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Wilhelm is four when he decides that he wants to grow his hair longer.
“Not like Erik or Papa’s,” he tells the hairdresser. “More like Mama’s,” he says, indicating about the length of his chin.
“But a little shorter,” he continues, moving his hand to a centimeter below his ear.
His mother frowns from where she sits in the background.
“We can’t do that, Wille.” She says. “People will think it’s strange.”
Wilhelm’s small face contorts.
“But why, Mama?”
“Because they’ll think you look like a girl, and people don’t like boys who look like girls. Especially princes.” She pats his head, and whispers something to the hairdresser.
She nods, and begins to comb and snip.
By the time it’s done, Wilhelm’s longer locks have been cropped short, to a slightly longer version of the crew cut Erik sports.
Wilhelm doesn’t like it.
But Mama says people won’t like him if he doesn’t look like this, and he likes when people smile at him. So he pretends to smile when he thanks the hairdresser, and runs to play with Erik.
—
Wilhelm is eight when he watched The Lord of the Rings with Erik.
He’s terrified by gollum and the spider, and enthralled by the magic, the fireworks, the hobbits, the swords.
And in particular, one bow-toting elf.
He grins whenever the elf has a line, and the next morning, he tells his parents that he wants to be just like Legolas.
The laugh, and tell him that if he really wants to, he can have archery lessons.
—
Wilhelm is ten when he meets a black-haired boy with sea green eyes and freckles.
They work together in English class, trying to have a conversation using their newly-learned food vocabulary.
“I like… drinking hot chocolate,” the boys says.
Wilhelm smiles.
“Me too! I like chocolate especially, and sometimes I eat chocolate…” Wilhelm furrows his brow, trying to reach the word in the depths of his mind.
“Uh…” Wilhelm squints, miming a dish of ice cream, before laughing at how silly he looks.
The boy laughs with him, nodding.
His eyes scrunch up and he smiles wide, Wilhelm notices.
He tells Erik about it later that day when he gets back home.
Erik smiles at him, and nods, brushing his hair back.
—
Wilhelm is almost eleven when he first hears the f-slur.
It’s not directed at him, of course.
Even though he’s just the spare, no one would dare call him that.
Instead, it’s a blonde boy who he knows from science class.
He’s walking across the soccer field, and one of the boys playing soccer nearby runs up to him, shoving him over.
“Disgusting faggot,” he screams.
Wilhelm turns to the girl next to him.
“What does that mean?”
She doesn’t quite look at him when she answers.
“It’s a rude way of saying someone’s gay.”
“Oh.”
He nods, and goes back to staring at the soccer field.
He misses three steps on the way back into the school building while he turns the interaction over in his head.
—
Wilhelm is eleven when he has his first panic attack.
He can’t take his mother telling him that he needs to be better. More like Erik, calmer, more polite, more talkative, more respectful, quieter-
The contradictory thoughts push him back and forth until he’s so confused as to where he is that he feels dizzy.
He sits down on the bathroom floor, the cold water he splashed on his face only making him shiver.
He begins to cry.
But it’s not like crying as a little kid.
Not the kind where he would scream his lungs out and let the tears fall and then let Erik dry his tears and bring him chocolate ice cream.
It’s the kind where he’s dizzy, and he tries to muffle the noise coming from his mouth.
And he thinks he’s dying.
And he don’t want to look weak so he takes the towel and shoves it over his nose and mouth.
Until oh fuck he can’t breathe and he can’t feel anything in his arms and he’s falling.
He still can’t breathe.
He’s dying.
Oh he’s dying.
Can’t breathe.
At some point, he passes out or falls asleep, because he wakes up half an hour later feeling the most tired he’s ever been.
He doesn’t bother looking in the mirror as he strips off his suit and goes straight to bed.
—
Wilhelm is barely eleven when he watches the news, and sees two men with black eyes and bruised bodies.
“Hate Crimes Against Members of LGBTQ+ Community Increase,” it reads.
Wilhelm shakes his head and tries to go find Erik.
—
Wilhelm is almost twelve when he meets a boy named Max.
His father is German, and his mother Japanese, and he has brown hair and black eyes and the softest little smile that makes Wilhelm always want to smile back.
He laughs at all of the jokes Wilhelm cracks at lunch, and grabs Wilhelm’s hand dragging him out to the soccer field.
It leaves a weird tingling feeling in his hand.
They work together for as many projects as they can, in every class.
Wilhelm comes up with ideas, and the brown-haired boy announces them to class, always adding his own twist, and crediting Wilhelm.
Even their teacher is impressed.
And when Wilhelm begs his mother enough, he’s allowed to invite the boy over for a sleepover.
They sit on the couch and play on an X-box.
Wilhelm wonders what it’d be like to grab his hand.
Wilhelm shakes his head and puts the thought out of his mind.
—
Wilhelm is twelve when he watches The Dragon Prince with Erik.
It’s Erik’s suggestion.
He teases Erik, asking why his sixteen year old brother wants them to watch a children’s show.
Erik just shrugs, saying he heard it was good.
If Erik says it’s good, Wilhelm will take is word for it.
So he watches with honest curiosity as the brothers and the elf try to return the egg.
As the queen reveals that she had two mothers, both of who fought bravely for her.
As the egg hatches into the most adorable baby dragon.
As they sneak past Sol Regem.
As the two elf-men kiss.
As the battle ends, but much is left to be resolved.
Until Erik closes the laptop, and turns to him.
“I like the two queens who ran a kingdom.” He says, turning to Wilhelm. “I wish there was a kingdom in the real wold like that. Or even just a… prince or princess.”
That’s a strange thing for Erik to say. Maybe…
Wilhelm smiles. “You can be the first.”
Erik huffs a laugh.
Wilhelm lets his face fall.
Maybe not.
“Or you,” Erik adds, turning to look at him.
Wilhelm looks away.
“Wille?” Erik prods at him.
He resolves to just nod.
“I’m serious,” Erik adds.
He nods again.
—
Wilhelm is twelve and a half when he learns about the LGBTQ+ community from a friend at school.
There are so many more options for sexuality than he expected. There’s even an option for “I didn’t like any of the other options.”
He rather likes that one. Queer.
He likes the idea of, for once in his life, not having to fit into a box, a mold.
—
Wilhelm is almost thirteen when Erik suggests their parents put up a pride flag at dinner.
They give him a strange look.
“Why?” They ask.
Erik shrugs. “It’s a good show of support. A good sign to anyone who’s not come out yet that we accept them.”
Their mother shrugs. “It’s not like anyone here is gay. Besides, homosexual marriages were legalized quite a few years ago. There’s no need to support that kind of movement anymore.”
Wilhelm excuses himself from dinner early.
—
Wilhelm is thirteen when his mother asks him if he has a girlfriend.
He just shrugs.
Mother presses on, asking him if he thinks any of the girls in his grade are pretty.
He shrugs again.
Sure. He can think of some of the girls in his grade who are pretty. He names a few.
He just doesn’t really want to date them.
Then he talks about the brown-haired boy who he works with all the time.
Just change “he” to “she,” he tells himself.
It must work, because his mother gives him a satisfied smile, and he can excuse himself from dinner a few minutes after.
—
Wilhelm is nearly fourteen when his mother tells him that she hates him.
He can’t bring himself to cry.
He just sits, hollow, on the floor of the bathroom.
He scratches at his arms, his chest, his stomach.
He digs his nails into his arms until he draws blood.
He tries to focus on anything but the feeling of tearing in his heart.
Then he puts his shirt back on and goes to dinner.
His mother never apologizes, just talks to him normally at dinner.
He does his best to make polite conversation.
—
Wilhelm is fourteen when he puts on a mask.
He make a point to just politely smile at everyone, nod, maybe shake their hand, and go.
He hides in his room as much as possible, earbuds on and phone in hand.
It makes the strange painful emptiness numb.
—
Wilhelm is fifteen when he succumbs to the numbness.
He can’t bring himself to smile, so he pastes on a neutral face everywhere he goes.
“Coolheaded,” his mother calls him.
He ignores the weird pangs when Erik looks at him, concerned, and tries to pet his head.
—
Wilhelm is barely sixteen the first time someone calls him a faggot.
He jerks and yells, trying to hurt the man in any way he can, but before he knows it there are too many cameras, too many lights, and there’s too much noise.
He wakes up in the palace, and the rest of his day is a strange hell of limbo.
—
Wilhelm is sixteen when he arrives at Hillerska and sees the pretty tan boy with curly hair sing.
His voice is angelic, echoing through the hall.
Wilhelm wants to know everything about this beautiful boy with an angelic voice.
—
Wilhelm is sixteen and helpless when he talks to Simon at lunch.
He doesn’t know how to agree with what he’s saying without betraying everything he’s been taught as a child.
So he stumbles.
—
Wilhelm is sixteen with a racing heart when he places his hand on top of Simon’s leg.
He’s convinced that his heart has decided that the pericardium is an excellent trampoline when Simon places his hand on top of his.
—
Wilhelm is sixteen and terrified when Simon leans closer to him.
Closer. Closer yet.
Until his lips are on top of Wilhelm’s, just for a second.
Then he does it again.
—
Wilhelm is sixteen and lying when he struggles to talk to Simon.
“I’m not…”
“I’m not like that.”
“You know what I mean?”
“I’m not-“
Wilhelm can’t get himself to say the full sentence.
Even though it’s true.
He’s not gay, is he?
—
Wilhelm is sixteen and tired when he decides “Fuck it.”
And kisses Simon again.
—
Wilhelm is sixteen and confused.
So fucking confused.
He’s not gay.
He’s not gay.
He turns over onto his back, staring at the ceiling.
He can’t be gay.
He shouldn’t be gay.
He’s not allowed to be gay, to like boys.
Not him.
God, what would his family think?
God, what would god think?
He’s not supposed to be like boys. It’s weird. It’s a sin.
He won’t go to heaven.
He can’t.
No.
No.
He likes girls.
He likes pretty girls.
He likes pretty and nice girls.
He likes pretty and nice people.
He likes Simon.
Fuck.
He groans into his hands, filling the 2AM air with noise.
It’s simultaneously too early and too late for this.
—
Wilhelm is sixteen and flustered when he talks to Erik about Simon.
Except Erik doesn’t know it’s Simon.
Erik teases out of him that it is indeed a crush.
The fact that he’s just a few words away from Erik knowing the truth scares him.
And then Erik asks Wilhelm to tell him about his crush.
And Wilhelm can’t breathe.
Can’t breathe, thinks he’s dying, feels dizzy and can’t breathe-
Erik pulls him out of it.
They’ve gotten used to this, both of them.
Erik gets him to breathe, Wilhelm sits until he can find a way to stop crying, and Erik may or may not bring chocolate ice cream.
Erik says that Wilhelm doesn’t have to tell him anything.
But they’re so close.
“No, I want to, I just-“
Wilhelm sighs.
They’re so close, and yet he’s still so dizzy and-
Wilhelm blurts it out.
“His name is Simon.”
He regrets it instantly, hoping that this could just be a dream. Only in a dream would he be so stupid to...
Please, please, please.
Then Erik begins to speak.
Oh god.
He watches Erik’s eyes for emotion.
Disgust. Hatred. Anything at all.
"Okay.
Erik just smiles and nods.
Wilhelm is confused.
“Is that okay?”
Erik, bastard that he is, makes a joke.
“What, that his name is Simon? Yeah, I don’t have anything against the name Simon.”
Wilhelm’s chest rolls over, still painful.
“No. That he’s… a boy.”
He can’t meet Eriks eyes as he says the last bit.
Erik pulls Wilhelm into a hug and threads his fingers into his hair.
“Of course. Yes. Completely.”
Wilhelm can’t breathe.
But it’s okay this time.
Finally, someone knows.
They’re okay with it.
He’s not horrible.
He’s not wrong.
He’s not disgusting.
Oh thank god.
The relief crashes down, and he finds his vision blurry and face warm, but it’s not like after this, he cares.
—
Wilhelm is sixteen and run ragged when the news comes that Erik is in a coma.
The prognosis isn’t good.
He may as well be waiting to die.
Wilhelm screams, cries, punches the wall, tears paper. Scratches, tears, pulls at his own skin.
Nothing makes the searing feeling in his heart or stomach go away.
—
Wilhelm is sixteen and lying in bed with Simon when things seem like they might be okay. Just a little bit.
He savors the feeling of Simon holding him, and the feeling of Simon’s hand in his.
He revels in the feeling of Simon’s skin under his hands, and tries to memorize the feeling of waking up next to him.
—
Wilhelm is sixteen and a half when his heart is bared for the whole world to see.
It spreads like wildfire, and he can’t decide if the people saying it’s hot are worse than the people who are being bigots.
He’s trapped.
He can already see the situation about to unfold.
He screams, nearly throws his chair.
He didn’t do anything wrong.
Nothing about what they did was wrong.
Why are they being given hell for it?
—
Wilhelm is seventeen when Erik wakes up.
—
Wilhelm is seventeen and angry when he makes his statement.
Yes, it’s him in the video.
Yes, he is dating a boy.
No, he will not be taking any more questions, he asks that they respect their privacy.
—
Wilhelm is seventeen and fuming when his mother tries to chastise him after making the statement.
“Why?” He shouts.
“Why is it so fucking wrong for me to just be in love?”
“Why are you angry with me for telling the truth?”
“And how come, if it was Felice, everyone would just laugh and congratulate her?”
His mother is taken aback.
She does not apologize.
But she does not say anything else.
It's good enough.
—
Wilhelm is seventeen and run ragged when he gets to hug Simon for the first time since the scandal.
For the first time since the scandal, things might be okay.
—
Wilhelm is seventeen and exhausted the first time he goes to school completely out.
He holds Simon's hand in the hallway as he walks, too tired to deal with the stares.
—
Wilhelm is seventeen in his bedroom when Erik gives him his first pride flag.
All he feels is joy and pride.
—
Wilhelm is eighteen the first time he kisses Simon in public, at their graduation.
—
Wilhelm is twenty two when he graduates with a degree in policy.
—
Wilhelm is twenty six when he opens a LGBTQ+ rights foundation with Simon.
He’s determined to make sure no one has to go through what he did.
That no one is dragged kicking and screaming from the closet.
—
Wilhelm is twenty eight when he marries Simon.
His heart flutters the same way it did when he first saw Simon singing.
He does his best not to stumble on the vows.
He pulls away grinning after kiss.
He revels in love, pride, and resistance.
—
Wilhelm is thirty two, waking up with sun on his face and Simon on the other side of the bed, when he realizes that this is Heaven.