Chapter Text
The bus rolled into Barcelona just as the early afternoon sun hit its brightest point, casting long golden stripes across the seats and filling the entire cabin with a warm, familiar glow. Simon’s face lit up immediately—his whole body shifting with a subtle, bubbling excitement Wilhelm hadn’t seen in him for weeks.
Spain felt like oxygen to him. Always had.
From the moment the first palm tree appeared outside the window, Simon sat up straighter, pressing closer to the glass as though trying to absorb every detail of the city rushing past.
“We’re really here,” Simon murmured, smiling softly at the skyline. “Wille, I can’t wait to show you everything. All my favorite places. The beach… the food… the tiny streets near the Gothic Quarter—I want you to see it all.”
Wilhelm leaned forward, resting his chin briefly on Simon’s shoulder, breathing in the soft, sun-warmed scent of him. “I’d go anywhere with you,” he whispered. “But I’m happy it’s here. I want to see your Spain.”
Behind them, Rosh stretched her arms high above her head, groaning dramatically. “Finally! My back is about to fold into an origami swan from that drive.”
Ayub, sprawled across two seats, nodded. “Worth it though. Sunshine. Food. Sleep. In that order.”
Adnan and Lamin—the dancers—pressed their faces to the opposite windows, commenting excitedly on every colorful mural and café terrace they passed. The atmosphere was bright, buzzing, but still gentle. Everyone could feel the shift in Simon—lighter, but still delicate. Nobody pushed. Nobody teased.
The bus took a final turn and slowed as the venue came into view, its walls painted with a massive banner for the concert. Simon’s face brightened, but his brows rose slightly as he spotted movement near the entrance.
“Are those… fans?” he asked softly, surprised.
Wilhelm followed his gaze. A small group—maybe ten people—sat on foldable chairs and blankets, sipping water, wrapped in hoodies despite the heat. A couple held small signs: WELCOME BACK SIMON and WE LOVE YOU ALWAYS.
As the bus doors opened, a murmur rippled through them—soft gasps, whispers of his name. No screaming. No pushing. Just sincere, weary faces lighting up at the sight of him.
Simon stood frozen for a second.
Wille squeezed his hand gently. “You don’t have to—”
But Simon shook his head. “I want to.”
He stepped off the bus first, putting on his sunglasses but leaving his hood down. His curls glinted in the sunlight. The fans rose quickly to their feet—but still kept a respectful distance.
One girl, maybe nineteen, clutched her phone to her chest. “Simon… hi,” she whispered, voice trembling. “We just… we’re really happy you’re here.”
Another added quickly, “We’re so sorry about… about everything. We love you so much.”
The words hit him—just a soft thud right in his chest. Not sharp like they had been days earlier. Just… tender.
He felt the sting behind his eyes, but he breathed through it, offering a small, heartfelt smile. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “That means more than you know.”
Simon looked at the small group again, at how nervous and hopeful they appeared, and felt something warm unfurl in him.
“Should we do some pictures?” he asked, voice a little stronger now.
The fans lit up. “Yes! Yes, please!”
They took turns stepping forward—slowly, carefully—taking selfies with him, chatting quietly. One girl told him she’d been a fan since she was thirteen. Another said his music helped her through a bad breakup. One boy told him he had traveled from two hours away and slept on the sidewalk just to make sure he’d be in the front row tomorrow.
Simon laughed softly. “That’s dedication. I hope the show makes it worth it.”
“I already know it will.”
He took one final group picture with them all, holding up a peace sign while they posed around him. Wilhelm snapped a few photos from the side—eyes full of quiet pride.
When it was time to go inside, Simon waved at them. “Thank you for being here. Please get some real sleep tonight, okay?”
“We will! Bye Simon! Bye Wilhelm!”
Wille lifted a hand in greeting, smiling softly at their excitement.
As they entered the venue, Simon exhaled long and slow, leaning slightly into Wilhelm’s side. “That… actually felt good.”
Wilhelm kissed his temple, gently brushing a curl away from Simon’s cheek. “You handled that beautifully.”
Simon leaned into him fully now, letting the warmth settle in his chest.
…
Rehearsal ended earlier than expected.
Simon had been nervous walking onto the stage for the first time since the loss—every step felt heavy, like he was testing the world to see if it still held. But the moment the music started, something inside him loosened. Not fully. Not cleanly. But enough.
Rosh hovered the whole time, watching him with careful eyes. Ayub cracked small jokes between songs. Adnan and Lamin kept everything light, dancing exaggeratedly to make him laugh. And Wilhelm stood at the edge of the stage—silent, solid, a steady point in Simon’s line of sight whenever his breath hitched.
By the time the final song faded out, Simon was sweating, breathing hard, cheeks flushed—and smiling just a little.
He hopped off the stage and landed right in front of Wilhelm.
“How do you feel?” Wille asked, brushing a thumb over Simon’s forearm.
“Tired,” Simon admitted. “But good. Really good.”
Wille nodded, relief softening his whole face. “You looked amazing up there.”
Simon leaned forward, kissing him quickly, before turning to Rosh. “I’m done for today, right?”
She checked her clipboard. “Yes. Interview tomorrow morning, soundcheck in the afternoon.” Then she eyed him knowingly. “What are you planning, Simon?”
Simon grinned. “I’m stealing him,” he said, hooking his arm through Wilhelm’s. “We’re going out.”
Wille blinked. “We are?”
Simon tugged him gently toward the exit. “Get your jacket, pretty boy. I’m showing you Barcelona.”
…
The sun was dipping toward gold when they stepped outside, warm air settling around them like a blanket. The city buzzed in every direction—voices, scooters, music spilling from open cafés. Simon visibly relaxed, shoulders falling into a familiar rhythm as though his whole body recognized the place.
“Okay,” Simon said, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. “First rule of being in Spain: no schedule.”
Wilhelm laughed softly. “I can do that.”
He led Wilhelm down a narrow street lined with old stone buildings and tiny balconies overflowing with plants. The air smelled like baking bread, citrus, and sea salt carried from the port.
Simon pointed at everything—at a bakery he used to visit during his first tour, at a street artist who painted with both hands, at a tiny corner shop with the best cold soda on the planet. Wilhelm listened like every word mattered, squeezing Simon’s hand gently whenever he got particularly excited.
At a small plaza, Simon stopped at a food stall run by an older couple.
“Dos porciones de patatas bravas, por favor,” he said effortlessly.
Wilhelm stared. “That was… really hot.”
Simon snorted. “You like me speaking Spanish?”
Wille shrugged, cheeks flushing slightly. “Maybe.”
Simon leaned in, whispering at his ear. “Good to know.”
They ate standing at a high table—Simon feeding Wilhelm the first piece just to see him react.
Wille’s eyes widened. “Oh… that’s good.”
“Right?” Simon grinned proudly. “Told you. Not tourist food.”
Then Simon grabbed his hand again and pulled him toward the waterfront. The sky was turning pink now, reflecting in the calm water. Couples walked hand in hand. Families laughed. Street musicians played soft guitar melodies.
Simon walked slower here, quieter.
“This city saved me once,” he said softly. “When I was younger. When things were hard.”
Wilhelm listened, his thumb brushing Simon’s knuckles.
“It feels like… home, in a weird way.” Simon continued. “And I wanted you to see it. This part of me.”
Wilhelm stopped walking and gently pulled Simon closer.
“Thank you,” he said. “For sharing it with me.”
Simon swallowed, his eyes shimmering in the warm light. “Of course. You’re… you’re part of everything now.”
Wille kissed him—slowly, deeply—while people strolled around them, while the sea lapped quietly behind them. Simon melted into him, hands sliding up Wilhelm’s chest, the city humming softly around them.
When the kiss ended, Simon rested his forehead against Wilhelm’s chest, inhaling deeply. “This is what I wanted,” he whispered. “Just… this.”
Wilhelm wrapped his arms around him, holding him right there on the promenade, letting Simon feel steady and safe in his embrace.
After a minute, Simon took Wilhelm’s hand again.
“Come on,” he whispered, voice warm and glowing. “Barcelona isn’t done with you yet.”
And together they walked deeper into the city—two silhouettes, fingers intertwined, letting Spain carry them gently into the night.
…
They stepped back onto the tour bus just as the last glow of sunset burned along the Barcelona skyline. Inside, warm lights buzzed softly, casting a golden wash over the lounge. Rosh was sprawled on the sofa with her laptop open, Ayub snoring lightly under a blanket, and the dancers were arguing over a very competitive game of Uno.
Simon tugged Wille’s hand as they slipped toward the back lounge, the small, cushioned corner of the bus where they always ended up — their place. Simon dropped onto the couch with a soft laugh, the day’s excitement still buzzing faintly under his skin. Wille sat beside him, thigh touching his, scent warm and steady after hours of rehearsals and walking all over the city.
Simon let himself melt sideways, resting his head on Wille’s shoulder. For a moment, they just breathed together, the hum of the bus making everything feel quiet and safe.
Then Simon shifted, lifting his head to look at Wille. His fingers played unconsciously with the sleeve of Wille’s hoodie.
“So… ehm… I’ve been thinking about something.” His voice was soft, hopeful.
Wille instantly gave him his full attention, turning slightly so their knees brushed. “Tell me.”
Simon inhaled, then exhaled shakily. “Would you… be okay if we posted about the engagement? Publicly.” He wet his lips, nerves fluttering in his stomach. “I mean, only if you’re comfortable. I don’t want to push anything. It’s just—” His voice softened. “Today was perfect. And I want people to know you’re my alpha. That we belong to each other.”
Wille didn’t hesitate — not even for a second.
“Of course I’m okay with it,” he said, voice warm and certain. “I’d be proud. So proud. If you want to share it, then I’m right there with you.”
Something loosened inside Simon, like a knot he didn’t know he was holding. His body softened as Wille reached up and cupped his jaw, thumb brushing gently across his cheekbone.
“Really?” Simon whispered.
“Really,” Wille murmured. “Let’s show them.”
Simon smiled — bright, relieved, full of something glowing. He reached for his phone and scooted even closer so their bodies pressed side by side. Wille wrapped an arm around his waist, drawing him in.
“Okay,” Simon said softly. “Then let’s take a picture.”
He lifted the phone, switching to selfie mode. They leaned into one another — Simon tilted slightly into Wille’s chest, Wille angled toward him with a soft, private smile.
But Simon wanted something more symbolic.
“Wait,” he breathed. “Hold on.”
He adjusted his position, placing his hand — the hand with the engagement ring — against Wille chest, fingers curling lightly over his shirt right above his heart. The silver band gleamed softly in the warm bus light, delicate, beautiful, unmistakably meaningful.
Wille looked at Simon’s hand and then at Simon, and his expression softened into something almost reverent.
“Perfect,” Wille whispered.
Simon snapped the picture.
In the photo, Simon leaned gently against Wille, hand over his heart, the ring shining clearly. Wille’s arm wrapped around him, his chin resting lightly against Simon’s temple, eyes warm, soft, entirely in love.
It didn’t look staged. It looked true.
He stared at it for a moment, heart swelling.
This was them.
He opened Instagram. His thumbs trembled just a little as he typed:
“Forever sounds good to me ❤️💍”
He tagged Wille. Took one last breath.
And posted.
Almost instantly, the screen lit up with notifications — likes pouring in, comments stacking faster than he could read.
But Simon didn’t care about the screen anymore.
Because Wille leaned in, brushing his lips against Simon’s temple, murmuring:
“I’m so proud to be yours.”
Simon set the phone aside and curled into him, the ring glinting softly against his chest as he whispered back:
“And I’m yours. Always.”
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