There's a song in my heart (I feel like I belong), Part 2: Verse. M, AU, Wille/Simon, romance/fluff/slight drama.
Concert pianist Wilhelm Berwald had no idea his entire life would change when he was paired up with pop star Simon Eriksson for a charity concert. Birthday fic for TheAmberFox.

Note: Title from the song "Better Place" by Rachel Platten. I've finagled a slowed-down/slightly pitch-shifted version of the song, in case you want to have a better idea of what the version they're writing/playing here sounds like. Just PM me to ask for the link! I also have the sheet music for the song? In case you want to try playing it yourself, or if you just want to look at it like me, because idek, I just think sheet music is pretty to look at. Yes, I'm weird. Moving on...

Note 2: There will be some sexual content in this fic, between consenting adults (as the characters are all aged up from their show selves). It won't be terribly explicit, though. About the level we'd see on the show, I'd say. Regardless, please heed the M rating. It's there for a reason.

Note 3: IT'S FOXY'S BIRTHDAY TOMORROW! Everybody go and wish my dearest TheAmberFox a fantastic birthday! I've dropped a few references to her and some of her fics here and there; hopefully she (and everyone who's read her stuff) will have fun picking those out— makes this fic kind of interactive, I guess? Happy birthday, Foxy! Here's lots and lots of these two dorks making out, just for your enjoyment. ;)

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Wille held his breath, waiting for Simon to say something.

Simon, instead, lifted his hands to cup Wille's face, looked deep into Wille's eyes, and leaned down to press their lips together.

Wille tensed at contact, not expecting this response, to begin with, but a moment later let his held breath out slowly through his nose, melting into the kiss. He closed his eyes, this time not to escape the situation, but rather to savor every second of it. Every feeling. Simon's lips were soft, and pliant, and warm. Warmer than he'd ever dreamed they would be. Even if his heart was beating at max speed, his chest felt light, like his lungs had expanded to embrace every last bit of breath they were now sharing. Kissing Simon made him feel like he had sunlight inside of him.

Simon pulled away first. Wille could never— would never want to, and he chased after those sun-warmed lips almost by reflex, not wanting to lose all those wonderful feelings. But Simon only pulled away just slightly, the bare minimum, touching his forehead to Wille's and breathing deeply with his eyes closed. "Okay," he said. "We can keep the line."

"Yeah?" Wille asked, breathless, the adrenaline from his panic earlier and then from the kiss mixing inside his head, making him feel almost like he was drunk. He leaned into Simon's closeness. He was so close. Wille could just... move a couple of centimeters closer... and he'd be kissing those lips again...

"Mm-hmm," Simon murmured in response, nodding his head but just barely, as allowed by his current position. He opened his eyes and lifted a hand to softly, delicately move Wille's fringe behind his ear. Wille felt a shiver run through him at the affectionate gesture.

"You are very silly, you know," Simon whispered, his voice like honey to Wille's ears. He repeated the caress when Wille's hair wouldn't stay put, and for once Wille didn't mind that his hair refused to stay in place if it meant that Simon kept touching him like this. Simon sighed, low and slow, before adding, "Everything I wrote was about you, too."

Wille swore he felt his heart halt inside his chest for longer than physically possible, but it was the only reaction he could have, as he found himself unable to form words. He pulled back a little further— just a little, so he could look Simon in the eye. He thought of this before, of the possibility that Simon might be feeling the same level of connection Wille was, but he'd brushed the thought aside, hadn't dared hope.

Now he could bask in the feeling that it hadn't just been wishful thinking on his part; Simon reciprocated his feelings and that was real. And if that meant he stared a little too long, a little too intensely, well, Simon didn't seem to mind, meeting his gaze comfortably, with a soft smile.

Simon was so beautiful— so, so beautiful— and he reciprocated Wille's feelings so how could Wille not be expected to give in to his earlier urge? One hand moved to Simon's waist, pulling his body closer until he was standing between Wille's legs, as close as they could be without being on top of each other. The other cupped Simon's neck and pulled him down so Wille could steal the sunshine breath from between his lips.

This kiss was not like the first one. It was urgency, and longing, and thirst. Gasps and friction and shivers, their lips slanting and sliding against each other and coming together over and over again as if pulled by a force stronger than gravity. In the back of Wille's mind, he knew they probably shouldn't be doing this here, out in the open, in what was technically their place of work, but damned if he'd be the one to point that out. Not when every sound that came out of Simon's mouth made Wille feel like every nerve ending in his body was on fire.

He tugged Simon's full bottom lip between his own, and it drew a groan from the back of Simon's throat, a rough one that sent lightning straight to the very center of Wille. He needed them to be closer, as close as two human bodies could get, and Simon seemed to have the same idea because he leaned in further, trying to deepen the kiss. It pushed Wille a little too far back that he nearly tipped over and onto the keyboard. He just managed to bring his elbows back to stop himself from smacking into the piano, propping them on the nearest flat surface that just happened to be the keys. The instrument emitted an unholy, discordant, loud combination of notes that had both of them flinching.

"Shit," Wille muttered to himself, breathless. He didn't want to stop kissing Simon, but he also didn't want to damage the piano. "Sorry," he added, mentally promising to kick himself later if this stumble killed the mood.

Simon only shook his head emphatically, as if he wanted to tell Wille it wasn't a big deal, but couldn't form the words. Instead, he said, "Scooch back," and it took a second or two for his request to process in Wille's mind before he was pushing himself as far back as he could on the bench until his back was against the edge of the keyslip. Then Simon was clambering onto what little space had been made available, his knees straddling Wille's legs on either side.

"This okay?" Simon asked throatily as his weight settled on Wille's thighs. It felt so perfect that Wille could only nod enthusiastically, and in a blink, Simon was kissing him again, his arms thrown lazily over Wille's shoulders. That way, the angle of the kiss could ebb and flow much more comfortably, and if Wille's elbows pressed the piano keys a couple more times, well, he honestly could not care less anymore.

It was also easier in this position to pull Simon even closer, which Wille promptly took advantage of with a hand on the small of Simon's back (or perhaps a little lower). This brought the evidence of their desire into direct contact, and the moan Wille let out might've been louder than the piano, but at this point, he couldn't think of anything other than Simon, Simon, Simon. Only him and the delicious pressure on Wille's arousal as they ground against each other desperately, his body reaching for that heaven promised by the sound of Simon's gasps as he kissed up the column of Wille's throat.

"Fuck," Simon whispered against the corner of Wille's jaw, almost a whine, as he arched against Wille in search of the same satisfaction Wille craved with every cell in his body. Simon hastily dove for Wille's lips again, like his oxygen would run out if he didn't bring their mouths together immediately.

"Simon—" The word was choked out between frantic kisses, Wille's hands tightening on Simon's hips almost involuntarily. The want that coiled inside of him was almost about to burst— he was almost there, could almost reach for it...

There was a loud bang as a stage door somewhere in the backstage area opened, and they sprung apart like they'd been bitten by a snake. Simon stood on his feet and moved to one side of the piano and leaned against it to disguise his... rather obvious problem. It's not like literally hiding behind the piano would do him much good, as the instrument was in the middle of the stage and whoever had come in through the stage door could walk around it in either direction. But it may at least give him time to calm down, a predicament Wille was equally struggling with.

Wille had, instead, flipped himself over so he was facing the opposite way on the bench, with his legs underneath the piano. He bent forward until his forehead pressed against the keys— more discordant noise, but at least it wasn't as loud this time— and tried to think of the most unsexy things his mind could picture: The soufflé Erik had tried to bake when he was thirteen that ended up looking more like a puddle of radioactive waste. His father's encyclopedic knowledge of all the greatest Swedish chess grandmasters. His mother in hair rollers and a face mask.

A minute later, Alexander emerged from stage left, with Felice at his heels. "Good morning, both of you!" she greeted them, beaming, as she handed her assistant her stuff so he could set it down elsewhere. Felice approached them, walking around the front of the piano. They both tensed. Wille's... downstairs situation... was nearly gone, but he still felt like a little kid who'd been caught with his hand in a cookie jar right before dinner.

She chuckled at what must've been a pair of absolutely hilarious expressions. "You guys are so weird," she said, shaking her head at them like she couldn't understand them. "I've worked with some really dedicated people, but this is a bit ridiculous. What are you two doing that you get here early every single day?"

Not making out against the piano, Wille's brain supplied unhelpfully. Definitely not that. He wasn't about to say that, though, so he glanced at Simon with wide, expectant eyes, begging him to come up with an actual excuse instead.

Unfortunately for his anxiety, Simon seemed as much at a loss as Wille felt. "Uh..." the singer tried and failed, still plastered to the side of the piano like he was stuck there with glue. "We're... um..."

"We're writing a song!" Wille finally blurted out when he couldn't take the awkward silence anymore. He hadn't intended for anyone to know about their songwriting project, which was stupid because Simon was going to record this for his album, so it's not like it could stay a secret forever. Simon didn't seem bothered that Wille had revealed it to Felice just now. It just felt to Wille like something so personal, so intimate, that bringing other people into it was something he reflexively rejected. But Felice was a good person— maybe even a friend— and she was genuinely curious, and probably would get off their backs if they gave her something.

True to form, she seemed pleasantly surprised. "Oh! You're writing together?" she asked, delighted. "That is such a great idea; I'm sure you've come up with something amazing. Oh hey, would you like to perform your new song instead of the one we've been practicing, maybe?" she offered. "We still have time to switch things up—"

"No," Wille cut her off abruptly. He hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but it was already bad enough he'd told Felice about their song; no need for the rest of Sweden to know just yet. Still, he didn't mean to be rude, so he tried to soften his response a little. "I mean, it's not... it's not finished yet. Let's just keep going as we have been, please."

"Okay," Felice said easily. Wille was glad she wasn't offended. "Let's go through the stage positioning again, then, shall we?" And so started rehearsal for the day.

Wille breathed out in a sigh, relieved that the topic hadn't been pushed any further, that their heated encounter earlier hadn't been discovered. He straightened up his position on the bench and got ready to start working. His gaze found Simon as his collaborator made his way around the piano to confer with Felice about something. Just as he turned behind the point leg of the piano, their eyes met.

Simon immediately averted his gaze.

Wille found that odd but figured if something was wrong, they could talk about it at some point during the day. They had an arduous rehearsal to get through, after all. As amazing as what just happened between them was, now there was nothing else to do but put their work hats on and focus on their upcoming performance. Whatever this was— whatever they were, after this— could be dealt with once it was just the two of them.

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By the time rehearsal ended at 6 pm, Wille was absolutely certain he'd fucked things up somehow. Majorly.

He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong. Simon hadn't said anything. But that was the problem: Simon hadn't said anything. Oh, he'd been perfectly professional all day, following Felice's instructions, participating in any discussions that arose regarding the performance, and offering his suggestions when needed. But there was none of the friendly— or, in hindsight, flirty— camaraderie they'd developed over the previous week.

Simon remained open to interacting with Wille when it came to work matters, but even then, he'd barely looked at Wille all day. Even when Wille was desperately, desperately trying to catch his eye to the point of distraction from the job he was actually contracted to be doing, Simon would just dodge him. He'd even disappeared elsewhere during their lunch break.

Now they were done, and Wille thought this might be his chance to finally talk to Simon about whatever the problem was, but Simon only grew quieter and more emotionally distant than ever to the point that Wille was nearly vibrating out of his skin with anxiety.

If Wille had somehow managed to ruin things with the guy he liked literally minutes after kissing him for the first time, well... surely that had to be some kind of record.

"Hey," Wille said as he sidled up to Simon near the edge of the stage, where he was picking up his things so he could go home. He shifted his weight between his feet, feeling a bit like when he was back in high school and had to ask a teacher for an extension on an assignment or something. Just... nervous. "Um, are you okay?" he asked.

Simon turned his head toward him, but Wille noticed he didn't actually look at him— rather, just barely in his general direction. "I'm fine," he said in a monotone that made him sound anything but. He shouldered his bag, grabbed his water bottle from where he'd set it down atop an unplugged speaker, and started toward the backstage exit. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said, still in that same flat, almost sarcastic but not in a fun way, tone.

"Wait, wait." Wille lightly tugged him back by the elbow, and Simon acquiesced, if reluctantly. Whether that was because he genuinely wanted to give Wille a chance to say his piece, or he just didn't want to make a scene where Felice and Alexander could hear, Wille couldn't be sure. Either way, he lowered his voice to a murmur, just in case. "Look, can we talk? It's pretty clear you're mad at me, but I... don't know what I did."

It was then that Simon looked directly at him for the first time since the morning, and his expression was downright stony— as in, it made Wille feel like someone had thrown a rock straight at his gut. "Sorry you can't figure it out on your own, but there's no clause in my contract stating that I have to explain shit to you," he said derisively, with an equally dismissive shrug.

He made to leave again, but Wille's hand still had a tentative hold of Simon's forearm. "Simon," Wille tried again, imploringly. "Please?"

Simon must've seen the earnestness, the utter despair in his request, because he exhaled heavily, the tension in his frame releasing ever so slightly. "Fine," he conceded, though he sounded somewhat unsure. He glanced over Wille's shoulder at where Felice and her assistant were discussing something about the show, then back at Wille. "Not here, though."

Simon led him backstage, and then into a room that seemed like some sort of catch-all for various theater items: there was a rack with costumes in one corner, props strewn about here and there, and various instruments scattered about or hanging from the walls. Simon flicked the lights on as he walked in. Wille closed the door behind him.

There was silence for almost a full minute. Simon stood in front of a tower of cardboard boxes, arms crossed almost like he was hugging himself protectively, and resolutely not looking at the only other person in the room. Wille nervously rubbed his palms against the fabric of his jeans before finally speaking up.

"Was it because I told Felice we shouldn't change the song for the performance?" he asked. Simon didn't say anything, but his jaw tightened, and Wille knew he had his answer. "Simon, the song isn't even finished," he argued, a little disconcerted that Simon would get like this over such a thing.

Simon scoffed, glaring at him. "Yeah, well, you didn't need to trip all over yourself to tell her no," he retorted with obvious disdain. This only served to confuse Wille even more. So it wasn't the fact that he turned down Felice's offer, but the way he turned it down?

Something must've shown on his face because Simon scoffed and shook his head. "It was like you didn't want anyone to hear it. Like you're ashamed of what we've done so far or something." This assertion immediately alarmed Wille, as it couldn't be further from the truth, and he opened his mouth to respond but Simon just kept on talking.

"Wilhelm, you realize this song is going on my album, right?" he went on, bulldozing over any objection Wille could've possibly raised. The fact that he used his name rather than his nickname for the first time since the day they met was like a dagger to Wille's chest. "You know that. It's why I began writing it in the first place. Everybody's going to hear it eventually," Simon pointed out with a glare.

"And I don't know how it is for you," he continued. "You might've gotten this far on a pretty face and a famous last name. But do you know how hard it is for a gay, half-Latino, low-middle-class kid to make it big in Sweden singing dance pop in a world where they have to compete with— fucking— I don't know, Dua Lipa and Lil Nas X on the same playing field?" He waved his hand to the side sharply, clearly frustrated.

"I've had to work my ass off for everything I have," he added, pointing at himself almost aggressively, "and this is my livelihood you're playing with here. I take this very seriously. So if you're not all in, you better tell me now so we can cut our losses and go back to working on the performance and nothing else."

Wille swallowed heavily. He couldn't be sure, but he had a feeling by the end there Simon wasn't just talking about the song. And maybe that was just wishful thinking on Wille's part— although the last time he told himself not to make assumptions about Simon's feelings, Simon's feelings turned out to be exactly what Wille was trying not to assume. But what if it wasn't just wishful thinking? What if by "all in" he meant a relationship— one that could very well not happen if Wille said the wrong thing now?

But that was crazy, wasn't it? They'd only known each other for a week. They'd only kissed for the first time that morning. And sure, that was more than enough time for an attraction to develop, a potential something, but Wille shouldn't feel like he would lose his mind if Simon pulled away and they went back to being nothing more than one-time coworkers, right? He shouldn't feel like the air was being sucked out of his lungs at the mere thought of never being able to kiss Simon again. That was too much. Too fast.

Except that's exactly how Wille felt. Even if he shouldn't, he did. And if there was even a possibility that Simon felt the same way— as suggested by how upset he was about this— then there really was only one answer, as far as Wille was concerned.

Wille crossed the distance between them in three long strides. "I'm all in," he declared, coming to a stop directly in front of Simon. The other man held his gaze unflinchingly, expectantly— challenging, even. Wille took Simon's hands in his slowly, giving him the chance to pull away if he wanted. Simon didn't. "Simon," Wille insisted, "I'm all in. On the song and on... this." He gestured to their joined hands.

Simon's expression softened, but he still seemed hesitant. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Wille confirmed, giving him a bashful smile. He stepped a little bit closer, just inching into Simon's space. "I'm not ashamed of the song. I love it. I love that it's our song," he declared, something wispy fluttering inside of his chest when he thought about it. "It just feels so personal. We've poured all of our feelings into it. And I guess I just wanted to... keep it to ourselves a little bit longer. Until we figure out what this is, you know?" He squeezed Simon's hands affectionately.

Simon's posture visibly relaxed as Wille spoke, and he slowly but surely returned Wille's smile. He leaned into Wille's hold, his voice lowering as he moved closer. "Feelings, huh?" he asked suggestively. "Like what?"

Wille chuckled, amused. "You know."

"Maybe I just wanna hear you say it," Simon retorted teasingly. He was so close, their noses almost brushed.

Wille sighed and erased the last bit of distance between them, touching his forehead to Simon's just as Simon had done that morning. He closed his eyes. "I really like you," he whispered, his voice full of emotion. "I've never felt like this before."

Simon loosened their hands the tiniest bit, just enough so he could entwine their fingers and secure their hold. "I like you, too," he whispered back, certain. And then before Wille could say or ask anything else, Simon leaned in to capture Wille's lips.

There was none of the initial awkwardness that had been there that morning, Wille thought as he practically dissolved into Simon. Even though they'd only really gotten together that same day, the certainty that they both wanted this made it feel like they'd been doing this forever. There was also none of the frenetic energy from when they made out against the piano.

Not that Wille didn't desperately want every single part of Simon; the boldness of his movements as he wrapped his arms around Simon's waist and pulled him close spoke louder than words ever could. But this kiss was slower, more leisurely, and deeper. So deep. Like they were trying to fuse with each other. Simon's fingers skimming through the baby hairs at Wille's nape, each brush of their tongues against each other— all these things made Wille's skin break out in goosebumps in the most exquisite way possible, and just want to lose himself in Simon.

How could a kiss feel so good? But it wasn't the kiss itself, Wille recognized, but just Simon's presence; the nearness of him that invaded his every sense. Wille couldn't get enough of him, the feel of him, the taste of him, and he would gladly stay right as he was, holding Simon in a soft embrace, kissing him, being close to him for the rest of time, the world outside this storage room be damned.

Once again it was Simon who pulled back first, both of them breathing heavily. He rubbed his nose against Wille's affectionately and sighed. "I'm sorry," he said, although Wille was having a hard time remembering what he was apologizing for. "I just... I get defensive."

Ah, right. Their argument. Wille shook his head. "That's okay. You have the right to be," he whispered, leaning forward to press a kiss on the corner of Simon's mouth, right where it was starting to quirk upward, just because he could. "And you're not wrong, anyway," he added, serious. "I'm literally just... taking what would've been my brother's place in everything."

It was Simon's turn to shake his head emphatically. "No, that's not true," he declared, apologetic. "You're really talented, and you work just as hard, too. I've seen it first hand. I shouldn't have said that."

He was so sincere about his regret of his overreaction, and honestly, Wille found it absolutely adorable, so he couldn't help but smile. "Well," he retorted coyly, "you do think I have a pretty face, so I guess I can forgive you..."

Simon laughed. "Idiot." Then he tilted forward to kiss Wille again, soft and heartfelt and sweet.

"For the record," Wille said when they pulled back after a second or two, "I think you're amazing... and you deserve everything you've achieved. And you're going to go so much further..."

Simon chuckled. "Okay, you don't have to lay it on so thick."

Wille shook his head, beaming at him. "I'm just stating the truth."

More laughter, accompanied by an eye roll. "Dumbass," Simon said, somehow making it sound like the sweetest endearment. Wille just had to kiss him again.

Eventually, they had to go; Malin was waiting for Wille outside, plus they didn't know when exactly the venue staff locked up for the night, and getting locked in overnight because they were too busy making out to check the time would be entirely too embarrassing. But as Wille got in the town car, they shared a secret smile to close a day that was sure to feature in Wille's dreams in the near future.

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Turns out, writing a song collaboratively was a lot less efficient when they had to balance their writing time with secret makeout sessions in any available— and discreet— nook or cranny in the building.

It was a lot more fun, though!

But still, it made for some rather hilarious situations. Like on Tuesday just as rehearsal broke for lunch, when Wille found himself being pulled into one of the venue's many bathrooms. Now, normally, this would give Wille pause, but this concert hall, like nearly every other venue Wille regularly performed at, served a fairly affluent clientele, and that upper-class leaning was reflected in the décor and cleanliness of their bathrooms. Over the first week, Wille had side-eyed the nautical aesthetic every time he stopped by, but he had to admit the place was so sterile, one could probably perform surgery in there.

Not that Wille was thinking of the décor as he and Simon kiss-spun toward the sinks. It didn't occur to him that pushing Simon against the edge of the sinks to get some leverage for their kiss might not be the most comfortable position in the world, but Simon clearly had a better idea, because he pulled back and lifted himself to sit between two of the sinks.

Immediately— as if he could only stand a second or two of not kissing Wille, but no more than that— he pulled Wille back to him by the belt loops, wrapping his legs around Wille's waist to keep him right where he wanted. Wille groaned louder than he should have given that he was in a public bathroom, and dove into the delights of Simon's mouth once again.

It was when he pulled back for air, intending to maybe nibble on Simon's delectable neck, that he caught sight of the backsplash behind Simon, tiled in various shades of blue and trimmed in white. "It's the ocean," he mumbled dumbly.

"What?" Simon asked, obviously noticing his attention had drifted elsewhere.

"Nothing," Wille said quickly and proceeded to hide his flaming cheeks against the crook between Simon's shoulder and neck. A little bit of the aforementioned nibbling was enough to bring the heat back, despite his temporary distraction. Although Simon certainly did not forget, if the look he gave Wille when the pianist suggested a line comparing Simon's kisses to the ocean breeze was any indication.

Or later, as they were getting ready to leave for the day, when, as Felice and Alexander made their way offstage and toward the backstage exit, Simon tugged at Wille's shirt and gestured with a tilt of his head and an impish smile for Wille to follow him stage right— the opposite to the direction in which their creative director had disappeared. Hopelessly interested and more than a little intrigued, Wille followed him, expecting, at the very least, a good, long kiss goodbye.

Instead, as soon as they were mostly out of sight from anyone who might walk into the hall, Simon turned to him and said, "We should accompany the song with strings."

Wille blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion. But then he actually thought about it, and it made complete sense. "Yeah!" he said enthusiastically. Simon beamed back at him, obviously pleased Wille had liked his idea. "Like, maybe from the second verse on?" Wille asked.

Simon shook his head, his tone matching Wille's intensity. "No, I was thinking maybe from the chorus on? Maybe we leave the first two lines backed only by the piano, and then the strings kick in in the third line when the melody goes low?"

"Yes!" Wille agreed, beaming. They were fully nerding out about the music now and it was so much fun. "And then we go back to vocals and piano only for the fade-out. Maybe we could even bring in a choir for the instrumental section before the bridge?"

"I love that!" Simon grinned back just as brightly. "We probably don't have time today, but we can look at it in more detail tomorrow..." The comment only reminded Wille that they were nearly on their way out and it had been hours since he last got to kiss Simon. The thought made him grumpy, and Simon noticed. "What? What's with the pout?" he asked as Wille's grin fell.

Wille shrugged. "Nothing, it's just..." He flinched, somewhat embarrassed of what he was about to admit. "When you pulled me here, I thought you wanted to... y'know... make out and stuff," he finished in a mortified mumble, giving Simon a tight, sheepish little smile.

Simon's expression turned mischievous. He licked his lips and stepped closer to Wille. "I mean..." he started, coyly. Once he was within reach, he tugged at the front of Wille's shirt again. "That could be arranged..." He trailed off suggestively.

Wille grinned, following the movement until he was up close in Simon's space. Simon looked up at him in a cocky manner, as if daring him to take what he wanted. And yes, Wille wanted, always, so he dipped his head to kiss that smirk that was pulling him in like a magnet.

Or on Wednesday afternoon, when the two of them were coming back to the hall after a break they took advantage to refill their water bottles. As they walked down the hall, Simon was relentlessly teasing Wille about his lyric-writing prowess— or lack of it, more like. "I'm just saying, it may be too many 'agains.' Maybe we can try something different?"

Wille gaped at him, pretending to be offended. "Seriously? It's repetition!" He scoffed, like what he was saying was more than obvious. "Doesn't everybody learn that in grade school or something? Repetition gives poetry rhythm and shit."

Simon grinned but rolled his eyes, perhaps a tad exaggeratedly to really drive the teasing in. "This isn't poetry, though; it's a song. The music gives it rhythm." He shook his head, amused. "It doesn't need eight 'alongs,' six 'agains'—"

"Oh, fuck you! Those are in the chorus," Wille interrupted, sounding legitimately indignant but also laughing at the same time. "You have to repeat the chorus. That is literally what a chorus is."

Simon kept going like Wille hadn't said a word. "—Three 'songs'— wait, no, four—" He continued listing repetitions until Wille playfully shoved him to the side. "Hey!" he protested, laughter undercutting the single syllable. They had now completely stopped in the middle of the wide hallway.

It was Wille's turn to shake his head in amusement. "You sure have a lot of sass for someone who rhymed 'body' with 'body' on his latest single," he volleyed back. He didn't have to take all this teasing lying down, no matter how whipped he admittedly was for this man.

Simon gaped at him. "Excuse me," he threw back self-righteously, chin up as he spoke proudly about his song, his dark eyes sparkling with mirth. "I'll have you know that was a top-ten single, so clearly my fans must not have minded that rhyme."

"Right, so we'll keep the repetitions in this one, too," Wille declared like it was the foregone conclusion. "Your fans will love it!"

Simon stepped up to Wille, poking him in the chest with one finger. "If you really want your repetitions," he challenged impudently, grinning smugly up at Wille, "you're going to have to fight me for 'em."

Wille's lips drew into a smirk to match Simon's. "Oh, yeah?" He stepped closer, his body pushing Simon's hand, which was still touching his chest, back with the movement. He used his taller stature fully to his advantage as he looked down at Simon intensely. "You think you can take me?" he asked in a low tone.

Simon's eyes flashed and his grin widened, but his gaze remained locked on Wille's. Steady. Purposeful. "Oh, I know I can," he said in a low tone that traveled from Wille's ears, through his veins, and into the core of him, promptly setting it on fire. The way Simon's words exuded sheer confidence, a promise hidden just underneath the surface, hinted that they weren't quite talking about the song anymore.

Before he could say anything— his brain had blanked out as his blood had started rushing elsewhere— Simon looked up and down the hallway as if to check that it was empty and then, grabbing a fistful of Wille's shirt— his hand was still resting on top of Wille's chest from earlier— pulled him in the direction of the nearest enclosed space he could find that had a door. Which just happened to be a maintenance closet.

Hooking up while surrounded by brooms and disinfectant was perhaps not the sexiest circumstance they had ever found themselves in, but given the fact that their ten-minute break was nearly over, well, beggars couldn't be choosers.

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That Thursday and Friday of the second week of rehearsals, they were scheduled to record a cut of the song they were going to perform at the charity concert to be used in various advertisements the following week. The recording sessions were taking place at Studio Årnäs, as stipulated contractually by Wille's management, so come Thursday morning, they didn't meet at the concert venue, but rather at the studio.

Upon his arrival, Wille was introduced to their producer, Madison McCoy, who would be in charge of the sessions over the next two days. She was one of Felice's best friends, and Simon had worked with her on a couple of projects, so they got along well. In that sense, Wille was left feeling slightly out of the loop, but Madison was very creative, nice, and friendly (if a little... let's say "eccentric"), so it wasn't difficult to get into the groove of things.

Besides, it wasn't like Wille didn't have any familiar faces of his own in the recording studio. It was just that his familiar faces were...

"Wille!" August greeted him when they came across each other during a break while Madison and Felice discussed something about the sections of the song they'd recorded so far. "It's been a while, cousin! How have you been doing? How are Aunt Kristina and Uncle Ludvig?"

Wille tried to smile at him, though he was aware it probably came off more like a grimace (August was none the wiser, thankfully). August owned the recording studio, which he had inherited from his late father— and which he was determined to restore to the glory his father, Carl Johan, had elevated it to in the '70s when the studio was home to some of the biggest recording artists in Sweden.

Like his father back in the day, August wasn't involved in the creative side of things; he just took care of the business end of things, but that didn't mean he didn't routinely try to poke his head in on creative sessions to "supervise" and offer (terrible) unsolicited advice. It was all just so he could brag later that he was "close" with the artists that recorded in the studio, too. August would do anything for clout.

Between his snobbery, brownnosing, and the pedantic turtlenecks he was fond of wearing every other day of the week (Wille couldn't understand why he was so determined to make himself look like a businesswoman from the '80s, but whatever), Wille found him excruciatingly aggravating, to say the least. But he and Wille's brother, Erik, had been close... plus, August was family... so Wille figured the least he could do was humor him.

He just would've rather not have to humor his cousin while Simon was right there at his side to witness it.

"They're doing well," he responded finally, trying to be as vague as possible so August wouldn't have any details to grab onto and extend the conversation even more. "Good to see you as always, August. We do have to go back to work—"

"Ah, that's right," August said, turning, for the first time, to look at the man standing beside Wille. Simon had been watching the conversation quietly but attentively up until that point. "You must be his collaborator, huh? Cousin, why don't you introduce us?"

Wille opened his mouth to do a quick, basic introduction, but August being August, he kept speaking before Wille could even get a word in edgewise and introduced himself. "August Horn. I'm the owner of this studio," he said, stretching out a hand toward Simon.

Simon shook his hand firmly. "Simon Eriksson," he introduced himself in kind, but Wille noticed Simon didn't bother with any further pleasantries; his expression was serious, and his tone was curt. Wille wondered why. He certainly had never mentioned August to Simon in all of their acquaintance— had barely thought about August at all over the past two weeks, which went to show how much he cared about his cousin. But somehow Simon seemed to clock in on August's irritating personality right from the start.

"Right, right," August said, realization dawning in his expression as if just knowing his name told him everything he needed to know about Simon. He smirked. "Pop singer, correct? I think I watched your latest music video. The one where you're... twerking, is that what people call it?" he asked, his voice dripping with condescension.

Wille frowned. What the fuck kinda comment was that? He knew August was a classist jerk, but up until that moment, Wille hadn't realized what an awful human being he was. What a horrible, downright racist comment to make. And about Simon's last video? Sure, the choreography was... provocative, to say the least (and it may or may not have featured heavily in Wille's dreams over the past two weeks), but for August to insinuate that made the video any lesser was just ridiculous. Simon's fans loved the video. It had millions of views on Youtube. And as Simon had so readily pointed out the day before, the song was a top-ten hit.

Wille was about to say something but was spared as Simon was perfectly able to handle August on his own. The singer gave his cousin a tight smile, clearly for the sake of civility in the workplace, but that smile did not contain even one ounce of amusement or joy or mirth— in fact, it might've been the coldest expression Wille had since on Simon's face since he met the man, and he'd already been the subject of Simon's anger once before. That was more antipathy than Wille imagined Simon was even capable of, in a simple quirk of his mouth.

"I prefer to call it 'dancing,'" Simon retorted dryly, "but thank you for watching my video. It means a lot." The sarcasm was obvious. Clearly, Simon had no patience for August's passive-aggressive bullshit, which Wille found, frankly, quite hot. Not that he was going to admit that... at least until he and Simon were alone.

"Of course, of course," August retorted, noticing the scorn as well— but he couldn't afford to outwardly antagonize a client, so he had to pretend to be cordial. It was brilliant to watch. "Well, I have a call with the managing director of Universal Music in about five minutes. Can't keep Joakim waiting, am I right?" he added because August could not help himself from dropping important names at any given opportunity.

He patted Wille on the shoulder before pulling him in for one very awkward bro hug, then nodded at Simon and walked out of the control room. Wille and Simon watched him go, the latter with his arms crossed in disapproval. "Cousin, huh?" Simon asked.

"Second cousin," Wille clarified in a mutter. He sighed, used to August's assholery, but feeling terrible that Simon had to deal with it as well. "Sorry about him. He's a dick."

Simon was quick to dismiss his concern. "It's fine. It's not your fault." He gave Wille a quick smile— a genuine one this time— before nudging him with his shoulder. "Hey," he started, much more easygoing now that August was out of the room. "You wanna have dinner at my place tonight? We could work on the song, see if we can finish it."

Wille was surprised by the invite, though not in a bad way. He just hadn't expected it, but now that the offer was on the table, he couldn't imagine himself ever turning it down. "Yeah, just— it wouldn't bother anyone?" he asked, just to make sure. If Simon really wanted to finish the song as soon as possible, they could always just meet up earlier the next day, as they'd been doing so far. Surely Madison could let them into the studio early. Or August. But preferably not August.

Simon shook his head. "Nope," he confirmed with a grin. "My mother's going to have dinner with my sister tonight, so we'd have the place to ourselves, and we can order in whatever. Plus, I have a home studio, so we don't have to worry about bothering any neighbors, either."

He seemed really excited at the prospect of Wille coming over to his place, and it was immediately contagious. Seeing as he couldn't come up with any other reason to object, Wille found himself grinning right back. "Then I'd love to," he said. Spending some alone time with Simon outside of work, in his own home where they wouldn't be interrupted, sounded like paradise. The glint of sheer thrill in Simon's eyes told Wille he felt the exact same way.

.

.

.

Wille texted his manager to let her know he would be "working late," and his driver, Malin, to tell her he'd text her when/where to pick him up, then promptly turned his phone off for the rest of the day.

After their recording session was done for the day, Simon drove them to his home. Unlike Wille, who lived with his family in a split-level top-story apartment in the city, Simon owned a detached villa in Lidingö, some twenty minutes away from the heart of Stockholm. He lived with his mother— or rather, his mother lived with him. His sister, Sara, had also lived with them until a couple of years previous when she moved out to share a flat with friends in the city. Apparently, she really wanted to be independent ("Or whatever the excuse is this week," Simon said when he explained it to Wille. He sounded mostly affectionate, but Wille wondered if there was a story there).

It was clear to Wille as they arrived that the house was pretty upscale— Simon's music career had taken off really fast a few years back, and as far as Wille was concerned, he had more than earned the right to buy himself a fancy house for all the effort he had put into it. As they walked in, though, it hit Wille that the decor was not as ostentatious as he would've expected from the outside. In fact, past the more modern architecture, the house felt really homey. Or perhaps Wille was just predisposed to think that way because, in his apartment, everything had to look like it had been built at least three centuries ago. His mother really took the "piano royalty" moniker to heart.

Right away they came upon Simon's mother, who was in the kitchen, putting some things together to take with her to dinner with her daughter. Simon introduced them right away. "Mamá, este es Wilhelm," he said in Spanish, signaling in Wille's direction. Then, he signaled to his mother. "Wille, this is Mamma." He shook his head, noticing his mistake. "I mean, Linda."

Wille extended a hand toward her with a genuine smile. "Pleasure to meet you, Linda. You have a lovely home."

Linda smiled warmly at him as she shook his hand. "Thank you! It's nice to meet you, too. Simme speaks very highly of you," she said. Then she turned to her son with raised brows, a look of— marvel? Astonishment but, like, in a positive way? "Se ve bien el catirito, ¿no?" she said. Wille had no idea what that meant other than the word "bien," but he didn't get time to ask.

Simon's eyes widened. "Mamá," he said, almost in a warning tone. Now Wille was really curious.

"Okay, okay," Linda said and addressed Wille again. "You're a concert pianist, then? You know, I had a great uncle who played the saxophone. Not in concert, though, but at a local restaurant back in Venezuela. He had quite the following, I've been told—"

"Mamma, don't you have to get going?" Simon interrupted before she could really get going. Wille watched the interaction carefully. In his experience, his own mother would probably get upset if Wille did the same to her, but Linda seemed to take it in stride.

"Vea pues, no la dejan a una ni echar un cuento," she retorted. Wille once again was clueless as to what any of that meant, but it seemed almost like she was speaking to herself. It must've been teasing of some sort, because she smiled at her son, and Simon rolled his eyes affectionately.

"You know Sara gets upset when people are late," he reminded her.

"Yes, I'm going, I'm going," she said. She grabbed the to-go bag she'd put together, which Wille could only assume was loaded with containers full of food, and picked her keys up from the counter. "It was very nice to meet you, Wilhelm. Please, make yourself at home." Turning to her son, she added, "I'll head straight to bed when I get back, so no need to wait on me."

Simon nodded. "Maneja con cuidado," he said.

Linda smiled at him. "I will. Te quiero, corazón," she said, leaning over to press a kiss to Simon's temple. Then she gave Wille one last smile and a wave. "Have fun!" Wille nodded in kind, a bit caught off-guard by how easily the affection between Linda and Simon flowed. It was certainly not something he'd ever really experienced in his own family— not like this, anyway.

When the front door closed behind her, Wille turned to Simon, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Did she say at one point that she thought I was good?" he asked, still stuck on that first sentence in Spanish that seemed to make Simon so flustered.

Simon pressed his lips together tightly, Wille thought maybe to hold back a laugh. "Something like that," he answered vaguely. Then he gestured around them with his hands. "Want me to give you a quick tour of the house?"

.


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Author's notes!—

A house tour, huh? I wonder how that's gonna go... ;)

The keyslip is the wooden strip that goes across the front of the piano case and just below the keyboard. It's meant to keep the keyframe and keybed (both of which support the keyboard and include guides and rails to aid in the mechanics of the keys) from sight. A fade-out is when, at the end of a song, it starts getting quieter and quieter until the track is over. The bridge is a section near the end of the song that contrasts with the rest of the song (the verses and chorus) and usually prepares the listener for the chorus to repeat again at the very end. And yes, Wille is correct, the chorus is the part of the song that repeats several times throughout the song. Gold star for you, my darling.

The spin-kiss into the bathroom was inspired by Veronica Mars; if you've seen the show, you know which scene. And please don't kill me for the MCSC joke— I like the song, but I also find it so funny just how many times the word "body" is used in it. xD (In the chorus! It's in the chorus!) The line about August looking like a businesswoman from the '80s comes from this hilarious TikTok, with my thanks to the ever-awesome Vale for bringing it to my attention (I am terrified of TikTok because I am an old). Joakim Johansson is the current managing director of Universal Music Sweden. Lidingö is a small municipality in the greater Stockholm area, located on the island of the same name.

Spanish translations:

* "Mamá, este es Wilhelm." = "Mom, this is Wilhelm."

* "Se ve bien el catirito, ¿no?" = "Blondie looks good, huh?"

* "Vea pues, no la dejan a una ni echar un cuento." = "Well then, I'm not even allowed to tell a story."

* "Maneja con cuidado." = "Drive safely."

* "Te quiero." = "I love you." (Corazón means "heart" and is a common term of endearment.)

Here's a couple related-ish plugs you might be interested in that I recently uploaded to my vlog (search for "FreakingNarnia" on Youtube): a RWRB review (in which you'll hear me read a passage from the book in a TERRIBLE british accent), and my reaction to Heartstopper S1 Ep1 (noise level warning: there is a LOT of squealing in this). Even if neither of these are your thing, you can still find me on Twitter (girls_are_weird, but not for much longer, probably) or Tumblr (girls-are-weird), and also now on Mastodon (girls_are_weird) if you wanna contact me. The next chapter will be uploaded next Saturday, so stay tuned!