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Chapter Text

Two days before the Europe tour, the mornings had officially become Simon’s least favorite part of the day.

Every sunrise came with that same heavy nausea sitting in the pit of his stomach—never enough to make him throw up, but enough to make him curl forward on the bathroom counter and breathe slowly until the wave passed. Enough to make him stare at himself in the mirror and press a palm against his slightly bloated belly.

Enough to make him know something was wrong.

Or right.

Depending on how he looked at it.

He couldn’t risk going to a pharmacy. If anyone saw him… if anyone recognized the box in his hand… if anyone snapped a picture…

It would be everywhere within minutes.

So he called his doctor.

He didn’t tell Wilhelm.
Not because he didn’t want to—he wanted to tell him everything—but Wilhelm was buried in a massive editing project, scrambling to finish so he could take time off and join Simon for as much of the tour as possible. Simon didn’t want to distract him until he knew for sure.

Now he was sitting alone in the small waiting room of his doctor’s office, leg bouncing uncontrollably.

The nausea had mostly passed, but his heart was still racing.

When the door opened and his doctor stepped out with a warm smile, Simon nearly jumped to his feet.

“Simon, you can come in.”

He followed her into the examination room, the fluorescent lights too bright, the paper on the exam table crackling as he sat down awkwardly.

“So,” the doctor said kindly, settling onto her stool. “What are we checking on today?”

Simon swallowed, fingers twisting together.

“I… I need to get a pregnancy test done.”

The doctor didn’t look surprised. If anything, her smile softened as she picked up her tablet and made a few notes.

“Have you taken an at-home test yet?”

Simon shook his head quickly. “I can’t. If someone saw me buying one—”

“No need to explain,” she assured gently. “We’ll take care of it here.” She reached for a small plastic cup and handed it to him. “If you can fill this, we’ll run the test right away.”

Simon nodded and took it, his hands slightly unsteady as he stood and walked to the bathroom down the hall.

The moment he closed the door behind him, he exhaled shakily.

“Come on, Simon,” he muttered to himself. “Just breathe.”

He peed into the cup, washed his hands, and stared at his reflection for a few seconds—his eyes too wide, lips pressed tight—before carrying the cup back to the exam room.

The doctor took it from him with a reassuring nod and passed it to the nurse through a small window in the wall.

“Simon,” she began gently, “I have to ask… You’ve been taking your suppressants as prescribed?”

Simon nodded immediately. “Of course. Every morning.” Then he swallowed. “But I know it’s not 100% safe.”

“No,” she agreed softly. “It’s not. Especially if they’re taken late, or if your hormones fluctuate, or if there’s unprotected intercourse at certain times in your cycle.”

Simon felt a wave of heat rush to his cheeks. He nodded again, voice barely a whisper. “We… had a moment. About a month ago. Forget the condom. And we talked it off, but…”

His throat tightened.

“But now I’m not sure.”

The doctor offered him a comforting smile. “Let’s wait for the test result. It shouldn’t take long.”

Simon sat there, hands on his knees, leg bouncing again.

He was about to find out if everything was about to change.

…

The wait felt endless, even though it was barely ten minutes.

When the nurse finally returned and handed the doctor a small printout, Simon held his breath without realizing it. The doctor scanned the paper, then looked up at him with that same warm, steady expression she’d had the entire appointment.

“Simon,” she said softly, “the test is positive.”

For a moment, everything inside him went quiet.

Not shock exactly…
More like confirmation.

His body had been whispering the truth to him for days. The nausea, the tenderness in his lower stomach, the strange sense that something inside him had shifted.

Still—he felt his breath catch, felt his fingers grip the edge of the exam table.

Positive.

He let out a shaky exhale, staring down at his own knees because he didn’t know what else to look at. His heart was racing, but he didn’t feel panic. Just… a weight. A real, solid weight of reality settling into him.

The doctor gave him a moment before clearing her throat gently.

“Do you have a mate?” she asked, glancing briefly at Simon’s unmarked neck. “I don’t see any bite marks, and it’s helpful for the medical file.”

Simon blinked, looking up at her. “Oh—uh, no. I mean… I’m not mated.”

She nodded. “A partner, then?”

He swallowed. “A boyfriend. We’ve been together about six months.”

“Alright.” She typed a few notes into her tablet. “Was this pregnancy planned?”

Simon shook his head immediately. “No. No, definitely not.”

The doctor set the tablet aside, folding her hands in her lap and softening her voice even further.

“Simon,” she said gently, “you’re very early. You still have time to make a choice. Any choice you make is valid, and completely your own.” She held his gaze. “Do you want to continue the pregnancy?”

Simon felt his chest tighten. Not painfully—just heavy. Full.

Did he?
Did he not?

He didn’t know yet.

A part of him already felt protective of the tiny possibility inside him. Another part of him wanted to curl into Wilhelm’s arms and let the alpha hold the decision with him—not for him, but with him.

He rubbed at the back of his neck, exhaling shakily.

“I…” His voice cracked. He closed his eyes for a moment. “I need to talk to my boyfriend before deciding anything.”

The doctor nodded with complete understanding.

“Of course. Take your time. I’ll print everything you need and write down the next steps for whichever decision you make.”

Simon nodded, still feeling the echo of the word positive vibrating through his mind.

He was pregnant.

… 

Later Simon sat on the couch at home in silence, hands clasped tightly around the thin stack of papers resting on his lap. He’d been staring at the doctor’s notes for almost half an hour, rereading the same sentences over and over without absorbing anything new.

He was supposed to be packing.

His half-open suitcase sat by the armchair, still empty except for a single hoodie he’d tossed in earlier before the nausea hit him again. The rest of his clothes were folded neatly on the floor, waiting to be chosen, but Simon couldn’t make himself move. Every time he tried, he ended up back on the couch with a hand on his belly and those papers in his lap.

He could do the tour.
The doctor had said so.
He could finish his Europe tour, then take maternity leave afterward if he chose to continue the pregnancy. Physically, it was all doable.

That wasn’t what scared him.

What scared him was Wilhelm.
Wilhelm, whose entire face lit up every time Simon walked into a room.
Wilhelm, who’d said I love you with a hand pressed to his heart.
Wilhelm, who had just moved in with him.

Wilhelm… who didn’t know.

The front door opened.

Simon’s entire body went stiff as Wilhelm’s scent washed into the apartment—warm, grounding, familiar. Stronger than usual, maybe because Simon’s senses were sharper these days. He quickly tucked the pregnancy papers under a messy pile of tour documents on the coffee table and stood up, wiping his palms on his jeans.

He moved into the hallway just as Wilhelm toed off his shoes.

“Hey,” Simon said, trying to sound normal.

Wilhelm’s head lifted immediately, eyes softening as he smiled. “Hey you.”

They met halfway, arms wrapping around each other in an easy, practiced way. Wilhelm leaned down for a kiss—slow, warm, the kind that made Simon’s stomach flutter in a way that wasn’t nausea.

When they pulled back, Wilhelm brushed his nose against Simon’s jaw.

“You smell amazing,” he murmured, voice dropping slightly. “God, I missed you today.”

Simon swallowed, leaning instinctively into the alpha’s touch. His scent glands tingled under Wilhelm’s mouth, sensitive and warm—pregnancy hormones, probably. He hoped Wilhelm wouldn’t notice the tiny change.

“You’re home early,” Simon said softly.

“Finally done with my last client,” Wilhelm said and nuzzled into Simon’s neck again before pulling back to grin at him. “And I’m officially free to go with you to Denmark, Germany, France, Spain ect. I’m so ready to go with you. It’s going to be amazing.”

Simon forced a smile, heart thudding loudly.

Amazing.
Yes.

Wilhelm was still smiling when he stepped into the living room—until he saw the empty suitcase and laughed softly.

“Packing last minute, I guess?”

Simon nodded, swallowing the knot in his throat. “Yeah… something like that.”

Wilhelm wandered toward the coffee table, reaching for the papers without thinking. “I packed almost everything already. Even brought that stupid sweater you like stealing—” He picked up the top sheet and skimmed it. “When are they picking us up with the tour bus Friday? I—”

He froze.

Because another page slipped forward beneath it.
White. Clinical.
A doctor’s header across the top.

Wilhelm slowly reached for it.

“Simon,” he said quietly, voice tightening. “What is this?”

Simon’s pulse jumped.
Wilhelm was staring at the paper as if it might explode in his hands.

“I… went to the doctor today,” Simon said, stepping forward. “I haven’t been feeling well since the concert. You know that.”

Wilhelm lifted the page, eyes scanning the lines that confirmed everything Simon had been terrified of saying out loud. His jaw clenched. Hard.

Simon moved closer, gently. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before going. I just wanted to make sure—”

“How far along are you?”

Wilhelm’s voice was barely a voice.
He didn’t look at Simon.
Didn’t blink.
Just stared at the paper like it was burning his fingers.

Simon inhaled shakily. “…Four weeks.”

Wilhelm nodded once.
But it wasn’t a calm nod.
It was the kind of nod someone gives when they’re holding themselves together by the skin of their teeth.

His shoulders trembled.

Simon reached out, laying a hand on his arm. “Wille… it’s okay. I know we didn’t plan this, but maybe—”

Wilhelm turned toward him abruptly, expression sharp, almost pained.

“Exactly. We haven’t talked about it.” He dragged a rough hand through his hair. “Shit…”

“Wille—”

He looked at him again, eyes tight, breath uneven. “You can still abort it, right?”

Silence.

The kind that drops like a stone between two people.

Simon stared at him, chest hollowing out. “Excuse me?”

Wilhelm exhaled hard, too hard. “Simon, we can’t have a baby right now. Your tour and—”

Simon stepped back as if struck. “You’re not seriously asking me to abort this baby.”

“Simon, I’m not ready for this and you aren’t either—”

And then something in Simon snapped.

His hormones surged like a tidal wave—fear, betrayal, anger all slamming into him at once.

“Then you should’ve put on a condom before you stuck your penis inside me!” Simon spat, voice breaking. “Fuck you.”

The words hung between them like a crack in glass—fragile, irreversible, already spreading.

…

Chapter Text

Simon stood there, staring at Wilhelm, waiting—begging inside—for the alpha to say something that wasn’t silence. The air between them felt thick, uncomfortable, buzzing with everything neither of them could articulate. Wilhelm looked pale, eyes stuck on the paper like the words refused to arrange themselves into something he could understand.

Simon waited.

One second.

Two.

Five.

Still nothing.

The pressure in Simon’s chest grew unbearable. He let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh, wasn’t quite a sigh—just something sharp meant to keep him from breaking.

“I have packing to do,” he muttered, almost biting the words off.

He didn’t look at Wilhelm again. He turned and headed for the bedroom, forcing his steps not to shake. He pushed the closet doors open with a little too much force, wooden hangers rattling loudly. He stared inside at clothes he couldn’t even see properly past the burn in his eyes.

He grabbed a shirt. Dropped it. Grabbed another. Folded nothing.

Every few seconds, he paused to listen.

Waiting for Wilhelm’s footsteps.
Waiting for the alpha’s warm scent to drift in.
Waiting for his voice—apologetic, unsure, something—to fill the doorway.

Come on Wilhelm… don’t make me go through this alone.

But the hallway behind him stayed empty.
Silent.
Cold.

The silence pressed against his back like a wall.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he heard it.
A sound that didn’t fit.

The clink of keys.
The scrape of a shoe.
Then—

The front door opening.

Simon froze, every muscle locking tight. His heart dropped into his stomach.

A pause.
A breath.
Then the door closed.

Quietly.
Decisively.

Simon spun around and rushed out of the bedroom.

“Wilhelm?” he called, voice too loud in the stillness.

He stepped into the hallway, looking toward the entrance.

Empty.

He moved closer, panic sharpening his words.

“Wille?”

Nothing. Not even an echo of footsteps in the stairwell. The scent of his alpha still lingered faintly in the air—warm, familiar, heartbreaking—but Wilhelm himself was gone. He had actually walked out.

Simon stood in the middle of the hallway, the apartment suddenly so much bigger, so much colder. The pregnancy papers lay abandoned on the living room table, exactly where Wilhelm had dropped them. His suitcase sat empty. His hands were trembling.

Wilhelm had left.

He left him.

…

Simon swallows hard, the sting behind his eyes growing sharper, and shuts the door with trembling fingers. He tries calling—once, twice, three times—but every time it rings out. Straight to voicemail.

“Come on, Wille… please…”

No answer.

His chest tightens painfully, his breath shaky as he scrolls through his contacts and taps Sara’s name. It rings once before she picks up.

“Hey!” she says, bright and warm, slightly breathless in that always-tired, seven-months-pregnant way. “What’s up?”

“Hi…I need you to listen to me,” Simon says immediately, voice thinner than he wants. “And—and don’t judge, okay?”

Sara snorts a laugh. “That sounds like you’re about to tell me you’re pregnant.”

Simon goes dead silent.

There’s a beat.

Then Sara gasps.

“Oh my god—no—I didn’t—shit, Simon, I’m sorry! I take it back, forget I said anything.” She quickly shifts, her voice softening, concerned. “Let’s start over. Hey… I’m here. Whatever it is. Do you want me to come over?”

Her steadiness breaks something in him, the pressure behind his eyes finally loosening.

“…Yeah,” he whispers. “I think I do.”

…

About an hour later, the door opens quietly.

“Simon?” Sara calls, her voice soft but strained, like she’s been hurrying despite the weight of her seventh-month belly.

“In here,” he manages to say.

She walks into the bedroom and stops when she sees him—sitting on the floor, surrounded by piles of clothes he’d dragged out of the closet. Shirts, jeans, hoodies… everything scattered like he’d tried to outrun his thoughts and failed. His phone lies beside him, the screen dark after too many unanswered calls.

Sara lowers herself down—not gracefully, because she physically can’t anymore, but determinedly. With a soft grunt she settles beside him, immediately pulling him into her arms.

“Hey,” she murmurs, holding him tight, one hand stroking the back of his head. “I’m here. Talk to me.”

Simon folds into her, burying his face against her shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of home, family, safety—all the things he feels so far from right now.

“I feel… I feel so alone,” he whispers. His voice cracks.

Sara squeezes him.

He swallows hard, breath shaking. “He just left, Sara. He just—walked out. I told him, and he…” Simon swipes angrily at his eyes. “He told me to get an abortion.”

Sara stiffens, eyes widening. “He what?”

“I told him he couldn’t just say that. That it wasn’t only his decision. And he—fucking—left.” The words crumble at the end.

Sara gently cups his face, making him look at her.

“Simon… are you seriously pregnant?”

Simon nods, guilt and fear tightening his throat. “A stupid… forgot-the-condom mistake.” He huffs out a miserable laugh. “But…”

A tear slips down his cheek before he can stop it.

“I can’t see myself getting rid of it,” he whispers. “I think I want it.” His voice breaks fully now. “I just wish Wilhelm would too.”

Sara’s hand is still on his cheek when she asks softly, “Have you tried calling him again?”

Simon lets out a tired, humorless laugh and nods. He reaches for his phone and shows her the screen. Twenty missed outgoing calls. All unanswered.

Sara’s eyes widen with worry. “Oh, Simon…”

He wipes at his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “I feel so stupid,” he whispers, voice raw.

Sara wraps her arms around him again, pulling him against her shoulder. “Hey. Enough. We’ll figure it out, okay? You’re not stupid. And it’s your body, your choice. You get to decide whether you want to keep the baby or not. No one gets to pressure you.”

Simon nods slowly against her, letting her words sink in, letting himself breathe.

“I just…” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I never thought I’d have to do it alone.”

“You’re not alone.” Sara presses a kiss to the top of his head before ruffling his curls gently. “And let Wilhelm fall down for a bit. He’ll be back. From what I’ve heard from your latest updates? That man loves you way too much to let you go without a fight.”

Simon lifts his head, meeting her eyes, searching for any hint of doubt. There is none.

He sighs, exhaustion and hope tangling in his chest. “I really hope so.”

…

Later after Sara left. 

Simon sat on the edge of the bed, fingers curled around the handles of the locked suitcases. He had finally packed everything he needed for the tour, but it didn’t feel like a victory. The apartment was quiet, empty in a way it hadn’t been for months. He missed Wilhelm—missed the warmth, the closeness, the way he filled the space beside him. For the past six months, he hadn’t gone to bed alone, and tonight, it felt heavier than he could bear.

He was just about to lie down when a faint sound made him freeze: the click of the front door lock. His heart leapt, and almost immediately, Wilhelm’s scent hit him, sharp and familiar. He inhaled it like air itself could anchor him.

Simon waited, holding his breath as the alpha stepped into the hallway, then into the bedroom. Wilhelm was holding a shopping bag in one hand, his expression tentative but serious.

He sent Simon a small, soft, sad smile. “Can I… come in?”

Simon nodded, unable to speak.

Wilhelm stepped closer and sat on the bed beside him, setting the bag down carefully. The air between them was thick, weighted with unspoken words.

“Okay, listen,” Wilhelm began, voice low, rough around the edges. “I’m sorry… for what I did earlier. You know my history, Simon… and when I read that paper, it just… it took me back to Jacob.”

Simon exhaled, a soft, shaky sound. “I just—”

Wilhelm gently placed a hand on Simon’s knee, stopping him. “Let me finish. You didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing. Not a single thing.”

He took a slow, steadying breath, his eyes locking on Simon’s. “I’m scared… I’m really fucking scared. When I read those words on that piece of paper, I—shit—I lost my breath, my sense of everything. Simon, I would never make you get an abortion. I just… I’m afraid. Afraid that if something goes wrong, if something happens to you…”

Wilhelm’s hand tightened slightly on Simon’s knee, a silent plea and a promise all at once. “I love you. I love you so much I can’t even think straight right now. But I’m scared for you, for us… for this little life we’ve created, even if it was unexpected.”

Simon swallowed, heart hammering, and reached out to cover Wilhelm’s hand with his own. “Wille… it’s okay. I’m still here. I won’t go anywhere. We’ll figure this out together. I just… I need you with me. That’s all.”

Wilhelm’s shoulders sagged slightly as he let out a relieved breath, leaning closer until their foreheads touched. “I’m here, Simon. I’m not going anywhere.”

Simon leaned forward, pressing his lips to Wilhelm’s in a kiss that trembled with everything he felt—love, relief, longing, and fear. “I love you so much,” he whispered against Wilhelm’s mouth, his hands threading through the alpha’s hair. “I want… I want to make this family with you.”

Wilhelm’s eyes softened as he kissed Simon deeper, letting the words sink into him. When they finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against Simon’s, breath mingling with his. “Simon… I will do everything I can to support you,” he murmured, his voice raw and steady at the same time. “Through every step, through all of it.”

Then, gently, almost reverently, Wilhelm placed a hand on Simon’s stomach for the first time. Simon let a tear slip down his cheek, pressing his own hand on top of Wilhelm’s. He could feel the warmth, the weight, the connection of the two of them sharing something far bigger than themselves. A sob caught in his throat, but it was a happy one, full of hope.

His gaze fell on the bag Wilhelm had brought, curiosity mingling with emotion. “Wille… what’s that?”

Wilhelm gave a small, shaky laugh, brushing a strand of hair from Simon’s face. “I saw it when I was walking through the city… I thought… maybe it’s silly… but I couldn’t resist.”

Simon lifted the bag and peeked inside. His breath hitched. Nestled neatly was a tiny baby bodysuit, soft pastel fabric embroidered with the words Gift from Heaven. The tears streamed freely now, hot and unrelenting, and he pressed the tiny outfit to his chest as if holding the child already there. “So… we’re really having a baby,” he whispered, his voice cracking with awe and disbelief.

Wilhelm drew him into his arms, holding him so tightly Simon could feel the steady beat of his heart against his own. “Yes, Simon,” he breathed, voice thick. “We’re having this baby… our baby.”

Simon tilted his head up to look at him, tears falling freely, his lips trembling. “I just… I’ve never wanted anything this badly,” he whispered. “And I’ve never loved anyone like this before.”

Wilhelm cupped his face, eyes glimmering with unshed tears, and kissed him once more, slower this time, full of promise. “You don’t have to face anything alone, Simon. Ever. Not this… not any of it. We’re in this together… forever.”

Simon melted into him, the fear and uncertainty of the past days dissolving into something warm and unshakable: the knowledge that they were building a life together, and nothing could take that away.

…

Chapter Text

The day before the tour was supposed to start, Simon could feel something was off. He had planned a slow morning in bed, letting himself rest because his body was beginning to feel different — heavier, warmer, more sensitive as he moved into his 5th week. But Wilhelm wasn’t settling. The alpha kept drifting from the bedroom to the kitchen, then to the living room, picking things up and putting them down again with no real purpose.

At first Simon watched him quietly, half amused, half troubled. But after 30 minutes of Wilhelm pacing around the apartment, Simon sighed and lifted the blanket.

“Wille,” he called softly.

The alpha froze in the doorway.

“Come here,” Simon said, patting the bed. “Please.”

Wilhelm hesitated only a second before walking over, shoulders tight, eyes worried. Simon scooted back, making space for him, and when Wilhelm lay down beside him, Simon immediately curled into his side, pressing their bodies together.

Wilhelm’s arm wrapped around him automatically, but his muscles were still tense.

“What’s going on?” Simon asked gently, brushing his thumb over Wilhelm’s chest.

Wilhelm didn’t answer right away. His breath trembled, just slightly—something Simon wouldn’t have noticed months ago, but now he could read Wilhelm like a second language.

“I’m scared,” Wilhelm finally whispered.

Simon’s hand stilled. He shifted up, lifting Wilhelm’s chin so he could see his eyes.

“What are you scared of?”

Wilhelm swallowed. “Something bad happening. On the tour. With you. With the baby.” His voice was thick, almost hoarse. “Your body’s going to change. You’re already more tired than normal. And now we’re about to get on a bus for weeks with rehearsals and shows and traveling, and I just—”

He broke off, shaking his head, jaw tight.

Simon felt his heart squeeze painfully. God, he loved this man.

“Wille,” he whispered, sliding his hand up to cup Wilhelm’s cheek. “It’s okay to be afraid. I’m afraid too.”

Wilhelm’s gaze softened but stayed worried.

“But,” Simon continued, “it’s going to be okay. I have you. And the whole crew. We’re not doing this alone. And I’m not going to push myself harder than I should. I promise.”

Wilhelm exhaled shakily, forehead dropping to touch Simon’s.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” he murmured. “Or the baby.”

Simon kissed him softly — not hungry, not heated, just warm, anchoring.

“I know,” he whispered against Wilhelm’s lips. “And that’s why it’s important that we tell each other everything. And why we’re careful.” He paused, pulling back just enough to see Wilhelm clearly. “Wille… do you think we should tell the crew?”

Wilhelm blinked. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Simon lay quiet for a moment, thinking. His hand drifted down to his belly, still flat but different — theirs.

“Maybe it’s a good thing if they know,” Simon finally said. “It’s early, yes… but if they notice I’m tired, or nauseous, or if anything happens, I’d rather they know the reason than worry. Or get confused.”

Wilhelm nodded slowly. “I’m okay with telling them. If you are.”

Simon smiled. “Yeah… I think I want to.”

Wilhelm leaned in, kissing his forehead, then pulling him tightly against his chest. The tension in his body finally began to ease, melting into Simon’s warmth.

“Okay,” Wilhelm murmured. “Then we’ll do that.”

“Together,” Simon corrected softly.

Wilhelm kissed him again. “Together.”

…

The tour bus pulled up earlier than expected — a huge black coach with tinted windows and Simon’s tour logo discreetly painted along the side. Even though Simon had seen it before, the sight of it still made his heart jump. This was real. His biggest tour yet.

Wilhelm squeezed his hand as they stepped out of the apartment. “Got everything?”

“Mm,” Simon hummed, double-checking his pockets even though he’d done it three times already. “I think so.”

The morning air was brisk, and Simon breathed it in slowly, grounding himself. He had slept surprisingly well last night, wrapped against Wilhelm’s chest, lulled by the steady rise and fall of his alpha’s breathing. Maybe that was why he felt oddly calm now. Not fearless — just… steady. Balanced.

Wilhelm carried the heavier suitcase down the stairs, and when the driver spotted them, he hopped out to help load the bags. Then Wilhelm lifted Simon "Here we go!" The bus door slid open with a hiss, warm air spilling onto the street.

Simon was greeted first by laughter.

Rosh and Ayub were seated at the front table with Adnan and Lamin, two of his dancers. Lamin held a half-open bag of chips even though it was barely 10 a.m., while Adnan was mid-story, using all his limbs to emphasize some dramatic point.

Then Rosh spotted Simon through the door.

“OH MY GOD, THE KING HAS ARRIVED!” she yelled, nearly launching herself toward him.

Simon laughed, stepping onto the bus as Rosh practically lifted him into a hug. “I missed you too.”

“You better have,” she said, kissing his cheek loudly before hugging Wilhelm with equal enthusiasm. “And you—welcome to the chaos.”

Wilhelm grinned shyly. “Thanks. Glad to be here.”

Ayub got up next, hugging Simon so hard his lungs compressed. “Broooo, it feels like forever since rehearsal.”

“It’s been three days,” Simon laughed, muffled by Ayub’s shoulder.

“Exactly. Forever.”

Adnan and Lamin took their turns greeting them with warm hugs and cheek kisses before helping them get their bags tucked away into the bus cupboards.

Everywhere Simon looked, there were personal touches from past tours—Rosh’s lucky blanket draped over a seat, Ayub’s mini speaker embedded in the couch corner, post-it notes stuck on cabinets reminding them about soundcheck and hydration.

This bus wasn’t just transport. It was their home.

Wilhelm’s hand stayed lightly at Simon’s lower back, protective but not hovering. Someone who didn’t know them wouldn’t have noticed anything—but Simon felt it like a warm palm over his entire spine.

Once the greetings tapered off, Simon and Wilhelm dropped onto the small couch in the living area. Simon leaned subtly against Wilhelm, letting their shoulders touch.

The engine hummed. The driver shut the door.

They were off.

As the bus rolled out of the city, Simon felt Wilhelm squeeze his thigh gently — a quiet you okay?

Simon nodded.

But he knew what they had to do.

He cleared his throat. “Hey—everyone? Can we… meet in the little living room for a sec?”

The request spread through the bus like a ripple. Rosh perked up, eyes curious. Ayub paused mid-chip-grab. Adnan muted his phone. Lamin looked like he expected an early pep talk.

They slowly gathered into the cozy living area toward the back. The bus wasn’t huge — the space was maybe two small couches and a mounted TV — but it always held them all easily. Comfortably. Familiarly. Simon stood in front of them while Wilhelm remained seated on the couch, a silent anchor.

“So…” Simon started, rocking a little on his heels. “I just wanted to say that I’m insanely excited about this tour.” His smile grew as he looked at them one by one. “We’ve worked so hard, all of us. And I feel like this is our moment. I’m proud of us.”

Ayub wiped a fake tear dramatically. “So beautiful.”

Simon laughed, rolling his eyes. “Shut up.”

Then he glanced at Wilhelm.

His alpha gave him the tiniest nod — the same gentle green light he’d given Simon last night in bed when they talked about telling the crew. Only if you want to.

Simon took a slow breath.

“So… we’re not only going to be six people on this bus.”

The room froze.

Rosh frowned. “What do you mean?”

Ayub leaned forward. “Oh God, is it your mother isn't it? Please don’t say it’s your mo—”

“I’m pregnant,” Simon said softly.

Silence.

Sharp, sudden silence. Even the bus engine seemed quieter.

Simon felt Wilhelm’s eyes on him immediately—warm, grounding, supportive.

Then—

“IIIIII’M SORRY, WHAT?!” Rosh screamed, jumping up so fast the couch bounced.

Ayub’s jaw dropped. “Preg… pregnant?! Like pregnant-pregnant?!”

Adnan clapped both hands over his mouth, eyes wide. Lamin let out a deep “Holy shit” that echoed in the small room.

Then they all exploded.

Rosh was the first to reach him, throwing her arms around his neck and squeezing so hard Simon squeaked. “Simon, oh my GOD, I’m so happy for you!”

Ayub barreled into them next, nearly toppling the entire group. “DUUUUDE! A BABY? YOU’RE HAVING A BABY?!”

Adnan grabbed his waist from behind, hugging him from a different angle. Lamin laughed and squeezed his shoulder.

Simon couldn’t stop smiling. Laughing. Getting tossed and hugged and congratulated from every direction until his cheeks hurt.

When they finally let him breathe, he felt arms slip around his middle from behind — strong, steady, familiar. Wilhelm pulled him against his chest, nuzzling his temple gently.

Ayub grinned at the sight. “Look at the proud alpha dad.”

Wilhelm turned bright red. “I—well—I…”

Simon giggled, leaning into him. “He’s very proud.”

“AND shy!” Rosh yelled.

Simon rested his hand over Wilhelm’s where it sat on his stomach. Wilhelm pressed a soft kiss to the back of his head, oblivious to the teasing around them.

Rosh, eyes shiny, stepped forward and cupped Simon’s face. “We’re really, really happy for you,” she said softly.

Ayub nodded. “And don’t even think about lifting heavy stuff. Or skipping meals. I will personally shove food down your throat.”

Adnan clasped his shoulders. “Anything you need — seriously.”

Lamin added, “We’ve got you. Both of you.”

Simon’s throat tightened. He blinked fast.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Wilhelm squeezed his waist gently, echoing, “Thank you. Really.”

The bus kept rolling forward, humming softly, carrying them all toward the biggest tour of Simon’s life.

And now… toward the beginning of their family.

…

The first night on the bus felt strangely quiet after all the excitement. Simon and Wilhelm sat together on the small couch in their little section, the hum of the engine vibrating under their feet. The others had already gone to stretch out in their bunks, Rosh and Ayub still whispering excitedly, the dancers laughing a few beds down. But here, in the dim yellow light of the bus lamps, it felt like the world had shrunk to just them.

Wilhelm had his arm around Simon’s shoulders, thumb brushing the curve of his upper arm in absent, protective strokes. Simon leaned against him, legs curled up, feeling warm and safe and a little overwhelmed. He tilted his head so it rested against Wilhelm’s chest, listening to the slow, steady heartbeat that always calmed him.

“You okay?” Wilhelm asked quietly, lips brushing Simon’s hair.

Simon nodded. “Yeah. Just… it’s so real now. They all know. It’s happening.”

Wilhelm squeezed him closer. “I’m proud of you.”

Simon smiled into his shirt. He didn’t need the words, but they still went straight to his heart. “I’m happy they reacted the way they did,” he whispered. “I don’t know why I expected someone to be weird about it.”

“Because it’s new,” Wilhelm murmured. “And you’re nervous even when you pretend you’re not.”

Simon huffed a small laugh. “I’m not nervous.”

“You’re literally vibrating.”

Simon looked up and realized, okay, maybe he was bouncing his knee. He reached for Wilhelm’s hand, placed it flat against his stomach—still soft, nothing visible yet, but warm. He loved when Wilhelm touched him there, gentle and reverent, like he was already greeting the tiny life inside him.

Wilhelm softened immediately. “You’re sure you feel okay?”

“Yeah,” Simon whispered. “A little tired. Bus motion is weird.”

“Then let’s go to bed,” Wilhelm said gently. “I want you lying down.”

Simon rolled his eyes but let himself be pulled up. They moved quietly through the narrow hallway, brushing past curtains and bunks, until they reached the double bunk that had been prepared for them. It was small, but cozy, with soft lights and thick blankets.

Simon crawled in first and Wilhelm followed, immediately gathering him into his arms. Simon melted into him, pressing his face against his chest. The bus rocked lightly, and the rhythm mixed with Wilhelm’s warmth made Simon’s entire body relax.

“You’re safe,” Wilhelm whispered into his hair. “I’ve got you.”

Simon didn’t answer with words. He just turned his face up and kissed Wilhelm’s jaw, slow and tender. A thank you.

Wilhelm tilted his head down and kissed him — unhurried, soft, deep enough to make Simon sigh into him. Fingers slid into Simon’s curls, stroking lightly.

“You’re staring,” Simon whispered against his lips.

“I know,” Wilhelm murmured. “I can’t help it. You’re… glowing.”

Simon laughed. “It’s the bus light.”

“No,” Wilhelm whispered. “It’s you.”

Simon’s heart squeezed so tightly it almost hurt.

He nudged his nose against Wilhelm’s. “Can I kiss you again?”

“You never have to ask,” Wilhelm whispered.

Their mouths met again, warmer now. Wilhelm kissed Simon slowly, carefully, like Simon was something fragile and precious. Simon shifted closer, hands sliding under Wilhelm’s shirt. The alpha inhaled sharply but didn’t pull away — instead he curled his arm tighter around Simon’s waist, pulling him gently on top of him.

Simon straddled him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of Wilhelm’s hips. Wilhelm’s hands rested on his thighs, steady, grounding, warm. They kissed like that for a long moment, slow and deep, Simon rolling his hips just a little because he needed to feel close, needed to feel connected.

Wilhelm cupped his cheek. “Are you sure…?”

“Yes.” Simon breathed immediately, leaning down to kiss him again. “I want you. Just slow and quite okay?”

Wilhelm nodded, brushing their noses together. “Slow. Always.”

They undressed each other gently, the small bunk filling with soft breaths and whispered touches. Simon lay over him, warm skin against warm skin, and Wilhelm held him like he was something holy. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t wild — it was a night full of careful hands and very quiet moans, of Wilhelm checking on him every few minutes, of Simon whispering reassurance between kisses.

Wilhelm was unbelievably gentle with him, moving inside him slowly, holding Simon’s lower back, kissing the side of his neck as Simon rode him lazily, chest pressed to chest as they rocked together. Simon clung to him, fingers tightening in Wilhelm’s hair, breaths catching in soft little gasps.

“You feel so good,” Wilhelm whispered against his shoulder. “So warm, baby.”

Simon shivered at the pet name, burying his face in Wilhelm’s neck. “Wille… I love you.”

Wilhelm wrapped both arms around him, helping guide his hips, moving so carefully Simon could cry. “I love you too. More than anything. I’ve got you, just stay close.”

Simon came quietly, trembling against Wilhelm’s chest, and Wilhelm followed shortly after, whispering his name like a prayer.

Afterward, Simon lay sprawled on top of him, too warm and boneless to move. Wilhelm stroked his back slowly, breathing him in.

“You okay?” Wilhelm asked softly.

Simon nodded against his chest. “Better than okay.”

Wilhelm kissed his forehead. “Sleep. I’ll hold you.”

Simon whispered something that sounded like “don’t let go,” and within minutes, he was asleep, curled in Wilhelm’s arms, the bus humming as it carried them through the night.

…

Simon stirred awake to the gentle sway of the tour bus, the soft hum of the engine lulling him out of sleep. He stretched, blinking against the morning light filtering through the small windows, and followed the aroma of frying bacon and coffee. Peeking into the bus’s tiny kitchen, he saw Wilhelm standing at the counter, flipping pancakes with careful precision, a focused but serene look on his face.

Simon padded closer, careful not to disturb the alpha, and wrapped his arms around Wilhelm from behind. He rested his chin on Wilhelm’s shoulder and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the back of his neck. Wilhelm froze for a heartbeat, then relaxed, letting Simon’s warmth envelop him. “Morning,” he murmured, turning his head slightly to nuzzle Simon.

Before they could savor the quiet intimacy, Ayub’s teasing voice cut through the calm. “Wait… did you guys also hear the weird noises the bus made last night?”

Simon stiffened, instinctively squeezing Wilhelm closer.

Rosh, leaning against the counter with her usual mischievous grin, jumped on the comment immediately. “You mean, like… the ‘Oh Wilhelm!’ sounds? Yeah, definitely!”

Simon’s face flushed crimson. Wilhelm turned after putting the spattle down, Simon buried his face into Wilhelm’s chest, muttering, “You guys—fuck off!” while clutching him tightly. His heartbeat raced, a mix of embarrassment and amusement swirling through him.

Wilhelm, blushing faintly, chuckled and rested his hands on Simon’s arms. “I guess… that was us,” he said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Simon’s hair.

Simon peeked up at him through his strands of hair, rolling his eyes but unable to stop the little smile tugging at his lips. “Worst crew ever,” he muttered, half-laughing, half-groaning.

Ayub leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, grinning. “Hey, we’re just happy for you two,” he said, “and Wilhelm too, I guess.”

Simon sighed, letting himself relax against Wilhelm’s chest. Despite the teasing, he felt safe, cocooned in the warmth and familiarity of his alpha. “I hate you guys,” he murmured softly.

Wilhelm leaned down, pressing his lips to Simon’s temple. “Let’s just eat breakfast before you start a full-on fight with the whole bus,” he whispered, and Simon laughed, resting his head against Wilhelm’s shoulder. The teasing faded into the background as they shared a quiet, comfortable moment, the start of a long day ahead.

…

Chapter Text

The tour bus rolled into the underground loading area of the Royal Arena just past noon, the air buzzing with the familiar pre-show tension that always seemed to settle over a venue hours before a performance. Crew members were already bustling around with walkie-talkies and clipboards, unloading cases of lights, cables, and Simon’s wardrobe trunks. The echo of footsteps and distant metal clanking filled the wide concrete corridors.

Simon stepped out first, inhaling the cool indoor air. The scent of the arena—metal, dust, faint traces of popcorn from last night’s event—felt grounding. Lamin and Adnan followed close behind, stretching their arms as they walked. Rosh and Ayub were already halfway to the stage, talking loudly about cue sheets and spotlight angles.

Behind them, Wilhelm, his eyes immediately finding Simon without effort. Even in this hectic space, the alpha’s entire focus softened the second he looked at him. He kept a respectful distance—he always did when the team was in work mode—but his presence lingered like a steady warmth at Simon’s back.

The arena opened into the massive pit floor, where rows of empty seats curved upward into darkness. The stage was already partially set, screens flickering to life as technicians tested color palettes. Simon’s heart thudded with excitement; every venue felt like a new world waiting to be filled with music.

“Alright,” Simon said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s run the opening sequence. I wanna tighten the transitions before soundcheck.”

His dancers nodded. Within minutes, music blasted through the speakers—only at half volume for rehearsal—but enough to vibrate beneath Simon’s feet. Lamin mirrored Simon’s movements, Adnan marking steps behind them as they warmed up.

Wilhelm had moved to the arena floor, right where the standing crowd would gather in a few hours. Hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, he looked up at the stage as if imagining Simon bathed in concert lights. Every so often he glanced at him, the small, private smile tugging his lips unmistakably proud.

Rosh and Ayub were perched near the lighting console, arguing quietly over whether the opener needed more front wash or if the side beams were too intense. Their voices carried over the echoing emptiness.

The first run-through went smoothly—Simon felt light, energized, the choreography flowing like muscle memory. But by the second run, something shifted. A gentle wobble. A tightening in his stomach. A warm pulse up the back of his throat.

By the third run, the dizziness hit.

It happened during the turn combination that led into the spin. Simon stepped into it, foot crossing exactly right, body prepared to pivot—but as soon as he rotated, the arena tilted with him. His stomach lurched. He pulled out of the movement abruptly, putting a hand on his hip to steady himself.

Lamin slowed. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Simon muttered, swallowing hard. A faint nausea from breakfast—just a little queasy since morning—surged again. He took a shallow breath. “Let’s try it again.”

Up on the arena floor, Wilhelm’s posture straightened instantly. Even from that distance, the alpha felt the shift—his instincts sharpening as Simon faltered. He made his way closer to the stage stairs, eyes fixed on Simon’s face.

Simon shook out his arms, forcing a smile at his dancers. “Just messed up my balance.”

But the moment they reset and Simon attempted the spin again, his body protested. A wave of heat flushed through him, and his knees softened with another bout of dizziness. He blinked, trying to push it down.

Wilhelm was already climbing the stage steps.

“Simon?” Wilhelm’s voice carried, low but tight with concern. “Do you need a break?”

Simon closed his eyes briefly. He hated how easily Wilhelm could read him, how obvious his body’s betrayal must look.

“I said I’m fine,” he snapped—not harshly, but defensive and frustrated with himself. “It’s nothing.”

Wilhelm stopped a few steps away, jaw tensing. His scent grew more pronounced—worry layered over his usual calm cedar warmth.

“It didn’t look like nothing,” Wilhelm said gently.

“I’m just a little nauseous. It’ll pass.” Simon wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. His stubbornness kicked in full-force, fueled by pride and the looming pressure of opening night. “We repeat the dance. From the turn.”

Lamin and Adnan exchanged a quiet glance—knowing better than to push when Simon got like this—but they reset their positions.

Wilhelm stayed where he was, refusing to step off the stage, his eyes fixed on Simon like he could catch him before he even fell.

Simon inhaled, exhaled, and for a moment the dizziness eased. He rolled his shoulders back, shaking off the tension.

“Music,” he called out.

Ayub hit play again.

…

When rehearsal finally wrapped and the sound crew gave their thumbs-up, Simon stepped off the stage with his shoulders tight and his jaw clenched. The arena buzzed with activity—techs adjusting cables, Rosh shouting about a misbehaving spotlight, Ayub arguing with someone over the in-ear monitor feed.

And Simon… Simon couldn’t get to the backstage hallway fast enough.

His stomach had been churning for nearly an hour, each song making the nausea simmer harder. He didn’t want Wilhelm hovering, not right now—not when he felt like the room might tilt sideways.

He slipped behind a stack of equipment crates and ducked into the tiled bathroom next to the greenroom. The second the door swung shut behind him, he grabbed the sink, gripping it like it was the only solid thing in the world.

The cold porcelain felt steady beneath his palms. His reflection didn’t.

His face looked pale—too pale. Sweat clung to his hairline. His eyes were slightly glassy. He swallowed, the taste in his throat absolutely awful.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself.

He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing through the nausea, counting to four on every inhale the way his doctor had told him. But his stomach didn’t settle—if anything, the heaviness just climbed higher.

The door opened quietly behind him.

Simon didn’t need to look. He already knew the scent that drifted in—cedar, warm, grounding, and laced with unmistakable worry.

Wilhelm.

“Simon?” Wilhelm’s voice was low, strained with concern.

Simon blinked into the mirror again, trying his best to look… normal. Or at least less close to passing out.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, forcing a smile that wobbled at the edges. “Just—excited. Big first show, you know?”

Wilhelm stepped closer, slow and careful. “That’s not excitement.”

“I’m fine,” Simon repeated, gripping the sink harder.

Wilhelm came to stand behind him, their eyes meeting through the reflection. He didn’t touch him yet—just hovered close, breaths warm against the back of Simon’s neck.

“Simon,” Wilhelm murmured, “even though we’re not bonded… I can seriously feel how sick you’re feeling right now.”

Simon’s lips parted, a flicker of guilt crossing his face.

He opened his mouth to answer—something reassuring, something dismissive—but he didn’t get the chance.

The nausea surged so violently he barely got a hand over his mouth before he doubled forward.

“Shit—!”

He retched into the sink, body folding in on itself. It was raw, sudden, completely impossible to hold back. Wilhelm reacted instantly—one hand braced on Simon’s hip to steady him, the other sliding up to hold his forehead, keeping his curls back, his touch gentle but firm.

“It’s okay,” Wilhelm whispered, voice tight but soothing. “Let it out, love. I’m right here.”

Simon gagged again, gripping the sink until his knuckles went white. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, breath shaking between waves of nausea.

Wilhelm’s thumb stroked slowly along his temple, grounding him, murmuring soft reassurances in Swedish under his breath.

After several awful seconds, the worst of it passed. Simon sagged against the sink, panting softly. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. His eyes were dull, exhausted.

Wilhelm didn’t move an inch from behind him.

“Simon,” he said quietly, “that’s not just excitement.”

Simon swallowed hard, embarrassed and shaky, his voice rough:

“…I know.”

He leaned back just enough to rest against Wilhelm’s chest, letting the alpha take a little of his weight. Wilhelm’s arms came around him instinctively—protective, steadying, warm.

“Let me take care of you,” Wilhelm whispered into his hair.

Simon closed his eyes, breathing slowly, letting himself finally—finally—lean.

…

By early evening, the entire arena had shifted into its pre-show buzz—lights being tested, screens warming up, dancers stretching backstage. And Simon… Simon finally felt like himself again.

Whatever had twisted his stomach all afternoon had eased, leaving behind only a lingering tenderness in his chest and a strange, warm softness low in his belly.

He needed this moment. Needed to reset.

He stood in front of the long backstage mirror, lit by a row of bright bulbs, and took a breath. The outfit Rosh had helped him pick out earlier looked perfect on him—effortlessly cool, sharp in all the right places, skin glowing under the lights.

He smoothed his hands over his shirt, fixing a fold, adjusting a chain at his neck.

If he was honest?

He looked amazing.

Even he could admit that.

He grinned at his reflection—cheeky, a little proud, a little nervous. His eyes had that spark to them, the one Wilhelm always complimented, the one that made him look a little in love, a little overwhelmed… a little radiant.

His phone vibrated on the counter.

FaceTime – Mamá ❤️

He couldn’t help but smile as he picked up and lifted it so her face appeared on the screen.
“Hi, mamá.”

Linda beamed immediately. “Mi amor. I just wanted to call and wish you good luck tonight. I know how important this show is.”

“Thank you,” Simon said softly. “I’m actually… excited. Really excited.”

But she didn’t respond right away—she just stared at the screen, her eyes narrowing like she was zooming in on his face through instinct, not technology.

“What?” Simon asked, confused.

Linda tilted her head. “Why do you look like that?”

Simon blinked. “Like what?”

“Too happy,” she said. “Too glowy.” She squinted harder. “That’s not just because of the concert.”

Simon froze.

Oh no.

He wasn’t even that glowy—was he?

“Mamá…”

“Simon,” she said, leaning closer to her camera, voice soft and suspicious at the same time, “you’re hiding something.”

He bit his lips, eyes flicking to the closed dressing room door. He hadn’t talked to Wilhelm about telling her yet… but this was his mother. And she was already halfway to figuring it out.

So he exhaled, heart thudding.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “But promise you won’t freak out.”

Linda nodded, though her eyes were already watering. “Tell me.”

“I’m…” Simon swallowed, then let the words fall. “I’m pregnant.”

On the screen, Linda went utterly still.

Then—

She slapped a hand over her mouth.
“Ay, Dios mío… Simon!”

“Mamá—”

“My baby—my little boy—pregnant—” Her voice trembled with joy. “Sara gives birth any day now and now you too? Two babies, two grandchildren—ay, Dios—how blessed am I?”

Simon laughed, wiping at the tear slipping down his cheek. “Mamá…”

“You’re glowing,” she sobbed. “I knew it wasn’t just the concert! Oh, cariño, I’m so happy for you.”

They were fully in the middle of a soft, emotional mother-son moment when the dressing room door opened.

Wilhelm walked in, fixing the sleeve of his shirt, looking calmer and more put together than he had all day.

Before Simon could say anything, Linda screamed through the phone:

“THERE’S THE OTHER DAD!”

Simon choked. “Mamá!”

Wilhelm froze for one second—then burst into warm, surprised laughter. He came to Simon’s side and leaned into the frame so Linda could see him.

“I’m guessing she knows?” he teased gently.

“I figured it out!” Linda sniffed proudly from the screen. “Your Simon is glowing like the sun!”

Wilhelm laughed again, softer now, and rested his hand on Simon’s back. “We’re really excited,” he said sincerely. “And I’ll take good care of him.”

Linda’s eyes filled again.
“My family is growing,” she whispered. “And I couldn’t be happier.”

Simon felt his whole chest warm as he leaned slightly into Wilhelm’s touch.

Their tiny family was already forming—right there through a phone screen.

…

The moment Simon stepped onto the stage, the arena erupted.

Screams. Cheers. Lights.
The entire floor shook.

Simon’s smile spread instantly—big, bright, his whole body vibrating with adrenaline and joy. He moved across the stage like he owned it, music pulsing through him.

From his place just off-stage, Wilhelm watched with open awe.

The man he loved.
Pregnant with their child.
Radiating more life and power than ever.

Every time Simon hit a note, Wilhelm’s chest tightened.
Every time Simon danced, he felt pride swell in him.
Every time Simon looked toward the wings, Wilhelm was already staring back.

Around halfway through the show, Rosh quietly leaned next to Wilhelm and whispered:

“He’s glowing like crazy, dude.”

“I know,” Wilhelm whispered back, unable to hide his smile. “I know.”

…

The moment Simon stepped offstage, sweaty and breathless, the crew attacked him with hugs and cheers.

“You killed it!”
“Opening night legend!”
“Bro, the vocals—insane!”

Simon laughed, overwhelmed but glowing.

But as soon as Wilhelm reached him, Simon practically melted into his arms.

Wilhelm wrapped him up, holding him tightly, face buried in Simon’s shoulder.

“You were perfect,” Wilhelm murmured. “Absolutely perfect.”

Simon smiled into his chest.

“Let’s get you back to the bus,” Wilhelm whispered. “You need to rest.”

Simon nodded, suddenly tired now that the adrenaline was leaving his body.

…

Simon woke slowly to the soft hum of the bus, the early sunlight spilling through the curtains. He stretched, a hand brushing instinctively over his belly, feeling the quiet promise of new life inside him.

His phone buzzed on the seat beside him. Groaning, he picked it up and saw a message from August.

"Good morning, uncle Simon 😄 Sara and I just welcomed our little boy! Both mom and baby are healthy and perfect. Here’s a little photo—look at those tiny hands. I know you’ll be the best uncle ever 💛"

Simon’s chest tightened as he tapped the picture to enlarge it. Sara was smiling, cradling her newborn son against her chest. August had captured the perfect moment—the mix of joy, exhaustion, and love on her face. Simon couldn’t help but place his hand over his own stomach, imagining the day it would be his turn.

Wilhelm stirred beside him, noticing Simon’s glowing expression. “What’s got you like that?” he asked, voice still heavy with sleep.

Simon held out the phone, eyes shining. “August just sent this… Sara had their baby. Their son. Look at him,” he said, showing Wilhelm the picture.

Wilhelm’s eyes softened instantly, and a gentle smile spread across his face. He leaned over and brushed his hand over Simon’s cheek, then rested it over Simon’s hand on his belly. “He’s beautiful… and you’re going to be the sweetest uncle,” he whispered.

Simon leaned into the warmth, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I can’t wait… it’s just so surreal seeing them like this, knowing one day it’ll be our turn too.”

Wilhelm kissed the top of his head, pulling him into a soft embrace. “I can’t wait.”

Simon closed his eyes, letting himself feel the mixture of nerves and joy. “I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you too,” Wilhelm replied, holding him close.

…

Chapter Text

Germany greeted them with noise, neon lights, and a level of excitement that hit Simon like a wave the second they stepped off the bus. Fans were already gathered outside the venue even though it was hours before showtime, holding posters, wearing merch, chanting his name in chaotic, passionate bursts.

Simon laughed as he tugged his hoodie up, Wilhelm close behind him with a protective hand on his lower back.

“You’re famous or something?” Wilhelm teased gently.

Simon bumped his shoulder into him. “Guess I’m kinda a big deal.”

Wilhelm’s chest swelled, not just with pride but something deeper, something warm and soft and frighteningly profound. Watching Simon soak up the cheers—pregnant, glowing, strong—made Wilhelm feel like his heart wasn’t big enough to hold everything he felt for this man.

Inside the venue, rehearsals went smoothly. No dizziness today, just a tired omega with a stubborn spark in his eyes and a smile that never completely faded. After soundcheck, Simon rested backstage curled in Wilhelm’s lap, drinking water, rubbing his stomach while humming along to the music playing in the arena.

“You nervous?” Wilhelm asked, brushing hair from Simon’s forehead.

“A little,” Simon admitted. “First big German show. And I feel a bit weird. Not bad, just… sensitive. I guess it’s normal at this stage.”

Wilhelm kissed the side of his head. “You’re doing amazing.”

Simon melted against him, the way he always did when Wilhelm slipped into that soft alpha tone reserved only for him.

…

When showtime came, Simon stepped onto the stage and Germany exploded.

It wasn’t screams—it was thunder. It shook Wilhelm all the way down to his bones.

Simon danced with a confidence that made the entire arena tilt. His voice was powerful and emotional, cracking just slightly in the soft moments, burning with fire in the loud ones. His dancers matched his energy, the lighting team hit every cue flawlessly, and everything about Simon shone.

But it was the crowd—deafening, devoted, waving lights in unison—that made Wilhelm’s breath catch.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away. Pride expanded inside him so intensely he almost felt dizzy. Every time Simon glanced toward the side stage, Wilhelm was already watching him, smiling like an idiot.

During the encore, Simon held the mic close and told the crowd, “Germany, I love you. Seriously, you guys are insane in the best way.”

The arena roared.

…

When Simon finally walked off stage, sweaty and glowing with post-concert adrenaline, Wilhelm was the first person he ran to.

He threw himself into Wilhelm’s arms, burying his face in his neck. “That was insane,” Simon whispered breathlessly. “Did you see them? Did you hear them?”

“I did älskling.” Wilhelm murmured, squeezing him carefully. 

Simon softened instantly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Wilhelm whispered.

And that was the moment—standing backstage in Germany, Simon trembling from adrenaline and joy, still sparkling from the stage lights—that something crystallized in Wilhelm’s chest.

He wanted this forever.
He wanted Simon forever.
He wanted this family—for real, for life.

He wanted to marry him.

Not someday.
Not next year.
Soon.

The thought hit him so hard that it almost knocked the air out of him. He looked down at Simon, who was talking excitedly to Rosh now, still clinging to Wilhelm’s hand.

I want to propose.

The certainty of it felt like instinct—pure alpha instinct mixed with the most human kind of love.

Paris.
It had to be Paris.

That was the stop Simon was most excited about. He’d said it at least three times on the bus already. And it felt right—romantic, warm, cinematic.

Wilhelm waited until Simon was distracted with post-show hugs before tugging Rosh aside while Simon was chatting with his dancers.

“Hey,” Wilhelm whispered urgently.

Rosh turned, raising a brow. “Uh oh. That’s a very serious ‘hey.’ What did Simon do?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Wilhelm said, running a hand through his hair. “I need your help. For something… big.”

Her eyes widened, spark lighting instantly, saying in a fun voice. “Oh my god. Are you pregnant too?”

Wilhelm groaned. “Rosh, please.”

“Sorry—go on.”

He took a breath. “I want to propose to him. After the Paris concert.”

Rosh slapped both hands over her mouth and gasped so loudly that two dancers turned to look.

“NO. WAY.”

“Shh!” Wilhelm hissed.

She lowered her hands slowly, vibrating like she might explode. “Wille… are you serious?”

“Yes. Completely. I want to buy rings there. And I want… something special. A dinner or something. Just us.”

“Oh my god, oh my god.” Rosh clutched her own head, spinning in a circle. “Okay okay okay. Leave it to me. I’ll book something fancy, something romantic, something that will make him sob like a little pregnant omega.”

Wilhelm smiled helplessly. “That’s the goal.”

“Consider it handled,” she said firmly, already pulling out her phone. “This is going to be iconic.”

Wilhelm exhaled, relief and excitement tangling in his chest.

Paris.
After the concert.
A fancy restaurant.
Their rings.

A future.

A family.

Everything.

…

The next morning, the bus rolled out of Germany before the sun had fully risen. The sky was soft and pink, the highways empty, and Simon was curled up on the couch with a blanket over his legs, leaning into Wilhelm’s side sleepily.

The rest of the crew was scattered around the bus—Ayub editing videos, Rosh arguing with Lamin about whose turn it was to pick the playlist, Adnan half-asleep with his hood up. The mood was calm, soft, easy.

Simon yawned, nuzzling his face into Wilhelm’s shoulder. “How long is the drive?”

“Six hours,” Wilhelm said, brushing his thumb over Simon’s cheek. “You can nap.”

Simon made a low omega sound of protest. “No… it’s boring to sleep on the bus.”

“You literally spent half of Germany asleep in my lap,” Wilhelm teased.

“That was different.” Simon shifted, hugging the blanket closer.

Wilhelm didn’t call him out—didn’t mention how he’d seen Simon wake twice already that morning, one hand automatically sliding to his very small, not-yet-showing belly. It was barely anything, just a tiny subconscious gesture… but Wilhelm noticed every single time.

So when Simon did it again—fingers curling protectively at his lower stomach after a pothole made the bus bounce—Wilhelm leaned close.

“You okay?” he whispered.

Simon blinked, caught. “What? Yeah. Why?”

“You keep holding your stomach.” Wilhelm rested a gentle hand over Simon’s. “Are you cramping?”

“No! No, no—nothing like that.” Simon gave a tiny embarrassed smile. “I just… I don’t know. Instinct, I guess.”

Wilhelm softened instantly. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Simon said quickly. “It’s just… weird? Not bad weird. Just… I feel different. Sensitive. I don’t know.” He shrugged, cheeks warm. “I promise it’s nothing.”

Wilhelm kissed his temple. “You tell me if it’s something.”

“I will,” Simon murmured, leaning into him again.

They fell into a comfortable silence, listening to Ayub and Rosh argue about Beyoncé versus Bad Bunny. Eventually, Simon dozed off, head on Wilhelm’s thigh, hand loosely curled near his belly again. Wilhelm brushed his hair gently, overwhelmed by quiet love.

Six weeks.
Barely anything physically.
But emotionally… everything.

…

When they finally pulled into Paris, the city was glowing in gold and cream, alive with noise and traffic and warm evening light. Simon perked up instantly, pressing his face to the bus window like a child.

“Wille! Look! Look at that building—oh my god—Paris is so pretty—”

Wilhelm laughed. “Baby, we haven’t even gotten to the good parts.”

Simon practically vibrated with excitement as they stopped behind the venue. “Rehearsal first. I want the sound perfect tonight.”

“Of course you do,” Rosh teased, elbowing him.

“Shut up,” Simon grinned. “I’m a professional.”

He kissed Wilhelm quickly, breathless with energy. “I’ll meet you backstage later?”

“I’ll be around,” Wilhelm said, hiding the fact that he absolutely would not be around.

Because today—

Today was ring day.

Simon hurried toward the stage doors with the dancers trailing behind him, already humming bits of the evening’s setlist. Wilhelm watched him until he disappeared inside, then exhaled sharply and pulled out his phone.

Rosh had sent him the location of “a place she walked by once but didn’t have money for because she spent it all on matcha.”

Wilhelm smiled and ordered an Uber.

…

Paris smelled like flowers and rain and fresh pastries. Wilhelm walked through narrow streets, past bookshops and cafés, until he reached it:

A tiny storefront with old carved wood, dusty windows, and a hand-painted sign that read Bijoux du Temps.

Jewels of Time.

He felt it instantly—this was the place.

A bell chimed softly as he stepped inside. The air smelled faintly of lavender. A soft-spoken older woman looked up from behind the counter.

“Bonjour,” she greeted warmly. “Vous cherchez quelque chose de spécial?”

Wilhelm flushed, suddenly shy. “Uh… yes. Something very special.”

She smiled knowingly. “Pour quelqu’un que vous aimez?”

Wilhelm nodded. “Very much.”

She gestured him to a glass case filled with vintage rings—silver, gold, some simple, some ornate. They were worn in the most beautiful way, like they already had stories inside them.

And then Wilhelm saw it.

A pair of matching simple silver bands—one smooth and elegant, the other slightly wider with an engraving curled on the inside.

But the second ring—the wider one—had a tiny diamond hidden on the inner edge of the band, only visible when tilted the right way. Small, secret, intimate.

Something only Simon would know was there.

Wilhelm’s breath caught. “That one.”

The woman’s smile widened. “Ah. A promise ring with a hidden heart.”

He swallowed. “It’s perfect.”

She let him hold it. It was cool against his fingers, the weight delicate and steady. He imagined it on Simon’s hand—imagined Simon crying, laughing, glowing, saying yes.

“I’ll take it,” Wilhelm said, voice thick.

“The pair?” the woman asked softly, nodding at the smooth matching band.

Wilhelm hesitated.
Then nodded.

“One for him,” he said quietly. “One for me.”

She wrapped them carefully in a small velvet box, tied with a silver ribbon. When Wilhelm stepped back into the Paris sunlight, box in hand, something fluttered in his chest.

It was real now.
He was going to ask Simon to marry him.
In Paris.
Tonight.

…

Wilhelm slipped quietly back onto the tour bus first, heart hammering as he tucked the little velvet box deep into his backpack—behind his camera and the sweater Simon always stole. He zipped it carefully, twice, then hid the backpack under the bed.

Safe.

He exhaled shakily. Tonight…
Tonight everything would change.

Then he hurried off toward the backstage area, following the low hum of voices and music echoing through the hallways of the Paris venue.

The second he stepped into Simon’s dressing hallway, he could hear rustling, fabric hitting the floor, soft frustrated noises. Wilhelm smiled—he knew that tone. Simon trying on clothes. Simon getting annoyed with clothes. Simon being adorable.

He pushed the door open.

And there he was.

Simon stood in the middle of the room, pants halfway down his thighs, bare legs out, shirt still on and hair messy from being pulled in and out of outfits. He froze when he saw Wilhelm—eyes widening, cheeks flushing pink.

Wilhelm leaned against the doorframe, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “Don’t mind me,” he drawled. “You can absolutely stay like that.”

Simon groaned, grabbing the waistband of his new pants. “Oh my god, Wille—”

“What?” Wilhelm stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind him. “Looking like that on purpose?”

Simon blinked at him, face turning even redder. “I’m trying outfits, you idiot.”

“I can see that.” Wilhelm crossed the room in three long steps, hands sliding naturally to Simon’s hips before the omega even registered it. “And I’m giving feedback.”

“That’s not feedback,” Simon muttered, though he leaned into the alpha instantly.

Wilhelm kissed up his neck slowly—soft, warm presses of lips just below Simon’s ear. His hands cupped Simon’s backside gently, thumbs making slow circles.

“You look tempting,” Wilhelm murmured against his skin. “So tempting I’m pretty sure my brain short-circuited the second I walked in.”

Simon let out a tired little laugh. “You’re an idiot.”

“A very devoted idiot.”

Simon turned his head, brushing a kiss across Wilhelm’s cheek—tender, apologetic, exhausted. “I love you,” he whispered. “I really do. But… I’m not in the mood.”

Wilhelm stopped immediately.

Simon let out a breath and touched his lower stomach unconsciously. “This little one is doing stuff to me today I don’t understand. I feel tired, weird… heavy? I don’t know. I’m just trying to get through tonight.”

Wilhelm’s expression softened instantly—melting from smug to protective in a heartbeat.

“Hey… you don’t have to explain,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around Simon’s waist, pulling him gently against his chest. “Come here.”

Simon folded into him with a shaky sigh.

Wilhelm stroked his back slowly. “You’re six weeks pregnant. Your body is allowed to act weird.”

“I know,” Simon whispered into his shoulder. “I just hate feeling off.”

“You’re not off.” Wilhelm kissed his hair. “You’re creating a whole person. Meanwhile, I can barely remember to water plants. You’re the impressive one.”

Simon snorted softly. “You and plants… yeah, that’s fair.”

Wilhelm tightened his arms around him, letting Simon rest his weight fully. “You don’t have to be anything tonight except yourself. I’ll be here the whole time. And afterward we’ll go home to the bus, and I’ll take care of you.”

Simon’s breathing slowed—relief settling in his chest.

“I love you,” he whispered again.

“I love you more,” Wilhelm replied, kissing the side of his head. “Now—put on some pants before Ayub walks in and screams.”

Simon groaned dramatically but smiled, finally feeling steady again as Wilhelm helped him pull the new stage pants up.

…

Wilhelm found Rosh standing by the massive sound box, double-checking cables and tapping messages into his tablet. The arena was humming—crew calling out cues, lights shifting in warm rehearsal patterns, and the low rumble of thousands of fans waiting on the other side of the curtains.

“You got everything ready?” Wilhelm asked, trying to keep his voice steady, though excitement for the proposal fluttered inside his chest.

Rosh looked up with a grin. “Yep. Restaurant is booked. Private balcony, view straight to the Eiffel Tower. You two are gonna melt the whole city.”

Wilhelm exhaled, relief loosening something tight in his shoulders. He lifted his hand, and Rosh slapped it in a victorious high-five. Everything was in place.

Ayub’s voice came through from behind the mixing desk. “Alright, people! Thirty seconds! Places!”

Wilhelm laughed softly and backed away, blending into the crew area. His heart beat faster—not just from nerves, but from the sound of the arena shifting. The fans were chanting Simon’s name now. Screaming. The whole place vibrating with the kind of love Simon always earned so effortlessly.

Wilhelm cupped his hands around his mouth. “SIMON!!” he yelled along with the others, proud and loud. He never hid it.

The lights dimmed.

The bass hit.

And then—Simon stepped out.

The crowd exploded.

But Wilhelm’s smile froze halfway.

Something was wrong.

Even in the flashing lights, even with the fog and the dancers flanking him, Wilhelm could see it immediately: Simon’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. His movements were a fraction too slow. His shoulders were tense, drawn upward like he was bracing for something. And the omega’s skin looked… pale. Almost grey under the makeup.

Ayub, standing on Wilhelm’s left, frowned. “He looks off,” he said under his breath.

Wilhelm swallowed hard, his instincts clawing at his ribs. He leaned forward, watching Simon begin his first number. Simon sang flawlessly—of course he did—but Wilhelm saw the tremor in his left hand. The tiny shake that wasn’t part of the choreography.

Then came the part where Simon always did a spin, a playful wink, and then dropped into a half-split before springing back up.

He spun.

But he didn’t drop.

He stumbled instead.

The dancers covered for it, seamlessly, but Wilhelm saw it. Ayub saw it. The fans didn’t—they screamed even louder—but Wilhelm’s heart sank.

Simon kept singing through it, but his other hand suddenly drifted down, pressing against his not-yet-showing belly.

Not subtly. Not casually.

Pain.

Wilhelm’s breath caught.

And then—Simon’s knees buckled.

His voice didn’t break—he kept singing, stubborn, professional, determined—but his whole body folded in on itself. He was shaking harder now, sweat gathering at his hairline, eyes unfocused.

Wilhelm moved before he consciously decided to.

“Security!” he barked at the nearest guard, who immediately read the panic in his face and nodded, grabbing the comm. “I need access to the stage. Now.”

The guard hustled him through the side gate, scanning badges and pushing aside a barricade. Wilhelm ran—full sprint—heart pounding in his throat. He made it to the stairs leading up to the stage just as Simon swayed dangerously again, microphone trembling in his grip.

Then, in slow motion, Simon’s eyes rolled back. His knees hit the stage floor with a dull thud.

The mic fell.

The dancers froze.

And Wilhelm reached the top step just as Simon’s body tipped sideways.

“SIMON!” he shouted, catching him before he hit the ground fully, arms sliding around his mate’s shoulders, lowering him carefully, desperately.

The fans screamed for an entirely different reason now.

Simon was unconscious in his arms.

…

The ambulance ride to the hospital in Paris was a blur of sirens and flashing lights bouncing off rain-wet windows. Wilhelm held Simon’s hand the entire time, gripping it tightly, his thumb brushing over Simon’s knuckles again and again as if that alone could anchor him back into consciousness.

By the time they reached the emergency entrance, Simon’s lashes fluttered. He blinked, dazed, confused—then winced as another wave of pain hit him.

“Wille…?” his voice was barely a whisper.

“I’m here, love. I’m right here,” Wilhelm murmured, brushing a shaky hand over his hair. “Just breathe. We’re almost inside.”

They were rushed through triage and into a small exam room with soft yellow lights and a French doctor who moved with calm, professional hands. She spoke to a nurse quickly in French, then turned to Wilhelm and Simon.

“Tell me what happened.”

Simon opened his mouth, but Wilhelm answered first—voice tight, worried. “He fainted on stage. And—he’s six weeks pregnant.”

The doctor nodded immediately, her expression shifting into something more focused. “Merci. That is important to know.” She turned her gaze to Simon, kinder now. “Have you felt anything unusual, Simon? Pain? Cramping? Dizziness?”

Simon’s jaw trembled. He bit his lower lip, tears welling up instantly. “Just… some lower pain, cramps,” he whispered, voice cracking. A tear slid down his cheek, then another. “I thought it was nothing. I thought—maybe it was normal.”

Wilhelm’s heart clenched. He turned toward him, crouching slightly to look him in the eyes. “Simon… why haven’t you—why didn’t you tell me???”

Simon shook his head, shoulders trembling. “I didn’t want to worry you. I thought it would pass.”

Wilhelm reached for him, cupping his cheek. “Simon, you have to talk to me.”

The doctor gently cleared her throat. “I need to scan you, Simon. And I’m going to perform an internal exam to be sure everything is okay. Is that alright?”

Simon nodded silently, gripping Wilhelm’s fingers like a lifeline.

They helped him onto the exam table, his breathing shallow, his eyes avoiding Wilhelm’s as if afraid of what he might see reflected there. The nurse scanned Simon’s belly, she didn’t say much other than she wanted to do the internal exam as well. 

When they reached the point of removing his clothes for the exam, the doctor paused. Her expression softened in a way that made Wilhelm’s stomach drop.

There was blood.

Bright red smudged into the fabric of Simon’s underwear.

Simon gasped, his hand flying to his mouth, a broken sob escaping before he could stop it. Wilhelm’s world tilted, but he forced himself to stay steady, to stay right there with him, brushing his hair back, swallowing his own fear.

The doctor spoke gently but clearly. “I’m so sorry,” she said, eyes full of quiet sympathy. “Based on the bleeding and the scan… it is a miscarriage.”

Simon stared at her as if he didn’t understand the words at first.

Then his whole body folded inward.

“No…” His voice cracked like something inside him was tearing. “No, no, no—please…”

Wilhelm leaned over him, gathering him into his arms as far as the table allowed. Simon shook violently, breath hitching on every sob.

“I’m so sorry,” Wilhelm whispered into his hair, his own tears falling now. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m here. I’m right here. You’re not alone.”

Simon clung to him, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, crying into his chest as if the grief was too heavy for his small body to contain.

The doctor stepped back told them she would be back in a bit, giving them space, lowering the lights just slightly.

Wilhelm just kept holding him.

Burying his face in Simon’s neck.

Letting Simon’s heart break against him while his own cracked wide open too.

…

Chapter Text

The doctor’s voice was soft, but it still seemed to echo too loudly in the small consultation room. Simon sat on the edge of the bed, legs dangling, fingers twisting into the hospital blanket as if it could anchor him to something solid. His cheeks were still pale from the exam, his eyes glassy from exhaustion and the silent tears he refused to fully let fall.

Wilhelm stood right beside him—close, steady, his hand resting at the small of Simon’s back. He hadn’t let go of him since they walked in here.

The doctor cleared her throat before continuing.
“As we discussed… it was a very early loss,” she said gently in accented English. “Your body has already done most of the work naturally. But there will be bleeding. Cramping. Fatigue.” She reached for a packet of pads on the counter and placed them on the table next to Simon. “I recommend wearing these for the next days. And you must rest. No performances, no strenuous activity. I’d like to see you again in two days to make sure everything has passed as it should.”

Simon nodded, swallowing hard.
He wasn’t saying anything.
Wilhelm could feel the swirl of emotion under his skin, even without a bond—shock, sadness, guilt, something hollow and sharp all at once.

The doctor turned to Wilhelm. “And for you—keep an eye on him. Support him emotionally, yes, but also physically. If the pain gets very strong, if he bleeds heavily, or if he runs a fever, you come back immediately.”

Wilhelm nodded. “Of course.”

The doctor left, telling them to take as much time as they needed.

The door closed behind her.

And for a long moment, neither of them moved.

Simon kept staring down at his hands, jaw clenched so tight Wilhelm could see the tremor in it. His shoulders rose and fell with shallow breaths.
Wilhelm waited. He didn’t push. He just stayed close, offering steady warmth, hoping Simon would lean into it when he was ready.

Finally, Simon whispered, voice rough:
“Wille… can I borrow your phone?”

Wilhelm blinked, surprised. “Of course.” He handed it over carefully, brushing their fingers together. “Do you want me to stay here with you while you call?”

Simon nodded but didn’t look up.

He dialed Rosh. The call connected almost instantly.

Simon spoke quietly at first—giving the facts, explaining the doctor’s instructions, choosing every word with a steady professionalism Wilhelm hadn’t expected.
“No, no, I don’t want to hide it,” he said. “Just… write something simple. That it was an early loss. That I’m okay, but I need a few days offstage. That we’ll resume the tour when the doctor clears me.”
He paused, throat working.
“Don’t dramatize it. Just the truth.”

Wilhelm’s heart twisted.
Simon didn’t sound cold—he sounded like he was building a wall just so he wouldn’t shatter in front of everyone.

When he hung up, he handed the phone back with a small nod.

“Rosh will drop off our stuff,” Simon murmured. “She already called security. They’re taking us to a hotel close by. Just… somewhere quiet.”

Wilhelm reached out, brushing a thumb over Simon’s tense shoulder. “Good. That’s good.”

Simon didn’t answer.

…

Twenty minutes later, security escorted them through a side entrance of a quiet boutique hotel. The lights were soft, the hallways narrow and warm. Rosh met them outside their room, pressing a backpack and a duffel bag into Wilhelm’s arms. She hugged Simon tightly, whispering something into his ear that made his eyes flicker with emotion he quickly swallowed.

When she left, Wilhelm gently guided Simon inside.

The room was small but beautiful—cream walls, warm lamps, a large bed dressed in crisp duvet. A private bathroom with a rainfall shower behind frosted glass.

The door clicked shut.

Simon stepped inside and stood still for a moment, looking around as if trying to find a version of himself that matched this new reality.

Then he turned to Wilhelm.

“I… I want to take a shower,” he murmured. “I just… want to wash this day off me.”

Wilhelm nodded softly. “Okay. If you give me one minute to put the bags down, I’ll come with you.”

But Simon stiffened.
“No. It— I want to do it alone. Just… just this.”

It wasn’t rejection. Wilhelm could tell.
It was the sound of someone so overwhelmed he couldn’t handle being perceived.

So Wilhelm swallowed his instinct to protect, to hold, to anchor.

“Alright,” he whispered. “I’ll be right here.”

Simon nodded and disappeared into the bathroom.

Wilhelm exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

But then—
Thirty seconds later—

“Wille?”

A tremble.
Barely a sound.

Then louder—desperate, cracking open:
“Will—Wille, please…!”

Wilhelm sprinted.

…

The bathroom was filled with steam, fog covering the glass, water pounding down so hot it turned the air thick.
Simon stood under the stream, naked, shaking, one hand braced against the tile, the other covering his mouth.

And down his thigh—
a thin river of blood.

Not dangerous.
Not alarming from a medical standpoint.
But to someone who had just lost something he wanted so badly?

It was devastating.

Simon’s voice broke. “I—I’m still bleeding, Wille, I’m still— I’m sorry it just freaked me out — I don’t know—”

Wilhelm didn’t hesitate for even a heartbeat.

He stepped straight into the shower fully clothed—shirt, jeans, everything.
The hot water soaked through instantly, drenching him to the skin as he reached Simon and wrapped his arms around the trembling omega.

Simon folded into him immediately, fists gripping the wet fabric of Wilhelm’s shirt, forehead pressed to his chest, sobs hitting in heavy, broken bursts.

“It’s okay,” Wilhelm whispered, voice steady even as tears pricked behind his own eyes. He cupped the back of Simon’s head gently, keeping him tucked close. “Simon, it’s okay. It’s normal. The doctor said it would happen.”

“I know, I just—” Simon gasped, shaking harder. “It scared me. It—it felt so real. Seeing it.”

“I know.” Wilhelm kissed the top of his wet hair, cradling him. “You don’t have to be strong right now. Just lean on me.”

Simon clung to him, breath stuttering against Wilhelm’s collarbone.
The water poured over them both, flattening Wilhelm’s clothes to his skin, warming Simon’s shaking body.

“I’m here,” Wilhelm whispered again. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re not alone in this. You’re not.”

Simon’s breathing slowly began to sync with his.

The panic softened into exhaustion.

The sobs faded into small, broken exhales.

And Wilhelm held him through all of it—soaking, heavy, solid—until Simon was able to lift his head and whisper a small, trembling:

“Thank you.”

…

When the water finally shut off, Wilhelm grabbed two towels, wrapped one gently around Simon’s waist, then another over his shoulders. He didn’t speak. He didn’t rush him. He simply helped him step out, dried him carefully, helped him into comfy clothing and guided him to bed.

Simon crawled under the duvet silently.
His eyes were red.
His curls were damp.
His cheeks blotchy from crying.

Wilhelm changed quickly into dry clothes, then slid into bed behind him, pulling Simon against his chest.

Simon didn’t speak.
Wilhelm didn’t either.

They just breathed together—
slow,
quiet,
close—

in a small hotel room in Paris where the world had stopped for a night.

Until sleep finally gathered them both.

…

The first light of dawn was just brushing the edges of the hotel curtains when Wilhelm woke. The bed felt quieter than usual, and for a moment he wondered if Simon had left it. Then he noticed him, sitting cross-legged on the edge, phone pressed to his ear, voice low but firm.

“Yeah I talked to my mom and Sara this morning, yeah, yeah…I just need you to hold off until Wilhelm reads this,” Simon said. “I don’t want to post it before he’s seen it.”

Wilhelm shifted, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Simon glanced at him briefly, a faint, exhausted smile tugging at his lips, before returning to the call. Wilhelm’s chest tightened seeing how tired and small his omega looked—pale but determined, eyes slightly red from the tears he hadn’t shed yet.

He quietly got out of bed and sat on the floor next to him, resting a hand on Simon’s knee. The contact made Simon finally pause. “Wille…” he murmured, ending the call and pressing the phone into Wilhelm’s hand.

“Read it,” Simon said softly. “Rosh drafted it. I just… I need you to see it first.”

Wilhelm’s eyes skimmed the screen, carefully taking in every word:

Instagram Post (Draft)
“Dear friends and fans,
We are deeply sorry about the abrupt changes during last night’s concert. Simon experienced an early pregnancy loss. He is resting now and receiving the care he needs. Out of respect for his privacy and to allow him time to recover, he will not be performing for the next couple of days.
Thank you for your understanding, love, and support during this difficult time. Please keep Simon and Wilhelm in your thoughts as they take the time they need.
— Rosh (Manager)”

Wilhelm’s eyes lifted from the phone to Simon, who was nervously biting his lip. “It’s… perfect,” Wilhelm said quietly, voice thick with emotion. “It explains everything honestly but respectfully. Simple, personal, protective. People will understand without prying too much.”

Simon exhaled, a small release of tension in his chest. “Okay… push it then. I trust you.”

Wilhelm nodded and tapped “post.” Within moments, the notification bells chimed softly as the post went live. Both of them watched the screen for a heartbeat before Wilhelm pulled Simon into his arms.

…

The morning sunlight filtered through the large glass doors of the hospital lobby, casting a warm glow over the otherwise sterile space. Simon moved slowly, each step deliberate, feeling unusually heavy despite the relief that his examination had gone well. Wilhelm stayed just ahead, his presence a steadying anchor, his hand brushing against Simon’s back every so often in quiet reassurance. The past few days had left them both raw—grief clinging to their skin like a second layer.

The doctors had confirmed that everything was fine. Simon’s body had expelled everything, nothing remained, and his organs were healthy. In another life, this news should have brought unfiltered relief, but right now, it felt like a fragile truce between their sadness and the responsibilities waiting outside the hospital walls. The hotel bed, the small cocoon of their room, had been their refuge for the last two days. They had barely left it, venturing out only for room service, meals delivered quietly to their door. Conversation had been minimal—small exchanges, whispered reassurances, fingers interlaced—but mostly, they simply existed in the quiet of each other’s presence.

“Simon?”

The soft, hesitant voice caught him mid-step. He turned toward it, squinting against the sunlight streaming in. A young woman stood a few feet away, her hands gripping her bag nervously. Simon didn’t recognize her at first, and a flash of wariness crossed him. Wilhelm, instinctively protective, shifted in front of Simon, positioning himself subtly between Simon and the stranger. His jaw was set, a quiet warning: Simon isn’t up for interaction.

“Simon isn’t up for meet-and-greets right now,” Wilhelm said, voice calm but firm, leaving no room for argument.

The woman’s eyes widened. She glanced between them, then quickly raised her hands in surrender. “Oh! I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to bother—”

Simon lifted a hand, shaking his head faintly. “No, it’s okay,” he murmured. His voice was soft, and his heart ached a little at the polite fear in her stance. “Really, it’s fine.”

She took a careful step closer, still cautious but determined. “I… I just wanted to say that I’m so glad you’re okay. I was at your concert a couple of nights ago, and… everyone was so worried. And then I saw the news online, and I know this is personal, but I lost a baby myself, eleven weeks. And I still remember it like it was yesterday. I just… I wanted to tell you, you’re not alone, Simon.”

Simon’s chest tightened. Her words hit a chord deep in his chest—the ache of empathy and shared loss. He could feel tears welling, blurring the edges of the sunlight and the sterile walls around him. The mention of the baby—the one they had lost—made the grief sharp again, but there was comfort too, in knowing he wasn’t the only one who had felt this pain.

“Thank you?” he whispered, voice barely audible, shaking slightly. He looked down for a moment, fighting back tears that stung his eyes.

The woman smiled softly, a comforting warmth in her eyes. “Emily,” she said, offering her name like a bridge between them.

Simon nodded, a lump in his throat. “Thank you… Emily. Really.”

Emily brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m really glad you’re okay, Simon. Take care of yourself,” she said softly before turning and leaving them. 

Wilhelm smiled after her, people had their back and he felt so grateful about it. 

…

Chapter Text

The drive back to the hotel was quiet. Simon kept his eyes on the window the whole way, watching Paris slip by in soft blurs of color—people walking, bikes weaving through traffic, cafés setting out their morning chairs. Life continuing, indifferent, steady.
Wilhelm watched him in the reflection, memorizing every flicker of expression he couldn’t quite hide: the exhaustion, the stubborn determination, the grief that was stitched into every breath.

When they finally reached their floor and stepped into the hotel room, Simon exhaled slowly, shoulders dropping as the door clicked shut behind them. The familiar scent of their shared space—hotel soap, their clothes, Wilhelm’s muted alpha scent—wrapped around them.

Simon moved immediately to the small desk in the corner. He opened his laptop, the screen’s glow washing against his tired features.

“Okay… so Spain,” he murmured, clicking through his schedule. His voice was steady, but thin. “We’ll need to leave Paris in five days if I want proper rehearsal time before the show day, and—”

“Simon.” Wilhelm’s voice was soft but firm.

Simon didn’t respond. He just scrolled, clicking through emails, opening the calendar app.

“I should message Rosh about the adjusted load-in time for Madrid…” His tone was mechanical. “And I think we should move the first vocal check to the afternoon instead of morning—”

“Simon.”
This time Wilhelm stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Simon froze. His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

“You don’t need to plan anything today,” Wilhelm said. “Rosh has it. You heard her this morning.”

Simon swallowed, eyes still fixed on the screen. “I just… I need to get past this. To… move forward. If I keep myself busy—”

“That’s not moving forward,” Wilhelm murmured. “That’s running.”

Simon’s jaw tightened. “I’m not running.”

“You’re hurting.”

“I just need to get over this,” Simon said quickly, almost defensively. “I don’t want to sit and think about it. I don’t want to… feel all of this.” His voice cracked on the last words, subtle but unmistakable.

Wilhelm stepped behind him, slowly sliding his arms around Simon’s chest, resting his chin against Simon’s shoulder.
Simon’s body went rigid for a moment, bracing.

“It’s okay to grieve,” Wilhelm whispered. His breath was warm against Simon’s neck.

Simon shook his head. “I can’t fall apart, Wille.”

“You’re not falling apart,” Wilhelm said. “You’re a human being who lost something important.”

Simon closed his eyes. His breath shuddered. “It was only six weeks,” he whispered. “People lose babies later, and they survive. I shouldn’t be—”

“You loved it already,” Wilhelm said gently.

Simon swallowed hard, throat tightening.

“You’re allowed to grieve something you loved,” Wilhelm continued. “No matter how early it was.”

Simon’s hands dropped from the keyboard. His shoulders sagged, breath coming out in a trembling exhale.

“I just want our life back,” Simon said softly.

“We still have all of that,” Wilhelm murmured, holding him a little tighter. “Nothing about our future is gone.”

Simon leaned back into him, just barely, enough for Wilhelm to feel the surrender.

“Let Rosh handle the travel,” Wilhelm said. “Let the crew handle the dates. Let me handle you.”

Simon let out a tiny sound—half laugh, half sob. “You don’t have to handle me.”

“I want to,” Wilhelm said. “You’re my omega. My boyfriend. And I want to take care of you right now.”

Simon turned slightly, finally meeting Wilhelm’s eyes. His own were red-rimmed but steady, vulnerable in a way that made Wilhelm’s chest ache.

“Only for today,” Simon whispered.

“Come on, let’s cuddle” Wilhelm said, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

Simon closed the laptop slowly, almost ceremonially, as if acknowledging something heavier than work.
Then he crawled into the bed—still unmade from the morning—and Wilhelm followed, sliding in behind him, wrapping an arm around Simon’s waist.

Simon exhaled shakily, finally letting his body relax, muscles unwinding as he leaned into Wilhelm’s chest.

For the first time in days, Simon wasn’t trying to force himself forward.
He just allowed himself to be held.

And Wilhelm held him like the world might break if he let go.

…

Wilhelm woke to the soft rustling of fabric—hanger against hanger, the faint thump of dresser drawers. The room was dim, the sun long gone, only the warm yellow lamplight filling the space. He blinked, groggy, and slowly pushed himself up on his elbows.

Simon stood in front of the full-length mirror, half-dressed, cycling through shirts with practiced precision. His hair was styled, his skin subtly glowing, a little color in his cheeks again. For a heartbeat, Wilhelm thought he looks beautiful.

Then he looked closer.

Simon’s expression was bright—too bright. His smile, when he glanced over, was the type Simon used for interviews, for tired meet-and-greets, for moments when he didn’t want anyone to worry.

Not a real Simon smile. Not one meant for Wilhelm.

“Why are you dressing up like that?” Wilhelm asked, voice still thick with sleep.

Simon held up a new shirt against his torso, checking angles. “I just talked to Rosh,” he said, breezy, fast. “The crew’s going out to eat tonight. I asked if we could join.”

Wilhelm blinked again, slowly sitting upright. Something heavy tightened beneath his ribs. “You… want to go out?”

“Yep.” Simon didn’t miss a beat. He flipped through clothing again, movements too quick, too sharp—like his thoughts were racing faster than his body. “We haven’t seen the crew properly since everything happened. They’ll be happy. I’ll be happy. Good energy. Fresh air.”

Wilhelm watched him—really watched him.

The way he avoided eye contact.
The too-casual tone.
The forced brightness.
The quiet panic hiding behind it.

Simon wasn’t ready. Not for people. Not for noise. Not for pretending nothing hurt.

“Simon,” Wilhelm said gently, “I don’t think—”

“Which shirt?” Simon turned abruptly, fists full of fabric, eyes too bright for the exhaustion behind them. “Come on. This one?” He lifted a soft, cream-colored button-up. “Or this one?” A darker fitted one.

Wilhelm didn’t respond immediately, studying him like the answer was written on Simon’s skin.

“Simon,” he tried again, softer, “are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes.” The answer came too quickly. Simon nodded—once, twice, a little too hard. “Yep. Absolutely. No big deal. It’ll be fine.”

He forced a little laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.

Wilhelm’s heart ached.

But he also knew pushing too hard right now could make Simon crumble. The omega was clinging to control, to normalcy, to movement because the second he stood still the grief would swallow him whole.

So Wilhelm breathed once, steadying himself, and pointed to the cream-colored shirt.

“This one,” he said gently. “It suits you.”

Simon’s relief was instant—fake, but instant. “Great! Perfect.” He tossed the other shirt aside and started buttoning the chosen one with shaky fingers.

Wilhelm got out of bed, stretching the stiffness from his muscles. “When are we meeting them?”

“Thirty minutes.” Simon didn’t look up, adjusting the collar for the third time. “So you better get ready.”

Wilhelm hesitated a second longer—wanting to tell him they didn’t need to go, that they could order room service again, that he could just come lie back in Wilhelm’s arms and rest.

But Simon’s hands were trembling.
And his breathing was uneven.
And this—dressing up, pretending, keeping busy—was clearly the only thread he felt he had left to hold onto.

“Okay,” Wilhelm said softly. “I’ll get ready.”

He stood, walked to the bathroom, and paused in the doorway for a heartbeat, watching Simon adjust his shirt one more time in the mirror—his eyes dull despite the clothes, his smile fragile as thin glass.

Then Wilhelm stepped into the shower, turning on the water, letting it heat while he exhaled slowly.

He would go with Simon.
He would stand beside him.
He would pretend with him until he was ready to break.

And when Simon finally broke—because Wilhelm could feel it coming—he would be there to catch him.

…

They left the hotel half an hour later, Simon walking a step ahead, shoulders squared, the emerald shirt he decided on last second glowing under the streetlights like armor. Wilhelm stayed close behind him, a steady presence, watching carefully. Simon didn’t reach for his hand, which wasn’t unusual in public, but tonight it felt… intentional. Like any grounding touch might unravel him.

The crew had chosen a small, cozy bistro near the river. Warm lights. Clinking glasses. Low music. It should’ve been comforting — and maybe it was, for everyone except the one person Wilhelm was watching like a heartbeat.

As soon as they stepped inside, Rosh stood, relief flooding his face.

“Hey, you made it,” he said, pulling Simon into a hug.

Simon hugged back with a little too much enthusiasm. “Of course! I wouldn’t miss it.”

Wilhelm saw the quick look Rosh shot him over Simon’s shoulder — not questioning, but concerned. A silent Is he okay?

Wilhelm answered with a quiet Not really shake of his head.

Ayub reached across the table to squeeze Simon’s arm. “We were worried about you, man.”

“Worried?” Simon laughed lightly, waving a hand. “Don’t be, I’m fine.”

Wilhelm felt the lie like a blade pressed under his ribs.

They took their seats. Simon sat between Wille and Rosh, leaning forward, smiling too much, teasing the bartender, joking loudly with Ayub. Anything to keep everyone from looking too closely.

…

At first, the crew laughed with him — relieved he seemed in good spirits. They loved him. They wanted him okay.

But as the minutes passed, the shift became impossible to ignore.

Simon talked fast, words falling over each other, reaching for every story, every topic. Barely finishing sentences before starting new ones. Ordering wine before Wilhelm could protest. Complimenting the waiter’s shirt, then laughing at his own comment a little too loudly.

When Ayub gently asked, “How are you really feeling today?”
Simon cut him off with a dramatic stretch. “I’m fine. Now tell me about the new soundchecks for Spain—”

Rosh’s brow furrowed. “Simon… you don’t have to pretend for us.”

Simon froze for half a second. Just a fraction. But Wilhelm saw it. The tiny flinch. The cracking in the mask.

Then Simon’s smile snapped back into place, bright and brittle.

“I’m not pretending,” he said quickly. “I’m just… moving forward. That’s all.”

He lifted his glass and took a big sip.

Too big.

Wilhelm rested a hand lightly on Simon’s knee under the table.

Simon went still — but didn’t push the hand away.

…

As the food arrived, Simon leaned into a performance of normalcy even harder:

• He complimented everyone’s outfits.
• He laughed at jokes that weren’t funny.
• He talked about future concert ideas as if nothing had ever gone wrong.
• He brought up setlists, wardrobe changes, travel plans — all the things Wilhelm knew had been suffocating him earlier.

Simon didn’t notice — he was too busy telling a story about a mishap on stage last year, but kept mixing up the details, correcting himself halfway through, cheeks flushing red.

When the waiter came to refill his wine, Wilhelm covered the top of Simon’s glass subtly with his hand. “He’s good for now, thank you.”

Simon turned to him, eyebrows up, smile too bright.

“I can drink, Wille.”

“I know,” Wilhelm replied gently. “But maybe slow down.”

“I’m fine,” Simon insisted, voice low and urgent. “Don’t make a thing out of it.”

Then he laughed loudly at something Rosh said, like flipping a switch.

…

The moment Wilhelm knew they needed to leave came suddenly — sharp and undeniable.

Ayub was telling a story about something funny that happened during rehearsal last month. Everyone laughed. Simon laughed too — but halfway through the laugh, the sound cracked, turning thin and shaky.

And then, without warning, Simon went silent.

Not dramatically — just gone quiet. Like someone unplugged him.

His eyes stared at his plate, unfocused. His hands stilled on the table. His breathing changed — shallow, too quick.

Wilhelm leaned in. “Simon?”

No response.

Simon blinked once, twice — like he was trying to pull himself back into the room, but couldn’t quite reach.

And then he whispered, so soft only Wilhelm could hear:

“I don’t… feel good.”

There it was. The truth slipping out before he could shove it back down.

Wilhelm squeezed his knee gently. “Okay. We’re leaving.”

Simon shook his head instantly, panicked. “No, I—everyone— I’m supposed to—”

Wilhelm was already standing.

“Rosh,” he said quietly, “we’re heading out.”

Rosh looked at Simon’s pale face and nodded immediately.

“No problem. Go.”

Ayub gave Simon a soft, encouraging smile. “Take care of yourself, okay? We’ve got everything covered here.”

The noise of the restaurant felt too loud as Wilhelm helped Simon up. Simon swayed just slightly — from alcohol, from exhaustion, adrenaline, stress.

And as they walked toward the door, Simon whispered again, voice breaking:

“I’m sorry.”

Wilhelm wrapped an arm firmly around him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Outside, the night air was cold. Simon leaned into him, finally letting the tension drain from his body.

Wilhelm held him close, kissed the side of his head, and whispered:

“Let’s get you home.”

…

The moment the door closed behind them, Simon pulled away from Wilhelm and headed straight for the bathroom. His steps were unsteady — not dangerously so, but enough that Wilhelm stayed close, ready to catch him if he slipped.

“Simon—”

“I’m fine, I just— I just need a second—”

He barely made it to the toilet before he dropped to his knees and threw up.

Wilhelm was beside him instantly, one hand holding Simon’s curls back, the other steady on his shoulder. Simon trembled, his entire body shaking as he retched again, the wine and everything he’d swallowed down all evening forcing themselves out.

“It’s okay, baby,” Wilhelm murmured. “Let it out. I’m right here.”

Simon didn’t answer. When it was over, he slumped back against the cold tile wall, breathing hard, eyes glassy and unfocused.

Wilhelm grabbed a washcloth, ran it under warm water, and gently wiped Simon’s mouth and chin. He pressed a soft kiss to Simon’s forehead — a silent I’ve got you.

“Let’s get you changed,” Wilhelm whispered.

Simon nodded, barely.

…

Wilhelm stepped into the bedroom and pulled out the clothes he’d secretly hoped Simon would choose: one of his softest, oldest sweatshirts and a pair of loose joggers. They’d swallow Simon whole, but that was the point. Simon always felt safest wrapped in things that smelled like Wilhelm.

When he returned, Simon was still on the bathroom floor, head resting against the wall, eyes closed.

“Come here,” Wilhelm whispered.

He helped Simon up slowly, guiding him with steady hands. Simon leaned into him heavily, exhausted. Wilhelm peeled off his shirt carefully, treating him like he might break.

But Simon didn’t want gentle.

Not tonight.

When Wilhelm reached for the joggers, Simon suddenly grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer, pressing his body against him.

“Wille…” His voice was thick, breath warm against Wilhelm’s neck. “You can stay. We could… I just want to feel good. I want something else to think about.”

Wilhelm froze.

“Simon—”

Simon’s hands slid up his arms, desperate, searching. “Please. Help me move forward. Help me forget. Just—please.”

Wilhelm closed his eyes for a second, exhaling shakily.

“No.”

Simon pulled back, confused, hurt flashing across his face. “No? Why not? I want to—”

“Simon,” Wilhelm said firmly, “you’re drunk.”

Simon shook his head. “I’m not that drunk.”

“You threw up,” Wilhelm countered gently but unyielding. “Your hands are shaking. You can barely stand.”

“So?” Simon whispered, voice cracking. “I want you.”

Wilhelm swallowed hard. Simon wasn’t trying to be seductive — not really. He was trying to outrun the grief.

Wilhelm couldn’t let him.

He took Simon’s face between his hands. “I’m not touching you like that tonight.”

Simon’s lips trembled. “Why can’t you just help me move forward?”

The question hit Wilhelm like a punch.

He stared at Simon — his omega, his partner, the person he loved so deeply it scared him. Simon looked so small in that moment. Small and lost and trying to claw his way out of pain by any path available.

And something inside Wilhelm — something that had been burning quietly for days — finally cracked.

“Because I can’t, Simon!” he snapped, the words louder than he meant, raw and trembling in the air.

Simon flinched.

Wilhelm’s voice broke as he continued:

“You’re not the only one hurting here! I know you were the one who lost the baby from your body, but I lost them too. I lost our baby too.”

Simon’s eyes widened, tears already gathering.

“And I can’t just move on from it,” Wilhelm whispered, chest rising and falling, hands shaking. “I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen because you’re scared to feel it.”

Simon stared at him like he was seeing him for the first time in days.

Wilhelm swallowed hard and wiped his face with the back of his hand, embarrassed by the emotion slipping through.

“I’m here,” Wilhelm whispered, softer now. “I’m trying. I’m trying so fucking hard. But I’m hurting too, Simon. And I need you to see that.”

Silence.

Only their breathing.

Simon’s tears spilled over, sliding down his cheeks. His voice was barely audible:

“I didn’t know you felt like that.”

Wilhelm stepped closer, forehead resting against Simon’s.

“I know,” he whispered. “Because you’ve been trying so hard to be okay that you couldn’t see I’m not.”

Simon’s hands came up slowly, gripping the front of Wilhelm’s shirt.

“I’m so sorry Wille,” he breathed. “I didn’t mean to make you feel alone.”

Wilhelm pressed a soft kiss to Simon’s temple “We’re in this together. All of it.”

Simon nodded against him, sobbing quietly — a release he’d been fighting for days.

Wilhelm wrapped the sweatshirt around him, guiding his arms through the sleeves, then eased him into the joggers. He supported him like he was something fragile but precious.

When Simon was fully dressed, he collapsed into Wilhelm’s chest, clinging to him with both arms.

Wilhelm held him tightly, rocking him gently, whispering into his hair.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. We’ll get through this… but we have to feel it first.”

“And I got you too.” Simon whispered, which made the alpha relax.

“I… I was trying so hard to move on,” he admitted, voice catching. “I didn’t want to feel… everything. I didn’t want to think about it, or cry, or admit that it hurt this much. I just… I wanted it to be over so I could be okay for the tour, for everyone, for you…”

Wilhelm’s hand smoothed over Simon’s back, careful, deliberate, grounding him. “Shh… you don’t have to push yourself to be okay, Simon. Not ever. You can’t rush grief. You don’t have to hide it from me, or from anyone.”

Simon’s eyes blinked up at him, tears still brimming. “But I… I didn’t want to be a burden. I thought if I just acted normal, maybe everything would go back to how it was before. I wanted to be strong.”

Wilhelm shook his head slowly, pressing his forehead against Simon’s. “You’re not a burden. Never. You being you, with all your pain and grief, is never too much for me. We’re a team. And you don’t have to be strong for me, Simon. I’ve got you. Always.”

Simon let out a shaky breath, finally letting himself relax fully against Wilhelm. “I just… I hate feeling like this. Like everything’s broken.”

“It’s not broken,” Wilhelm whispered, tilting Simon’s chin gently up so he could look at him. “It’s just… raw. It’s a wound that needs time. But we’ll heal together. And even if it hurts, I’m not going anywhere. You’re not facing any of this alone.”

Simon buried his face into Wilhelm’s shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of him, the scent that had always made him feel safe. “I love you,” he whispered, voice muffled. “Even when I feel like this… I love you.”

Wilhelm pressed a soft kiss to the top of Simon’s head, rocking him slightly. “I love you too,” he said, voice low, steady, full of promise. “More than anything. And we’ll get through this, every step of the way. Just lean on me. That’s all I ask.”

For the first time in days, Simon allowed himself to simply rest, let the grief be there without trying to outrun it. Wrapped in Wilhelm’s arms, with Wilhelm’s steady heartbeat beneath his ear, he felt — even for a brief moment — that maybe they could survive this together.

And as they lay there, the world outside the hotel room paused. It was just them. Just the quiet, soft intimacy of being together, and the unspoken promise that neither of them would face the next step alone.

…

The next couple of days, Simon and Wilhelm moved slowly through Paris, savoring the quiet after the storm of grief and exhaustion. They wandered cobblestone streets hand in hand, bought flaky croissants from tiny bakeries, and took their time enjoying the city’s rhythm. Wilhelm always kept a protective hand near Simon. 

They met up with the crew a few times, laughing quietly over small café tables. At one point, Simon found a quiet moment with Ayub and Rosh. He cleared his throat, voice soft but earnest. “I… I want to apologize for how I was the other night at the restaurant. I was… not myself. I’m sorry if I made things awkward or uncomfortable.”

Rosh gave him a warm smile, shaking her head. “Simon, don’t even worry about it. We get it. You’ve been through a lot, and we just want you to be okay.”

Ayub grinned, leaning in to give him a quick, teasing hug. “And don’t worry — you didn’t scare us off. We’re still your team. Best friends 4 life remember? We love you man.”

Simon felt the lump in his throat soften and allowed himself a small laugh. “Thanks… really. I love you too.” They hugged, a simple, grounding moment of reassurance.

…

By the last day in Paris, the sun was dipping toward the afternoon, golden and warm. Wilhelm suggested a walk, and Simon’s eyes lit up when they approached the Eiffel Tower. “I think this is the most romantic place in the world,” Simon said, resting a hand on Wilhelm’s arm as they looked up at the iron lattice stretching toward the sky.

Wilhelm smiled softly. “Then let’s make it memorable.” He motioned for Simon to step closer to the tower. “I want to get a picture of you here.”

Simon posed, turning just slightly, letting the afternoon sun kiss his face. Wilhelm raised his phone to take a picture, but something in him changed. He lowered the phone slightly, then started recording a video instead.

“Simon,” Wilhelm said, voice unsteady but warm, “I have a question for you.”

Simon tilted his head, confused. “Yeah?”

Wilhelm smiled, his eyes glimmering with emotion. “How would you feel about… marrying me?”

Simon froze, his heart hammering in his chest. “Marrying you?” he echoed, voice small.

Wilhelm nodded, walking closer. “Would you… like to marry me?”

Simon’s breath hitched, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “Are… are you seriously proposing right now? I… I can’t tell…”

Wilhelm put the phone on a stable ledge nearby, capturing them both in the soft Parisian light. He stepped closer, cupping Simon’s face in his hands. “I may not have the ring with me at this exact moment,” he said, voice low and tender, “but I bought one for you. Simon Eriksson… I love you more than anything in the world. I want my future with you. I want us. Will you marry me?”

Simon’s chest heaved with emotion. Without a word, he nodded, tears streaming freely now. He threw his arms around Wilhelm, pressing his face into the alpha’s shoulder. Wilhelm hugged him tightly, whispering soft reassurances against his hair.

They pulled back just enough to look at each other, eyes shining, and kissed — a long, slow kiss filled with relief, love, and the promise of the future they were choosing together. It was the first kiss in a week, and it felt like coming home.

For a moment, all of Paris faded, leaving just them — two hearts, two souls, and a shared promise that nothing could ever take away.

…

When they finally closed the hotel room door behind them, the tension of the day, the excitement, and the overwhelming joy of the proposal hung in the air. Simon pressed himself into Wilhelm, their lips meeting in a desperate, searching kiss. Wilhelm’s hands traced Simon’s sides, pulling him closer, letting the warmth between them speak what words couldn’t.

Their kisses grew harder, hungrier, and soon they found themselves sliding onto the bed. Simon straddled Wilhelm briefly before rolling onto his back, letting the alpha lean over him. Every brush of skin, every whisper, every small touch felt electric, but Simon’s eyes shone with hesitation.

He pushed gently against Wilhelm’s chest, breaking the kiss for a moment. Wilhelm’s hands stilled. “We can stop,” he said softly, concern in his eyes. “We don’t have to.”

Simon shook his head, his hair falling into his face. “The doctor said it’s fine. I just… I need you to be careful with me.”

Wilhelm smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair from Simon’s forehead. “Of course, älskling,” he murmured, pressing a light kiss to his temple.

Simon took a deep breath, looking up at him with vulnerability. “One more thing…”

Wilhelm leaned down, searching Simon’s eyes. “What is it?”

“Can you… please wear a condom?” Simon’s voice was small but firm. “I don’t—don’t get me wrong. I want to try again at some point, but I… I.…”

Wilhelm’s chest tightened at seeing the conflict in Simon’s eyes. He cupped Simon’s face with both hands, giving him a soft, reassuring smile. “I understand,” he said, his voice gentle. “We’ll try again when you’re ready. No rush. No pressure.”

Simon nodded slowly, letting out a shuddering breath as Wilhelm lowered himself again. This time, their movements were slow, deliberate, careful, and full of love. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word built intimacy that went far beyond the physical. They moved together with patience, respect, and tenderness, and when it was over, they lay entwined, hearts beating in sync, skin glistening with sweat.

Wilhelm held Simon close, resting his chin on his shoulder as they caught their breath. Then, almost suddenly, a thought struck him. He untangled himself for a moment and quickly slipped out of bed, naked, and went to the side table where he had hidden the rings. Simon watched, curiosity and anticipation mixing with the warmth still flowing through him.

Wilhelm returned, holding the delicate silver ring with the hidden diamond. “May I put this on you?” he asked, kneeling beside the bed and holding Simon’s hand gently.

Simon’s lips curved into a soft, emotional smile. “Yes,” he whispered.

Wilhelm slid the ring onto Simon’s finger with care, tracing the line of his hand with a reverent touch. They leaned into each other, lips meeting in a long, tender kiss, savoring the gravity of the moment — the promise, the love, and the future they would face together.

In that quiet hotel room, Paris outside glowing golden through the windows, the world shrank down to just them: two hearts, intertwined, holding on to each other and to the love they had fought to protect.

…

Chapter Text

Sunlight slid through the thin white curtains like a warm hand brushing over their bed. Wilhelm felt it before he fully woke — Simon’s legs tangled with his, a soft weight of an omega sprawled halfway on top of him, cheek pressed to Wilhelm’s chest. He could feel Simon’s slow, even breaths, the faint scent of their night still lingering on his skin, warm and sweet.

Wilhelm didn’t move. Not yet. He didn’t want to break the spell.

Last night had been… healing. Gentle. A quiet rediscovery. Simon had clung to him afterward as if afraid Wilhelm might slip away, and the alpha hadn’t slept for hours, just listening to Simon breathe, watching the soft moonlight reflect in the silver band now resting on Simon’s left hand.

His fiancé.

He still couldn’t believe he got to call him that.

Simon stirred, nuzzling deeper against the alpha’s chest with a sleepy hum. His voice was thick when he mumbled, “Mmm… good morning.”

“Good morning,” Wilhelm whispered, brushing a hand slowly down Simon’s spine. “How do you feel?”

Simon blinked up at him, eyes puffy from crying the day before, hair a complete mess, and yet Wilhelm had never seen him look more beautiful.

“A little sore,” Simon admitted shyly. “But good. Really good.” His fingertips traced absent circles over Wilhelm’s ribs. “I slept so deeply… like my brain finally shut up.”

Wilhelm kissed the top of his head. “I’m glad.”

For a while they just stayed there, bodies warm and perfectly fit together, no pressure to move, no reason to rush. The city outside carried on — cars humming, distant chatter, a sound that made their quiet bubble feel even softer.

It was Simon who finally broke the silence, lifting his hand to look at the ring again. He smiled at it, then at Wilhelm.

“Hi, fiancé,” Simon whispered.

Wilhelm felt his entire chest melt. “Hi,” he murmured back, stealing a slow kiss.

Simon’s stomach made an embarrassingly loud noise afterward, and they both laughed — a real laugh, not forced, not polite. Genuine.

“Room service?” Wilhelm asked.

“Croissants,” Simon said immediately. “And fruit. And coffee. A lot of coffee.”

Wilhelm kissed his cheek and reached for the phone.

While they waited, Simon curled into him again, balancing his cheek on Wilhelm’s shoulder. “I think… I want to tell Linda and Sara. Before the crew. Before everyone.”

“Of course,” Wilhelm said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

The food arrived; they ate in bed, Simon stealing half of Wilhelm’s croissant, Wilhelm feeding Simon slices of pear. After breakfast, Simon wiped his fingers, took a breath, and grabbed his phone.

“Will you sit behind me?” he asked quietly.

Wilhelm nodded, settling against the headboard and pulling Simon between his legs, arms wrapped around him. Simon leaned back into him instantly, comforted.

He opened FaceTime.

Linda answered first, her face filling the screen, hair pulled back, still in her morning sweater. “Hej mi amor! How are you feeling? Is Wilhelm taking care of you? Did you sleep? How—”

“Mamma,” Simon said softly, already emotional. “I need to show you something.”

Linda frowned a little in confusion, she had been over them the last week after everything that happened, as a mother of course should be.

Then Sara’s face appeared beside her, squinting. “Oh my god, is this a group call? You never call us together unless something big happened.”

Simon swallowed. His hand trembled slightly, so Wilhelm tightened his arms around his waist.

Simon raised his left hand.

Linda gasped.

Sara screamed.

“Oh my GOD,” Sara clapped a hand over her mouth. “Simon! Are you engaged—?!”

Linda’s eyes filled instantly. “Wilhelm… did you…?”

Wilhelm leaned closer so they could see him too. “Yes,” he said softly. “Yesterday. At the Eiffel Tower.”

Sara started crying. Linda wiped her tears with her sleeve, smiling so wide it broke something open in Simon.

“Mamma…” Simon whispered, voice trembling.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Linda said, a hand to her heart. “I am so happy for you. Both of you.”

Wilhelm kissed Simon’s shoulder softly, letting them see it — letting them see how much he loved their boy.

Sara leaned forward until her whole face filled the screen. “Simon Eriksson… you are going to be the most dramatic groom in the world.”

Simon choked out a laugh. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” she grinned. “Let me plan your bachelor party. Wilhelm, don’t say no.”

Wilhelm held up his hands. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Linda sniffled again. “Simon… are you happy?”

Simon looked down, then leaned back into Wilhelm’s chest, reaching for Wilhelm’s hand.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I’m really happy.”

Linda smiled through more tears.

They talked for another ten minutes — light, warm, filled with teasing and affection — before saying goodbye. When the screen finally went black, Simon let out a slow breath and rested his head back against Wilhelm’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?” Wilhelm kissed the curve of Simon’s jaw.

“For… yesterday. And last night. And this morning. And for being patient with me. I know I’ve been…” he trailed off, unable to finish.

Wilhelm held him tighter. “Grief isn’t linear, älskling. You’re allowed to break and rebuild. I’m here for all of it.”

Wilhelm presses a slow kiss to Simon’s shoulder, the kind that says I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. His hands rub circles over Simon’s hips, steady, grounding.

“You okay?” Wilhelm murmurs against his skin.

“Yeah,” Simon whispers, though his heart is pounding in a way that has nothing to do with nerves. He shifts a little, relaxing further against Wilhelm’s chest.

But the shift makes him brush against Wilhelm’s thighs—makes him feel the unmistakable heat of the alpha’s growing arousal. Simon pauses. Breath catches. Instinct flickers to life just under his skin.

He wiggles once, unintentionally teasing.

Wilhelm inhales sharply behind him. “Simon…”

Simon turns his head slightly, just enough to brush his cheek along Wilhelm’s jaw. “Sorry,” he murmurs, but he’s not sorry at all.

He shifts again, slower this time, letting his hips press back into Wilhelm’s body. The reaction is immediate—Wilhelm’s hands tighten at his waist, just slightly, just enough that Simon can feel the strain of restraint.

“Simon,” Wilhelm says quietly, “if you keep doing that…”

Simon swallows, heat curling in his belly. “I know.”

He lifts himself just enough to turn around and climb fully into Wilhelm’s lap, straddling him. Wilhelm’s eyes go dark instantly, breath catching at the closeness. Simon settles, grinding down and drawing a low, deep sound from Wilhelm’s chest.

Wilhelm braces his hands on Simon’s thighs. “Where’s this going?” he asks, voice already rough.

Simon leans forward until his forehead rests against Wilhelm’s. “You know exactly where.”

Wilhelm’s throat works. “Does my omega… need a little more loving?”

A soft, helpless moan slips out of Simon before he can hold it back. He nods, hips rolling once more, slower, needier.

Wilhelm cups his jaw gently. “Tell me how you want me.”

Simon’s breath trembles. His voice is barely a whisper.
“Use me… how you want to.”

The alpha inside Wilhelm surges so fast it makes his breath hitch. His hands slide down to Simon’s thighs, gripping, possessive but controlled.

Then Wilhelm moves.

In one smooth, instinct-led motion, he shifts them—lifting Simon just enough to turn and lay him down on the mattress. Simon goes willingly, letting himself fall back against the sheets, his legs opening for him without a single word.

Wilhelm kneels between them, gaze locked on Simon like he’s something sacred.

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of Simon’s underwear. “Lift for me.”

Simon does, and Wilhelm pulls them off in one slow, reverent motion, dropping them to the floor. Simon breathes out shakily, exposed, needy, trusting.

Wilhelm leans over him, scent wrapping around Simon like heat and safety. “Good,” he murmurs, voice thick. One hand trails up Simon’s thigh. “So good for me.”

Simon’s body reacts instantly, his back arching, thighs trembling. “Wilhelm…”

“Shh,” Wilhelm whispers, lowering his mouth to Simon’s throat, breath hot. “Let me take care of you.”

And Simon lets the alpha go on him—lets Wilhelm guide him, touch him, take him at the pace instinct demands—his own sounds breaking open under the weight of it.

Because this time, Simon asked for it.
This time, Simon wanted to be taken.

And Wilhelm wants him just as much.

Wilhelm settles between Simon’s spread thighs, the sight of him laid out on the bed making something deep and primal tighten in his chest. Simon’s breath is already unsteady, his cheeks flushed, fingers curling in the sheets.

Wilhelm drags his palms slowly up the inside of Simon’s thighs, spreading him further.
Simon shivers. “Wille…”

“I know,” Wilhelm murmurs, voice low and warm. “I’ve got you.”

He leans in, kissing just above Simon’s knee. Then higher. Then higher. Each kiss is slow, intentional, teasing—his mouth getting closer to where Simon is aching for him.

Simon’s hips twitch upward helplessly. “Wilhelm, please…”

Wilhelm smiles against his skin. “You want my mouth?” he asks, breath ghosting over the most sensitive part of him.

Simon lets out a soft, broken sound. “Yes… yes, please.”

That’s all Wilhelm needs.

He lowers his head and licks a long, slow stripe up the center of Simon’s heat—tasting him, savoring him. Simon’s whole body jolts, fingers flying to Wilhelm’s hair, not pulling, just holding.

“Fuck—” Simon gasps, hips lifting into the touch.

Wilhelm groans into him, the taste making his instincts surge hot and fast. He parts Simon with his thumbs and dives in properly, tongue moving in slow circles at first, then deeper, firmer, learning exactly what makes Simon’s breath catch.

Simon is already falling apart, thighs trembling around Wilhelm’s shoulders. “Wilhelm—God—don’t stop—please don’t stop—”

“I’m not stopping,” Wilhelm murmurs against him, voice muffled, lips wet. “You taste too good.”

He sucks gently, then harder, dragging his tongue exactly where Simon is most sensitive. Simon’s back arches off the bed, a choked moan spilling out of him. His scent floods the air—sweet, warm, needy omega—pushing Wilhelm’s alpha instincts into overdrive.

Wilhelm grips his thighs, holding him open, devouring him like he’s starving for it.

Simon shakes, breathless. “Wille—Wille, I’m close—”

Wilhelm lifts his head just enough to look up at him, his mouth shiny, pupils blown wide. “Then let me take you over the edge,” he growls softly.

Simon whimpers, and Wilhelm goes back down, faster now, his tongue moving with purpose, his mouth sealing over him, worshipping him.

It only takes a moment—
Simon’s breath stutters—
His thighs clamp around Wilhelm’s shoulders—
And he falls apart with a deep, raw moan of Wilhelm’s name.

Wilhelm holds him through it, licking him gently as he comes, tasting every tremble, every breath, every last pulse of pleasure.

When Simon finally sags back against the pillows, panting and dazed, Wilhelm kisses his inner thigh, then crawls up his body, slow and deliberate, bracing himself above him.

Simon blinks up at him, flushed and still shaking slightly. “Wille…”

Wilhelm cups his cheek, kissing him softly. “I’m not done,” he whispers against Simon’s lips. “If you still want more…I’m going to take you.”

Simon’s breath catches again. He nods, voice faint and desperate.
“I want everything.”

Wilhelm reaches beside the bed drawer without breaking eye contact, pulling out a condom. He tears the foil open with careful precision, kissing Simon’s throat as he rolls it on.

“Good boy,” Simon whispers teasingly, breath brushing Wilhelm’s ear.

Wilhelm growls low in his chest. “You’re going to get me in trouble saying things like that…”

He lifts Simon slightly by the thighs, positioning him.
Simon gasps softly, hands gripping Wilhelm’s shoulders.

“Breathe,” Wilhelm murmurs.

And he pushes inside — slow, deep, deliberate.
Simon’s mouth falls open, head tipping back. “Wille…”

“There you go,” Wilhelm whispers against Simon’s throat. “Take me… just like that.”

Simon settles fully onto him, thighs trembling, chest pressed to Wilhelm’s. Wilhelm’s hands are steady on his hips, thumbs stroking the soft skin as Simon adjusts.

“You feel so perfect around me,” Wilhelm murmurs, kissing his jaw. “So warm… so tight.”

Simon rocks forward instinctively, a soft moan escaping.
Wilhelm bites his lip, gripping Simon’s hips a little harder.

“You want to move?”
Simon nods, desperate. “Please… Wille… please.”

Wilhelm lifts him slightly, guiding him up and then back down, slow at first, making sure every inch feels good — making sure Simon wants the pace. Simon’s moans melt into Wilhelm’s mouth as they kiss again, deeper this time, messy with need.

Soon the rhythm builds — Simon riding him, Wilhelm meeting each movement with gentle, grounding thrusts. Sweat dampens their skin, breaths heavy and hot between them.

Wilhelm keeps his forehead pressed to Simon’s. Simon’s fingers tighten in his hair as he moves.

Wilhelm’s hands roam Simon’s back, down to his hips, guiding him in a slow, intimate rhythm that’s more about connection than instinct. Their noses brush. Their lips keep finding each other between breaths. It’s messy and tender at once.

Simon’s thighs tremble, and a broken moan escapes him.
“Wille… I’m close…”

“I’ve got you,” Wilhelm murmurs. His hand slips between them, stroking Simon in time with their movements.

It pushes Simon over the edge.

He comes with a soft cry into Wilhelm’s shoulder, body shaking, holding on tight. Wilhelm keeps moving gently through it, whispering into Simon’s hair, “Good… good boy… I’ve got you… I’m right here…”

The feeling of Simon clenching around him pulls Wilhelm with him. He groans low, burying his face against Simon’s neck as he comes inside the condom, holding Simon tight against him.

They stay like that — chest to chest, breath mingling, hearts racing — until the room feels still again.

Simon nuzzles his nose into Wilhelm’s jaw. “Wille…”
“Mm?” Wilhelm murmurs, stroking the back of his hair.
“That… that was perfect.”

Wilhelm smiles softly, kissing Simon’s cheek.
“You’re perfect.”

…

The tour bus door slid open with a low hiss, and for a moment everything inside went quiet—not in a heavy way, but in the gentle, attentive way people fall silent when someone they care about walks in after a hard time.

Rosh was the first to look up from the little editing workstation she’d set up at the table. Ayub sat opposite her, peeling a mandarin. Adnan and Lamin were sprawled on the lounge couches, feet kicked up, whispering over something on Lamin’s phone.

Then Simon stepped in. Wilhelm close behind him.

The quiet broke instantly.

“There he iiiis…” Ayub said softly, standing up—not rushing, not shouting, just warm. “Hey, man.”

Simon offered a small smile that didn’t try to be more than it was. “Hi.”

Rosh closed her laptop and walked over. “Come here.”
She wrapped him in a soft hug, gentle enough that Simon could have cried from it. She hugged Wilhelm too, equally soft. “We missed you two.”

“We missed you as well,” Wilhelm said, voice warm but still cautious, protective.

Adnan and Lamin rose, taking turns giving Simon quick, careful squeezes.
“You okay?” Lamin asked quietly.

“Better,” Simon answered honestly.

They all found their places again, and Simon and Wilhelm settled together on the couch—close but not clinging, natural in how their knees touched.

“What have you guys been up to?” Simon asked, voice light but slightly shy, like he was re-entering a rhythm he wasn’t sure he remembered.

“Oh my god, Paris has been wild,” Adnan said. “We found this insane thrift store—Lamin bought a jacket so ugly it’s actually a hate crime.”

“It’s fashion, bro.” Lamin nudged him.

Rosh grinned. “We also found this bakery with pastries so good I almost cried.”

Ayub leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “What about you two? Did you do anything? Besides…” He hesitated, expression softening again. “Resting?”

“Mostly resting,” Wilhelm said.
But there was a warmth beneath his tone—like something more lived there.

Simon nodded. “We walked around a bit. And… yeah. Took it slow.”

Rosh’s expression softened even further. “I’m glad. You deserved that.”

“And,” Wilhelm added casually, “we visited the Eiffel Tower.”

That made everyone perk up.

“Oh, romantic!” Lamin exclaimed.

“I’ve lived vicariously through that tower for years,” Adnan said. “Tell me it was magical.”

Simon’s cheeks pinked. “It was… really beautiful.”

Rosh leaned in, eyes narrowing playfully. “You two are glowing. Something happened.”

Simon blinked. “W–What do you mean?”

“You’re both smiling like you share a secret,” she said.

Ayub gasped dramatically. “Wait—did you two… join the mile-high club or some shit?”

Simon choked. “AYUB—NO!”

Wilhelm laughed, shaking his head.

But Rosh wasn’t looking at their faces anymore.

She was looking at Simon’s hand.

“Simon… what’s that?” she whispered.

Simon froze.

Wilhelm went still beside him, the air shifting instantly.
Simon instinctively curled his fingers—but Rosh had already seen.

Ayub leaned over the table. “Wait—what’s what?”

Adnan stood. “Let me see—OH MY GOD.”

Lamin squinted. “Is that—"

Simon took a breath.
He lifted his hand slowly.

The silver band caught the bus’s overhead lights, the hidden diamond flashing only when he tipped his wrist.

Rosh gasped. “NO WAY.”

Ayub slapped a palm against the table. “YOU GOT ENGAGED?!”

Simon’s cheeks flamed. “We— um—yes.”

Adnan and Lamin both shouted, “WHAT?!”

Rosh covered her mouth with both hands. “Oh my god, oh my god—Simon!”

She threw her arms around him again, teary-eyed now.
“You said yes! Oh my god you said yes!”

Ayub grabbed Wilhelm into a half-hug, half-shake. “PARIS?! YOU PROPOSED IN PARIS? At the EIFFEL TOWER?! Dude, that’s like—illegal levels of romantic!”

“It wasn’t planned,” Wilhelm said, flushing. “It just felt right.”

Simon was glowing. Shy, overwhelmed, happy.

Lamin plopped onto the couch beside them, staring at the ring. “This is the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. It suits you so well.”

Adnan nodded eagerly. “No flashiness. Just… meaningful. Very you.”

Rosh wiped her eyes. “Tell us everything.”

Simon laughed, and the sound was brighter than any of them had heard since before the miscarriage.
“It was actually really simple,” he said. “He tricked me—he pretended he was taking a photo.”

Wilhelm grinned at the memory.
“You were standing in front of the tower, and I started recording. Then I asked if you’d mind a question.”

“And I thought he was going to ask if I wanted dinner.” Simon rolled his eyes affectionately. “But then he asked —”

Simon’s voice cracked.

Wilhelm gently brushed his thumb over the back of his hand.

The others waited quietly.

“He asked…” Simon swallowed. “if I would like to marry him. That he loved me more than anything in the world and wanted to us and our future together.”

Lamin whispered, “Bro, I’m literally crying.”

Ayub pretended to wipe his face with his sleeve. “Dust. It’s just dust.”

Adnan sniffed loudly. “Same.”

Rosh was full-on sobbing. “This is the best news ever.”

Simon leaned into Wilhelm’s shoulder, and Wilhelm kissed the top of his hair.

“I’m really happy,” Simon whispered.

“We both are,” Wilhelm added softly.

The bus hummed under them, rolling forward toward the next city, filled with warm chatter, soft laughter, and the glow of something healing, something new.

Nothing loud.
Nothing wild.

Just a family, gently welcoming two freshly engaged idiots back home.

…

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.”

...