Like Because, Love Despite, Chapter 11. PG-13, Set It Up AU, Wille/Simon, romance/fluff/slight drama.
Wilhelm and Simon are a pair of overworked, underpaid assistants who team up to gain their supervisors' favor by bringing them together for a joint venture. It might be the best worst idea they've ever had.
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Wille tried not to take it to heart when Simon's phone rang thrice and then went directly to voicemail, the call clearly declined. Wille had fucked up, after all; Simon had every right not to want to talk to him. But Wille still had to try.
"Hey, Simon. It's me. Uh, Wille, I mean," he added, shaking his head, just in case Simon had deleted his number or something. He really hoped he hadn't, but better safe than sorry. "Listen, I'm so sorry about— about last time. You were right: we can't let them do this."
He waited impatiently for the young lady at the coat closet to hand his jacket back to him. "I'm going to Arlanda. If you listen to this message tonight, you can meet me there. If you want. You don't have to, obviously. And if you listen to this some other day, well..." His words stuttered to an awkward halt. "You know. Don't go to the airport." He kicked himself mentally. "Anyway— yeah, that was it. I'm sorry, again. Bye."
Holding back a loud groan at his own stupidity, he turned once again to the coat closet. "It's a navy one," he told the attendant in an attempt to get her to hurry, but she kept sifting through the coats and jackets hanging in her little alcove to no avail.
Wille couldn't wait any longer. "You know what? Keep it," he declared, startling the woman with his sudden forcefulness. "Sell it, or, or— donate it to charity or something. I don't mind; I have to go."
As he walked out of the building and took off at a run toward Central Station, it occurred to him that he didn't need the jacket anyway: the physical exertion would keep him warm. And it did, except that he realized when he got to Arlanda that he needn't have exerted himself at all, because his mother and August's flight didn't take off for another four hours. They probably hadn't even arrived at the airport yet.
He shook his head, annoyed at himself. It was a stroke of luck that no one was around to witness how stupid he was being, really. He knew for sure that Erik would never have let him live it down.
With a sigh, he sat down in the nearest available spot and continued organizing his photo albums.
That kept him occupied for all of half an hour until he started getting restless. He didn't want to just sit there for three more hours. Fortunately, he was in what was basically a giant mall that just happened to have some planes in it. There was plenty to do. Maybe he'd grab something to eat, too; he never did finish that steak.
He got himself a combo from McDonald's (definitely worth its price) and scarfed down his burger before going off, munching on his leftover fries, to browse the shops at Sky City. After a while he wandered into Airstop to take a look at the wares, chuckling to himself at the cheesy souvenirs.
His gaze skimmed over a display table covered in cute little animal plushies all donning some kind of Swedish regalia: some were in full Sverigedräkten, some were holding Swedish flags, some wearing Sweden National Football Team jerseys. It was this last group that caught Wille's eye— one plushie in particular, really.
He approached the table slowly, his eyes fixed on the little frog, its bright-green plush skin making it stand out from the sea of blue and yellow surrounding it. You'd think those colors would clash, but Wille still found the little toy unbearably cute. He picked it up and examined it more closely, his lips drawing into a bittersweet smile. If Simon could see it, he was sure he would find it cute, too.
He took the adorable plush toy to the register, where an Airstop employee rang him up. "Would you like to purchase a little strap so you can attach the plushie securely to your luggage?" the cashier asked, pulling Wille out of his daydreams.
"Hmm?" was his eloquent response, which made it embarrassingly obvious that he hadn't been paying attention to the man at all.
The cashier patiently repeated the question, and Wille shook his head as an answer. "Oh, no, I'm not traveling," he said, pulling back his sleeve to look at his watch. "I'm just here to... Shit." His heart jumped to his throat when he realized that his mother and August's flight to Amsterdam was leaving in forty minutes. Boarding probably had already started!
"I'm sorry?" the man asked, befuddled, probably assuming Wille had meant that expletive as a verb.
Wille hurried to pull his wallet out of his pocket. "No, no, it's nothing. I just— I have to go—" He winced when he realized that still sounded bad. "I mean I have to walk out of this store—" Great, now he sounded like he wanted to shoplift.
He shook his head and slapped the first two bills he found in his wallet on the counter; he didn't check the denominations, and he didn't care as long as they were enough to cover the cost of the plushie. The man took them without complaint, so he assumed they did.
"I don't need a bag, thanks," he said, preempting the cashier's follow-up question. He grabbed the plushie out of the man's hands, already out the door when he next spoke. "You can keep the change!"
He broke into a run for the second time that day, muttering "I can't believe I lost track of time in a souvenir shop" to himself as he went.
He headed straight for the nearest departures information screen to confirm which gate the flight left from. He had a vague idea that flights to Amsterdam left from Terminal 2, but his mind might have just made that up. And how was he going to get to the gate, anyway? Would he need to buy a ticket to get through security? The Amsterdam flight was probably full, but any cheap flight to any destination would probably be enough. He wasn't sure how he'd even ask, though. Ugh, rom-coms made this look so easy.
He was about to head to the check-in counters to purchase a last-minute ticket he was never going to use when he happened to look up and caught sight of his mother standing up from one of the tables at the French restaurant on the upper level. She seemed to be done with her meal as she was pulling up the handle of her carry-on bag, likely about to head to the gate. August and Englund were with her.
Knowing calling out "Mamma!" in an airport that was probably full of mothers wasn't going to do him any good, he turned his sights on his cousin, instead. "August!"
All three of them turned to look at him over the balcony, rightfully surprised. "Wille? Did something urgent come up at the office?" August asked, confused at his assistant's presence there.
"Yeah," Wilhelm said, a little winded from running, "the fact that you're an asshole!" He saw his mother's face pinch at the (barely 11+) profanity, but he didn't let that, nor the curious stares from the people walking past, deter him. "I don't want to be where you are. I'm not going to be. I don't want the promotion— I quit."
August scoffed in a very "How dare you quit before I could fire you" way. His mother shook her head in a very "Not the same song and dance again" manner; Wilhelm was sure she would've rolled her eyes if she didn't think such a gesture unladylike. "Wilhelm, really," she said, her lips pressed tight. "This is neither the time nor place for this. Why don't you go home now, and we'll address your concerns when we come home from the conference, yes?"
He'd heard her speak to him in that tone a million times as he grew up. The "Why must you embarrass me like this?" tone. He wasn't just going to cower and take it today. "I'm not going to change my mind," he declared. He pointed at August. "I won't work for him anymore. I'm quitting."
He turned to Englund next. "Mr. Englund, don't go with them," he all but begged. "I don't know what happened with Simon over the weekend, but he really wanted you to know that this isn't in your or the foundation's best interests. If you stay in Stockholm—"
"If you're attempting to inform me about the hotel, you can rest assured that I already know," Englund spoke over Wilhelm's rant.
"—I can explain what's going... wait, what?" Wilhelm felt like his mind was record-scratching. Englund knew Krona was stealing the shelter from HSF? And he was still here? "But then... what happened with Simon?"
August rested his forearms against the railing of the balcony, grinning in that smarmy way Wilhelm had hated since before he could remember. "That's why your little boyfriend got fired, cousin: for sticking his nose where it doesn't belong."
He turned to look at Wilhelm's mother. "Did you know about that, Aunt Kristina? How Wille went along with some crazy plan to interfere in the business deal I struck with HSF just because he wanted to sleep with Englund's assistant?" He shook his head. "He was probably just using Wille to get something from Krona. Money, I guess. He certainly doesn't look like he has any."
Wilhelm went cold. August knew about him and Simon and their plan— he was giving his mother an incorrect explanation of the plan because he was a manipulative bastard, but he knew about the plan. "That's... that's not what happened," he tried to refute, his earlier bravado fizzing out of him like air out of a deflated balloon.
His mother was frowning as she turned to look at him. "Is that true, Wilhelm?" she asked because of course she was going to side with August. Wilhelm didn't know how to explain, frozen in place as he was. His mother sighed in disappointment. "I thought we had talked about this. Workplace relationships are inappropriate..."
"It's not like that!" He finally managed to speak up. He wasn't going to let Simon be dragged through the mud, and he wasn't going to let August and Englund's deception keep going. "Simon and I— We weren't trying to interfere with the HSF partnership; we made it happen! We wanted to help people."
He pointed angrily at August. "He's lying to you! That's what he always does! You think you're partnering with HSF in exchange for good publicity but in reality, the two of them had the contract rewritten so they could steal the entire project from the foundation to turn it into a hotel."
Intellectually, he knew his words didn't echo— not in an airport, surrounded by hundreds of people as he was— but they reverberated in his ears like the sound of a boulder dropped down a well. He let that reveal settle, watching his mother like a hawk. Surely she'd do the right thing now that she knew.
As the seconds ticked by with no reaction from Kristina, dread started creeping up on Wilhelm. "Why are you not saying anything?" he asked, hoping against hope that her answer wouldn't be the one he feared.
He saw her close her eyes and let out a resigned breath. "Because I already knew."
Wilhelm felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. He knew, had known his entire life, that his mother would always put profit over her sons. He held no illusions that she would suddenly come to care about queer people just because her son happened to be queer. But not helping the LGBTQ+ community was different than actively hurting it, and he'd naïvely thought there was a line she wouldn't dare cross.
"...How could you?" The words were pained, colored by betrayal. He didn't speak very loud at all but he could see from his mother's affected expression that she knew exactly what he'd said.
A smaller, thin, and slightly hunched older man wearing an oversized puffer jacket, his wizened face framed by wire-rimmed round glasses, stopped beside him. "You tell 'er, sonny!" he said, putting his hand in a fist in support. "These women, all they do is toy with men's hearts. But she'll regret leaving you for that other guy, you'll see."
He pointed at August like he was the "other guy" in question. When he understood what the man meant, Wilhelm's face contorted in a deep, disgusted grimace. "What? No! Eww!" He shook his head emphatically. "That's my mother!"
The man paused for a second, frowning like the idea hadn't even occurred to him despite the obvious age difference. Then he shrugged. "Eh. I don't judge."
Wilhelm shook his head even harder. "No! Just— just keep walking, please." He turned back toward his mother, only dimly aware of the man continuing on his way after his... decidedly odd intervention.
"How can you go along with this?" he asked Kristina, aghast. "How could you ever think this is right, when I'm—" He cut himself off, realizing mid-sentence that no, of course his mother would never make a decision based on how it would affect him. She never had up until now, so why would this be any different?
"It was bad enough when you were just not helping people from groups who could use a boost," he tried again, coming at it from a different angle. "But now you're actively hurting them. How can you look at yourself in the mirror when you're doing that? I know it's always been about the money for you, but I thought you'd draw the line at, like, ethics. Or the law."
His mother shook her head. "If the contract is airtight, this deal should be well within the bounds of the law," she explained, like that somehow made it any better.
"And how are you so sure it's going to be?" Wilhelm threw back. Once again he pointed at August. "He has no fu— freaking clue what he's doing!" He barely caught himself from a real curse, just remembering that he was in a public space and there may be children around. "I literally do all his work for him! He's going to get the firm in trouble. If it's not this deal, it'll be the next. But he will."
"What the hell—" August started, scowling at him, but Kristina spoke up before he could get the rest of the sentence out.
"The firm is already in trouble, Wilhelm," she admitted. Wilhelm knew the PR hit of the past few years had affected them significantly, but he wasn't looped into the overall financials. Just August's side of it. "Since... since Erik did what he did, we've had to bend over backward to appease our lenders, and we can only get by on goodwill for so long. We need new avenues of revenue, and real estate could be a lucrative one."
Now Wilhelm was the one to scoff. "Things must be really desperate if you're willing to do it this way."
"I'm doing this for you," she finally snapped, tired of being talked back to. The tone was, again, familiar to Wilhelm from when he was growing up. "I'm doing this for our family. So there's something for me to pass down to you and your brother when I'm gone. Krona is our legacy."
The difference between Wilhelm back when he was growing up and Wilhelm now was that he wasn't going to take being talked down to anymore, figuratively or literally. And he wasn't going to allow her to use him as an excuse to harm a marginalized community he himself was a part of.
"Erik's getting married, you know," he stated into the silence. But then came the death knell: "I don't think you're invited." The words seemed once again to bounce around into the natural din of the airport shopping area. He didn't know for certain the assertion was true, but he thought it was a fair guess. And he knew her well enough to be able to tell that she was taken aback by it.
"So you're here, waxing poetic about the lengths you'll go to for our family," he pointed out incisively, "and meanwhile, both your sons are trying to run as far away from you as they can." He clenched his jaw before adding: "That's some legacy, isn't it?"
"Wow," August commented in that fake-appalled way he did sometimes. "Are you really going to let him speak to you like that, Aunt Kristina? After all you've—"
"Shut up, August," she ordered sharply without even looking at her nephew. Instead, she was still looking down at him. After a pause, she hesitantly asked: "Is he really?" She didn't need to outright state it for Wilhelm to understand that she was asking about Erik.
"Yes," he confirmed.
His mother remained quiet for a beat longer, taking that in. Then she turned to August, Englund watching the entire exchange from behind him. "What is your strategy if this charitable foundation sues us in response to the deal?" she asked point-blank.
Caught off-guard, August stammered through an answer. "That's— I'd— We pass it on to Legal, of course," he said, puffing up his chest like he often did when he wanted to project confidence. "They'll know how to handle it."
One level below, Wilhelm rolled his eyes. Of course August would just pawn a multimillion-kronor lawsuit off to Legal and wash his hands off it. He had no idea what contingencies they had planned for, if any. He probably hadn't bothered asking.
"And what are the projections on legal fees or a possible settlement in case of litigation?" Kristina asked rapid-fire, not giving him a moment to find his footing. "By what percentage do they cut into the project's estimated profit?"
Wilhelm saw August's throat spasm as he swallowed heavily. "I don't— I can't tell you the exact figures off the top of my head, but I can get them to you—"
"He has no clue and wouldn't even know who to ask," Wilhelm chimed in from below, always intent on helping his beloved cousin and supervisor. Not.
"Hmm." Kristina's gaze remained pinned on her nephew. "What about the PR fallout from such a scenario? How would you counter that?"
August spluttered some more. "I would— We— The ad!" he said in a gasp, like the perfect solution had fallen from Heaven into his hand. "The one I had commissioned for the diversity campaign. It's a beautiful ad— We run it on every network, on street advertising, on YouTube—"
"He hasn't even seen the ad," Wilhelm clarified from the lower level. August wasn't even aware that a first version of the ad existed. The entire transaction had been run through Wilhelm.
"If you think a saccharine advertisement on the YouTube will be enough to counteract the reputational effect of an LGBTQ+ charity suing us for breach of contract after the scandal a few years ago, you are delusional." She shook her head. "You're fired."
August paled so dramatically that Wilhelm could see it from one level down. "What? No, you can't—"
"I just did," she reaffirmed, once again moving to pull the handle of her carry-on. Before starting for the gate, however, she called out to her son again. "Wilhelm, I know you no longer work for Krona, but could you cancel August's and Mr. Englund's plane tickets, please? And order a car to drive them back home before canceling August's corporate card. Since the deal will no longer be moving forward, there's no need for either to attend the conference."
Part of Wilhelm groaned. Haggling with the airline about how much of the ticket price they could be refunded this late was going to be a mess. But honestly, it was a mess Wilhelm would be glad to wade into this time. "Absolutely," he replied, already fishing in his pocket for his phone.
"And Gubben," she called out again before Wilhelm could take the phone to his ear, "please keep me informed on how your job hunt goes. And... other things."
The term of endearment and the softer tone were unexpected. Oh, Wilhelm was under no illusions that she had done this for him. With his mother, it was always about the firm first, and August's incompetence made it clear to her that he was a risk for the company. But maybe a part of her was truly affected by losing her sons.
"Bye, Mamma," he said, unable to promise anything on his side and unwilling to speak for Erik without asking him first. Still, he turned on his heel and made for the exit, browsing his contacts for the airline's sales agent as he went.
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By the time Simon typed the last word on his proposal, the restaurant was already closed to new patrons and he'd been staring at his screen for so long that his eyes were burning behind his glasses. But he'd finished.
"I finished," he said out loud because the idea wasn't quite clicking in his head just yet.
"That's great," came the voice behind him, sounding like it was anything but. He turned around to find the server standing behind him, with an unimpressed expression and a delicious-looking plate in each hand. "Are you going to order now? The kitchen's about to close."
Simon hesitated. He did want to finally get to try the restaurant's menu— had since the first time he'd been here with Wille— because everything looked really good. But it was late, and he was already stuffed full of naan bread, and he knew he'd regret it later if he ordered something heavy now.
"I shouldn't," he said with a grimace. "I'll definitely come back some other day. Your food looks so amazing and you were so nice to let me work here— let me just pay you for the Coke and I'll even throw in a nice tip..." He stuck his hand in his pocket to take out his wallet, then froze. "...Shit."
The woman just raised an eyebrow at him, and Simon really, really, didn't want to say what he was about to say. He winced deeply. "I might've left my wallet in my other pants..." And his phone was dead, too. Right at the worst possible time, of course.
The server shook her head, unamused. "Just go. And don't come back. I'm banning you."
Simon groaned. "But I never even got to try the food..." It was this close to a whine. He might be twenty-five years old, but he wasn't above begging like a child. Not when he had those two incredible-smelling dishes right under his nose.
"Okay, I'll tell you what," he tried again, because bargaining was one of the stages of grief, right? "If you don't ban me, I will come right back for dinner tomorrow, and I will bring my sister and my future brother-in-law with me, and we will order appetizers and entrées, and I will make sure to leave you the greatest tip in the history of the service industry." He put his hands together as if pleading. "I swear on my blessed mother whom I love more than the entire universe."
The woman just stared at him, and for a moment, Simon thought she was going to ban him anyway. Re-ban him? Ban squared. Fuck, he was so tired, even his thoughts were being extra. But eventually, the woman sighed and muttered "Ugh, why am I such a bleeding heart?" under her breath.
"Fine," she conceded reluctantly. "You can come back. But you better order an appetizer, an entrée, and a dessert."
"You got it." Simon nodded. This promised meal was going to be expensive as fuck, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Thank you so much. I'd hug you but, you know— you're carrying food and all."
"Yeah, yeah," the server mumbled, turning to (finally!) deliver the two meals to their intended table. Simon hoped they hadn't gone cold.
"And you owe me a Coke Zero!" she called over her shoulder as she went. Simon sighed. Alright, then: appetizer, entrée, dessert, and a Coke Zero. He could already hear his bank account screaming at him.
Worth it, though: he'd finished his proposal. He got it done.
He smiled to himself as he began to pack up his things.
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A couple of days later, Wille sat in his living room with his feet stretched out on the coffee table and his computer propped up on his lap, looking through job listings and grumbling to himself when he found them all to be useless. Why did every offer require at least five years of experience? He literally could not get lower on the corporate totem pole than an assistant position, but somehow even that required a freaking master's degree these days.
He was pulled out of the search by a knock on his front door. The sound was unexpected; normally, visitors who were pre-approved for elevator access to a resident's floor could just let themselves in— the door didn't lock. If they weren't on the approved list, then the doorman would take their name and reason for their visit and call or text the resident to ask for a one-visit approval for the person, but Wille hadn't received any such request that day as far as he could see.
Maddie did say she'd stop by later, but she was pre-approved and wouldn't bother knocking. Could it be that her hands were full or something? He hoped she'd brought food. Now that Wille had been pulled out of his job-search trance, he realized he was actually quite hungry.
His empty stomach turned to lead when he saw it was August on the other side of the door. "What do you want?" Wille asked, none too thrilled to see him so soon. (Or ever.) He figured August's name must've been on the pre-approved list from the days Erik was still living here. He'd have to remember to have it struck out.
"So it's true, huh?" August wondered, seemingly talking more to himself than to Wille. "Erik really did leave you his apartment when he left."
"I lived with Erik in our apartment before he left," Wille corrected snippily. He wasn't going to let August come to his home and belittle him. So just to twist the knife a bit more, he added: "That's what you do for family, after all: you support them. Not that you'd know anything about that."
August groaned like he was tired of hearing it. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm really sorry."
"Sorry isn't going to cut it," Wille retorted pointedly. He didn't think anything August could ever say would make up for three years of abuse and exploitation and just generally being a scum of a human being. Not to mention his latest, most despicable stunt that was his attempt to swindle HSF out of a needed shelter.
"What do you want?" he asked again, wishing that his cousin would just get to the point so he could leave as soon as possible.
August hesitated. "I, uh, I need some help with my résumé."
"So look up a tutorial on YouTube like everyone else," Wille shot back. His patience for August's bullshit had been in the negative since that cursed day at Sällskapet and continued trending downward since then.
"Come on. I need to find a new job," August insisted with a sigh.
"That sounds like a you problem," Wille snapped back, feeling entirely uncharitable to his plight.
"Wille, please," August urged. "Look, just give me the information I need, and I'll be out of your hair."
Wille tried not to show it, but he did feel a twinge of pity for his cousin. He knew for a fact that August did need a job: His late father had mismanaged his liquid assets, which was probably a contributing factor to his taking his own life, and the fancy corporate lawyer his mother had married a couple of years after being widowed had gone bankrupt around the time August started at Krona. Truth was, most of his inheritance was tied up in property or art that he refused to sell for emotional reasons.
So yeah, he needed a stable paycheck. And while Wille would be happy to never see his cousin ever again, he also wasn't so cruel as to wish starvation or homelessness on him. He sighed, relenting. "Fine. What do you need?"
August pulled his phone out to read from a list. "Um, the five most profitable ventures I spearheaded over the past three years, total profit on all ventures for each of the past three years, breakdown of profit margins by industry..."
So what August needed was for Wille to send him all the work he had done for him since he became his assistant. Right. "Are you freaking kidding me?"
"Fine, it doesn't have to be exactly this," August conceded, now sounding desperate. "Just give me anything I can put down on the fucking CV that will get me something other than a cashier job at ICA."
"There's nothing wrong with working at ICA," Wille noted, his tone steely. August was unbelievable. Even when he'd been unceremoniously fired and had to come crawling on his knees to his cousin for help, he still thought he was better than other people. "I'll send you the yearly reports for the last three years. That's all you get. You figure it out from there."
"Thank you," August said, relieved. He sounded sincere, but it still meant nothing coming from him. "I really appreciate it."
"I don't care," Wille threw back, so done with this unwanted visit. Behind August, he saw the elevator doors open and Maddie walk out, a smoothie cup in one hand and— oh, thank God— a bag of Chinese takeout in the other.
"August!" she greeted entirely too cheerfully for someone who hated his cousin with the intensity of a thousand fiery suns. Her intervention prompted August to turn to look at her, but he had no time to otherwise react before she turned to Wille. "Hey, you said you don't work for him anymore, right?"
"Yep," Wille said with a satisfied smile.
Maddie returned the smile and, just as August opened his mouth to say... something, whatever... Madie threw the entire contents of her smoothie cup at his face. The entire goopy, bright-pink mess of it splattered down on and inside his shirt.
"It's full of lots of yummy, yuuuummy carbs," she commented gleefully as she walked past the two of them and into the apartment. "Enjoy!"
Wille just chuckled as the other man wiped the berry concoction out of his eyes. "Bye, August," he said and closed the door, hoping this really was the last he'd be seeing of his cousin in a good long time.
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That Friday, Simon sat at Director Lilja's desk, making a very conscious effort not to bounce his leg as she read through the proposal for the benefit concert he'd put together. It was a constant struggle not to comment whenever she passed a page. He'd managed to keep quiet so far, but when she got to the last couple of pages, he couldn't help himself. "Um, I know that the list for the suggested talent lineup is a bit, uh, aspirational—"
"That's okay, Simon," the director said gently, her gaze still skimming the page. "As long as the cost-benefit estimation is in the same ballpark, there's no problem. These things are expected to change as they go, so shoot for the stars now, I say."
Simon settled back in his chair. He knew that aiming for Zara Larsson with the way her career had taken off internationally over the past few years was a bit of a stretch, but since he had to come up with a potential lineup for this thing, he figured he might as well start with his favorite Swedish and Nordic artists. At least the director hadn't found it dumb. (Provided she even knew who Zara Larsson was. Simon had always liked Director Lilja, but she didn't seem the type to be listening to current pop music in her spare time. Perhaps Sinatra might be more her speed. But only on vinyl.)
Finally, finally, she reached the end of the document. She paused for a brief moment that felt anything but brief to Simon, then looked at him. "This is really good, Simon."
Simon's heart started going crazy inside his chest cavity. "...It is?" he asked, not able to believe it just yet. It might take repeating it a few hundred more times before he finally internalized it.
"Absolutely," the director confirmed, smiling encouragingly at him. "It is a terrific idea. Fun, too. And HSF would be delighted to organize such an event." Her smile dropped. "It's just..."
Simon's heart froze mid-somersault and dropped to the pit of his stomach like a ball of solid ice. Whoever feared the dreaded "but" had never heard of its evil cousin, the "it's just."
"...we can only accept proposals from HSF employees," she finished the thought. "I wish I could give you your old job back, but we've already hired someone new for the assistant position, and I can't add any new members to that team until we figure out who's going to replace Englund."
She smiled at him again, but this time the gesture was lined with pity. "Perhaps you can wait a few weeks and try again? Apply for a team member position this time? This would go a long way toward helping boost your credentials," she added, pointing at the folder that held Simon's proposal.
"...Yeah..." was all Simon could say, disappointed as he was. He was glad the director had liked the proposal, but he'd been hoping he wouldn't have to go through the application process, where he would be competing against people with fancy degrees and lots of experience.
He was only a few seconds into wallowing in self-pity when he finally registered something else the director had said. "I'm sorry— Mr. Englund isn't working here anymore?" he asked, confused. Surely it couldn't have anything to do with the Krona project. Simon hadn't even gotten around to telling her about Englund and August's plan yet, because he'd been so nervous about his proposal.
Director Lilja nodded gravely. "He was let go yesterday. It appears he and Mr. Horn from Krona were conspiring to steal the shelter project from HSF to turn it into a hotel. Can you believe that?" She shook her head. Simon pressed his lips together hard to keep himself from visibly reacting.
"We're lucky Krona allowed us to break the contract as it is," she added. "They get to take the building plans; they'll build their hotel elsewhere. But at least we don't have to pay a huge penalty for terminating the partnership." She chuckled. "The CEO herself called in to the board meeting to offer us a hefty donation, as well, for our troubles."
To make sure the matter stays quiet, rather, Simon read between the lines. And she's the founding partner, not the CEO. Not that it mattered, really, but his brain couldn't help but supply him with these random bits of venture capital trivia. He'd learned more than he ever cared to know about the finance sector just being around...
Wait.
"Uh, how did you— how did you find out about it?" he asked, his heart once again restarting its frantic rush toward Hope Station. It couldn't possibly be... could it?
The director thought about it for a second. "Oh, it was this young Krona employee, Mr. Berwald?"
Simon's eyes widened and his throat went dry from swallowing back a gasp. Wille.
"Yes, Mr. Horn's assistant," she continued, oblivious to Simon's current state of agitation. "He came to me a couple of days ago with a series of text messages between his supervisor and Englund where they planned out the whole scheme. The board had to take action, given the evidence."
Simon was hearing her, but at the same time, he wasn't. He fixed his gaze on the wood of the director's desk, his vision going out of focus as he stared at it without really seeing it. Wille did it. He really did.
Director Lilja smiled at him. "You two are friends, right? I've seen you saying goodbye at HSF's main entrance after having lunch together." Simon was so stunned by... everything... that he could only nod his head. "He asked about you. If I could do anything to get you your job back. I thought that was very sweet of him. He seems to really care about you."
Simon's heart was beating so loud that he could hear the boom, boom, boom in his ears. Once again, the director seemed saddened. "I'm afraid I could only tell him the same thing I've already told you today, Simon. I'm so very sorry, but we just don't have any open positions right now. It's a pity, really, because your proposal is fantastic, but unless one of the team leaders decides to take you on..."
"I'll take him."
Simon's head turned so fast, he was momentarily afraid he might've injured his neck. But honestly, his spine was the least of his concerns when Miss Åhdal stood at the doorway to Director Lilja's office maybe, perhaps, possibly offering him a job. Him!
"You will? But I thought your team was full," the director questioned.
"Yes, I was just coming here to tell you," Miss Åhdal explained, walking into the office to stand beside Simon in front of the desk. "One of my team members was about to start his paternity leave, but he's decided instead to stay home permanently to take care of his children. So I happen to have a spot open on my team now."
She turned her gaze on Simon, an encouraging smile making her eyes twinkle. "And if Simon's proposal is as fantastic as you say it is, Anette, then I'd love to see it."
Simon stammered through an answer, still too stunned by this sudden turn of events to properly process it. "I'm— I— Really?" he finally got out as Director Lilja handed Miss Åhdal the folder with his proposal.
Miss Åhdal chuckled like she thought he was being silly. "Simon, you've been at HSF for, what, three years now?" She snuck a glance at the director, who confirmed her guess with a nod. "We've all seen how hard you work. I think you deserve a chance."
Simon was so happy, he was almost vibrating. His mouth felt permanently stuck in a grin. He wanted to squeal. He didn't know what to do with his hands. "Thank you," was the only thing he could say.
"You can thank me by being an excellent team member," Miss Åhdal replied. "Now, why don't you and I go to my office, and you can give me the rundown on this..." She opened the folder and snuck a peek at the cover page. "...concert, huh? I like that!"
Thanking Director Lilja effusively and repeatedly, Simon followed Miss Åhdal out of the room, shaking his head in disbelief the entire time. He couldn't put his head around the sequence of events that led to this, but he was so happy, he felt like he was about to explode. In a good way. He'd not only found a job, but he was getting his dream job, at that. He was going to help organize and bring into the world an event he imagined, he planned, he shaped from nothing to reality. And it was going to help so many people.
He didn't think this day could get any better.
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"Make the cushion for unexpected costs larger," Simon mumbled to himself as he walked out of the building writing down notes from the meeting with Miss Åhdal on his phone. It was difficult to type with one hand as in the other he held the box he'd brought with him to clear out his assistant cubicle, which had thankfully only been used to move his things to his new team-member desk. Thus the bullet points on his note included way fewer complete words than the sentences he was saying out loud.
"Coordinate with other teams to see if they have notable beneficiaries who might fit the profile to participate in the concert. Confirm that the..." He trailed off when he saw Wille standing on the other side of the glass sliding doors marking the entrance to their office building, facing the street. He turned and caught sight of Simon just as Simon halted in his steps.
Gathering his courage, Simon locked his phone and walked through the doors, coming to stand in front of Wille. "Hey," he said cautiously, his pulse already starting to climb. He hadn't expected to have to face Wille again so soon. He hadn't yet processed all the information he'd just been given.
"Hey," Wille said just as warily. After their argument the previous week, Simon couldn't blame him if he was afraid Simon might bite his head off still.
There was a beat of silence before both asked "How are you?" at the same time, then chuckled at their own awkwardness.
Simon recovered first. "What are you doing here?" he asked, thinking it was weird of Wille to just be loitering at the entrance to the building rather than at his desk.
"Oh, Director Lilja asked me to meet her. What are you doing here?" Wille asked in return, equally curious.
It was then that all the pieces came together for Simon. "Oh my God..." he muttered under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief. And he'd thought the director so serious this entire time he'd been working at HSF...
He could see on Wille's expression the exact moment it clicked for him, too. "She Parent Trap-ped us."
Simon nodded. "She did. Wow."
"Although I guess for us it really should be the Lindsay Lohan version," Wille commented, more to himself than to Simon. When he caught Simon's surprised glance, he shrugged. "I gave it a try a few days ago. It really is very good."
"Mm-hmm." Simon wasn't about to disagree with that assessment.
"Oh! Um," Wille started like he'd just remembered something. He searched through his bag and pulled out— a frog plushie? "I, uh, I saw this at the airport and it reminded me of the souvenirs you buy for Rosh when she wins, so... I got it for you." He gazed at Simon, earnest as ever.
Simon gingerly took the little jersey-clad froggy from him, their fingers brushing as he did. It sent a current of electricity through Simon. It had been so long since they had any contact. "But I didn't win anything," Simon argued, trying not to show how charmed he was. He still wasn't sure where he and Wille stood.
Wille smiled at him, a small, somewhat shy smile. "You don't need to win anything to be special to me," he said, and fuck, what was Simon supposed to say to that? Bashfully needing to dodge Wille's long, intense stare, Simon put his empty box on the ground, throwing his own bag inside, and carefully laying the plushie down on top of it.
Just as a way to steer the conversation away from himself, he was going to ask what the meeting with Lilja was meant to be about, but then something else about Wille caught his attention. "Why are you wearing that?" he asked, pointing at Wille's outfit of blue jeans, an off-white hoodie, and black-and-white Converse-looking sneakers that were probably three times more expensive than actual Converse. Simon had hardly ever seen him so casual. And definitely not on a weekday.
"Ah. I don't work here anymore," Wille explained, a little chagrined. "I quit working for Krona." Simon was shocked to hear that. Even with everything he'd learned about Wille's recent actions that day, this was brand-new information.
"Mamma fired August," he added, starting to fill Simon in on what was happening on his side of the equation. "Turns out she knew what August wanted to do and was going to go along with it, but after I quit, I guess she, uh... she changed her mind, and she fired him. She's allowing HSF to break the contract without penalties, too."
"I know," Simon admitted. "Director Lilja mentioned something about... screenshots of texts?"
Wille nodded. "August took screenshots of some of his text chain with Englund... maybe as some kind of insurance? I don't know. But he forgot that the files on his phone are automatically backed up to the cloud..." He shrugged, unassuming. "I still had access to his account."
Simon just stared at him, astounded. Granted, things never should've come to the point where Wille had to do that, but it took courage to do that regardless, and he deserved to know that. He opened his mouth to tell him, but Wille continued speaking, unaware.
"So I'm starting over, I guess you could say," he added with a sheepish smile. "Been looking for something new, but nothing's jumped out at me so far." He seemed pensive for a moment. "I guess I don't really need to find a new job, but I've actually been thinking of going back to school to get a teaching degree. I don't know, maybe I could teach Maths? I didn't like working in finance, but I am good with numbers. Maybe I'd like that."
Before Simon could wrap his mind around the devastatingly adorable visual of Wille teaching little kids how to add and subtract, the taller man blurted out "I like you," looking for all the world like he didn't mean to say that out loud. He recovered quickly, however, squaring his shoulders to say, with more confidence this time: "Actually, I— I think I love you."
Simon breathed in a gasp, his blood pumping furiously, the fluttering in his stomach building up into a furious gale.
Wille wasn't done. "You don't settle for anything or anyone," he added, reminding Simon of his brief period seeing Marcus and how badly he'd wanted to like Marcus as Marcus liked him. In hindsight he could see that, while Marcus might have arguably been perfect "on paper," he definitely wasn't perfect for Simon. And he was glad he didn't push their involvement farther than it needed to go.
"And you shouldn't," Wille continued, fervent. "If anything, the rest of us should strive to be as good as you. I know I do." His smile was hesitant. "I shouldn't have said that you aren't good enough. I don't feel that way, and I'm so sorry." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You're so good, Simon. You make me want to be better. And I love you for that."
Simon didn't know what to say. He was feeling so many things. And as much as he wanted to forgive Wille and tell him how proud he was of him for doing the right thing, there was a part of him that was still hurt and disappointed from the last time they saw each other. So maybe Wille could stand to sweat a little.
He schooled his expression into seriousness as he said: "You displayed a total lack of character when it mattered."
Wille's erstwhile hopeful gaze lost its sheen. He bit the inside of his lip and said, "I know."
"You let your best friends use your apartment as a love hotel," Simon added, still not quite sure how that arrangement worked, though he liked Felice and Maddie well enough. Mainly he just thought it was funny, and Wille's face as he said it was funny, too.
"W-well, yes," Wille stammered, trying to explain it. "But I mean, obviously that would have to change if we— you know—"
By that point, Simon was just barely holding back a giggle. It took an effort to stop his amusement from showing on his face. In a theatrically grave tone, he said, "You are astonishingly bad at beer pong."
"Bad at— what?" Well, pardon Simon if he found Wille's befuddled expression unbelievably cute. He had to press his lips together to hold back the grin that was threatening to burst out of him, and it was then that Wille finally caught on to what he was doing, probably from the way the corners of his mouth were crinkling up unbidden.
He smirked. "You're a know-it-all. And you lecture gig workers about class solidarity when you can't pay them." Simon playfully narrowed his eyes at him. That only happened twice. (That Wille knew of.)
Simon shook his head, a smirk of his own finally allowed to bloom. "You pronounce the names of foreign dishes with the correct accent. It's incredibly annoying."
"You squint at your computer screen even when you wear glasses," Wille retorted. Personally, Simon thought that was endearing, but it wasn't the first time someone pointed it out to him like it was a character flaw. Sara also mentioned it once or twice.
"You can't dance to save your life," Simon countered. "Especially not to Latin music." Not that he was complaining about it, mind you. Even if it started stiffly and awkwardly, he'd rather teach Wille how to dance, he'd rather slow dance with Wille to any music or no music, than not. He liked the intimacy of such moments with him.
He liked most things about Wille, was the thing. Even the irritating parts, because they were a part of him, too. It's why he was having such a hard time coming up with annoyances for this game. He was so gone for this man.
Wille's smile softened. "And yet..." he put forward, the telltale gleam of hope back in his eyes as the ball was back in Simon's court.
"And yet..." Simon took a step closer to him. He tilted his gaze up to meet Wille's, then leaned in to whisper in his ear: "...I love you, too."
When Simon pulled back, Wille's honey-brown eyes were wide, like he hadn't expected to ever hear those words back. But then he grinned, a beam brighter than the sun on a blue-sky summer day, and closed his eyes, basking in the feeling.
He lifted a hand, his fingers oh-so-softly tracing Simon's hairline, his ear, and down the side of his face as his other one moved to hold Simon by his waist, a thumb caressing his side over the fabric of his t-shirt. Simon reciprocated the embrace, pressing his forehead against Wille's and closing his eyes. Breathed him in, his proximity, his warmth. It was like his soul was coming alive again after missing him for so long.
Then Wille's hand at his waist pulled him in even closer, and Simon met his seeking lips with his own, his arms wrapping around Wille's shoulders. And wasn't it some kind of a sign that for a man he'd only kissed once before, he could no longer imagine how he'd ever lived without this not just for the past week but even before that?
The good people of Stockholm walked around them, going about their business as they walked up and down the busy street, but the two paid them no mind. They were done letting external factors affect the pace of their relationship; not now that they finally got to a point where they could actually have one.
And the small pet peeves? They'd just deal with those as they came.
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The End...
...but wait! Don't go yet!
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Walter did a double take at the live feed coming through from the security camera at the entrance to the building. Wide-eyed, he grabbed his phone and called his best friend. "Hey, dude. Can you come here a sec?"
Henry's office was on the same floor as his, so it only took two minutes for him to walk in. "What's up?" Walter did not utter one word in explanation, just replayed the video on his computer screen.
Henry's brows would've risen to his hairline if such a thing was physically possible. "...Huh."
"I know, right?" Walter said.
Henry shrugged. "Called it." But then he shook his head. "Man! What is it with everybody getting together lately? First Stella and Fredrika, now Wille and Simon..." He was quiet for a moment, contemplative. "Hey, do you think you and I should—"
"Nope," Walter cut him off without even looking at him.
Henry frowned. "You don't even know what I was gonna ask."
"Still a nope," Walter retorted just as dryly as before.
"Fine. Your loss." Henry rolled his eyes. Then something else occurred to him. "Hey, you've got that video saved and downloaded, right?"
"Absolutely," Walter said, already thinking of ways the footage could be used to prank the two unassuming new lovers, either now or at their respective (and expected, naturally) bachelor parties.
"Good man," Henry commended with a grin, patting him on the shoulder. "You wanna head out to lunch now?"
"Yep," Walter said, pushing his desk chair back so he could stand up, stretch his legs, and follow his friend— and boss— out of his office. "You wanna go to Frantzén? I hear their steak is really good..."
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Author's notes!—
One of my favorite things about Set It Up is how so many of the jokes they set up early on come back during the climax. You may find them funny or not, but from a purely writing perspective, it's very well done. Rom-coms don't get nearly enough credit for their writing, but they can be very clever.
Arlanda Airport is the largest airport in Sweden and the main international airport serving the Stockholm area. Sky City is a shopping and restaurant area located between terminals 4 and 5 in Arlanda, outside the security check. McDonald's is the biggest fast food restaurant chain in the world. Airstop is a real shop at Sky City, selling gifts and souvenirs like sweaters, mugs, trolls, etc. I don't know if they sell Team Sweden frog plushies, but it was too cute not to use it. (It might be closed now? I'm not sure.) The Sverigedräkten (lit. "Swedish dress") is the Swedish national costume, consisting of a light blue dress, a yellow apron, a white blouse, socks, and a scarf worn on the head. The women of the Swedish Royal Family usually wear one on National Day.
11+ is one of the Swedish Media Council's age ratings for movies. Others are "Children Allowed," "7+," "15+," and "Unreviewed." "Gubben" (lit. "old man") is a Swedish term of endearment that we hear Kristina use for Wille on the show; I decided to stick with the original because I feel like the most common English equivalents— "darling" or "sweetheart"— make it lose a little something in translation. ICA is a Swedish supermarket and retailer franchise. Zara Larsson is a Swedish pop singer and actress who has gained international recognition. She just finished filming a movie with Felicia and Edvin called A Part of You, set for release on Netflix in 2024.
Frank Sinatra is a singer and actor from the US, one of the best-selling of all time. Converse is a US brand of clothing and especially shoes, the Chuck Taylor All-Stars being their best sellers. In Sweden, you need a teaching degree and then a certification to teach just about any subject from preschool through upper secondary. A "love hotel" is, uh, a short-term hotel guests use primarily for the purpose of having sex when privacy is not allowed to them elsewhere.
And that's it for LBLD! I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Set It Up is one of my comfort movies and it was fun (and also a challenge) to put Wille and Simon in that world.
Next up (for me): I'm already starting to plan my next chaptered fic— hint: it's another rom-com adaptation! (Give me your best guess in a comment. ;) Lol.) It may take a bit, though, because my home life is a clusterfuck at the moment and I have to write a thesis and a creative project on top of that. But hey, writing fic sometimes helps me de-stress, so who knows. Be sure to keep an eye out!
As always, you can contact me on any of my social media: on Tumblr (girls-are-weird), Mastodon (cpinillad at creativewriting social), Post (cpinillad), Spoutible (cpinillad), Discord (cpinillad), Bluesky (cpinillad at bsky social), and even on Threads (cpinillad), though I won't actively use that account until there's a browser version. Feel free to follow me in advance if you want, though. I can't tell you what to do with your life. xD See you in the next one!