There's a song in my heart (I feel like I belong), Part 3: Chorus. 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. 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, IN THIS CHAPTER, 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. AGAIN: THE REASON IS THIS CHAPTER.
Note 3: This is a birthday fic for my dearest TheAmberFox, and though the happy day has already gone by, we love gifts that keep on giving, don't we. xD 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? Keep an eye out!
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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?"
Wille had never really given any thought to living outside the city, but he found himself completely understanding the appeal as Simon guided him through mostly every area of the house. The family space was huge, with the kitchen flowing seamlessly into the dining room, the living room, and then a smaller TV room just around the corner.
There were three rooms downstairs: Linda's room, Sara's room for when she spent the night, and a smaller guest room. Sara's room had initially been two rooms, but they knocked down a wall to make her space bigger. Wille didn't get to see those, of course, but he could tell just from the outside that the rooms were spacious. There was a large deck at the front of the house where they had some outside seating. Wille figured it got a lot of use in the summer.
The last area of the house Wille was shown was the loft, which Simon explained they'd renovated intensely when they bought the house— the space had been originally open so anyone up there could peer down at the family area below, but they closed it all up to make better use of the space.
Simon had ceded the master bedroom downstairs to his mother and instead converted the bonus space above it, which was about the same size, into his own room. The loft space proper right beside Simon's room was soundproofed so it could function as a music studio, which worked better for Simon as he wouldn't disturb anyone else in the house if he had to work late, or if the inspiration for a song hit him in the middle of the night (which was, apparently, a thing that happened every once in a while).
The section of the loft above the kitchen, which was much smaller, had been converted into a WC and a tiny guest room with one twin bed. Apparently, Simon's family on his mother's side was quite large and sometimes they visited for a while, so they tried to cram in all the bed space they could fit in the house, down to the transformable couches in the living room. Simon still had to share the master bathroom downstairs with his mother, which was a bit of a pain, but he said he was used to it: before he'd hit it big, they'd lived in a much smaller house in a small town maybe two hours out of Stockholm, and he'd had to share a bathroom the entire time. He could live without an attached full bathroom as long as he had 24/7 access to his music studio.
It was a convenient arrangement, Wille thought as he peered down at the kitchen from the window of the music studio. And the space was good, too, allowing for a desk in the corner housing some decent recording equipment, organizational furniture for a variety of instruments Simon owned as well as any necessities for their upkeep, and a fully mirrored wall to practice choreography if needed. Wille had been delighted to find a baby grand piano carefully positioned near the back of the room, close to the window that looked toward the side of the property.
"This is a great space," Wille commented eagerly, turning around to see Simon, who had gone over to close the window (to preserve the soundproofing), making his way toward him. "I'm getting a good feeling about finishing the song tonight. Do you wanna maybe order something in while we get started?"
"Mmm," was all Simon said as he walked up to Wille and wrapped his arms almost nonchalantly around Wille's waist.
Wille's arms automatically wrapped around Simon as well, drawing him close. "What are you in the mood for?" he asked, having a few ideas of his own as to what they could order for dinner, but figuring he could go with whatever Simon wanted.
Except Simon was not in the mood for food, Wille realized when the shorter man pushed himself up to his tiptoes and kissed him. And that kiss was hungry. Slow and sensual and so fucking hot, Wille felt a full-body shudder run through him as he leaned into it like he was trying to drink Simon in. Simon's hands snuck under Wille's t-shirt, his blunt fingernails scraping the sensitive skin of Wille's sides, and Wille couldn't hold back a moan.
"Dinner can wait," Simon breathed against Wille's lips, and it took Wille entirely too long to remember what that was supposed to be a reply to, because all his mind could process was the brush of Simon's lips against his, the taste of Simon's mouth lingering on his tongue, and the unbearable desire to lose himself in Simon. In his arms. In his body.
Every second he took to formulate words was a second he was not kissing Simon, and that was unacceptable. So he kissed Simon again, taking his time to draw out the sensations as he buried his fingers in Simon's soft curls, pulled him close so that their entire bodies were touching.
"Yeah?" Wille said, panting, as he moved his attention to Simon's jaw, his throat, his Adam's apple. Simon's needy little gasps right in his ear sent his blood pressure skyrocketing. "What should we do now, then?" His voice was husky and deep as he spoke them against Simon's pulse point, teasing it faintly with the tip of his tongue.
Simon let out a loud groan and clutched a fistful of Wille's shirt at his back, using his grip as leverage to grind his body harder against Wille's. It felt so good that Wille had to stop for a moment to pant into Simon's shoulder. Simon took advantage of this to pull Wille's mouth back toward him, kissing him furiously. "Bed," he said, before slanting his lips back against Wille's.
It wasn't so much an order— more a reluctance to pull back long enough to formulate a full sentence if Wille's own thoughts from earlier were any indication— but Wille took it as one. He nodded enthusiastically and said, "Yes. Bed," before throwing himself into the kiss so thoroughly that they ended up stumbling on their steps on the way to Simon's room.
Clothes were shed along the way, Wille's shirt ending up on the floor by the window, Simon's belt hanging off the back of the recording desk chair. When the back of Simon's legs hit the edge of his bed, the momentum they'd built up caused him to end up sitting down with Wille standing in front of him. That's about the point where they learned it wasn't very efficient for Simon to try and take Wille's pants off and Wille to try and take Simon's shirt off at the same time.
They muffled giggles into each other's mouths and set out to undress themselves— not that it wasn't still something of a scramble because they were so eager to finally be able to embrace each other without anything in the way.
Simon scooted back until he was stretched out properly on the bed, and Wille followed, covering Simon's form with his own. There was something unbelievably thrilling about having Simon under him like this, having to duck down to kiss him, being able to pin him down into the bed with his body weight. The press of skin against skin was a wonder; every bit of their bodies that touched unencumbered by fabric made Wille feel like his very cells were burning.
"You're so beautiful," Wille whispered, lapping at the skin of Simon's shoulder, his clavicle. He wanted to kiss, wanted to taste every square centimeter of Simon's body, take his time to worship him as he deserved. "I've wanted this since the moment I first saw you."
"Me too," Simon said, breathless, his hands tangling in Wille's hair as the pianist trailed kisses and kitten licks down his torso. Wille could not get enough of the way Simon's breath hitched with every movement, how responsive he was to every caress. "I want you so much, Wille— ah!" He gasped when Wille's hand made its way inside his underwear. His grip on Wille's hair tightened, which made Wille grunt in turn. Fuck, that felt so good. Wille wanted more.
The last remnant of clothing discarded, Wille continued his journey south, guided by Simon's unbridled reactions and the overwhelming need to pleasure him, to make him feel good. He was mesmerized by the bow of Simon's back as he arched up to his touch— so wanton, so uninhibited as Wille brought him to ecstasy with his mouth and hands, Wille thought he might explode just looking at him.
The quickening of Simon's gasps and mewls told Wille when to pull back, when Simon was just about to fall off that ledge, but still Wille lingered, sucking bruises into Simon's inner thighs which he then nuzzled sweetly with the tip of his nose, marveling at the fact that he got to do this, he got to pleasure Simon this way. It was only when Simon started frantically tugging him up— "Come here. God, Wille, come up here"— that he went back to Simon's lips, his entire body sliding enticingly against Simon's as he did.
Wille may have blanked out for a moment there, his whole consciousness attuned only to the friction generated when their lower halves came together again and again, the movement of their hips guided by the reflex tug of arms around Simon's waist, the clutch of hands on Wille's ass inside his boxers.
Long, slow, and luxurious motion became frantic as Simon tried to push Wille's underwear off while at the same time groping at his bedside table for the necessary implements, almost like he didn't know which of the two things he wanted to do first. Wille barely even processed the sequence of events; all he knew was that it led to being pressed completely bare against that body he craved more than anything, two little square foil packets in his hand ("Your fingers are longer, you know," followed by his own strangled "...Fuck"), then playing the chords of Simon's body like a piano.
And then their bodies were connected in the most intimate manner, and it was so good that Wille's hands almost faltered in holding him up. He bent down low and pressed his face against Simon's neck, breathing him in. "This is the best I've ever felt," Wille said, an ardent confession whispered almost right into Simon's ear as Wille's mind floated in a sea of indescribable pleasure.
Simon wrapped his legs tightly around Wille's waist— drawing a loud moan from him— before tugging Wille's face to look at him. He didn't say anything for a second, just stared into Wille's eyes deeply, intensely. Then he smiled and kissed Wille softly. As he pulled back, he softly pushed Wille's hair behind his ear. "We're just getting started, baby," he whispered in return, and it was his signal for Wille to start moving.
The ebb and flow of their bodies in tandem was the most delectable experience Wille had ever had. And it wasn't just the physical, either. Oh, every single thrust was a slow (exquisite) torture, and every loud noise they made— thank God for soundproofing— was a rung on the ladder to (heaven) insanity.
But for Wille it was the closeness, the being embraced and brought into another person's life, their essence, to be welcomed willfully into their most vulnerable safe spaces despite who he was— perhaps because of who he was, but for once not his piano royalty persona, but just him. Just Wille. It was a level of euphoria that was not satisfied by the sex alone, yet it flooded his soul with every shift of their bodies.
Too long Wilhelm had been living a liminal existence, but no longer. How could he go back to business as usual after Simon gave himself to Wille like this, so open, so willing? How could he ever give this up when every brush of their skin, every glance, every note made his every synapse come to glorious life?
He couldn't.
The thought pushed him over the edge just a heartbeat after Simon had gone, and for a moment there was only stillness, an ineffable feeling of contentment as they caught their breath. Overcome, Wille searched for Simon's lips again, finding his affection reciprocated fervently.
And they rested in the afterglow, tangled together lazily between the sheets, ensconced in a universe that existed only for the two of them.
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Simon walked out of his room sometime later, only a thin bedsheet wrapped around his waist, to find Wille sitting at the piano. Wille had his iPad propped on the music desk, the file with their song on the screen. There was also a bright-pink post-it note stuck to one corner of the device that said, in black marker and underlined, "EVERYTHING'S ALRIGHT."
"Hey," Simon said when Wille turned to look at him over his shoulder. "Why are you up?"
Wille shrugged. "I couldn't sleep too long. It's a bit early," he added with a smile, not wanting Simon to think he was trying to run away from him or something. He was just restless and didn't want to disturb Simon's rest with his fidgeting.
Simon hummed his assent, adjusting the sheet around his lower half carefully so he could sit beside Wille on the piano bench. He wrapped his arms around Wille's waist before pressing a kiss against his bare shoulder. "Play something for me?" he requested as he rested his chin on the spot he'd just kissed. "A song you like."
Wille thought about it as he lifted his hands to the keys. "Hmm. Well, I've always been partial to..." His hands started playing almost by reflex, a tune filling the room that he was sure would be familiar to most musicians everywhere: Pachelbel's Canon.
Simon certainly recognized it, if the knowing smile that spread on his lips was any indication. "A wedding song?" he said with a chuckle. "That's ballsy for a first date."
Wille mock groaned at the response, though he couldn't say he hadn't expected it. He kept playing the song as he spoke; the entire melody was imprinted in his memory. "Okay, we don't actually know that it was intended as a wedding song when he wrote it," he clarified the common misconception because his music lessons might have focused more on the practical, but that didn't mean he'd never learned the background for the songs he played. He was a bit of a history geek that way.
He shook his head, a soft smile taking over his features. "This was the first song I ever felt I mastered. It wasn't my teachers who taught it to me; it was Erik," he recalled, his gaze wistful. "Back when I was still a little kid. He said if I could master this song, no one could tell me I wasn't a good pianist." He thought back to that day as a time when he'd felt resentful of the pressure on him and upset by his mother's obvious disappointment— but his older brother, as always, had given him the exact advice he needed to make him feel better.
"It meant a lot," he added, heartfelt, "because Erik could master anything you put in front of him, but after he showed me the song, he would take every bit of free time he had to practice with me and teach me until I finally cracked it. It was some of the most fun I've ever had."
"That's nice." Simon smiled encouragingly, as he always did when Wille brought up Erik. It had happened more often than it had with anyone not Simon, possibly since the day Erik passed. It was just so easy to talk to Simon. He made Wille feel like everything he was saying truly mattered, unlike others in his life.
"I learned how to play from my dad," Simon added, "but that's... probably a topic better left for later." Wille wished he would tell him, that it was as easy for Simon to talk to him as it was for him to talk to Simon. But he knew this particular topic was not about him. Simon sounded sad to be bringing it up.
"Okay." He let it go, not wanting to push. "I'll listen if you feel like talking about it, though," he put the offer on the table. He hoped one day Simon would be open to talking about his most personal issues with him. It already felt like they could. It was hard to remember sometimes that they'd only known each other for a week and a half.
Simon nodded, caressing Wille's side lightly in acknowledgment of his offer. They were silent as the song ended and then remained so in the quiet that ensued. Wille thought about their conversation up until that point, contemplative.
"Is that what this is?" he finally asked. "A date?" He was a little hesitant to even formulate the question. He'd told Simon he was all in, and he was, just...
Simon lifted his head off of Wille's shoulder and gave him a curious look. "It can be, if you want," he said casually, implying that it was all up to Wille, but no pressure. Then he laughed unexpectedly. "Just don't tell anyone I put out on the first date. Whatever would people think?" He put a hand to his chest and pretended to clutch his non-existent pearls.
Wille had to laugh at that. "So, what am I allowed to say?"
Simon pretended to think about it really hard for a second. "You can say on our first date we had dinner, and then you... played a song for me on the piano," he declared, gesturing around them as if his white baby grand were all the evidence needed to corroborate the story.
Wille stared at him, entirely too amused. "With you sitting beside me. Naked. Covered only by a sheet."
Simon playfully narrowed his eyes at him. "Are you complaining?" His hand, which had been resting on Wille's denim-clad thigh for a while, squeezed as if to pointedly remind Wille of what they'd been doing a little over an hour earlier.
Wille shook his head emphatically. "Not in the slightest," he hurried to say. As if he'd ever complain of having a scantily clad Simon sitting beside him, even in a completely innocent context. Ha. "I just can't believe you want me to lie to people."
Simon's nose crinkled at that description. "I wouldn't say it's a lie so much as a slight omission?" he suggested cheekily. Wille could almost imagine younger Simon making copious use of "slight omissions" to get away with assorted teenage shenanigans. It was a cute visual.
Wille had never had that, himself. Well, until now, perhaps, he thought as he remembered he was keeping his phone off to avoid his manager checking in.
Wille grinned. "Slight? We fell into bed before we even had dinner." They both laughed at that, giving in to the silliness of their entire situation. Wille sobered up first, though, remembering why he'd brought the topic up, to begin with. "I don't know if I can," he said. "Date you, I mean."
Simon looked at him, confused— or maybe troubled. Wille hurried to clarify. "Not because of you, but because... I'm not, like... out. To the public," he admitted somewhat self-consciously. "Or to anyone, really, but the public is the main concern."
Simon's expression softened with something akin to sympathy, and it only made Wille feel even more mortified. He didn't want Simon to pity him. "You know how it is, how this could affect my career." He paused for a moment, playing a random chord on the piano with one hand just to have something to do with it other than fidget. He winced at the sound. D minor. He hoped Simon hadn't caught that. "My audience tends to be... very conservative."
When he looked up from the keys, however, he found Simon smiling at him, and that immediately soothed his momentary anxiety. He did always expect people to be disappointed in him. But Simon just threw his arms lazily around Wille's neck— and oh, how Wille loved when he did that— and said, "Well, maybe you should just get a younger audience, then, rather than playing for crusty old white men and women with too much money to waste."
Wille mock scoffed. "Oh, so you think my performances are a waste of money?" he asked. His hands went to Simon's waist, just above the edge of the sheet.
"No. Your performances are heavenly." Even though Wille had just been teasing, and Simon was still smiling, he looked straight into Wille's eyes as he said it, as if to make sure Wille understood he meant those words. Wille's throat went dry. He knew, of course, that Simon had been somewhat aware of his career even before they met. But it hadn't occurred to him that Simon might've actively watched his performances. That seemed silly now— Simon was a pro, so of course he'd research the person he'd be collaborating with for this charity concert. Wille had done the same, if a bit late.
"What I'm saying is," Simon continued softly as his fingers carded tenderly through the hair at the back of Wille's head, "your audience doesn't deserve you if they don't love you as you are."
Wille sighed and closed his eyes, leaning his head into Simon's touch. "I wish it were that easy."
"Hey, listen." Wille opened his eyes to look at Simon as he spoke. "I may not have had this issue, because I was out from the get-go," Simon said, "but I know what this industry is like, okay? I get it. And I'm not going to push you to do anything you're not ready to do."
He shook his head. "I just... I think this could be really good, you know? The two of us."
Simon's hand trailed down to Wille's neck, and Wille had to fight back a shudder. "So do I," he said in a choked whisper. His own hands started inching lower on Simon's hips, dipping into the fabric of the bedsheet. Simon's breath hitched.
He leaned in to kiss Wille, soft and clean, but suggestive of so, so much more. "I really like you," Simon whispered against Wille's lips.
Wille's hands snuck lower and lower until his thumbs rested in the crease between Simon's hips and his thighs. He muffled Simon's sharp inhalation with a lingering, tempting kiss. "I like you, too." Another kiss. "I want you." Another. "Always. All the time." He nibbled at Simon's lips leisurely, losing himself in the sensations.
Simon reciprocated eagerly, opening his lips fully to Wille's seeking tongue. "Yeah?" he said as he pulled back, breathless, before dipping in again for a deeper, more stirring kiss. "How do you want me?"
Wille tried to hold back a deep groan but couldn't. "On the piano," he confirmed as he started to kiss down Simon's neck.
"Ah, fuck," Simon gasped, his body arching toward Wille's touch as if to signal where exactly he wanted those hands and lips. "Yes."
The bedsheet was promptly discarded, left to drape over the now-empty piano bench as the two of them took pleasure from each other, their heated bodies singing together as they bent over the closed lid of Simon's baby grand.
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No one noticed they arrived together the next morning. Given their habit of getting to work early so they could work on their song, no one questioned the fact that they were already there when the recording session started. But there was no songwriting work to be done that morning: their song was finished.
Wille couldn't stop smiling the entire first half of the session. Oh, certainly, that wasn't just about the song— he was thankful the others hadn't noticed the longing looks, the lingering touches, the smiles that seemed to hold a secret because he and Simon certainly weren't being subtle. That was a complete impossibility after the previous night. But the completion of their song also had a lot to do with Wille's buoyant mood.
Wille had never created anything. Not anything that mattered, at least. He wasn't used to feeling proud of himself for his accomplishments. That probably would sound weird to anyone else given that he was a talented pianist at the top of his industry, but even when it came to his music, he always felt like he was struggling to meet people's expectations, and when he reached them, it was only for the bar to be raised further. He never felt like he was good enough.
But Simon thought he was good enough, and he was proud of the song they'd written together, and Wille was proud of it, too. It was a lovely song, and there was a relief, a release, to putting his feelings into words— something he'd never really felt before because he didn't normally deal in words. Avoided it most of the time, really. But with Simon's support, and knowing he was doing the same, it was much easier. And getting the chance to record with Simon over the past two days made him even more excited for when it was their turn to record their song for Simon's album.
Wille watched Simon record his vocals from the piano bench in the live room. He'd already recorded the last few sections of the melody earlier in the session, and since it was just him— they'd have a chamber orchestra backing them in the actual performance, but they went piano only for the marketing pieces— it didn't take too long. Now Simon was doing his thing in the recording booth, and Wille couldn't look away.
The recording booth Simon was in was built into the side of the live room, and could only be accessed from the live room. The door had a full-length window which allowed Wille to see Simon in full from the side, where he stood, eyes closed, headphones over his ears, the band nestled among his dark curls, as he sang into a microphone hanging from above on a boom arm. The people in the control room— Felice, Alexander, Madison, and a couple of sound engineers— had to watch Simon on a screen via CCTV, but Wille had a front-row seat.
Simon came to the end of the section, the recording of the melody Wille made earlier fading out after a second or two. Everybody waited for a beat before Madison's voice came through the speakers. "That was perfect, Simme," she said in English, as she usually did during these sessions. Wille looked through the window that separated the live room from the control room and saw Madison and Felice giving thumbs up, which he then passed on to Simon, as he couldn't see them directly. Simon nodded in response, waiting to see if they needed another take.
Wille saw Madison and Felice confer for a minute before the recording light over the door to the booth turned off, and Madison spoke through the speakers again. "I think we can break for lunch now," she declared. "Does anyone fancy shawarma? I'm kind of craving some."
"Sounds good," Simon said into the mic, and Wille conveyed his agreement with a nod. They'd agreed to have lunch together as a group during these recording sessions, so no one was late coming back and caused them to lose any time. "Just give me a minute to save these files."
Madison nodded, which Wille once again conveyed to Simon, and along with the sound engineers, started turning off the CCTV display and any pieces of equipment that could use a cooldown. But then Felice was the one leaning in to press the button for the speaker system. "Hurry up, though! The longer you take, the more chance there is for August to see us and invite himself along. I cannot deal with him today!" she added, in an obviously frustrated tone.
Wille chuckled and also saw Simon laugh inside the booth as he took off his headphones. August had been hitting on Felice for the entirety of their first day of recording— and according to Felice, throughout all of their acquaintance previous to these sessions— and she was absolutely tired of telling him no. Thankfully, none of them had seen him around that day, though it wasn't really a guarantee that they wouldn't: August had a bad tendency of sneakily appearing where he was least wanted.
A sly thought occurred to Wille as Simon's form disappeared from his view of the booth, a desk chair rolling into the place he'd been standing in a moment ago like Simon had pushed it out of the way of the desk where Wille knew he had his laptop propped open. Wille pressed the comms button on his side of the live room. "Why don't you guys go ahead?" he suggested. "Simon and I will catch up in a few, and we can give August the runaround if he shows up."
Felice put her hands together palm to palm as if thanking him, and Madison gave him another thumbs up. After a second of back and forth with the sound engineers, they all made their way out of the control room, presumably heading toward the main exit.
Wille gave it a few more seconds before making his way toward the recording booth.
Simon looked at him over his shoulder as Wille closed the booth door behind him. "Hey," he said with a smile, signaling to his computer. "I'm almost done."
"I know," Wille said, but instead of standing there and waiting for Simon to finish, he tugged at Simon's arm. The other man seemed confused for a second, or maybe just surprised, but let himself be tugged away from the desk until he was standing between Wille and the chair.
"What?" Simon asked probably a little amused at how weird Wille was being. Wille didn't bother answering this time, though; instead, he pulled Simon close and kissed him, hard and thirsty and desperate. You'd think he would've gotten the need out of his system after the previous night, but no; if anything, four hours without being able to kiss or caress Simon felt like torture now that he knew what he was missing.
"Hmm. Haven't had enough yet, huh?" Simon asked between kisses like he had somehow read Wille's mind.
"Never," Wille mumbled before ducking down to lightly bite at Simon's lips. Simon sighed into the kiss, pushing himself more firmly against Wille. Wille, however, had other plans. He started nudging Simon backward until he was sitting down on the chair, their mouths still seeking the other's even though the angle wasn't ideal.
"Wille," Simon gasped as Wille moved to kiss his cheek, his eyelids, his jaw. "Here? Really?" Clearly he had some idea of where Wille was going with this if his ragged breath and the sultry sheen of his dark eyes were any indication, but the feeble protest had to be raised, regardless.
"Everybody's gone," Wille murmured against Simon's skin, his lips teasing a whimper out of Simon. "And the booth is soundproof." He knew he— they— were being reckless, but he couldn't help himself; after the previous night, just Simon's mere presence made the blood in his veins thrum with desire.
Simon bit his lip momentarily to stave off a cry. "The door is literally see-through," he pointed out, but what might've been a sarcastic remark at any other time was now nothing but a statement of fact punctuated by needy pants.
Wille said nothing to that, only taking his time trailing kisses underneath Simon's jaw because he knew that made his point better than anything else would. He could feel it every time Simon's hand clenched in his hair, tugging reflexively, so enticingly that Wille had to let out a groan.
Hearing that, Simon huffed, finally resigned to his fate (as if it was such a chore). "Okay, fine, but if anyone comes in, I'm kicking you off and hiding under the desk," he warned, which had Wille chuckling. "And you need to be quick about it— hnggh!" His attempt at being bossy was immediately undermined by the moan he couldn't hold back as Wille nipped at his earlobe.
"As you wish," Wille whispered right into Simon's ear, causing Simon to shiver in anticipation.
Had anyone walked into the live room at that moment, they would have inevitably caught sight of the "prince of piano" lowering himself to his knees at the feet of his pop star lover in a manner that was unmistakable in its intent.
Thankfully, no one did walk in.
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Wille hadn't ever thought of himself as one of those people who got super clingy and annoying when they got a crush or were in a relationship— the kind of people who could think of and talk about nothing other than the person they were interested in. Well, he'd never really had such intense feelings for anyone as of two weeks previous, but if someone had asked him if he might be that kind of person, he would've said no. And yet, here he was, for the second weekend in a row, thinking of nothing but Simon.
At least it was reciprocal this time and Wille didn't have to wonder if he was coming on too strong. He spent most of Saturday texting Simon and talking to Simon on the phone, and while it wasn't quite the same as being in the same location with Simon for some eight-odd hours of the day or more, the banter and teasing and laughter was still the same. Plus there was some relief in being able to say "I miss you" without worrying he was ruining everything.
They texted late into the night, to the point that Wille fell asleep with his phone still in his hand. By the time he woke up on Sunday morning, it had fallen off somewhere, and while he nearly turned his room upside down looking for it, he wasn't able to find it right away.
Annoyed, he went to have breakfast with his parents— Sunday was "family day" at the Berwald household, as if that wasn't the irony of all ironies— and it wasn't until after that he could come back and look for his phone more carefully. He checked his notifications to see if he had anything from Simon and there was nothing, the last message in his inbox just a Good night, Wille followed by a kiss emoji, which Wille had already seen last night.
Figuring Simon was still asleep he turned to plug his phone in as the poor thing was about to die, but just as he was about to look for his charging cable, the phone vibrated in his hand. Thinking it had to be Simon, he unlocked the phone with a grin.
It wasn't Simon.
Is this you? the text read, followed by a link to some website Wille had never heard of. The message was from a journalist he was well-acquainted with— she used to be friends with Erik before he died, and got along with Wille well enough to have interviewed him a few times over the past few years, which is why she was one of the few journalists trusted enough to have his personal phone number rather than having to go through his management. She'd never texted him about professional topics on his personal phone before, though, so Wille figured it had to be important.
He clicked on the link, and the browser directed him to some kind of web forum. The first post on the thread had a video attached to it. He clicked play. What he saw made him feel like he'd been punched in the stomach.
He stumbled back onto his bed, sitting at the edge, his breath starting to falter. He lifted a hand to rub at his chest as his eyes fixated on the screen of his phone and the two figures displayed on it.
He knew exactly where the video came from— the CCTV camera above the door of the recording booth at Studio Årnäs, which they'd thought had been turned off when Madison, Felice, and the others left the studio, but apparently not. The video was less than a minute long, though, so it had to have been cut from a longer recording. How had this happened? Had August been hacked?
He had to tell his manager. His mother? No, his mother couldn't see this. Couldn't see him like this. From the angle of the shot, Wille could only be seen from the back, but it was more than obvious what he was doing. The movement of his head, and Simon's expression...
Oh God. Simon.
With shaking hands, Wille clicked out of the browser and into his contacts, calling Simon right away. The call went straight to voicemail. He tried again. Still no luck. He tried a few more times until he had enough clarity of mind to realize it made no sense to try anymore if he was only going to keep getting the same result. He called one last time and left a message.
"Simon, call me as soon as you get this. It's urgent." A pause, then softly: "I'm so sorry."
Disgusted and worried, he threw the phone onto the bed and screamed furiously into a pillow. It felt like the walls were closing in on him, like there was not enough air in the room for him to inhale. He was so scared. So embarrassed. He didn't know what to do.
He had to tell his mother.
.
.
.
Wilhelm wanted nothing but for the earth to swallow him as he sat on his bed under his mother's withering gaze. "What were you thinking?!" she asked, not for the first time, as she paced in front of him, her usual poise all but forgotten. Wilhelm's father looked on from his perch near Wilhelm's desk; he was a university professor and didn't often get involved in their family's business dealings— even when they were personal. "At the risk of alienating the majority of your audience! This could destroy your career, our family's reputation. Everything your brother built. How can you be this selfish, Wilhelm?"
"Sorry, Mamma," Wilhelm said, also not for the first time. He hadn't been thinking at all, was the only response. He'd gotten so wrapped up in his feelings that he stopped being careful, hadn't spared a thought for his family, his brother— but what was worse: he was now dragging Simon into infamy right along with him. What was it that Simon had said during their argument earlier in the week? That he took his career very seriously. Now Wilhelm was potentially ruining it. This was all his fault.
"The video is out there, there's not much we can do about that," his mother was saying. Wilhelm was trying to pay attention, as he should, but he tuned out every few minutes because he was so worried about what might be happening with Simon and his team. "We can put out a statement saying that Mr. Eriksson's privacy should be respected, perhaps, and hope that questions from skeptics remain at a minimum."
"Simon's privacy should have been respected," Wilhelm commented, maybe a tad sharply. He just couldn't believe the mess he'd gotten himself in. "How did this happen, Mamma? Has August said? Those were his cameras."
His mother's lips pressed together tightly, and she thought for a second before she answered. "August is terribly regretful this happened under his watch," she said, serious. "He will investigate his staff to hopefully find the source of the leak. But you don't need to concern yourself with that, Wilhelm. August will handle it as necessary; in the meantime, we have to deal with your side of this."
Wilhelm flinched at her ice-cold tone. He couldn't stay still, his knee bouncing and one hand going up to his mouth on and off to bite at the thumbnail. "Mamma," he tried again. "Mamma, I need to talk to Simon."
"You will do no such thing!" his mother barked at him, raising her voice, because she had already told him this several times. After he showed her the video, his phone had been promptly confiscated— like he was a fucking child rather than a 26-year-old grown man— and it was probably dead by now, anyway, so he had no way of contacting Simon unless he decided to swipe his father's phone or something. "We will handle this through his team, professionally, as you should've done from the beginning." She glared at him, and Wilhelm had to shift his gaze down to the floor.
"Your face can't be seen in the video," she added, her face twisting into a grimace at the mention of the tape. "I'll suggest we put out a statement denying your involvement and supporting Mr. Eriksson as a victim. It'll be good enough for both your fanbases to be satisfied."
Wilhelm's eyes snapped up toward his mother. She wanted him to deny it was him on the tape? Simon had already been livid once when he thought Wilhelm was publicly minimizing the extent of their association. He'd said he didn't want to force Wilhelm to come out if he didn't want to, but the circumstances had changed. Wilhelm was sure Simon would be done with him forever if he outright denied their relationship to the public now, and he couldn't even imagine what his life would be like if that happened.
"Don't look at me like that," his mother snapped at him again. "We'll run it by them. Linking your name to the video only exposes this scandal to an even wider audience. They'll want to keep it as contained as possible, just as we do. Trust me, they'll jump at the chance to keep your name— and your fame— out of this."
She pulled out her phone to contact whoever it was on Simon's side she had to speak to, and as she turned away, Wilhelm's father made his way toward the bed. "Don't worry. Your mother is on it," he said, patting Wilhelm's shoulder in what he supposed was a comforting gesture. "She'll make sure all of this goes away."
Wilhelm bit at his nail bed so hard that he almost bled. That's precisely what he was afraid of.
.
.
.
Turns out, Wille's manager had been right about one thing: Simon's team wanted him to make a statement of support for his collaborator, perhaps decry the evils of posting recordings of someone's intimate life online without their consent, but otherwise stay the fuck away from the situation altogether.
It didn't really make Wille feel any less worried, though. Simon's team was one thing; Simon was another. And Wille had no idea what Simon was thinking through this whole mess. Though his manager had let him listen in on the conference call with Simon's people, he wasn't allowed to speak or intervene in any way (again, Wille might as well have been a child), and Simon hadn't been on the call. Or maybe he'd been quietly listening as well? Either way, Wille had no way to know what was going through Simon's mind through all of Sunday.
Which was why, when he arrived early Monday morning at the concert venue, under strict instructions to keep his interaction with Simon strictly professional, especially in places where they could be seen by people not involved with the concert, he made his way to the concert hall with his heart booming in his ears.
He found Simon on stage, as he had hoped— not sitting at the piano, like he would be most mornings, but rather pacing beside it, looking worried. The morning was dark and cloudy; there was no sunshine shining down on him today.
Halfway through a lap in his pacing, Simon finally spotted Wille standing there. His movement halted, and he just stood there, looking up at the pianist with an utterly devastated look on his face. Wille's heart broke into a thousand pieces, and his feet started taking him toward Simon at an urgent pace. His arms were wide open before he even reached the other man.
He enveloped Simon in his arms, holding him tightly and feeling Simon's hands desperately grip fistfuls of the back of his shirt. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Wille muttered repetitively, not knowing what else he could possibly say.
Simon shook his head against Wille's shoulder. He pulled back so he could look Wille in the eye. "It's okay. It's not like I tried to stop you."
Wille grimaced, pulling his hands away from Simon to run them through his hair in frustration. "You warned me we could get caught, though."
"I meant that someone might walk in. I didn't even think of the camera," Simon said. "Hey." He tugged at Wille's sleeve to bring him back closer to him. "This isn't our fault. Someone screwed us both over. You're allowed to feel like your privacy was invaded."
"I know, but you..." Wille sighed. Of course he'd been affected, too, but not as much as Simon. Wille had been lucky that his face was never visible on the recording. And even if some people didn't believe his denial, he would never have it as bad as what Simon was currently dealing with. What kind of person would he be if he complained? "I thought you might be... when they said they wanted me to deny it was me..."
Simon bit his lip. He didn't look happy about the denial, that was for sure, but he seemed resigned to it, at least. "It's fine. It made sense, what they suggested. There's no need for the both of us to be hounded by paparazzi wherever we go." Wille's heart clenched. It was probably for the better, PR-wise, but that didn't mean he wasn't leaving Simon to the wolves while saving his own skin. He felt wretched.
Simon pulled a few steps away, wrapping his arms around his own torso like he was hugging himself. "Wille..." he started, shattered. He looked up at Wille with watery eyes. "Everybody saw us..."
Wille felt he might cry, too. "I know," he said, his voice catching on the second word. He took a step closer, lifting his hand to gently touch Simon's elbow. "What can I do? Tell me what to do."
Simon shrugged a bit hopelessly. "Just... support me, I guess?" he suggested. "It means a lot to have you publicly backing me up. I don't—"
"Mr. Eriksson? Mr. Berwald?" They both turned to look toward stage left. There, through the same entrance Wille himself had come in, stood Annette Lilja, president of the non-profit organization in benefit of which the charity concert had been organized. She wasn't involved with the production of the concert itself, so she didn't really have a reason to be at the concert venue except to check that everything was good to go the day of. It was certainly unexpected for her to stop by when they still had one week of rehearsals to go.
"I need to speak with both of you," she said, polite but serious. "The manager has graciously allowed me to use one of the conference rooms for a little bit, so if you could please come with me..." She left the sentence hanging, but they all knew it was not a request.
.
.
Author's notes!—
I did include the "slight drama" tag up there, didn't I? Chill, guys. It'll be fine. I don't do sad endings. ;)
If you want to have some idea what Simon's house looks like, here's my real estate inspiration. Since it took me forever to write this fic, I actually got to look at the listing before it sold, including more pictures and even the floor plan, which is pretty much the way I described it here, except without the renovations. Listing price was 22.8M kronor, which is about $2.3M USD. Clearly, Simon has done very well for himself in his career over the past few years! Also, the recording booth where Simon records in the studio would more or less look like these here, particularly the 2x2 one.
Wille loves the Canon because I love the Canon. =P Pachelbel's Canon, also known as the Canon in D, is a piece by German composer Johann Pachelbel. It is indeed very popular as a wedding song, and for a long time it was thought that Pachelbel had composed it for the wedding of Johann Sebastian Bach's older brother. Recent research, however, suggests it could've been composed anywhere after 1680, though it is more likely that it was composed after the wedding in 1694, meaning it might not have been intended as a wedding song at all. It is what it is now, though! Regardless of its origins or use, it is my favorite piece of classical music of all time and since we're talking music here, I wanted to include it in some shape or form.
D minor is widely known in the music world as "the saddest key" because it evokes feelings of sadness and is often used in sad songs (though there's no rule saying it can't be used in bops, too!). In fact, contemporary artists, knowingly or unknowingly, tend to avoid it. Rolling Stone actually did a super interesting piece on it just last year. "As you wish" is a reference to The Princess Bride because, well, why not. Gotta flip the script sometimes. Readers of the interview fic might recognize the journalist who texts Wille the video link and used to be Erik's friend.
As always, I'm 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. Please heed that "eventual happy ending" tag before you yell at me, though. xD The last chapter will be published next week, so stay tuned!
