlier, so I dare say he deserves to go hungry tonight."
The blond guy just looked confused. "You ordered two meals for six people?"
Simon scowled. "No. Employee of the month over there"— he signaled behind him with his thumb, where the delivery man had been standing just a minute ago— "only brought two of the six meals I ordered." He put his hands together as if begging. "Can I please just take one of them? You can keep the burger. It's a good burger. Simple, no frills; anyone would like it."
The man looked like he was really thinking about it, though he still seemed a bit conflicted. "That's going to be an issue, I think. My supervisor likes 'frills.'"
"Of course he does," Simon muttered under his breath. Fucking rich people. "Not enough caviar for him, I suppose..."
The blond guy chuckled. Simon found himself smiling, too, just a little. But then another thought occurred to him. "Oh, I know what we can do." He reached into the bag, pulled out both meal containers, set them down on the floor, and opened them. He took the top bun off the burger and placed two shrimps from the seafood platter on top of the cheesy beef patty.
"There we go," he said once the newly remixed meals were presentable again and ready to go. "Now it's a... what is it that Americans call it? A 'surf and turf' burger," he declared proudly.
The man crinkled his nose (rather adorably, Simon had to admit). "Yeah, I'm not calling it that."
"As long as your boss can eat it, I don't care what you call it," Simon said. He sighed, releasing some of the tension from his shoulders. "Is this good enough? Let me just pay you back and we'll be square." He pulled his wallet out of his pocket.
The blond man shook his head. "No, you don't have to pay me. It's fine; you can take it." He placed the container with the burger back in the paper bag and, giving Simon a quick smile, turned the corner toward the inside of the building proper.
Stunned for a moment by the unexpected response, Simon had to rush to catch up with him again. He found the man waiting for an elevator. He pulled a few bills out of his wallet just as the elevator doors opened, folding them into a smaller rectangular bundle. "Hey, no, I can pay you. I just have it in cash."
"It's just one meal," the guy said like it wasn't a big deal at all. "I don't need the money, really."
"No, I can't accept that," Simon insisted. "I just had an issue with my card, okay? I'm not destitute."
The man's honey-colored eyes widened as he realized he'd probably offended Simon. "Oh no," he said, clearly distressed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that you're— That's not— That's absolutely not what I meant—"
Simon shook his head, dismissive. "Well, just take the money, then," he all but demanded, stretching out his hand, with the bundle of bills in it, toward the other man.
That was the exact moment when the elevator doors started closing again, and they both reflexively reached out to stop them before they shut completely. Unfortunately, they didn't account for the other doing the exact same thing at the exact same time, and their hands bumped together in the middle.
The movement, much to Simon's horror, knocked the bundle of folded bills right out of his hand, and it fell to the floor, the momentum propelling it to slide a few centimeters further until it disappeared down the thin gap between the elevator car proper and the shaft, never to be seen again.
The two of them gaped as they stared at the barely there empty space. "Oh, now the universe is really fucking with me," Simon said with a mournful groan. Seriously, this kind of shit only happened to him.
The blond man laughed, stepping into the elevator. "It's okay," he said, unconcerned. "I told you, I don't need the money."
"Uh uh." Simon stepped into the elevator as well. The doors closed behind him. "I will definitely pay you back. Every last krona. Just... tomorrow." As the elevator started going up, he made a mental note of the floor the other man was getting off at; it was a couple of floors above his office.
"Okay, then," the guy acquiesced finally. Once again he seemed thoroughly entertained by Simon's huffiness.
He ran through the team's schedule for the next day in his head. Things would hopefully be less frenetic after the board meeting. "I'll try to stop by in the afternoon," he explained. The other man nodded. "How do I find you?"
"Krona Ventures," the man said easily. Simon held back a snort; of course they named their firm after money. "Just ask for Wilhelm." He paused for a second, shuffling his feet a bit. "You can call me Wille, though. If you want."
Simon snuck a peek at him. His eyes were very deliberately fixed on the floor-numbering display above the door, watching as the numbers ticked up. He seemed almost shy. "Okay. Wille," Simon said. The name flowed easily from between his lips. He saw Wille smile again. "I'm Simon, by the way."
"Cool," Wille said, glancing at Simon briefly out of the corner of his eye.
The elevator finally made it to Simon's floor. The doors opened and he stepped out, glancing behind him as he did. "I hope your supervisor enjoys his dinner," he said, only half teasing.
Wille laughed again. "Thanks," he said. His eyes shone under the fluorescent lighting of the enclosed space. "I'll see you tomorrow... Simon." His smile was the last thing Simon saw before the elevator doors closed.
He stood there for maybe a heartbeat too long, staring at the metallic doors and wondering what the hell had just happened. Then he shook himself out of it, remembering that he had to deliver Englund's food. It had already taken him way longer than it should have.
As he turned to go into the HSF offices, though, he saw Englund and the rest of the team filing out. "We're done for the day," Englund said as he passed Simon, who was just standing there gobsmacked. "Everything better be ready tomorrow when I get here."
"Yes, Mr. Englund," Simon said with a resigned sigh.
"I'll take that," said one of the team members, taking the container with the meal— thankfully not the Make-A-Wish guy with the shellfish allergy. Simon let him have it. It annoyed him to no end that he'd gone through all that trouble for no reason, but at least the food wouldn't go to waste.
He went inside to do a last sweep of the place, just to check if anyone else was still around or if he had to close down the office himself for the third time in the last week.
.
.
.
When Wille opened the door to his apartment, he found Felice on the other side about to do the same. "Oh, hey," he said, surprised to see her there. "I thought you said you guys were heading out."
"Yeah, the others are already at the bar, but I didn't want to leave the place a mess for when you came back," she said with a sympathetic smile, adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder.
"You didn't have to do that," Wille mumbled, deeply touched by his friend's consideration. Felice and Madison didn't technically live with him, though they both had keys to the apartment. Wille mostly let them come and go and use the spare bedroom whenever they needed it, like when Felice's parents were visiting and Maddie wanted to hook up, or when Maddie had meetings with clients and suppliers and Felice needed peace and quiet for her own work. Or when they wanted to throw a party, like tonight.
The people who knew them probably thought it was a weird arrangement, but Wille preferred things this way. The apartment felt too empty otherwise. He didn't own the place; Erik did— Wille had lived with him since he started university. Now that Erik had left the country, Wille had to live there by himself, and the apartment was entirely too big for just one person. Plus, when he was left on his own, he ended up missing Erik too much. It wasn't great for his mental health.
"I'm so sorry I couldn't make it tonight," he said, contrite. He'd already told her this via phone and text, several times, but it was worth repeating. "I really thought I'd be able to get here on time, but August kept me there late."
"As usual," Felice said, which was out of character for her. Wille knew she didn't like August— Maddie didn't, either— but usually when it came to his work, she refrained from commenting. Wille knew she didn't like coming across as judgy or like she was telling him how to do his job, so she was usually subtle with her opinions and advice. Unlike Madison, who had no qualms about cursing August to hell and back in his defense.
"Silver lining, though," Felice continued, "at least if August was 'working'"— she made air quotes with her hands because they both knew Wille did most of August's work— "he couldn't invite himself to our party tonight."
Wille laughed. When it came to personal stuff, that's where Felice didn't sugarcoat how lowly she thought of August. Wille's cousin had been infatuated with Felice since their boarding school days, but she had never given him the time of day (which was good, since August was a total pig).
Still to this day, he never failed to take any opportunity available to weasel himself into Wille's circle of friends so he could flirt with Felice and try to make her the latest notch on his bedpost. Wille hated it, but again, he couldn't do much to stop it without ending up in the doghouse at work. It sucked that Felice had to keep shooting down his unsolicited and unwelcome advances, but at least August hadn't crossed any lines. Yet.
Felice smiled at him as she passed him on her way out the door. "You sure you don't wanna come with?"
Wille shook his head, honestly disappointed to have to turn down the offer. "I have to be at the office early tomorrow." That was why he'd asked them to meet up there in the first place: so he could spend some time with them at the apartment and then they'd go off to a bar and he'd stay in and get enough sleep to not be a zombie the next day. He just hadn't counted on having to stay late at the office as well.
"So do I, but I can still hang out with them for an hour or so," Felice retorted. She put on her most convincing expression. "I'm sure Maddie would love to have you there to celebrate her birthday, at least for a little while."
Wille sighed. "Sorry, I can't. I've just had a really long day. I might pass out as soon as you leave." He shrugged. "I don't want to be that one person at the party bringing everybody else down."
"Okay," Felice conceded, "but you're going to have to buy Maddie a really nice present if you want her to not hold this against you for the rest of her life." She was teasing, but there was also a tinge of concern marring her open expression. Now that was more like Felice's usual reaction to his professional woes.
"Noted. I'll see you later." She nodded and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek as a goodbye. Wille smiled at her, grateful to have her in his life. As she turned around to leave, he added, "You look great, by the way."
"Thank you!" She did a quick curtsy, like a theater actor at curtain call. Wille laughed. She pointed at him with one finger. "And you look tired. Go to bed." He assured her that he would, and she waved at him on the way to the stairs.
It hit him as he looked in the mirror after washing his face in preparation for sleep that he really did look tired. He patted his cheeks a bit, trying to get some color into his cheeks so he didn't look like death warmed over. Not that there was anyone around to see him, of course. But it did make him wonder how long he'd been walking around looking like this.
Unbidden, his thoughts drifted to his fellow beleaguered assistant he'd met just today— Simon. If there was anyone who would understand the bone-deep exhaustion Wille had been carrying around for... years now, really, it would be him. But though Simon looked tired, too, he didn't look bad. If anything, it should be physically impossible for anyone to look that good after working for twelve-plus hours, but Simon somehow managed it.
Wille smiled to himself as he laid down in his bed. That guy was... he was really something. Wille wasn't sure he'd ever met anyone quite like him. His last conscious thought before falling asleep was that he was really looking forward to seeing him again the next day.
.
.
.
Finally home after a long, long day at work, Simon sat on his couch with a couple of slices of reheated leftover pizza from last night, his laptop in front of him on the coffee table, and a throw pillow on his lap for hugging purposes as he watched the latest episode of Idol. Some teenager from Malmö was auditioning with a song his mother wrote for him before she died of ALS, and he was so good, he had made Katia Mosally cry. Simon wasn't too far from it himself, to be honest. Music could be so healing.
The sound of the front door opening signaled the return of his sister, who walked into the living room followed by her boyfriend of two years, Alexander. "Hey, Simon," she greeted him nonchalantly, then frowned in confusion when she saw the pizza on the seat next to him. "Didn't you have a date tonight? What happened?"
Simon rolled his eyes. "What do you think happened? I had to work late, so I couldn't make it." He leaned forward to pause the video on his computer.
Sara let out a huff as she sat down on an armchair to Simon's right. "Again?" She shook her head. "Simon, you have to quit that job."
Simon threw his head back against the backrest of the couch with a groan. "I don't want to quit my job. I want upward mobility in my job," he reminded her for what felt like the thousandth time. They argued about this at least once a month, and frankly, Simon was tired of it.
He appreciated that his sister wanted him to be as happy in his job as she was at the Häståkeriet stables. He really did. He knew her frustration was coming from a place of caring. But sometimes it took a while for people to get where they really wanted to be, and quitting would only make him have to start from scratch. He wished she would understand that.
"Guys, do we really need to do this right now?" Alexander intervened hesitantly. Simon couldn't blame him for wanting to pull the brakes before things really got going, because God knew the poor man had been a witness to just about every argument he and Sara had had about this through the years. He must be as sick of it by now as Simon was.
Simon pointed to him, victorious. "Thank you, Alex!" he exclaimed. Then, toward Sara: "See? This is why he's my favorite sibling."
Sara glared at him. Alexander laughed a little awkwardly; he was blushing, too. "I am... not your sibling just yet." The fluster was all but gone as he turned to Sara with a smile, however. "Hey, love, didn't you say before that you were thirsty? Let me go get you a glass of water."
"Okay," Sara said with a smile. She tilted her head up so that Alexander could lean down to kiss her, which he promptly did. "I love you," Sara added sweetly.
"I love you, too," Alexander replied, going in for another peck. Simon pretended to gag at how sickeningly cute they were, but he was just teasing as any brother would. He really liked Alex. He was good for his sister.
"Love ya, Simon!" Alex called out as he disappeared down the hallway on his way to the kitchen.
"Right back at ya," Simon replied with an amused shake of his head.
Once Alexander was out of the room, Sara turned her attention to Simon again. "Listen," she started, as conciliatory as she could possibly be. "You know I'm not trying to make you feel bad, right? It's just— you forget that I'm the one who has to sit here and listen to you complain day in and day out about how badly they treat you."
Simon sighed. "I know. But it's not that bad, really. Sometimes..." He shrugged, an image of dark-blond hair and a shy smile popping into his head all of a sudden. "...Sometimes good things do come out of me working there, you know."
That assertion was received with one skeptical arched eyebrow from his sister. "Yeah? Like what?"
Simon contemplated telling her about his encounter with Wille earlier that night. He wasn't hesitating because of anything having to do with Sara, though. He and his sister kept no secrets from each other— had promised not to ever since they were children. It's just that he wasn't sure there was anything to tell when it came to Wille just yet. Wasn't sure if he was just reading too much into things.
They'd only just met, after all, and just because he didn't seem awful like the rest of the stuffy rich finance bros who worked in his office building, didn't mean he was someone Simon would like to be friends with, let alone anything more. Not that Simon wanted him to be anything more than a friend. Sure, he was cute, but Simon wasn't going to get a crush on him after talking to him just once. Or, you know, ever. The dude was most likely straight, anyway.
Whatever. He'd just wait and see how things went the next day when he paid him back his money.
He was about to open his mouth to give Sara a vaguer answer than he knew she would prefer when Alexander called out from... wherever he'd gone. "Babe, can you come here for a second?"
"Coming!" she said, rolling her eyes, but there was a fondness to the gesture. She stood up, directing one last comment at Simon before she went. "You suck for watching Idol without me, by the way."
"Sorry," Simon muttered as she headed down the hallway as well, though he didn't really feel sorry. If he waited for his sister to watch his favorite shows, his watchlist would get so long that one could walk on it to the moon.
He took a bite of his pizza and hit play on the video, back to the Idol auditions. He was only a few seconds into the song, however, when a scream came from down the hall. Sara's.
Startled, he ran to his sister's room, where it seemed the scream had come from. "What happe—" When he got to her doorway, however, what he found was the last thing he was expecting: Alexander sitting on the bed with a small, cubic, (empty) velvet jewelry box in one hand, and Sara's hand in the other, which now sported a shiny new diamond-pronged band on her ring finger.
"Oh my God," Sara said, wide-eyed. She turned to Simon, lifting her hand to show him the ring. "I'm getting married! Oh my God!"
Simon, however, was completely stupefied by this turn of events. Which clearly showed in what came out of his mouth a second later. "Dude! I was just joking earlier!" he blurted out, more to Alexander than to his sister.
Alex just laughed, clearly too effervescent to take offense. "Well, I wasn't!" he responded. Indeed, it looked like he couldn't stop grinning.
Sara, on the other hand, did object to his rudeness. "Simon!" she scolded, part annoyed and part hurt that he'd react that way to her happy news.
It was that flash of disappointment that made Simon shake himself out of his bewilderment— quite literally, at that— as it made him realize he was being a total jerk and ruining his sister's big moment. "No, no, I'm sorry! I'm just— I'm in shock!" He finally was able to unglue his feet from the doorway where he stood and make his way toward the newly engaged couple, slapping a bright grin on his face. "I'm so happy for you guys! Oh my God, you're getting married!" He hugged his sister first, then his future brother-in-law.
"We're gonna be brothers, man!" Alex said, patting him on the back enthusiastically.
"We're gonna be brothers!" Simon said, still trying to process that fact. By that point, however, Alexander's attention had gone back to Sara, the two of them cooing sweet nothings at each other in between kisses like Simon wasn't even in the room.
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
"I love you more."
"How much more?"
"Oh, I'll show you how much..."
"...And that's my cue to leave," Simon mumbled to himself, heading straight for the door with his eyes locked in front of him, lest he look back and see something that might traumatize him for life. Not for the first time, he was very glad his room was on the opposite end of the apartment.
Once he closed the door behind him, though, as he stood in the middle of the hallway trying to wrap his head around the fact that his sister was getting married, holy crap, he also felt a small pang in his heart.
It wasn't that he wasn't happy for Sara and Alex. Of course he was. It was just... the thought crossed his mind that his sister had a job that fulfilled her, friends and family who supported her unconditionally, and now also someone who loved her to spend the rest of her life with. She was moving forward, doing something with her life. And meanwhile, Simon was... what?
Stuck. That's what he was.
Pushing down the unexpected knot that had formed in his throat, he went to grab his laptop and quickly scarf down the rest of his pizza before heading to bed. Those were thoughts for later; for now, he just had to be happy for his sister— no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Not that he had time to ponder on it for too long, anyway. He had to be up in like four hours, after all.
.
.
Author's notes!—
*Wince* So that ended on a bit of a downer... sorry? It just sort of happened, lol. xD This chapter is mainly setup, and the plot really gets going in the next one.
Sweden is pretty hardline when it comes to drugs: marijuana is illegal, and it's not expected to be legalized anytime soon. Wilhelm's disapproval is not about the weed itself, but more about August's entitlement. The Make-A-Wish Foundation is a US nonprofit that helps fulfill the wishes of children suffering from terminal disease. Jenga is a game from Hasbro where a tower of blocks is erected and players have to take turns pulling blocks out of the tower without causing it to fall.
Ekstedt and Frantzén are real restaurants in the Stockholm area. The Scandic Grand Central is a 4-star hotel near Frantzén. 450 kronor is about $40 USD. Karl Marx was a German philosopher and socialist revolutionary who originated the left-wing Marxist school of thought. Siri is a virtual assistant associated with Apple technology. Chateaubriand is a cut of beef tenderloin that can be roasted or grilled and basted in butter. Béarnaise sauce is made from clarified butter emulsified in egg yolks and white vinegar and often accompanies the Chateaubriand. Fondant potatoes are potatoes cut into little cylinders, then roasted in butter and stock.
Giorgio Armani is a high-end Italian clothing label; its logo is a curved G and A forming a circle. Lacrosse is a team sport of North American indigenous origin played with a stick used to carry, pass, and shoot a ball into the goal. Caviar is salt-cured roe (fish eggs), which is considered a delicacy. "Surf and turf" is a slang term (especially in the US) for a main dish combining seafood and red meat. The venture capital firm Wille works at might be named "Krona" after the Swedish currency, but it's also a double pun because krona means "crown." Venture capital firms are financial entities that provide the initial capital to startups and similar emerging companies.
Idol Sverige is a Swedish singing reality competition show that is part of the same franchise as Pop Idol in the UK and American Idol in the US. It started in 2004 and is still ongoing, airing on TV4. Katia Mosally, a Swedish-Syrian record company marketer, is one of the current judges on the show. Malmö is the third-largest city in Sweden. Häståkeriet is a stable and riding school located in Djurgården, some 10-15 minutes outside of the center of Stockholm.
This fic is based on the movie Set It Up, a 2018 Netflix-original romantic comedy starring Zoey Deutch, Glen Powell, Taye Diggs, and Lucy Liu. It's one of my favorite movies, and in my opinion, something of a millennial return to the great rom-coms of the 90s and early 2000s. Be sure to check it out if you can! Much like with my previous fic, this story is not fully written. As such, there is no set posting schedule, and I will post chapters as they get written— which will depend on how much time and bandwith I get to do that, what with school and work. Plus, I'll probably take a break somewhere in the middle to obsess about YR2, but I'd wager we'll all be on the same boat at that point, so yeah. Tl;dr— please be patient with me; I'll update as often as I can.
In the next chapter: Our dynamic duo gets to know each other a little better, and an interesting idea is hatched almost accidentally.
Kudos and comments are always welcome! And as usual, I'm also on Twitter (girls_are_weird, and maybe I will stay on there after all? I don't know yet?) or Tumblr (girls-are-weird), and also now on Mastodon (girls_are_weird) in case you want to let me know what you thought about this, and if you're going to stick with me for the rest. See you next time!