Like Because, Love Despite, Chapter 2. 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.
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Wille woke up at around four a.m. to go to the bathroom, and on the way back to bed, his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten anything since lunch, so he decided to take a detour to the kitchen. He was just peeking into the fridge to see if there was anything small he could reheat when he heard a voice call out from behind him. "Hey, Wille."
He jumped back like a full meter in surprise, only noticing in the dim light of the open fridge that Madison was lying down on the couch, the only illumination near her being the light from her phone screen, which she was holding up to her face like a kid telling horror stories at camp. "Jesus, Maddie," Wille said, breathing hard. "I'm gonna have to put a bell on you."
Madison shrugged, unconcerned. "Sorry. I was going to turn on the lights, but I got distracted by my phone," she said, in English, as usual. She'd been living in Sweden permanently or by season for years now, and they still couldn't shake her out of that habit. She continued typing into her device, thumbs flying over the screen.
"How come you're here?" Wille asked after a pause to grab half a sandwich— no need to reheat, after all— and a bottle of water out of the fridge. "I thought you'd go back with Felice. Oh, wait." Something occurred to him then. "Did you bring someone over?" He snuck a glance toward the guest bedroom, though he wouldn't be able to see inside from this angle even if the door were open.
Maddie glared at him. "Why do you always assume I only come here to hook up? Can't I just want to see my best friend?" she threw back, nose in the air.
"Felice is your best friend," Wille pointed out in return. He flicked the kitchen lights on; the ones in the living room were still off, but it was an open-concept area so you could still see clearly with only half the space illuminated. He sat down on the armrest of the couch near Maddie's feet and took a bite out of his— eww, cold— ham sandwich.
"Yes, but only because she's prettier than you," Maddie said, unapologetic but in a teasing tone. Then, she narrowed her eyes at him. "Also, she didn't stand me up on my birthday."
Wille winced. Okay, he had that one coming. "I'm sorry," he said. "I really wanted to be there but, well, you know..."
"Your fucking cousin is a fucking fuckface?" she finished his sentence bluntly. Not quite the phrasing he would've used, but... okay, fair. "Yeah, I know."
Wille laughed, polishing off the last of his sandwich. "I promise I'll get you an amazing present to make up for it," he said after taking a second to chew and swallow. Madison gave him that time, going back to browsing social media on her phone.
"Cool," she said, only taking her eyes off her screen for a second to give Wille a toothy grin. "You can get me a pony."
"What, you're gonna join Felice at the stables now?" Wille said with a chuckle. He slid off the armrest and down to the couch proper, shifting Maddie's feet until she decided to prop them up on his lap, instead. "Did you guys at least have fun?"
"Yeah, you missed a hell of a party," she replied, still more focused on her phone. "Why are you awake at this hour? Did your stomach wake you up?"
Wille nodded. "I didn't get to eat dinner." Madison rolled her eyes, probably about to come up with another round of creative insults against August, so he decided to pre-empt her. "What about you? You don't have work tomorrow?"
She shrugged again. "A few meetings, but I scheduled them all in the afternoon." Wille nodded. Maddie owned her own business— a lifestyle brand she had rather ingeniously called MadMads— which had been growing at a very healthy pace over the past couple of years. Because she was her own boss, she was able to set her own schedule, which Wille had to admit he was very envious of.
"We're in the planning stages for something really special, actually," she added, peering up from her screen to give Wille a bright smile. "We're reaching out to different charities to see if we can partner with them and donate a percentage of our proceeds. The brand is catching on, you know, so we feel we're in a place where we can start giving back."
"That's amazing, Mads," Wille said sincerely. He was truly happy that Madison was doing something that made her happy. Felice, too. He, on the other hand... He cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "I had to fire an intern today because he was breathing too loudly on a conference call. So, you see... I, too, am proud of my life choices."
Maddie's smile softened, and she pulled back one leg to poke at his bicep with her toes. "It's not your fault that August is a dick," she declared seriously. "And once you get promoted and don't have to report to him anymore, you can do things your own way. A better way."
"I hope so," Wille said with a sigh. The way things were going, and given how long he'd been working under his cousin, he was beginning to lose hope that he would ever be promoted. August was certainly enjoying having him at his beck and call a little too much. "Thanks, Maddie."
She looked like she was about to say something else when the sound of a door opening down the hall interrupted her. "Hey, M, are you coming back to bed?" a soprano voice asked, presumably from the guest bedroom. "I'm getting cold again."
Wille shifted his gaze from the darkened hallway to Madison, whose eyes had gone wide at getting caught. "I'll be right there," she called back, then the door closed again. Maddie gave Wille a sheepish grin. "Okay, maybe this one time I did come here to hook up. In my defense, your apartment was closer."
Wille shook his head and laughed. He pushed Madison's feet off his lap. "Go. Just try and keep it down, will you? I'm hoping to get at least a couple more hours of sleep."
Maddie stood up with a scoff. "Please. Would I do that to you?" Wille refrained from commenting. They both knew very well that yes, she would. And had on several occasions. But Wille didn't mind; it was nice that at least his friends got to have fun, even though he couldn't.
With a groan, he threw the now-empty water bottle into the recycling bin and made his way back to his room, figuring that tonight would be a good time to sleep with his headphones on.
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The following morning, Wilhelm was at his post, busy going over those financial statements his mother had asked August to go over. Or at least he was trying to, but he kept getting distracted by a conversation happening a few meters from his desk.
"Did you hear that Pär is leaving to become a senior associate at Northzone?" Nils asked, sounding very much like a nosy old lady gossiping with her friends outside of church.
"Yeah, no shit, man," Vincent replied, just as exuberant. "It's August, I'm telling you— he's got the Queen's ear, so if he likes you, you can get a recommendation to go anywhere." Wilhelm crinkled his nose at the familiar nickname for his mother, "the Queen." These guys thought they were so clever.
"We definitely had the right idea, becoming his right-hand men," Nils commented gleefully.
Wilhelm grimaced. Right-hand men? More like number one ass-kissers. "Why would you want him to get you a recommendation to go elsewhere?" he finally broke his silence. "Isn't that basically like admitting you're not good enough to rise up the ranks here?"
"A senior associate position is worth it no matter where you are. It's a jumping point," Vincent said with a sneer. "And it's harder to get here because it's a family firm."
"Yeah," Nils intervened. "Not so easy to get promoted here unless your last name is Berwald." He paused as if something had just occurred to him. "Oh, wait, that's right: you won't get a promotion either." He gave Wille a smarmy smirk.
Vincent snorted. "Yeah, definitely not after Erik," he said, not quite enough under his breath.
Wilhelm's teeth clenched, but he'd learned his lesson from the bar incident when it came to keeping his temper in check. Instead, he went for a (fake as fuck) smile. "Well, congratulations on your impending recommendation, then." He pretended to be curious. "How long has it taken, again? Five years? I'm sure August will get to it any day now."
The two older men scowled at Wilhelm. "Why don't you go pick up August's groceries or something?" Nils all but spat out. Wilhelm didn't bother with a response; he knew if he'd made them defensive, he'd won the argument.
And the joke's on them, anyway: he'd already done a grocery run earlier in the week.
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Simon knew he should be emailing the minutes of the board meeting to everyone on the team, but he was too entertained by the (very polite) shakedown happening just a little ways down the hallway from his desk.
"Anette, you can't be serious. You can't just remove us from your list of partner corporations. We've supported you proudly for nearly a decade. We've donated hundreds of thousands of kronor to the foundation. You can't just dump us like this!"
"I'm sorry, Vidar," Director Lilja countered the man's complaint, her expression serious, "but we cannot let you use our name to market your company to the LGBTQ+ community and their allies while at the same time you aren't offering your queer employees the same benefits your cis, heterosexual employees get."
Miss Åhdal, another team leader at HSF, nodded her head. "Rainbow capitalism is just not good enough anymore, Vidar. It's certainly not a good look for you."
"There hasn't been a month that we haven't brought money to you," the man, Vidar, insisted, getting more and more agitated by the second. "Our donations can help so many LGBTQ+ people in the long run. Are you actually going to refuse that money simply because a couple of employees complained of unequal treatment? We are looking to settle with them; this will all blow over soon, and you don't have to lose out on all that funding."
"We have to stand by our principles, Vidar," Director Lilja retorted. "We only partner with corporations that support the LGBTQ+ community both with their money and with their actions." She shook her head gravely. "It is done. This meeting is just a formality to inform you of our decision. The press release will go out tomorrow."
She extended a hand to the man for him to shake. "I recommend you update your policies to ensure equality in matters of gender and sexuality, or unpleasant situations such as this will keep popping up. Regardless, it was nice to see you today." The man glared at her and spun on his heel without shaking her hand, stomping down the hallway toward the exit.
Simon cackled as he took a bite out of the breakfast pastry he was eating much closer to lunchtime than he would've wanted. Director Lilja was such a badass. Moments like these were what made Simon want to keep working at HSF despite how miserable his current post was. If only he could make it out of Englund's team and into a different one...
Miss Åhdal turned to Director Lilja, remorseful. "I'm so sorry, Anette. I should have looked deeper into their business practices. Maybe then we would have saved ourselves from getting involved with them in the first place."
Director Lilja put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Ester. There's no way you could have known; none of this was public-facing until the media reported on the complaints because of the threat of a strike. At least we can get out of this partnership on our own terms now."
Miss Åhdal still looked contrite. Director Lilja, however, did not linger on her regrets. "We are going to have to come up with a new stream of donations to make up for the loss of that money, though. Your team can handle that."
Miss Åhdal nodded. "Already on it." With just a few more comments back and forth, the two reached some kind of agreement on the type of donations they were looking for, and once that was done, they walked down the corridor to go to their respective offices. Simon followed them with his gaze.
"Eriksson!"
Simon jumped in his seat and then turned to look at Mr. Englund, who had just poked his head out of his office, directly in front of Simon's desk. "Did you order my lunch?" he asked.
Simon hurried to shove the last bit of pastry into his mouth, chewing it quickly and just enough that he wouldn't choke on it, and swallowing it down roughly. "Yes—" He all but croaked out the word, his throat was so dry. He cleared it in an effort to speak clearly.
"Yes," he tried again. Much better, this time. "It should be here in about five minutes." He glanced down at his phone at the notice that was showing on the little tracking map. Five minutes as long as there was no traffic, of course.
Englund seemed to think this a satisfactory response, so he only nodded his head and went back into his office. Simon lunged for his water bottle, gulping down as much of its contents as possible in one swig. If this job didn't kill him, his terrible eating habits probably would.
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Wilhelm was just handing off a report to his mother's personal assistant when his phone vibrated with a text notification from his group chat with Felice and Madison. He checked it on his way up the stairs. First, a photo of Felice and Madison, the latter making a V sign at the camera, two cups of coffee (with flowery latte art) on the table between them. Second, a text: We're having lunch across the street from you! Come join us!
He looked down at his watch. If he only had to cross the street, he could maybe run there, get a quick lunch, spend some time with his friends, and get back to the office in time to be ready when August left for his, uh, meeting at one p.m. He just had to make sure August didn't notice his absence. And he really didn't want to turn them down after standing them up yesterday.
He went over to Fredrika's desk; she was a fellow assistant for a different senior associate. "Hey, Fredrika." He greeted her with a smile, which she reciprocated. She also conspicuously started twirling a curl of hair around her finger, which Wilhelm promptly ignored. "Listen, can you do me a favor? Could you cover August's phone while I'm out to lunch?"
The brunette looked hesitant at the question. Wilhelm dimly remembered she'd gone out with August once— and then he never called her again— but it's not like they hadn't seen each other since, given they worked in the same office. Hopefully, they were civil enough that she might consider Wilhelm's request.
"You don't have to go into his office at all," he offered in an attempt to reassure her. "In fact, it's better not to interrupt him at all. Just pick up any calls, write down any messages, and if he asks for me, tell him I'm having lunch and will be back in maybe half an hour."
On those terms, Fredrika grudgingly agreed. "But only because it's you, Wille," she added coquettishly. Wilhelm smiled at her about as neutrally as he could; he really needed her help, but he also didn't want to lead her on.
He was about to make for the elevators when something else occurred to him. "Oh, and if someone called Hedda Olofsson calls, do not forward the call through to August, okay? Just stall her."
Fredrika's eyes brightened. "Oh, Hedda? Yes, I know her! No worries, I can take care of her."
Wilhelm smiled at her again, with more gratitude this time. "Thanks. I'll be back in a bit." He waved at her as he headed down the hall.
Lunch with his friends was nice if a bit quick. He had coffee and a bagel while the girls finished their food. Felice told them a bit about what she was doing for her latest project at work. Then the girls discussed which upcoming concerts they were interested in attending. Wille just listened, for the most part; it's not like he'd be able to go to any of these events.
As soon as he got back to the office, he knew something was wrong.
Mainly because the first person he came across, getting into the elevator just as he was getting off, was Hedda Olofsson. Freaking Hedda Olofsson! In the flesh! He didn't say anything to her (he was too shocked), and if she recognized him at all, she didn't make it known either. The elevator doors closed between them and Wilhelm just stood there gaping like a fish, alarm bells going off in his head.
He was running back to his desk when he heard the screaming.
"—fucking petty do you have to be?! Just because I wouldn't be your fucking boyfriend like we're fifteen or something, you think that gives you the right to stick your nose in my personal business?!"
"I didn't know!" came Fredrika's voice, shaky and pleading desperately. Wilhelm's heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. "I'm so sorry, August. I swear I didn't do it on purpose. Truly. If I had known—"
"Ignorance is no excuse— how the hell did you even think it was okay to just give out my personal schedule to anyone?!" August towered over Fredrika, and while Wille didn't think August would stoop so low as to actually hit a woman, his face was so red, it made Wilhelm's pace quicken without any conscious thought on his part.
"I didn't give her your personal schedule! I just told her you'd canceled your lunch appointment with her to have lunch with someone else— I didn't even mention any names—"
"I don't fucking care. You're fired," August sentenced, drawing a murmur of voices from other assistants and analysts who were watching the scene at the edge of their seats like it was some kind of horror movie they couldn't look away from.
That was about the point Wille finally made it to where they stood. "August," he intervened, winded from the run. "You can't fire her. She technically doesn't work for you." The senior associate who was Fredrika's supervisor was closer to his mother's age than to theirs, so Wilhelm was moderately certain even August couldn't influence her.
The two of them turned to look at him, August's eyes bulging, Fredrika's watery. "Who asked you?" August retorted with a sneer. "This is your fault, too, you know. What the hell were you thinking, skipping out when I was counting on you and leaving the work that we"— he meant the firm, which in his head was, like, a part of him or something— "pay you to do in the hands of this useless little—"
"I know, I know," Wilhelm tried to placate him before he said something that would get him in trouble with HR— trouble that Wilhelm would then have to get him out of. "But you know Farima wouldn't appreciate you firing her longtime assistant." He shook his head. "I'll take care of this. Really."
August glared at him but pointed an accusing finger at Fredrika. "I don't fucking want to see her anywhere near me ever again." He turned the finger toward Wilhelm, poking him in the chest threateningly. "And the next time something like this happens, it's your ass on the line. Am I clear?"
Wilhelm swallowed hard with a dry throat. "Crystal."
August lowered his hand but did not stop glowering at Wilhelm. "If you don't play the game right, you're never going to get ahead, little cousin." He said the last two words as he would speak of a cockroach about to be crushed under the sole of his shoe. "And this?" He signaled to Fredrika again. "This is playing to lose."
With that last nugget of wisdom, he turned around and went back to his office, slamming the door behind him once he was inside. Wilhelm took that to mean his one o'clock with Juni Lundin was no longer happening.
Releasing a heavy breath, he turned to poor Fredrika, who was positively shaking. "I am so sorry," he said, absolutely mortified that he'd put her in this awful position. God, he'd really screwed up. "I will fix this. I swear. I promise everything will be okay."
Fredrika didn't say anything; she just looked up at him with wide, teary eyes, and Wilhelm could only hold her gaze for so long. "I'm sorry," he repeated, then abruptly made for the bathroom. He could feel his breathing getting labored and he had to calm down before everybody who was watching started sharing August's opinion of how weak he was.
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Simon rubbed his eyes under his glasses. He only wore the frames when his eyes got really tired, but at this time of night, of course his eyes were bound to get tired. Along with the rest of him.
He had to swallow back a yawn that was halfway out of his mouth when he saw Mr. Englund with one of his team members, the last one who had stayed behind after all the other four left. "You want to put the mandatory costs and the optional costs in different columns," Englund was saying. "It's the same as with the revenue— the board will need to know which part of it is fixed, and which part isn't."
The team member nodded. "That makes sense."
"But this is good work, Stella," Englund added, and Simon's elbow nearly slipped from where it was propped up on his desk, holding the weight of his head. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Certainly more effort than the others have put in. I'd like to see more proposals like this from you."
"Thanks, Mr. Englund," the young blonde woman replied with a proud smile.
As Englund went toward the back, presumably in the direction of the bathroom, Stella caught sight of Simon and walked over to his desk. He leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. "Okay, what kind of sorcery are you running here? Because I want in on it. I didn't know Englund was physically capable of speaking the words 'good work.'"
Stella laughed. "It's not personal, trust me. It's just that we both went to Lund. He's always more lenient with people who studied at his alma mater."
Simon made a face. It's not that he didn't like Stella. Unlike most of the people who worked at HSF, she came from a wealthy family. Although every now and then she'd say something that spotlighted her privilege, however, she was also quite smart, and she did her job. She came from a Gender Studies background, and she and Simon actually agreed on a lot of their beliefs and principles.
It's just that her confirming Englund's favoritism was just one more reminder that the concept of meritocracy was completely unattainable in practice. Everything in this world revolved around having connections, and Simon had precious few of those. It was very irritating.
Stella waved goodbye. "Don't stay too late."
"Tell that to Englund," Simon muttered under his breath as she started on the way out.
As if on cue, his boss came back from the bathroom just then. "Eriksson," he called out, though in a mellower tone than his usual "this is an order" voice. He was clearly tired, too. "I'm going to take a nap. Wake me up in an hour, alright? But don't jostle me or anything. Just tap my shoulder a little, and if I don't wake up with that, give me five minutes and then try again. And so on until I'm up. Got that?"
"Yes, sir," Simon said as Englund walked into his office and closed the door behind him. Simon reclined in his chair with an exhausted sigh, picking his phone up to set an alarm for one hour. Maybe he could just sit here and play some mobile games as he waited. Just as he was about to open Candy Crush, though, he spotted the bright-purple sticky note he'd taped to the top-right corner of his computer screen: "PAY ARMANI BOY." And then at the bottom, in parentheses: "(Wille)."
With a small smile on his lips, he took off his glasses, grabbed the sticky note, and made his way to the elevators.
The front door of Krona Ventures was still open, but the place was deserted; even the receptionist was gone. Which made sense, of course, given how late it was. Still, they had a directory, which Simon quickly browsed, and he was surprised there was only one Wilhelm in it: Wilhelm Berwald.
He got to Wille's desk only to find it empty. Still, his computer was on and there was a laptop bag sitting on his desk chair, so he must be around somewhere. Simon wasn't about to look around the entire building, however, so he just left the money on the desk, along with the sticky note so Wille knew who the money was from. Hopefully, Wille would see it when he returned from wherever he was.
Just as he was walking out of the Krona Ventures offices, however, he ran into the man himself. "Oh, hey," Wille said, eyes widening at seeing him there. He was wearing a fancy suit again, but his tie was loosened and the top two buttons of his dress shirt were undone. The shirt was also a little bit rumpled, and it looked like he'd run his hands through his hair five million times since the last time it saw a comb. It would still be a good look on him, Simon had to admit, if it weren't for the deep, dark hollows under his eyes.
"Hey," Simon greeted in kind. "I left the money on your desk."
"Ah, right. Thanks," Wille said with a nod. He made no move to walk past Simon, however; instead, he put a hand in his pocket and cleared his throat. "Um, why are you still here this late?" he asked with a curious expression.
Simon shrugged. "I have to be here as long as my boss is here. And my boss is always here."
The blond man nodded, sympathetic in an almost too-casual way. "Yeah. Well, I have to be here even when my supervisor isn't, so."
Simon narrowed his eyes at him, recognizing a challenge when he heard one (or maybe making one up where there wasn't any, but then again, he'd always been too competitive for his own good. It was a family trait). "My boss keeps a cot in his office," he threw back.
Wille chuckled. "My supervisor keeps a standing reservation at the hotel across the street, and whenever he needs to take a nap, he goes there, and I have to run back and forth whenever something important comes up."
Simon gaped at him. "No way. You're making that up." Wille shook his head. "That's a thing people can do?" Wille nodded. Simon let his breath out in a huff. "Okay, you win the exploitation olympics. But only for today."
Grinning, Wille did a little "yes!" victory fist pump. It was cute. He was cute.
Simon shook that thought out of his head along with the dopey smile he was now sporting. Most likely straight, he reminded himself. "So, I have, um"— he checked his phone— "forty-seven minutes before I have to go wake my boss up. You wanna hang out?"
Wille's eyes widened again; he obviously wasn't expecting that. "Oh. Uh, yeah! I'd love to. You wanna come over to mine?" He signaled back toward the Krona Ventures offices with a tilt of his head. Simon agreed right away. Unlike the cramped HSF offices, Krona Ventures occupied the entire floor— two of them, actually— so there was a lot more space than if they had decided to hang out at Simon's little cubicle directly outside of the room where his boss was sleeping.
They went back inside. Wille held the door open for him like a well-bred gentleman. Simon could already feel his resolution not to develop a crush on this man crumbling by the second.
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Wille tried not to stare. He really did. But as they walked side by side back to his desk, so close their shoulders almost brushed, his gaze couldn't help but be drawn to Simon every few seconds.
There was just something magnetic about him, Wille mused. Maybe it was just the fact that he was extremely good-looking for someone who wasn't a model (...or wasn't he? Wille couldn't remember if any modeling agencies had offices in the building). Or maybe it was just that Wille's day had been just a few scenes removed from a Greek tragedy and it was just nice to be around someone who seemed so much more down-to-earth than anyone associated with the firm. Today had been such a shitshow that he'd almost forgotten Simon was supposed to stop by in the afternoon, but now that he was here, late as it might be, it was like a breath of fresh air.
"You want a drink?" Wille asked when they finally made it to his desk. He had to remind himself to make the question casual and not overeager. Then he opened a panel on the cabinet that was pushed against the wall behind his chair and showed Simon the collection of bottles of liquor he had stashed in there.
Simon frowned. "Look, you've been okay up till now, but this is giving red flags," he said, waving in the general direction of the bottles. Then he pointed at Wille with his eyes narrowed. "Why do you have a liquor cabinet at work?"
Wille chuckled. "No, that's fair. I don't have a drinking problem, I promise."
Simon's expression did not change. "Mm-hmm. That sounds like something someone with a drinking problem would say."
Wille snickered some more, then bent down to pull out one of the bottles, still sealed. "See, my supervisor, August, gets a lot of gifts from clients to thank him for investing or to... encourage his favor..."
"To bribe him, you mean," Simon intervened dryly.
"...to bribe him, yeah," Wille agreed with a laugh. There was no pretense needed with Simon, and he liked that. "But he has a rule that he won't drink any liquor that cost less than 2000 kronor. So a lot of them end up here." He signaled to the bottle again. "I don't really have time to drink much, and technically I'm banned from drinking in any work context..."
Simon raised an eyebrow at that, clearly curious about his use of the word "ban." Wille made sure to push past that particular piece of backstory as quickly as possible. "Long story. Either way, I figured I might as well keep them. It's like the only decent perk that comes out of working for August, and I can always gift them to my friends as a last resort."
"Okay, I can see the sense in that," Simon conceded with a tilt of his head. He smiled. "Thanks, but I don't drink."
Wille nodded, grabbing the bottle and putting it back in the cabinet, closing the panel with his foot. Then he opened a drawer on his opposite side, instead. "Maybe some coffee, then?" He pulled a bag of fancy coffee out of the drawer and showed it to Simon.
The way the other man's eyes gleamed, Wille knew he'd finally gotten it right. "That thing is like an adult version of Willy Wonka's factory, but in a cabinet," he said with a laugh. Wille grinned at the description. "Is the coffee also under 2000 kronor?"
Wille shook his head. "The qualification criterion for coffee is slightly different: whether it's award-winning or not."
Simon nodded. "Of course. That makes total sense." He pretended to be super serious, but he couldn't hold it for long, and he broke down with a snort and a roll of his eyes— at August, hopefully; not at Wille. "Alright. I'll take a latte."
Wille's heart shouldn't have done the little flip it did. It wasn't like this was a date or anything, but it still felt thrilling somehow. Grinning, he went to set up the fancy coffee machine August insisted he have atop the cabinet because he refused to get his coffee from the machine in the staff room like the rest of the plebes.
They got comfortable on opposite sides of Wille's desk as the brewer did its thing. "Sugar? Sweetener?" Wille asked, pushing toward Simon a small container with a handful of the small packets.
"Three, please."
Wille's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Oh, so you want sugar with a little bit of coffee, then," he teased.
Simon groaned. "Oh, don't you start. I get enough of that from literally everybody else in my life." He shook his head with some annoyance. "So I have a sweet tooth; sue me. The bitter stuff is absolutely vile." He lifted his feet on the chair he was sitting on— something Wille would've never been allowed to do while he was growing up.
There was no one here to chastise him now, though, so Wille took the liberty of slumping back in his chair and propping his feet up on his desk, crossed at the ankles. He filed Simon's latest admission for future reference. "Um, I just realized I've never asked: where do you work?"
"Oh, I'm at HSF," Simon said, pointing down like he was somehow expecting Wille to be able to see his office through the floor. That was funny. Wille had never heard of any "HSF" before, though, and it must've shown on his face because Simon clarified: "The Hillerska LGBTQ+ Support Foundation. We raise money to help queer folks who are struggling."
"Wow, that's so cool!" Wille said, and he meant it. Really, he should've figured Simon would be working on something significant because somehow the universe had determined that Wille needed even more incentive to be attracted to this man.
Simon shrugged humbly. "It has its moments." He propped his elbow on the armrest of his chair and rested his head against his hand. "What about you? How goes..." He looked around at the starkly empty offices around them. "...capitalism, I guess?"
Wille chuckled. "It... goes," he said, figuring he shouldn't bore Simon with the details of his job. He already hated it too much to subject an innocent civilian to it. And especially not after the day he'd had today. His throat was still raw from all the talking he'd had to do to convince Farima to pick up her entire office and move to the lower floor just so August wouldn't have to see Fredrika again. At least the warm coffee would help that.
The coffee machine beeped to let them know their respective brews were ready, and Wille got up to grab both mugs. He handed Simon his, which he thanked him for. Just as he was sitting back down, however, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He groaned when he opened the message that had just come in.
"Bad news?" Simon asked before taking an experimental sip of his coffee, which Wille could only imagine tasted more like dessert.
He did not voice that comment, however. Instead, he just shook his head in response. "My two best friends are having a movie night at my apartment," he said, turning his phone around to show Simon the photo of Felice and Maddie on his couch with face masks and a giant bowl of popcorn between them. "While I'm not there. Which is funny because they're not my roommates, actually."
Simon frowned, confused. "Why at your apartment, then?"
"Apparently I have better acoustics?" Wille offered, though he wasn't sure himself. It may have something to do with him having fewer neighbors, too. "I'm not sure. But my point is: they are there, and I am here, having coffee with you." After a second, he realized how that last bit might have come across, and hurried to clarify. "Not that I'm complaining about your company, of course. No offense."
Simon didn't seem bothered by it. "None taken." He leaned back in his chair, holding his mug with both hands and taking small sips from it; Wille still thought his was too hot to drink, but apparently, that was the optimal temperature for his guest.
"I also miss everything because of work," Simon said with a resigned sigh. "I haven't been on a date in ages. And I haven't been in a relationship since... I don't know, since university, I guess?"
Wille tried hard not to think of what kind of people Simon might have dated in the past. That was a rabbit hole he couldn't go down while talking to the man, and even if he did, he was fairly certain none of those people shared many similarities with him, so there was no point in hoping, anyway.
"I've never been in a relationship, actually," he admitted, instead. It was kind of an odd thing to admit at twenty-five, but at the same time, he wasn't ashamed of it. And Simon didn't seem like the type who would judge him— well, over this, at least. His clothes and privilege were a whole other matter, but Wille actually really liked that. "And honestly, I don't mind so much. I'm more worried that my friends are going to start hating me if I keep skipping out on them."
As expected, Simon showed no reaction to his unexpected disclosure. "I feel that," Simon said, "but also, I don't want to end up forever alone." It seemed as weighty a confession as Wille's had been, but oddly, neither felt awkward. They'd only been hanging out for a few minutes, and already it felt incredibly easy to talk to Simon. It wasn't something Wille had experienced often in his life. He always felt he had to be so careful around most people.
And that was the big issue, wasn't it? "I mean, same," he conceded. "But... I don't know, dating has always been weird for me. Most of the time it's hard to tell if someone's with me for me, or if they're just... in it for status." He crinkled his nose. "Ugh, that sounds so conceited. Sorry."
Simon burst into loud laughter. "Oh my God, you are literally the 'sad little rich boy' cliche."
Wille had to laugh as well; Simon's effervescence was contagious. "Yeah, pretty much," he agreed. His angsty teenage years had given him a high degree of self-awareness. "But cliches are cliches for a reason, right?"
The curly-haired man huffed, but he didn't disagree. "Well, the only cliche I'm going to be embodying is the spinster," he said with a grumpy pout. It was cute. "My sister got engaged yesterday, did I mention that? She did. But me? I'm going to spend the rest of my life telling other people that my fish are my children."
Fish, huh? That was another detail to file away for the future. But regardless of his choice of pet, his assertion seemed a tad exaggerated. "I can't imagine that will happen. I'm sure you'll find a princess to kiss you eventually," Wille offered instead, trying to be supportive.
Simon grimaced, looking a bit uncomfortable for the first time in the conversation. "Prince, actually."
"Oh," Wille said dumbly. It was hard to put together better words when his heart was no longer doing a flip; it was full-on tumbling now. What was that about not getting his hopes up? "That's cool. I'm sorry, I'm— I didn't mean to assume."
His companion waved it off like it was no big deal, and Wille was relieved he hadn't messed everything up. "Well, if you can get some time off work at some point, I'm sure you'll have no shortage of guys to go on a date with," he added. Because, obviously, who wouldn't want to date Simon? It would only take one look at him.
Not that Wille knew that from experience or anything.
Simon smiled at him, grateful but a little bashful. "That's sweet, and I appreciate it, but also it's never going to happen." He shook his head. "As long as I'm working for Englund, there is no such thing as time off."
He sighed, throwing his head back. Clearly, this was something that truly bothered him. "I'm going to end up just like him," he declared, aghast. "Wearing tweed blazers and... married to an ergonomic desk chair."
Wille resumed his earlier position with his feet up on his desk. Turning his chair just slightly from side to side, he ruminated on Simon's despairing assertion. "I think... what you need is to get him out of the desk chair," he declared, hoping that didn't sound completely idiotic.
Simon crooked an eyebrow at him. "Oh yeah? How?"
Wille thought for a moment, but he couldn't come up with anything. He didn't know this Englund guy at all, so he couldn't make any suggestions. "I don't know. What kind of stuff does he like?"
Simon rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. "Tweed blazers. Keep up." He playfully tapped the tip of Wille's shoe with an amused smirk.
The— friendly? Fond?— gesture made something light and bright flutter in Wille's chest. He couldn't hold back a wide smile. "Sorry. I'll try," he said, trying but failing to keep the delight out of his tone. "In all seriousness, though, there's gotta be something else that makes him happy."
It was Simon's turn to think about it for a moment. "The only times I've ever seen him remotely satisfied," he finally postulated, "is when he manages to bring in a lot of money for the foundation." He frowned. "Not because he wants to help people, mind you," he added, "but because it gets him recognized by the board."
Ah yeah, Wille knew how that went. He knew it very well. "Tell me about it," he commiserated. He crossed his arms, thinking back to his own version of this he had to deal with every day. "The firm has gone through some very public... let's call them diversity issues... over the past few years, and August is hell-bent on being the one to solve them. Not because he wants more diversity, but just so he can get the credit."
Simon shook his head, sympathizing with Wille's plight. "Unbelievable," he said with a scoff. Then he chuckled like a funny thought had just popped into his head. "If only we could have them do business with each other, am I right?"
Wille laughed. As if that could ever happen. "Yeah, sure."
Simon kept the joke going, though. He put his coffee mug down on the desk and lifted himself on the chair so he could sit crosslegged on it, leaning forward with mischief gleaming in his eyes. "No, think about it: August gets diversity brownie points from helping an LGBTQ+ charity, Englund gets a top-tier investor for the foundation, and while they're busy preening over all the accolades they're getting, we're free." He imitated dropping a microphone, looking pretty satisfied with himself.
"Genius," Wille retorted, amused at his enthusiasm. "But the thing is... I don't want to be free. I want to be promoted."
"So do I," Simon said, drumming his hands against his crossed legs, "but I don't want to die in the process." He picked up his mug again, taking a sip. "Well, not for this little money, at least."
Wille frowned. "Why? How much do they pay you?" Simon gave him a number, and later on, Wille would be ashamed to admit that his reaction was... pretty textbook out-of-touch rich boy. He gaped at the other man. "Holy shit. You can live on that?"
Thankfully, Simon didn't seem to take offense. "Barely. My sister and I live together, so at least the rent's not as bad as it could be," he said in a somewhat educational tone. "But she's going to move out soon, so I gotta find a new roommate, I guess."
Right, because she was getting married. Wille nodded. "...I don't even know how much I get paid," he admitted reluctantly.
Simon narrowed his eyes like his mind couldn't compute that. "Seriously? How do you know you're not basically being used as slave labor?"
Wille pointed at himself with one finger. "Winner of today's exploitation olympics, remember?" He shook his head. "I'm pretty sure I'm being overworked, regardless of how much money goes into my bank account every fortnight."
The curly-haired man guffawed at that. "Spoken like a true rich boy," he ribbed him, throwing back the last of his coffee. Wille hadn't even started on his— it was probably cold by now— but Simon just seemed to distract him from everything.
He picked up his mug and took his first sip. Yep, that was room temperature, alright. While Simon was still around, he was still going to drink it like it was warm, though. "You keep saying that like it's an insult," he commented, teasing back.
"It is!" Simon said with a tinkling laugh. Wille was finding he really liked his laugh: it was free, open, and bright— like he had nothing holding him back despite the fact that he was working crap hours in a crap job. It wasn't a fake laugh to get something from people. Simon laughed because he felt joy. It was real.
"Though I have to say," the other man continued, "you are marginally less irritating than most rich boys I've ever dealt with. At least I know for a fact that you actually work. You wouldn't believe how many rich dudes around here only have their job because their daddy owns the company."
Wille cringed. He had to go there, didn't he? "...My mother owns the firm," he mumbled sheepishly.
Simon's eyes widened. "I'm so sorry," he said. But then he shook his head, seeming to change his mind about that response. "No, actually, I'm not— I'm just shocked." He frowned in confusion. "Why are you working as an assistant instead of, like, Vice President of numbers or whatever?"
Wille let out a heavy sigh. That was the trillion kronor question, wasn't it? But he wasn't about to dump all his mommy issues on this guy he liked— because let's face it, he was totally crushing already— and especially at this late hour of the night. "It's a long story," he said, then took another sip of his coffee.
"You seem to have a lot of those," Simon pointed out easily. "Guess you'll have to tell me some other time." Wille's heart went pitter-patter at the possibility of "some other time."
Simon pulled out his phone, which was vibrating, and pressed the screen once, probably to snooze an alarm. He stood up, pushing his empty mug toward Wille. "I gotta go wake up my boss. Thanks for the coffee!" He waved at Wille as he walked away. Wille returned the gesture.
He watched Simon's retreating figure wistfully until it disappeared around the corner, headed toward the front door to the Krona offices. Then he stretched out his arm, picking up the little bundle of bills the other man had left behind on his desk, accompanied by a little purple sticky note.
He smiled as he read the words in Simon's cramped, slightly crooked handwriting. He folded the little piece of paper in half and stored it carefully, safely in a pocket of his wallet. Then he grabbed his coffee mug and put it in the microwave; it could use some quick reheating.
.
.
.
Later that night, some two hours before his alarm was due to wake him up for work, Simon sat up abruptly in bed. He'd been having a nice dream, he thought— it was a little hazy, but he remembered warm eyes. A boyish smile. Holding hands with someone by the water.
Then, because dreams are weird even when they're nice, he'd— they'd— walked past something that looked like a pool, or maybe a ball pit, only it wasn't filled with water nor colorful plastic balls. It was filled with money. Millions and millions in SEK bank notes, more than Simon had ever seen in his life.
And playing in the money, swimming in it, throwing it up in the air like splashing it around, were Mr. Englund and Wille's boss, August. Or, well, his dreaming mind somehow recognized the man who was with Englund as Wille's boss— he might have looked a bit like Christian Bale, actually, which was surely his subconscious's way of telling him to not let Sara rope him into watching American Psycho with her ever again.
But anyway, they were playing in a pool of money, laughing, high-fiving. Which Simon would've normally counted as a most horrifying nightmare, except for some reason, he and his companion in the dream waved at them as they walked past. Cordially.
That was what had jolted him awake.
The thought niggled at him: Was it really possible? Could they somehow bring Mr. Englund and August together in some kind of business partnership, and reap the benefits of free time and diminished stress levels? He'd brought it up mainly as a joke, but what was the harm in trying? They couldn't possibly end up worse off than they already were.
Like someone had lit a fire under him, he sprung off the bed and grabbed his computer off his desk. He had some planning to do.
.
.
Author's notes!—
Maddie asking Wille for a pony is a Veronica Mars reference, because I can. xD Northzone is a real venture capital firm in Sweden. Lund University if one of the oldest and most prestigious universities in Sweden; Stella did a Gender Studies bachelor's program. Candy Crush is a mobile/desktop game by King (no relation). 2000 kronor is about $180 USD (at the moment); SEK is the ISO code for the Swedish krona, which is commonly used.
Willy Wonka's factory is the setting of Roald Dahl's 1964 novel Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Simon's dream version of August looks a lot like Christian Bale because I think he and Malte actually share a lot of mannerisms in their performance and August kinda dresses like him a little bit. American Psycho is a horror film from the year 2000 starring Christian Bale as Patrick Bateman, an investment banker who is also a brutal serial killer (very August, if you ask me).
Next up: The plan is set in motion, and the rom-com shenanigans begin. Meet-cute, baby! ;)
As usual, I'm at Twitter (girls_are_weird, but I'm back to teetering on the edge of leaving atm) or Tumblr (girls-are-weird), and also now on Mastodon (girls_are_weird). See you next time!