Like Because, Love Despite, Chapter 4. PG-13, Set It Up AU, Wille/Simon, romance/fluff/slight drama.
Wilhelm and Simon are a pair of overworked, underpaid assistants who team up to gain their supervisors' favor by bringing them together for a joint venture. It might be the best worst idea they've ever had.
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They were having lunch in the café across the street, and it was not a date.
At least, Simon didn't think it was. If anything, it was more of a planning session, really. "So, what's our next step?" Wille asked as if to confirm Simon's thoughts. He took a bite of his sandwich, chewing so primly he might as well have been a princess, and looked at Simon expectantly.
Simon popped a potato wedge into his mouth and thought about it for a moment. "Does August like the national football team, by any chance?" he asked.
Wille gave him a look like the answer to his question was obvious. And to be fair, it probably was with jock-type dudebros such as August. "Of course he does," he said, after swallowing the food in his mouth. Then he frowned. "But wait, isn't it the female team that's playing right now?"
Simon arched a brow at him. "Yes. Is that a problem?"
Wille's eyes widened. "No! Not for me, no— it's just—" He put down his sandwich, cleared his throat, and rethought what he was about to say. "It's just..." He grimaced. "August thinks the female team is a waste of time and money," he finished in a sheepish mumble.
"Of course he does," Simon said with a roll of his eyes. "They are literally the second-highest ranked in the world. What more do they have to do to get some respect around here?" He shook his head, annoyed.
"I didn't know you felt that strongly about football," Wille commented, going back to his food.
"I don't. Not really," Simon admitted. And it was mostly true. His father had been into football (or at least watching football on the TV with his buddies) when Simon was a child, but Simon himself had never really developed much of an interest in the sport itself.
He did have some good memories of it, though— he remembered the way his parents used to flirt with each other during the good days of their marriage by teasing each other about whether football or baseball was the better sport. But those good days now felt like an entire lifetime ago, and he hadn't spoken to his father in years, so it was hard to scrum up any kind of emotional connection to it these days.
The posters of Sebastian Larsson Rosh had plastered all over her room growing up may or may not have been Simon's gay awakening, too. Not that he was ever going to admit that out loud. To anyone.
"One of my best friends plays for the team, though," he told Wille, only pausing to put another potato wedge in his mouth. "She can get me VIP tickets which I can then pass on to Englund. If you can get August there, it would be a good opportunity to get them to talk business. I assume it won't be difficult to get him in the VIP box?" he asked, knowing that rich people just got invited to stuff like this even though most of them couldn't care less.
Wille shook his head. "I'll figure out a way to get August to go," he said, contemplative. "I might need to trick him into it, though. Maybe if I tell him someone important will be there that he wants to suck up to..."
"Right, because he's a misogynist," Simon chimed in while polishing off the last of his lunch.
Wille chuckled. "Well, to be fair, Englund doesn't strike me as the type of guy to be into football, either," he commented, a tinge of disbelief, or maybe just curiosity, to the statement.
Simon snorted. "Oh, no. He hates team sports," he said, assuredly. He'd been on the receiving end of many a rant from Englund about how rational human beings turned into mindless animals when they put on a sports jersey.
At Wille's look of confusion, he explained further. "He hates team sports, but he loves betting on them." He smirked. "And I know for a fact that some of the highest-stakes betting happens at the stadium."
Wille nodded, understanding. He brought his sandwich up to his mouth to take another bite but paused halfway there when he saw Simon get up. "Wait, you're leaving?" he asked. Something between surprise and utter devastation flashed on his face.
"Yeah, I gotta get back to work," Simon said, trying not to think too much about what that look meant. It only lasted maybe a second before his expression shuttered, anyway. Sure, Simon would've loved to sit here with Wille for as long as possible, but it's not like this was a date. They both had other responsibilities to attend to.
"I'll text you when I find out about the tickets, okay?" Simon added.
"Oh, uh, okay," Wille said, giving him a sweet, if somewhat confused, smile. "I'll be waiting." Simon smiled at him in return and, with a small wave, made for the exit.
He had to hold himself back from looking over his shoulder to see if Wille was watching him go.
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Wille ran a hand through his sweaty hair as he waited for Simon outside Friends Arena. He'd managed to find a spot of shade to stand in, but even so, he was at risk of boiling alive.
"Wille!" He turned to see Simon finally making his way toward him, in jean shorts and a yellow national team jersey. He carried a plastic bag in his hand. "I'm so sorry I'm late. I was looking for souvenirs and I totally lost track of time."
Wille snorted. "Your best friend is on the team. Why are you looking for souvenirs?"
"Oh," Simon said as if it had only just occurred to him that might be a little bit weird. "It's just— my other best friend and I have a tradition that whenever our other friend is playing, we buy her some silly little trinket, and then if they win, we give it to her, and she puts it on a special shelf at her place."
"That's silly," Wille said, laughing lightly. "But also kinda sweet."
Simon laughed, too. "Yeah, she always glares at us for cluttering her apartment with all this crap, but I know deep down she appreciates it." He shook his head, amused. "Speaking of silly... why are you wearing that?" he asked, pointing at Wille with a judgy finger.
Wille looked down at his suit and tie. "Oh. I'm... working?" It came out more like a question than he intended.
Simon rolled his eyes at him, but he was still smiling like he found it endearing. "Right. Well, at least take off the jacket," he suggested, "otherwise you're going to melt in this heat."
A bit more reassured now that he wasn't the only one who thought so, Wille took off his jacket, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. It's not like he was going to have a business meeting while at the stadium, after all. As he finished up, he noticed Simon staring. "What?"
"Nothing," Simon replied, but it seemed like maybe it was something. Still, before he could say anything about it, Simon added, "I'm hungry. Come on, let's get something to eat before we find our seats."
They headed to the kiosk nearest to their section. There, they met up with one of Simon's two best friends, Ayub, who was eating a hot dog as he waited for them. "Hey, dude!" Simon said, going in for a quick hug. He quickly introduced Wille, as well. "Seriously? We've known each other since we were five, and you couldn't get a hot dog for me, too?"
"Sorry, man. You know how you get on a souvenir run. I was hungry," Ayub explained with a shrug. "You can get your own in a minute. Did you send me the pictures?"
"Uh, I can go get us hot dogs while you guys figure everything out," Wille offered. "You don't need me to be here for this, right?" Ayub was somehow involved with under-the-table betting for sports events (pretty high up on the chain, or so it seemed to Wille, although Simon had told him it was "better not to ask"), and he was going to get a bookie in the suite lounge to hook both Englund and August in.
It was just a friendly match so the stakes weren't terribly high, but if the bookie played things right, it might give them a step up toward actually talking to each other this time around. That was their goal for the day: just getting Englund and August to talk to each other in a civil manner. After the fiasco in the elevator, that alone seemed like a triumph.
Wille didn't know much about the world of sports betting (or sports, period, except for stuff like rowing and equestrianism), so he knew he was better off just staying out of the way and leaving everything to Ayub and Simon.
Simon seemed hesitant to exclude him, though. "You don't have to—"
"No, it's fine," Wille assured him. "I already sent you a photo of August, so I don't really have anything else to contribute before we're a go." Simon couldn't refute that, so there wasn't much more to argue. "Alright, then. Ketchup and mustard?"
"Uh, sure," Simon said, caught off-guard.
"Boiled or grilled?" Simon stammered like he couldn't pick one or the other, but Wille just waved his indecision off with one hand. "It's okay. I'll just get one of each and take whichever one you don't take." He cleared his throat awkwardly when it registered how couple-y that sounded.
"Right. I'll just go, then," he said, and hightailed it toward the end of the line.
Once he got there, he ran a hand over his face in frustration. This crush of his was getting ridiculous. Maybe he ought to just pluck up his courage and ask Simon out. For real, that was; not just to figure out the next step in their plan. Then, even if Simon didn't like him that way— and why would he? Wille was just another oblivious rich boy, and Simon had made his opinion about those plainly clear— at least then he'd know for sure.
But then he remembered that it would be useless to ask Simon— or anyone— out if he still had zero free time and lived his life in a perpetual bad mood from having to be a slave to his cousin on a daily basis. No, the plan came first. And he had to set his attraction to Simon aside, at least for now, so he didn't mess things up between the two of them unintentionally. He'd cross that bridge later if he got the chance, but for now, their scheme was much more important.
He snuck a glance at Ayub and Simon. He was too far to hear what they were saying, but Ayub was grinning, poking at Simon's shoulder in what seemed like a teasing manner, and Simon was shaking his head, seemingly flustered. He wondered what they were talking about, but it was probably some kind of inside joke he wouldn't get, anyway. That's the way it was with Felice and Maddie, sometimes, even though Wille had been friends with them for years now.
There was something special about being friends with someone since childhood, he figured. Wille had never really had that himself. Well, there was Erik, of course, but it was kind of lame to say that about your big brother, and Erik wasn't even around anymore, so it was a moot point.
He got to the front of the line and ordered the food. It only took a few minutes before he was back with Simon and Ayub, chatting comfortably as they headed up the stairs to their seats.
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It was when Wille noticed how high up their seats were that he started acting weird. "Oh," he said, more to himself than to the other two as he glanced down toward the field. "I'm sorry you had to give up your VIP seats for this."
Simon frowned, confused by the unexpected comment. "Sorry for what? These are the best seats in the arena."
Wille looked around like he couldn't match up their location with what Simon had just said. His gaze went to the field again, where both teams were warming up. "Really? The players look like ants from here."
Simon snorted, amused. "Yeah, but you can still see everything on the screens," he said, gesturing to the huge screens in front of and diagonal to them, which were, indeed, showing close shots of what was happening down in the field.
Wille still looked like he wanted to object, so Simon insisted. "No, really. This is where all the fun happens." He nodded toward a group of people a couple of rows above them and to their right. They were decked out in blue and yellow from the tips of their hair down to the soles of their shoes, and they were carrying drums and trumpets, and even a couple of vuvuzelas.
"They come to every national game that's played in this stadium," he explained with a grin. "Just wait until the match starts going and they start playing. It'll be like a party up here." Wille seemed satisfied with that, so they checked their tickets to find their seats.
Ayub, who'd stopped at the bathroom, came up just then, a row below where Simon and Wille were standing. "Here we go," he said to himself, patting the seat directly in front of Simon's.
"Oh, hey, do you want to switch seats with me so you can sit with Simon?" Wille offered suddenly. "I don't mind. You guys probably want to catch up with each other." Simon was confused. He knew Wille wasn't much of a football person, but he was acting like he didn't want to be here. Or maybe like he didn't want to be here with Simon. What the hell was going on?
Ayub shook his head easily. "Nah, man. I'm good. You two should sit together." He said it with a suggestive grin that sent alarms ringing in Simon's head. It was bad enough that Ayub had taken it upon himself to corner Simon about the (very obvious, in hindsight) crush he had on Wille earlier at the food kiosk. Surely he wouldn't say something too obvious while Wille was standing right there. Surely he wouldn't.
"Ayub," he warned between clenched teeth.
Ayub's grin only widened. "What?" he asked, putting on the most innocent expression he could muster. "You guys are going to be sharing those binoculars, right?" He pointed to the device Simon was holding in his hand. "It's just easier this way."
"Right," Simon said, but he was still glaring at Ayub through narrowed eyes. Ayub just grinned back at him; the asshole knew exactly what he was doing. Simon shook his head and handed the binoculars off to Wille before sitting down. The other two did the same.
"What's up with you?" he asked Wille instead.
"Hmm?" Wille said, binoculars halfway up to his face.
"You're being weird," Simon said, not one to beat around the bush. "Look, if you don't want to be here, you don't have to. You can go if you want, and I'll make sure the thing goes well, okay? I'm not, like, holding you hostage or anything—"
Wille's eyes widened. "What? No! I want to be here," Wille assured him. He ran a hand through his hair— it flopped right back over his face. "I don't mean to be weird, I just— I'm antsy about the whole..." He signaled in the general direction of the suite lounge. "...I guess. And everything else"— He gestured around them— "is very new. I'm just trying to take it all in. But I like it. I think it'll be fun."
"You sure?" Simon asked, just to be certain.
"I'm sure," Wille confirmed. "This is nice." He smiled, a shy, sweet gesture that sent delicate flutters into Simon's tummy. "It's nice being here. With you."
Simon couldn't hold himself back from smiling in return. "Okay," he said. They probably held gazes for a tad longer than strictly platonic, but Simon couldn't look away. He gladly would've remained studying Wille's every feature for an hour or two, had Ayub not cleared his throat and pointed out that he thought he saw someone who looked like August just walk out of the suite lounge and into the VIP box seats.
Wille looked through the binoculars and after just a couple of seconds, he nodded. "Oh yeah. That's definitely August." He handed the device over to Simon so he could see. "In the front row. He's wearing his Zlatan jersey."
Simon took a glance and found him immediately. He was going to ask something but then he felt Wille lean into his side, speaking nearly into his ear, like a secret, and the question vaporized from his mind. "Easy enough to keep track of. I don't think he'll be moving around much. I told him I had heard from someone at the luncheon that Mark Cuban was going to be here."
Simon lowered the binoculars with a snort. "He'll be waiting for a while, then." He turned to look at Wille with a grin; his face was really close. "And where is Mr. Cuban, currently?"
Wille grinned back. "Amsterdam. Has been for the last four days, actually. Not that August is ever going to find out."
Simon laughed. "You can be quite the evil genius when you set your mind to it, you know that?"
Wille covered his face with his hands like he was embarrassed by the odd compliment, but his shoulders were shaking with mirth. "August just brings it out in me, I guess," he conceded modestly.
Simon found that he rather liked this slightly wicked side of Wille. He knew that Wille was worried about being manipulative, and he could understand that— Simon didn't want to manipulate anyone, either. But August treated Wille like dirt, and guys like him never paid the price for being awful. Something mostly harmless like this felt like the bare minimum retribution for everything he put Wille through on the regular.
Plus, confidence was kind of hot on him.
Trying to disguise the blush he was sure was blooming on his cheeks, Simon brought the binoculars up to his eyes again. They still had to wait until Englund showed up, so he might as well just keep an eye out.
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The match was going to start in a few minutes, and there was still no sign of Englund. By this point, Wille was slumped so far back in his seat that Ayub's face bumped into his knee every time he turned his head. He'd already apologized like seven hundred times, but it just kept happening. Because he was really bored.
At his side, Simon had spent the last little while on his phone, texting with someone. He seemed really engrossed in it, and Wille had wondered earlier if maybe it was work related. Simon had told him it wasn't when he asked, though.
He was frowning pretty intensely down at his phone now, however, which did make Wille curious. "Is everything okay?" he asked, sitting up so he didn't have to twist his neck at an unnatural angle to be able to look at the other man.
"Yeah," Simon responded absentmindedly, still looking at the screen. He typed a few more frantic sentences, then turned off his screen while shaking his head. "Sorry, it's just..." He rubbed his eyes with one hand. "My sister keeps asking me if I'm going to bring a plus one to her engagement party."
"Is that bad?" Wille asked. "I'm sure you could get someone to go with you, even just as friends."
"I know, but that's not the response she wants to get," Simon retorted in a bit of a huffy tone. "She wants me to start dating again, and every time I remind her that I can't because I have no time, she uses that as an in to tell me to quit my job."
He leaned back and crossed his arms, pushing his feet against the back of Ayub's seat— luckily, Ayub was bent forward while talking on the phone with someone, so it didn't bother him. "It's just a lose-lose situation. If I tell her I don't have a plus one, she'll just keep annoying me about this for the foreseeable future. If I tell her I'm bringing someone and then show up by myself or with a friend, I'll just make her sad about my pathetic lack of a love life on what's supposed to be one of the happiest days of her life. There's just no good outcome."
"That's rough," Wille said. At least in his case, his friends weren't pushing him to date if he didn't want to; they just wanted whatever made him happy, even if that meant being single. (They did have opinions on his job, but that was a separate issue, as far as they were concerned.)
When they talked on the phone, Erik sometimes advised him to go out more, meet more new people, and maybe then he'd develop an interest in someone. But he didn't make it an imperative or anything; he knew Wille well enough to understand that he had to make up his mind on is own time, and pushing would do no good.
His parents certainly expected the whole marriage-and-babies deal from him sometime in the future— to project maturity and ensure the business would stay in the family, his mother would say, especially now that she couldn't count on Erik for that— but they weren't exactly demanding that he do that right now. Certainly not when his mother didn't even consider him good enough for an associate position just yet.
But surely Simon's sister would understand? He'd heard Simon talk about her a few times and they seemed really close. Wille could only imagine that she would want her brother to be happy regardless of his relationship status, rather than just be paired off for the sake of it.
"I would just tell her to note you down for a plus one," he suggested. "She basically only needs to know so they have enough food and drinks, right? Just tell her you're bringing someone, and then if you don't, at least they won't be short on food." He shrugged. He knew from all of his mother's high-society "entertaining" that it was always better to have too much than not enough.
"Plus, when even is this party? You might still have time to find someone to go with you," he added, being very careful not to sound like he was fishing for an invite himself. He wasn't going to insinuate himself into Simon's family life like that, as someone who was interested in him, or even just as a friend. He wanted to spend as much time with Simon as he could get, sure, but going to his sister's engagement party was kind of a major thing. He really shouldn't even be wondering about it.
"In a couple of weeks," Simon answered. Then he let out a heavy sigh. "No, you're right. I'm making her sound like a bully or something, but she would never. She's just worried I work too much, that's all. And to be fair, she's not wrong."
Wille nodded. That, he could definitely commiserate with. Simon gave him a grateful smile.
"Yep, let's do that," they heard Ayub say into his phone. After that, he pulled it away from his ear and ended the call. He turned around in his seat. "That was my bookie. Your boss is here."
Simon hurried to grab the binoculars. "Yeah, that's him," he said. He watched for a moment before adding, "Your bookie is a server? That's smart."
"You don't have to sound so surprised," Ayub retorted with a snort.
Simon handed Wille the binoculars. Indeed, Englund and August were now sitting one seat apart from each other in the VIP box. A woman in a black server's uniform talked to them for a little bit, then made her way back inside the suite lounge.
"She told them to stay together so it would be easier to locate them throughout the game if they wanted to update their bets," Ayub explained, reading from his messages app on his phone. Then he frowned. "Why did August ask her to let him know when Mark Cuban arrives?"
Simon and Wille looked at each other and burst into giggles.
The game started just a few minutes later. For how bored Wille had felt just a little while earlier, he now found himself absolutely consumed by the energy of the crowd, the thrill of the game, and the fun of his companions.
He excitedly joined in Simon and Ayub's "Go, Rosh!" chants, cheering when the team did something awesome, and groaning when the other team had the momentum. All three screamed themselves hoarse when there was a foul and Rosh stepped up for a free kick. Ayub tried to explain to him the offside rule— Simon knew it, in theory, but he thought it was stupid— but Wille simply didn't get it.
When there was a bit of a lull in the game and the band started playing in earnest to keep the people entertained, Simon got up and started dancing and singing along with them. Wille was enthralled.
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The plan seemed to be going well. Every time they checked on Englund and August, they seemed to be talking civilly, no sniping at each other of any kind. Ayub's bookie reported that they were egging each other on to up their respective bets as the match went on. Wille wasn't sure that was a good thing, financially speaking, but at least they were getting along.
Simon saw Wille frown behind the eyepieces of the binoculars. "I can believe they're so friendly with each other already," he mumbled as he watched the two men in the VIP box, explaining that they kept smirking at each other and patting each other on the shoulder. He lowered the binoculars. "We should, like, lock them in a room together so they can make out."
"That's homophobic," Simon shot back, though his eyes were still fixed on the field below them, where Rosh was battling with a player from the other team for control of the ball. He didn't mean to say it; it just kind of slipped out as a reflex, but he didn't figure it would be a big deal. He was used to teasing each other like that with Rosh and Ayub.
He only looked up when he heard people booing around them. Wille was flustered. "What? No, I didn't mean it like that!" he tried to defend himself as people in the crowd jeered and glared at him.
"What's wrong with you, man?"
"Outta here with that crap!"
"That's not okay, dude."
"No, no, it was just a bad joke," Wille insisted, waving his hands in front of his torso as if physically deflecting the complaints. "Are you kidding me? I'm queer myself. I would never!"
Simon had been about to intervene in the poor guy's defense (after all, it was his comment that got him in hot water, really), but that comment made his brain BSOD. He'd indulged in the possibility of there being some kind of attraction between him and Wille every once in a while, but he wasn't one to make assumptions about other people's sexuality, so those little indulgences always came with an asterisk.
Now that asterisk was effectively gone, and Simon's dumb heart was throwing a party inside his chest cavity. Which was stupid, because this didn't change anything. Even if Wille did like men, that didn't mean he liked Simon. And even if he did like Simon, that didn't mean getting involved with him was a good idea. Wille was a nice guy, and Simon did like him, but they came from two different worlds. He couldn't imagine them fitting into each other's lives at all, except when it came to convoluted plans to draw some mutual benefit out of their unsuspecting bosses.
As if reading his mind (and perhaps he really was— that might be a thing that just happened automatically after twenty years of friendship), Ayub drew his attention by slapping him on his knee twice. He wiggled his eyebrows at him. Simon glared. "Stop it," he mouthed at his best friend. Ayub just did it again.
Finally, fed up with not being listened to, Wille turned to Simon with a huff. "Simon, please tell them I'm not like that," he all but begged with puppy dog eyes. It was cute, sure, but also kind of funny.
Simon chuckled and turned to the people who were ganging up on poor Wille. "Lay off him, folks. I was just teasing. I can vouch for him: he's not actually homophobic." The people around them didn't seem convinced, but most of them were at least willing to back off, if only because there was a football match still going.
One older man wearing glasses— whom Simon wouldn't have pegged to be so passionate about LGBTQ+ topics, frankly— was still giving them the stink eye. "You vouch for him, huh?" he asked gruffly, narrowing his eyes at both of them. "Is he your boyfriend or something?"
Wille's cheeks went red. Simon cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh, no," he answered quickly. "But I wouldn't be hanging out with him if he were a bigot. I assure you, he's harmless."
The man stared at them with suspicious eyes for a little bit longer. "Hmm. Well, you could definitely do better than him," he declared. He turned back toward the field. "Who wears a suit to a football game, anyway?"
Wille buried his face in his palms. Simon laughed. "There, there," he said, jokingly patting Wille's shoulder along with the words. His only response was a loud groan. When he looked at Ayub to see if he was also amused, he found his friend wiggling his eyebrows at him again.
Simon quickly pulled his hand back. With friends like these, who even needed enemies?
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Wille might've been new to football, but even he could tell that the play he was witnessing, some ten minutes from the end of the second half, was an absolute master class in the sport.
He didn't think it was just his bias. Sure, it was Rosh who ran the play for the most part, and he, Simon, and Ayub were obviously predisposed to cheer for everything she did. But since the entire crowd in the stadium got to their feet to scream down at the field for Rosh to keep going, he figured it wasn't just them.
"Come on, come on," Simon muttered under his breath as if Rosh could hear him telepathically. His hands clutched and tugged at Wille's arm reflexively. Wille wasn't sure he even noticed he was doing that; it was like he was so keyed up about what was happening in the field that he just needed something to grab onto.
Rosh took the ball up three-quarters of the field, dodging midfielders and defenders left and right. Then, coming up near the touchline closer to their side of the arena, she ducked a defender so hard, the poor woman completely wiped out across the boundary line. Rosh, finally able to stop in line with the penalty arc, kicked the ball to a teammate just off the arc on the opposite side, the shot so perfectly positioned that she need only swing her leg at the right moment to have it flying all the way into the goal, nearly burning down the net in the process.
The crowd just... erupted.
"She did iiiiiiiitttttttt!" Ayub exclaimed, turning in his spot to high five anyone within a three-seat radius of him, while Simon shoved Wille back and forth as he screamed "Gooooooooooooooollllllllllllllll!" right at Wille with a bright smile on his face. Jostled hard from side to side as he was, Wille could only laugh, swept up by the exuberance of the moment.
"I knew she could do it!" Simon said, punctuating each word with a sharp tug at Wille's arm. "That's an assist, baby!" Wille hadn't even been explained yet what an assist was, but he figured he could put it together from the context. Right now all he could do was grin down at Simon, who grinned at him in return.
His hands twitched reflexively and it was only then he noticed he was holding one of Simon's in his, fingers intertwined. Simon caught him looking. "Oh." They both let go at the same time, taking a small step back.
"Sorry about that," Wille mumbled with a sheepish smile.
Simon shook his head. "It's okay. I think I probably started it," he admitted with a similar expression on his face.
Wille was about to say that he didn't mind— or something equally cheesy— when Ayub turned to them, phone in hand. "Guys, guys. Check this out." He started playing some sound and increased the volume to the max so they could hear over the rumble of the crowd.
"Is this legal?" Simon wondered aloud as they tilted their heads toward the phone. He and Wille still had to get really close to Ayub's hand, and each other, to understand what was being said.
It was August's voice that first came out of the speaker. "You seem to have good instincts about these things," he said casually. Wille wasn't looking through the binoculars anymore, but he could almost picture his cousin leaning back in his seat, one arm thrown over the back of it, one leg crossed over the other.
"It's all about observation." The other voice was Englund's. "You have to be able to tell how something will work out on paper, but also be flexible enough to adjust as things unfold." He sounded braggy, so Wille could only guess he'd won a lot of money with the current result of the match.
"It's much the same with my job," Englund added a moment after. "One has to know instinctively that a project will work to bring in good money for the foundation; otherwise you spend months working on something that wasn't worth it in the end. It takes some experience to develop that skill."
"It's the same in my field of work," August said. Wille wasn't sure that was an accurate comparison— they didn't do any of the work on the projects they financed; they just put in the funding. But he guessed in terms of time and money, it was still taking a risk on an unknown.
"Maybe there's some synergy there?" August added, sounding almost curious, and Wille's gaze snapped toward Simon so fast. Simon met it with wide eyes. "Perhaps we can help each other."
"As long as it doesn't involve an elevator," Englund deadpanned, prompting August to chuckle. Wille snorted. See, they had inside jokes already; they'd be besties in no time. "We're always looking for donors."
"And we're always looking for worthwhile causes to support," August said in what Wille recognized as his fake magnanimous "we help small businesses succeed out of the goodness of our hearts" pitch voice. "At Krona, we take our corporate social responsibility very seriously."
"I'm sure you do," Englund replied. "It was good meeting you here. It's made for an interesting afternoon."
There was a shuffling sound, then August spoke again. "Certainly. What say we keep it going? Let's have a chat over a beer; I can bring guests with me to Sällskapet. We can see if there are any projects of yours we can help get off the ground."
"That sounds great."
That was where the recording ended. Stunned, Wille and Simon just stared at each other for a heartbeat or two. Then the penny dropped: they did it. They got their bosses to talk business and even exchange business cards, and they didn't even have to traumatize anyone to make it happen this time around.
"Dude!" Simon exclaimed, grinning so wide that it was like staring at the sun.
"I know!" Wille replied, just as excited, and before he knew what he was doing, he was throwing his arms around Simon, drawing him close, and squeezing him tightly.
"We did it!" Simon said right at his ear, chin hooked over Wille's shoulder. He returned the hug with just as much force, and he felt so good in his arms that Wille almost wanted to pick him up and spin him around, fueled by sheer elation. There wasn't enough space for him to do that, of course, but that didn't stop Wille from wanting it— so, so much.
It would've seemed weird for them to be embracing like this when everybody else was paying attention to the game, but that was when the ref blew his whistle to signal the end of the match. The crowd around them celebrated Sweden's win with hugs of their own, as well as music and cheers and laughter.
And if Wille took that excuse to savor the feeling of holding Simon in his arms for just a little longer, well, no one would ever be able to tell the difference, anyway.
.
.
.
Being friends with Rosh got them, Wille included, into the team-only areas of the arena, to give Rosh her victory trinket. As predicted, she glared and huffed and puffed, but eventually hugged them both and accepted it. Well, as accepting as one could be while threatening that the next time either one of them won at anything, she would buy them a life-size cardboard cutout of King Carl Gustaf that they would have to keep in their living rooms for the rest of time if they didn't want to offend her.
Simon was horrified. Ayub just shrugged and told her to bring it on. Wille laughed his ass off.
"I've met him, you know," Wille commented as he and Simon walked out of the stadium. They didn't get much time with Rosh because there was literally a bus parked outside to drive the team back to Göteborg, and Ayub had to stay behind to finalize everything with the betting pool, so it was just the two of them making their way to Näckrosen Station together. Wille was relaxed, one hand in his pocket and the other one hooking his jacket over his shoulder. Simon carried the binoculars, along with a giant blue foam finger, in his arms.
"Met who?" he asked, confused by the out-of-the-blue remark.
"The King," Wille clarified. His gaze was lost somewhere far in front of them as he spoke, his steps long and leisurely. "Victoria, too, a couple of times. They're really not that bad, you know?"
Simon snorted. "Of course you'd be a monarchist."
"I'm not!" Wille retorted, laughing. "I am totally neutral on that question; trust me. I'm just saying, on a personal level, they seem pretty decent. They're not, like, monsters or anything."
"Monsters? Maybe not," Simon said, making a face. "But decent? That level of wealth is always indecent." Wille looked like he was going to say something, but Simon beat him to it. "And I'm sorry— you know them on a personal level? I didn't know you were so close to the Crown Princess."
Wille shook his head. "No, not at all. It's just, my family— sometimes we end up in the same functions, I guess."
"Of course you do." Simon rolled his eyes exaggeratedly.
Wille guffawed. "You are so biased against rich people!" he threw back like he wasn't counting himself as part of that group. And granted, he was a rare kind of rich boy, or so Simon felt from all the interaction he'd had with Wille over the past couple of weeks. But that didn't mean he wasn't still incredibly privileged.
"Oh, I'm sorry," he teased back. "Did I offend you? Should I apologize to you and your BFF Victoria?"
"Shut up." Wille pulled his hand out of his pocket to shove Simon playfully.
They got on the subway and kept chatting through the ten-minute ride to Central Station, where they would have to part ways. "I can't believe I don't have any emails," Simon commented as he locked his phone and put it back in his pocket.
"I hear it's harder to type on your phone when you're drunk," Wille pointed out with a grin. "Which they are. Or will be soon, I hope." He took a deep breath in like he was outside in nature rather than underground. "So, how does freedom feel so far?"
"Surreal," Simon admitted, leaning his head back against the window of the train car. "I almost don't know what to do with myself."
"I think my friends wanted to go to a club tonight," Wille told him, a little shyly like he wasn't sure if he was overstepping. Which was silly, considering he'd just met Simon's two best friends. "I haven't been to one in ages, so that should be fun. You wanna come with?"
It did sound fun, as Simon hadn't been dancing in a long while either, but unfortunately, he had to shake his head in response. "Can't. I told my sister I would help her and her fiancé decide on a venue for their engagement party."
"Oh," Wille said as the train got to the station. He sounded disappointed. "Maybe some other time, then."
"Yeah, some other time," Simon said with a smile as they disembarked the train. They made their way to the ground floor, where they were due to split up. "I'm going that way." Simon signaled in one direction.
"Right. I'm... that way." Wille pointed in the opposite direction. "I guess I'll see you Monday, then."
"Yeah, we have to make sure Englund and August didn't bite each other's heads off the second we took our eyes off them," Simon said with a chuckle. It was a little nerve-racking to leave them on their own after things had gone so well at the football match, but maybe that feeling was coming from the inertia of not having had any significant time off in months. They'd be fine. Hopefully.
Wille nodded. "Have a good weekend."
"You, too." Simon waved goodbye as Wille started walking away. He stood there, pensive, for a moment. It was silly— he had no right to miss him already. He'd only just left.
He shook the thought out of his head. It was his first weekend off in God knew how long, and he had to help his sister plan the best engagement party ever. He had to get his head in the game. Now wasn't the time to be daydreaming about some cute rich guy who was probably a really bad idea.
He spun on his heel and made his way to his platform, shooting Sara a text to let her know that he was on his way.
.
.
.
"So," Sara said as she picked up a bit of her pork fried rice with her chopsticks and took it to her mouth. It was just one syllable so far, but she said it in a sing-songy tone and she had waited to speak until Alexander had gone to the kitchen to get them drinks, so Simon had a feeling this was some kind of an ambush. The next words that came out of her mouth all but confirmed it. "I have this coworker who's really nice, and he's single..."
"Don't," Simon said with a groan, putting down his Kung Pao chicken to give his sister a warning stare.
"What?" she replied, defensive. "All this time, you've been complaining about not having time to date, but now you say you're finally getting some free time, and yet you've also sworn off all the dating apps..."
"That doesn't mean I need my sister to set me up," he shot back pointedly. God knew what Sara was going around saying to her coworkers about her poor, hopeless little brother. Sure, he was open to dating, but he didn't want a pity date.
"Sure you do!" Sara threw back. "Because you're too nice, and you give everybody a chance, and you end up dating a bunch of losers who only end up being a waste of time." Damn it; she wasn't wrong. It was why he'd sworn off dating apps, to begin with. "So as your big sister, it is my duty to step up and do a little vetting—"
"Okay, wanting to give people a chance is not a bad thing," he tried to defend himself, because Sara looooooved to play that card on him for everything— not just his love life or lack thereof— and it was starting to get old by now.
"It is when you don't grow a spine and end things with them before it drags on forever," she retorted. Simon couldn't do much but grimace; she knew him too well. She stretched out a hand across the coffee table to touch his knee where it rested against the edge. "Listen, just meet him once, okay? You don't have to see him again if you don't want to, but I think you'd like him. He's a sweet guy."
Simon sighed. He knew his sister only wanted him to be happy, and he didn't want to seem ungrateful. "It's not that I don't trust you that he is. It's just..." He shook his head. "There... might be someone else..."
Sara's eyebrows arched high on her forehead in surprise. "Oh?" she said. "And how come I'm only hearing about this person now?"
"Because nothing's actually happened," Simon mumbled, picking his dinner back up. He really didn't want to tell Sara about Wille just in case it ended up going nowhere, but now she'd cornered him. He had no choice but to fess up.
"But you want it to," she stated, more than asked. Simon only shrugged in response. "And you met him at work?"
"Kind of," Simon admitted. "He's not at HSF, but he works in the building. And we're sort of... working on a joint project, I guess." He paused to take a bite of his chicken, his eyes fixed on the table in front of him to avoid Sara's knowing gaze. "I don't want to do anything that might mess that up." And it was true, though that wasn't the only reason he was hesitant about Wille, either.
The rich-boy thing gave him pause, too. He'd dealt with enough of those rich boarding school assholes back in Bjärstad, when they would randomly crash Marieberg parties like they owned the place. The kind of repressed douchebags who spent all night eyeing him up and down like they wanted to devour him, only to turn around and ask him if he was selling any drugs because apparently anyone who wasn't rich was automatically a dealer.
Everything he knew of Wille told him he was different. That he was the exception. But that ingrained skepticism was hard to shake. "Still, I keep thinking that maybe... once that's done..."
"You really like him, don't you?" When Simon lifted his gaze, he found Sara smiling excitedly at him.
"No, I..." He bit his lip. He had a feeling he was blushing, too, so it was no wonder Sara didn't buy his weak-ass denial.
"Of course you do!" Giggling, Sara shoved playfully at his knee. Simon had to smile, too. This reminded him of their teenage years, when they would huddle under his covers and gossip about who at school they thought was cute. "Okay. You figure your stuff out, then. But if for any reason things don't work out with this guy, let me know, alright? I still think you'd like Marcus."
"Yeah, fine," Simon said non-committally. He was about to say something else, but that was when Alexander walked back into the living room, struggling to carry three glasses and two mugs of tea in his arms.
"You didn't have to bring everything out at the same time, Alex," Sara commented as she hurried to take some of the load off him and put it down on the table in front of Simon.
"I just didn't want you guys to wait even longer," Alexander said, pulling her in for a sweet peck on the lips. Simon rolled his eyes because that was the automatic brotherly reaction when they started getting all lovey-dovey, but he was also smiling. He was glad his sister had found someone who loved her, and who always put her first.
"Thanks, Alex," he chimed in politely— not that they noticed, busy as they were being mushy— before diving back into his dinner. He'd only taken a couple of mouthfuls when his phone vibrated with an Instagram notification: someone had tagged Wille on a video post.
Simon unlocked his phone to check it out. The video was taken at what looked like the lounge area of a club, and Wille was sitting slumped back on a bright-blue couch, still wearing the same clothes he'd worn to the football game. Only, his shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and his tie was wrapped around his head like a headband, complete with a lopsided bow. He was speaking to the camera, but the club music was so loud and his words were so slurred that it was hard to parse.
He was halfway through saying... something... when a beautiful girl, dark skinned and curly haired, wearing a low-cut black dress, came into the frame and sat down sideways on Wille's lap, arms wrapped around his shoulders. Wille didn't seem to object in any way.
They spoke animatedly for a little bit, then the girl cradled Wille's face in one hand and pulled him to her so she could press a long, smacking kiss on his cheek. He smiled, and when she pulled back, he dropped his head against her shoulder, his nose bumping against her exposed clavicle. One of his hands lifted to play with the ends of her hair, wrapping and unwrapping a curl around one finger.
Simon's stomach twisted.
It wasn't that Wille was with a girl. He had said he was queer but hadn't labeled himself, and Simon wasn't going to be one of those jerks who assumed queerness could only mean one thing. And it wasn't that he and the girl were obviously close, and clearly comfortable being physically affectionate with each other. There wasn't anything wrong with that; it's not like they were making out in the middle of the club, and even if they had been, that wouldn't be for Simon to judge. It wasn't even that Wille was very obviously drunk out of his mind. Simon didn't drink, himself, but he didn't begrudge anyone doing so as long as they were safe about it and it didn't cross the line into addiction.
It was just that they painted a familiar picture. He couldn't help but flash back to those same rich assholes back at those high school parties who would pull their pretty, popular girlfriends down into their lap like it was some kind of honor, then brag to their jock friends about how amazing their lives were, even though they were rotten on the inside.
It was a vague, fuzzy silhouette— the stench of entitlement and a barely concealed hint of duplicity— and he knew Wille hadn't done anything to make him think that way of him except for the accident of his privileged birth, but Simon couldn't help but worry that maybe he'd read him all wrong. That he would get too invested only for Wille to turn out exactly like those snobby fuckboys from back in the day, and he'd only get his heart broken.
He put his phone down and pushed his food away, swallowing hard.
"Hey, Sara?" he shakily called his sister away from the cutesy conversation she was having with her fiancé. She turned to him immediately, expectant. "That coworker of yours, can you send me his contact?"
Sara stared at him with her brows furrowed tightly, confused by his sudden change of heart. But she did as he asked, regardless.
.
.
Author's notes!—
Uuuhhhhh... sorry?
A note, because Lordy, I have had A Week (tm) so I feel I need to say this: Yes, Marcus will be in this fic. This was already planned before the season came out. He will be a fairly decent character in here, because I happen to think he is a fairly decent character in the show, although certainly not perfect, and definitely not for Simon. But regardless, please don't trash Marcus (canon or fic) in my comments; I don't want to hear it. I have been in online fandoms for well over twenty years now, and let me tell you, throwing ship-war bullshit my way is the fastest way to get me to walk out for good. I'm already this close. Don't push me over the line.
The Sweden women's national football team is indeed number two in the current FIFA rankings (the men's team currently stands at number twenty-five). Their home stadium is Gamla Ullevi in Göteborg, though they've been known to play in Stockholm from time to time. Friends Arena is the home stadium of the Sweden men's national football team, located in Solna. It does have a special VIP area known as the suite lounge, among other specialty suites. Sebastian Larsson is a Swedish pro footballer who played as a midfielder in the UK's Premier League and the Swedish Allsvenskan, as well as in the Swedish men's national team from 2008 until his retirement in 2021. Zlatan Ibrahimović is probably the most well-known Swedish footballer these days, having played for the national team since 2001, and also in pro leagues in Sweden, the Netherlands, Italy, Spain, France, the UK, and the US.
The offside rule in football, as defined in the official website for the Olympic Games, states that "an attacking player, when in the opposition half, must have at least two opposition players, including the goalkeeper, between him and the opposition goal when a pass is being played to him." (I know, it's hard to understand on paper, but you eventually get it in practice.) An assist is when you set up another player to score a goal. A vuvuzela is a very loud plastic horn commonly used by spectators in South African football games, which has spread worldwide since the 2010 World Cup in South Africa. Baseball is still the most popular sport in Venezuela and indeed most of the Caribbean region of Latin America (it's the same in my country, although admittedly football has started gaining ground now that our team is not... absolutely terrible anymore).
BSOD means "blue screen of death"— basically, when your brain shorts out. Gol means "goal," and the stretching out of the syllable for as long as your lungs will allow in celebration is like a whole thing in Spanish-language football broadcasts in Latin America. Seriously, there are memes and everything; it's hilarious. King Carl XVI Gustaf is the current monarch of Sweden; Crown Princess Victoria is his firstborn daughter and heir. Näckrosen is the nearest Metro station to Friends Arena, about a 15-minute walk from the stadium. Central Station is the hub of the Stockholm Metro system. Kung Pao chicken is a traditional dish in Sichuan Chinese cuisine, consisting of stir-fried chicken, peanuts, vegetables, and chili peppers.
Next up: Love triangles are a rom-com trope, right? (Also: Erik lives! Finally!)
I have recorded, am editing, and will be uploading episode reactions for season two to my vlog, so be sure to subscribe and check those out if you like that kind of stuff. I'm no longer on Twitter, but you can find me on Tumblr ( girls-are-weird), Mastodon ( girls_are_weird), or even on Discord if you want to chat with me. Comments and kudos are welcome and appreciated! See you next time!