𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐧, young royals

Chapter 14: Wilhelm

White Ferrari,  Frank Ocean

14: Wilhelm

"Wille, hey!"

An arm looped around my elbow, and I halted in my tracks while a herd of students flowed past me. I looked past my shoulder and saw Felice, grinning up at me brightly and touching my arm with her new set of acrylic nails.

It was a little before first period, and the young sun rays still poured in through the windows, pooling in her coffee brown irises.

"Oh, hi, Felice," I said, hinting a pathetic smile, "what's up?"

"Nothing," she sighed, smiling at me innocently, "I just missed my friend.  You know, just because you're seeing Simon again doesn't mean you have the right to ditch me completely," she spoke, brows shooting up. "I feel like we haven't hung out in, like, ages."

I smiled softly. "I know. I'm sorry; things have been busy."

"I'm sure they have," she replied, nodding condolingly. "I haven't seen Simon yet today.  Is he okay?"

She steered me down the hallway, and I glanced around at passers-by. "He's, uh... he's okay. I can't really... talk about it," I responded.

Felice nodded. "Yeah, of course, that's okay.  I have a free period, anyway. I don't feel like studying. Do you wanna come to my dorm?"

I nodded, and we started to steer toward the dorm hall.  Once we were in her room, I shut the door and flumped on her bed, and she sat cross-legged next to me.

Her room smelled sweet. Scented candles and incense and lavish perfumes. It was a comforting scent, the smell of a girl.

The bedsheets on the two beds were lazily tossed over the pillows, looking bumpy and untidy. There were clothes scattered about on the floor and overflowing the drawers, homework papers, open books, and pens and highlighters spread out on the desks. It was a little messy but not so much unkempt or dirty. Just enough to let anyone know there were souls living here.

"So," she begun, "what's going on with you? We haven't really been able to talk since you literally came out to the whole of Sweden."

I thought about Simon's call from the night before, his heart-rending sobs that singed my eardrums and rasped breaths. I thought about August's state when we went to his dorm, the skin that seemed to be clinging to his bones and the colors under his sunken eyes. I thought about my mother's gaze, cold and distant and avoiding my vicinity.

"It's been messy, really," I spoke, sighing, and slumped against the wall. "Mom's still mad at me for going rogue, I think. She started actually talking to me again, at least, but now it's me who doesn't really want to talk to her." I took a deep breath, exhaled through my nose, and added, "And, you know, I haven't really been able to check any social media, but I can just feel that everything is different. The way people look at me, speak to me... it's all so much different."

"Maybe that change is good," she whispered, the hint of a smile on her lips. "I mean, I have looked your name up on social media, and there's a lot of positivity. Lots of people look up to you now."

I was unable to feel completely satisfied with her answer; the fact that people might look up to me now only added on to the already present pressure on me.

I wasn't someone to look up to.  Nothing like a paragon of some sort, no. I wasn't one of those people whose being left an impress that lingered in the lives of others perpetually.

I was of the impetuous, reckless, and puerile ones. I was completely out of my own control. Who was I to tell people how to live their lives when I hadn't even figured out how to live mine?

"I'm not sure that's what I want," I uttered, staring down in my lap, picking at the skin around my nails. "I don't know," I murmured, shutting my eyes. "I'm happy, I think, the happiest I've ever been, maybe, but I can't feel it... wholely. There's always this, like... this darkness. Like I'm content, and then my thoughts turn all gray and dark, and I just want to get rid of these dull colours in my mind."

Felice reached out and grasped my hand, squeezing it solacingly. "You'll find your happiness, Wille," she uttered. "I promise."

"And what if I don't?" I whispered, looking into her eyes. "What if I wasn't meant to? What if Simon grows tired of us—of me?"

I heard Simon's distressed call in my mind again, and an invisible hand grasped at my throat.

"You can't foretell the future, Wille," responded Felice serenely, "and you can't spend the rest of your life trying to, either. If you keep trying to predict the next bad thing that'll happen, you'll be digging up your own grave soon. Live the moment. You love him, and he loves you, too. Live that."

✧ ✧ ✧

His curls were a mess but elegant and lustrous nonetheless.  It was something no amount of blatant sleep deprivation could take away from him, I think. 

My eyes followed his every move, the languid stoop in his posture, tossing his books out on our shared table, and the drag in his feet, like they were hefty stones scraping against the tiled floor as he walked.

But I couldn't keep my eyes from swaying back to the deep blue tinge on his cheek, busted veins like fireworks on the 4th of July.

He was kissed on the face by the navy blossom of a bruise, a nebula suspended in the ether of his skin, and wore his usual but never over-worn purple hoodie, the one that contrasted with his copper skin so beautifully and matched the circles underlining his eyes.

And his eyes, oh, his eyes were swollen and wine red, staring ahead absentmindedly. I'd never seen them so hollow, so lackluster, and it stung me.

"Simon," I whispered, leaning toward him, "what happened?"

His strained eyes darted in my direction.  "After class," he muttered, flipping his english book open to the assigned page.

It wasn't the heedless, accidental kind of bruise, anyone in the room could see that.  Someone hit him.

Detached, I sunk back into my chair and watched the teacher through a blurry lens. I saw that bruise in my head without even looking at him, that stain on a canvas of purity, and my world turned somber and hot red.

I kept glancing at him, trying to decipher him, to draw something out of his demeanour. An answer, perhaps, in the flick of his pen or the slump of his shoulders and the downward tug of his mouth.

About halfway through the hour is when a firm knock sounded at the door, and shortly after, it swung open to reveal the headmistress.

The teacher paused, and she stepped in through the doorway, clearing her throat, displaying behind her two police officers, hanging back in the hallway, hands tucked tight into their vests, their backs as straight as a blade.

"Simon Errikson," called the headmistress, eyes searching the room until they found him, and I heard his breath catch in his throat, "we need to speak with you."

For a moment, nothing. Everyone went utterly quiet, holding their breath, and Simon froze next to me. The air was tense, filled with unanswered inquiries. I heard my heart drumming in my ears.

I watched him push his chair back and stand up straight. Anxious, he made his way to the front, like a condemned makes his way to the guillotine, and was met at door by the gentle hand of the headmistress on his back, urging him outside of the classroom. Before he walked out, he spared a wide-eyed glance at me, and I swallowed nervously.

And then the door slammed shut, and they disappeared behind it.

hey kings and queens, thanks for still reading my messy story and weird writing

i thought i'd fix up and post another short-ish chapter today because the last one was kind of filler haha

remember to vote and comment because i'd really love to know what y'all think

bye guyss, take care