Archive of Our Own ^beta

Simon is going to commit an act of violence. If Simon has to hear his neighbour’s obnoxiously cheerful greeting and whistling of Christmas tunes at 8am one more time, he’s going to completely lose it. It’s absolutely unrealistic for anyone above the age of nine to be this excited about Christmas. Is he not aware of the state of the real world where Santa Claus most definitely does not exist? There’s people starving and homes being blown up and terrible people in positions of power doing terrible things but sure, let’s sing about snow and candy and cuddling by the fire. Whatever.

Simon has made the valiant effort to try and leave just a few minutes earlier to avoid him, but every morning without fail, he opens the door and there he is with his floppy hair and goofy grin wishing Simon a fantastic day. It’s a bit much. He doesn’t even know the guy’s name.  

“Morning!” the guy says with a wave, and Simon rolls his eyes, locks his door, and starts down the hall. Unfortunately, his neighbour follows him. “Why are you so grumpy all the time?” 

Simon stops. What is this guy’s deal?

“Do you make it a habit of sticking your nose in the business of all our neighbours?” he asks with a glare. 

The guy just shrugs, the smile still a permanent fixture on his face. This is the first time Simon has really paid attention to him, and he can’t help but notice he’s actually… pretty cute. That’s unfortunate. Why do the worst people get the best looks? It’s not fair, honestly. 

“I’m just trying to be neighbourly. Life is better when you’re nice to people,” he says matter of factly, and Simon has a strong urge to trip him. 

“Thanks, but unless we’re friends, I’m not too interested in if people are nice to me or not,” Simon retorts, continuing the walk to the stairs. He pauses and turns back to where his neighbour is standing, watching Simon. “That’s not an invitation.” 

The neighbour nods. “Okay. Since we’re never going to be friends, I won’t bother telling you my name is Wille.” He looks very stupidly smug. Simon shakes his head.

“I don’t care!” he calls over his shoulder. 

“Me neither!” Wille calls back, brightly. Simon makes a mental note to look up apartment listings. 

Simon is sitting in the university library on his third cup of coffee, surrounded by stacks of notes and textbooks, when his phone buzzes, startling him out of staring blankly out the window, which he’s been doing for anywhere between two and twenty minutes. He fishes his phone out from beneath some loose papers and sighs. 

Marcus

Hey, I’ve been thinking about you lately. Hope you’re well

This. This is yet another reason why Simon hates the holidays. People get all sentimental for no reason other than the fact it’s cold and they’re looking for someone to cuddle. Because that’s what those terrible movies tell people they should be doing. It’s all a load of crap. 

That being said, Simon does guiltily enjoy watching one every now and then. Not that he’d ever admit it to anyone. 

He and Marcus hadn’t even dated for that long and they broke up months ago, and there’s no way Simon’s going to start humouring him again now just in time to have to buy him a thoughtful Christmas gift. He silently curses the world and drops his phone back onto the table without responding to the message. The only men getting his attention right now are ancient philosophers.

It starts with a snowflake. 

Simon comes home grumpy and exhausted from a long day of studying for finals and being annoyed that his ex is texting him again, to a paper snowflake stuck to his door. It looks like something a very advanced third grader would make.

He peers at it then glaces down the hall at the other doors. While a handful of doors have holiday decorations on them, his is the only one with the elementary school craft on it. He has a sneaking suspicion he knows where it came from. He turns to look at the door directly across from his, and imagines Wille standing there looking out the peephole, giggling to himself. He rolls his eyes and rips it down. Is this considered vandalism?  

He tosses his keys onto the kitchen counter along with the massacred piece of paper and contemplates a variety of violent ways of dealing with his neighbour. 

Much like every single other day since moving in, Simon walks out the door and is accosted once more by his across the hall neighbour - Wille, not that he was purposely remembering - and his nauseatingly cheerful mood. He grins and waves at Simon, which Simon returns with a blink and starts down the hall. He silently curses his existence when he hears the approach of Wille’s footsteps, and suddenly he’s right next to Simon. 

“How are you this morning, neighbour?” he asks Simon as brightly as ever. 

If he wanted to be honest with this stranger named Wille who just happens to live across the hall from him, Simon would say something along the lines of how exhausted and stressed he is about finals and how even after the semester is over he won’t be able to relax because then he’ll be sitting by dreading the approach of Christmas and his dad calling and his mom crying. 

But Wille is a stranger. And an annoying one at that. So he just grumbles that he’s fine and hopes Wille will take the hint. 

Simon hopes that Wille doesn’t work in the detective field, because he surely would never be able to solve a case. He walks alongside Simon humming to himself. Simon briefly considers what might happen if he threw himself down the stairs, but surely Wille would want to help him, so he decides against it. 

“What’s your name?” Wille asks. 

“I thought we agreed we’re not going to be friends,” Simon replies. “So we don’t need to know each other’s names.”

“Yeah, but I told you mine,” Wille argues. “Besides, I need to know who to accuse when someone lights the entire contents of my apartment on fire.”

Simon almost laughs at that. Almost. Turns out Wille has a sense of humour and self awareness. Not that Simon is keeping track of the things he’s learning about his neighbour. 

The two walk down the stairs and are met by an older woman Simon has never seen in his life coming into the building. Her face lights up when she sees Wille, and the two warmly greet each other and chat a bit. Simon thinks they’re talking about cookies or something, when he realizes he’s been awkwardly standing there listening to the conversation of two people he doesn’t know. He’s about to make a swift escape out the door, the woman turns to him.

“And who is this?” she asks him. His eyes shift to Wille, who is looking very amused, as if he’s expecting Simon to also be rude to a sweet old lady. 

“Oh, um. My name is Simon,” he answers, though it sounds more like a question. She smiles with her whole face in a way that makes Simon feel as if she’s physically hugging him, and reaches out to shake his hand. He awkwardly reaches out with his own. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Simon. My name is Eva. I live on the fourth floor. Wille here delivers my groceries to me every week. If it weren’t for him I’d starve to death up there and no one would find my body for weeks.” 

Wille chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Don’t listen to her. Her daughter travels a lot for work but they talk on the phone for hours every evening.”

“I just wish she would travel to see me more,” Eva mutters. “Then she could see how charming and handsome the man who looks after me is.” 

Wille makes a noise, and his whole face turns a deep shade of red. Very festive, Simon thinks. Simon snorts. 

“Right well, speaking of groceries…” Simon trails off, gesturing to the door. They let him go and Simon escapes out the door, just barely hearing Wille say “bye, Simon!” before the door closes behind him. 

About an hour later, Simon returns. As he climbs the stairs, laden with his grocery bags, he ponders how Eva manages to live on the top floor of a building with no elevator. It kind of seems unethical to him.

He reaches the second floor and deposits his bags on the floor as he feels around for his keys, and notices yet again there’s something stuck to his door. This time, a printed photo of the live action Grinch, with Simon scrawled across the top with an arrow pointing to the furry green fellow. This time, Simon actually does laugh, then quickly shuts himself up in case Wille hears. He peels the image off, unlocks the door, and adds the paper to a growing pile of items Wille has stuck to his door. He’s not holding onto them on purpose. He just… doesn’t know what to do with them. Throwing them away feels mean, even if he doesn’t like the guy. 

He busies himself with putting away his groceries and preheating the oven for a frozen pizza, then calls his best friends Ayub and Rosh on facetime for their Christmas edition of weekly Friday evening movie viewings. Rosh immediately launches into a story about whichever girl she’s decided she’s going to marry this week, and Simon and Ayub make faces at each other, pretending to be listening intently. 

“So should I get her a Christmas gift, or is that too forward?” She asks with a sigh, and Simon scrambles to come up with a thoughtful response as if he’s been following the conversation. 

“Um,” Simon starts, but is cut off by Ayub.

“Why don’t you just get back together with Yasmine again?”

“Yasmin a ,” Simon corrects.

“No no, it’s Yasmine,” Ayub insists, and Simon rolls his eyes. They have this debate twice a week. 

“Ayub,” Rosh says, fixing her gaze on her phone, “I’m saying this because I love you. You are perhaps one of the dumbest people on the planet, and I really respect that about you. Her name is Yasmina, and it always has been. And I don’t know, why would you get back together with someone if you broke up? That seems counterproductive.”

Ayub shrugs. “I don’t know, but people do it all the time.” 

“This is why you’re more helpful when you just agree with whatever I’m saying.” Rosh shakes her head and the two of them start arguing about whether or not Ayub has ever had an original thought. 

Simon’s oven beeps and he puts the pizza in and sets a timer. 

“Marcus texted me the other day,” he blurts gracefully, and his friends fall silent. 

“No. Absolutely not,” Rosh immediately declares. 

“What? I didn’t even say anyth-”

“Listen, I have never had so much fun hating on a human male in all my life, but any time that man is brought up it’s bad news.” Ayub makes a noise of agreement, and Rosh and Simon share a look. “The way he was so obsessed with bringing up your dad still keeps me up at night.” 

Rosh makes some very valid points, and he knows that he was annoyed when he first got the text, but it wasn’t like Marcus was a terrible person, and Simon did have fun every now and then with him. He opens his mouth to say as much, but Rosh holds up her hand. 

“We are now going to sit down and watch this British monstrosity featuring Mr. Bean, and we are going to take note of how crazy people act when they think they’re in love, and it will be the necessary kick in the pants we both need.” She holds up her tv remote and waits for the boys to do the same. Simon rolls his eyes and picks up his remote, navigates to whichever streaming app is currently hosting Love Actually, and the three of them count to four (a bizarre tradition they started doing years ago. Simon doesn’t even remember why) and press play. 

About ten minutes into the movie, there’s a knock on Simon’s door. He gets up to answer, leaving his friends on the phone with the movie still playing. He opens the door and is met with Wille and his stupid sunny demeanor. 

“Hi! Sorry to bother you so late, Simon,” he says, and Simon glances over at the clock on the microwave. It’s 7:03 pm. 

“Hi?”

“Would you happen to have an extra egg you wouldn’t mind parting with?” Simon is momentarily confused as to what would warrant the need of an egg on a Friday evening, and then he notices what Wille is wearing. He’s got on a red and green apron that looks like he stole it directly from Mrs. Claus herself, and it’s got white dusty fingerprints all over it. There’s a bit of flour smudged across his left cheek, and there’s a piece of hair hanging in front of his eyes that Simon feels the inexplicable need to reach out and brush away. 

“Um,” he says, brain apparently on the verge of short-circuiting, “you have flour on your face.” 

“Oh,” Wille laughs, reaching up to brush it away. “I get really-“

“Other side,” Simon interrupts. 

Wille quickly moves his hand to his other cheek, and Simon briefly wonders if that’s a faint blush he sees under the dusting of powder. 

“Sorry, I take my Christmas baking very seriously,” Wille says looking sheepish, and Simon feels the corner of his mouth pulled up into a smile. Somewhere far away in his mind he registers that he’s smiling at Wille and he shouldn’t, but that doesn’t really feel important at this moment in time. 

“Hey Simme, who’s that?” he hears a tinny voice call out from the living room, followed by another voice yelling “is he hot? He sounds hot!”. Simon snaps back to reality as he feels his entire face up to the tips of his ears burn, and he quickly stumbles his way back to the living room to grab his phone. 

“GOODBYE!” he yells at his friends before hanging up on them, despite their protests. “Sorry, my friends are…” he trails off, waving his hands around as if that will explain why his friends are the way that they are. 

Wille doesn’t respond, but when Simon looks at him, he’s got a look on his face as if he’s the cat that caught the fucking canary. 

Simon freezes. “What?”

“I knew it!” Wille exclaims, taking a step further into Simon’s apartment. His eyes shift wildly back and forth between Simon and the tv. “This whole grumpy thing you’ve got going on is just an act! You like Christmas and over the top romance!” 

Simon frowns. As if this guy thinks he’s got Simon all figured out. “Actually, I only watch them in the ironic sense. To make fun of how dumb they are.” 

Wille snorts and shakes his head. “ Love Actually is over two hours long. You have to commit to watching that. You wouldn’t do it if you thought it was bad.” 

“You don’t know me,” Simon says, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. 

Wille drops his head for a moment, and mumbles something that sounds something along the lines of Simon making sure of that, before he raises his head to look at Simon again. “Which is your favourite storyline?” 

“I told you, I don’t like the movie,” Simon insists, picking up the television remote and turning Keira Knightley’s smiling face into darkness. He’d have to wait and not enjoy the film in peace at a later time.

“Prime Minister Hugh Grant.”

“What?”

“Don’t tell me it’s the Joni Mitchell CD. It’s good, but boy does it hurt.”

“What? No. Obviously not. The best storyline is without a doubt Liam Neeson and his stepson. Now that was love.”

Wille is now leaning back against the kitchen counter, an amused look on his face and that piece of hair still flopping into his eyes, and Simon knows he’s walked right into Wille’s trap. He’s found his way into Simon’s home and is having a conversation with Simon and learning things about him, and it takes a second for Simon to remember why he doesn’t want that. 

There’s a silence between them that Simon is becoming increasingly uncomfortable in, especially with Wille looking at him like that. 

“Um,” he starts, breaking the silence and clearing his throat. “So, egg?” He very eloquently brings them back to the reason for Wille’s visit, and gestures towards the fridge. That’s where eggs are stored, right?   

“Right, yes,” Wille says, pushing off the counter and finally sweeping that distracting piece of hair away. “I just need one.”

“I wasn’t gonna offer you more than one,” Simon deadpans, opening the fridge and pulling out the egg carton. 

“Fair enough,” Wille laughs, holding out his hand as Simon places a single egg in it. “The houseless population thanks you for your kindness.” Simon smiles and doesn’t really make much of the comment, too focused on shooing Wille out of his home. “Oh,” Wille says, pausing in the doorway and turning back around to face Simon, “Out of curiosity, for your friends’ sake, am I hot?”  

Simon makes a series of strangled noises that turn into a coughing fit, and Wille just stands there, head slightly tilted with that ridiculous, ever present grin on his face, waiting. “Uh… I’ll tell them you’re of above average attractiveness, I guess. Now please leave.” 

Wille laughs again and Simon wonders when he got so funny. Wille then takes the three steps it takes to get back to his place, and Simon closes his door and curses the cosmos for his entire existence.

Finals pass by in a flurry of all-nighters and sticky notes, with only minimal breakdowns, and Simon and his friends are finally crowded into the bar frequented by their classmates. There’s a celebratory, festive atmosphere in the air as everyone around Simon downs red and green shots and belts out terrible tunes because apparently someone thought Christmas karaoke was a good idea. Simon doesn’t feel quite as jubilant as he nurses his humble coke that the bartender just had to stick a candy cane in, because from the moment he stepped into the establishment alongside Rosh and Ayub, Marcus has been giving him the stink eye from across the room. It’s only a matter of time until he has to face the music. And judging by the way Marcus gives him a look before confidently wobbling over to the DJ, it might be sooner rather than later, and it’s going to be actual music.

“What is he doing?” Simon hisses, elbowing Rosh in the side, startling her out of the conversation she’s having with the female bartender.

“First of all, ow,” she says, elbowing Simon right back. “Second of all, I know your mother taught you it’s rude to interrupt. Third of all, not everything is about you, Simon. Have you considered maybe he just wants to sing a song? Now please, go bother Ayub. I’m busy.” 

Simon blinks. Well then. He scans the bar in search of Ayub, only to find him seated at a table looking mildly confused surrounded by a handful of girls. Simon laughs to himself as the unmistakable synth opening beats of Wham!’s “Last Christmas” starts playing, and Marcus takes to the tiny stage in the corner of the bar with a microphone. 

“This one’s for you, Simon!” he grandly announces, pointing at Simon, and everyone turns to look at him. Simon waits for the floor to open up and swallow him whole. It’s moments like this that he kind of wishes he drank. 

“What the fuck,” he hears Rosh mutter next to him, her flirtation now long forgotten.

“Last christmas I gave you my heart, but the very next day you gave it away,”   Marcus crows into the microphone, and a few people cheer. It honestly kind of sounds like he’s singing a completely different song than what the melody and lyrics suggest. Perhaps he’s trying to impersonate bagpipes? 

Beside him, Rosh makes a choking sound and spits the sip of her drink she had just taken back into her glass. “Oh this is embarrassing.” 

“Once bitten and twice shy, I keep my distance, but you still catch my eye,” Marcus continues, giving a very… impassioned performance. There might even be tears in his eyes, and a handful of people turn around to eye Simon. What the fuck is happening right now? It feels like he’s the villain in some corny holiday romcom of his own creation. 

“He’s not keeping any distance. He texted me the other day. And now he’s here singing at me. How is that keeping his distance?” Simon wonders aloud. 

“Happy Christmas, I wrapped it up and sent it, with a note saying ‘I love you’, I meant it”

“That never happened. Those words were never said. Written or otherwise. I didn’t love him and I highly doubt he loved me,” Simon mutters, sucking on the end of the candy cane in his empty glass. He’s halfway tempted to order one of those festive looking shots. “Rosh, please take a shot for me.” She gladly obliges, downing it smoothly. 

Ayub frees himself from his fan club and rejoins Simon and Rosh, clapping Simon on the shoulder. “Who knew you were such a heartbreaker?” he gently teases, ruffling Simon’s curls. 

“No, this is defamation of character,” Rosh spits. She gives the finger to another person staring Simon down whose eyes promptly widen and they quickly turn around.   

“I don’t know guys, it’s just a song. Let him be in his feelings. It’s Christmas after all!” Ayub tries to reason. Rosh just glares at him. 

“Whose side are you on here, Ayub?”

“The side of justice.”

“Well you’re being very unjust to your friend who is currently being publicly attacked.” 

The two of them once again get into a nonsense argument. They don’t even see what’s happening in front of them. Marcus is stepping off the stage and walking straight towards Simon, all while gratingly screeching into the microphone. 

“Um, guys?” Simon squeaks, but is not heard over the sound of bickering. 

“Maybe next year I’ll give it to someone special,” Marcus finishes with a dramatic solemnity, coming to a stop right in front of Simon and looking him in the eye. He’s pretty sure every other set of eyes in the bar are also fixed on him. He’s not entirely what he’s supposed to do in a situation like this. Nothing in his lived experiences has prepared him for how to handle being ambushed by an ex with a public song about holiday heartbreak. 

The bar erupts into cheers and applause, and Simon is quickly shoved out of the way. He scrambles to steady himself as Rosh steps between him and Marcus. 

“And just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she spits at Marcus, who just laughs and shrugs, clearly well into his evening beverage-wise and without a care in the world. “The only person you’re embarrassing here is yourself. That was a really weird and kind of creepy thing you did and people were only into it because they were confused. Eat a bag of dicks.”

God bless Rosh and her rather frightening loyalty. Simon learned not to cross her the hard way– way back in kindergarten he had tried to take a toy from Ayub, and she immediately called him a doodoo head and then made him her servant for the week. The three of them have been best friends ever since. Simon hopes this altercation doesn’t end with Marcus becoming a permanent member of their group. No room at the inn. 

“Listen,” Simon says, clearing his throat and stepping around the protective barrier that is Rosh, “yeah that was weird and I hated it, but I’m more perturbed by your choice of song. None of that was true. We dated for a month. In September. Of this year. There were no hearts or ‘I love you’s or Christmases. There weren’t even any tears. Not from my end, anyway. You were just gaslighting everyone into feeling bad for you the same way you did to me. I never even liked you that much. You kind of have the personality and charm of a doorknob. Please delete my number and go away.” Simon turns to leave, pleased with the dumbfounded look on Marcus’s face. He never stood a chance.

“And he’s been seeing someone way hotter than you,” Ayub offers before following behind Simon. 

“What? That’s not true,” Simon hisses at him, pushing the door open and stepping out into the cold evening air.  

“The guy that came to your apartment that you hung up on us for?” Rosh supplies, as if it should be obvious that’s who they’re talking about. 

Simon snorts. “That was my neighbour who I am most definitely not dating and actually kind of dislike.” 

“Marcus doesn’t need to know that,” Ayub replies, at the same time Rosh says “you didn’t say anything about him not being hot.”

“Well,” Simon groans, “he’s objectively good looking, but his smug annoyingness cancels that out.” He sees Rosh and Ayub share a look out of the corner of his eye, and he kind of wants to kick them. “What happened to you guys supporting me through this smear campaign?”

Rosh smiles innocently at him and throws an arm around his shoulders. “I think getting dicked down by your objectively good looking neighbour would be a great way to move on from this smear campaign.” 

“I agree,” Ayub says with a grin.

“Thank you, sir Ayub.” Rosh puts her free arm around his shoulders and the three of them mosey on down the street and into the night, all connected. 

They all stumble into Simon’s apartment a little while later, with Rosh complaining about how long the walk was and how much her feet hurt the entire time. Ayub was probably moments away from scooping her up and carrying her the rest of the way, when they finally came to the building. 

“Ooh! Do you think your neighbour is home?” Rosh asks, clearly thinking she’s whispering, but most decidedly not. She motions as if she’s going to knock on the door while Simon unlocks his own. 

“I’ll make you sleep outside.”

“Simon!” she says dramatically, throwing her hand over her heart, “I’m just a young girl with lowered inhibitions! You can’t put me out on the street all by my lonesome!” She’s adopted a silly transatlantic accent, and Ayub is nodding along next to her. 

“This is a tough, cold city for a young gal like yourself. You can’t trust nobody.” 

Simon finally gets his door unlocked and pushes it open; just a tiny fraction of an inch, in hopes that he’ll be able to lock his friends out. He rolls his eyes and tries to slam the door in their faces, but Rosh kicks her foot out just in time. 

“You ain’t never heard of chivalry? I’m sure the man across the hall would gladly host us. We can share so many stories about you with him.” Her eyes are glinting, and Simon knows she won’t think twice about actually doing it. He pushes the door open wider and they all file inside, Rosh pausing to kiss him on the cheek. “I thank you for your kindness, m’lord.” 

“There are not enough words in all the world's languages to accurately describe how deeply I hate you,” Simon grumbles under his breath. 

Simon pulls out the bed part of his finest Ikea couch, ever the gracious host for his two friends, and they crash onto it and are passed out before Simon ever gets his phone plugged into the charger. He carefully sets two glasses of water down on the coffee table. Contrary to earlier claims, he does in fact like his friends and care about their well being. 

He falls asleep shortly after crawling into bed, and that night dreams about being locked in a tower guarded by a dragon with vaguely Marcus-like features, and being rescued by a brave prince charming with floppy hair and an endearing smile on the back of a noble steed. 

It’s a week before Christmas when the snowstorm of the decade hits Stockholm. It’s exactly what Simon needs as he decides it’s time to brave the stores and do his Christmas shopping. Things were totally fine and normal when he set out on the bus earlier in the day– a few stray snowflakes in the air and clear roads. People at the bus stop even smiled at him, for some reason. Holiday cheer makes people do weird things. 

The mall is utter chaos with angry shoppers and screeching children. People are pushing each other and fighting over items and yelling at cashiers. Simon just wants to find a damn eyeshadow palette for his sister. He didn’t even know what an eyeshadow palette was until three days ago when Sara sent him a link to the one she wanted. He thought she was suddenly really interested in watercolour painting. He almost had a heart attack when he saw the price, too. Paint would have been so much cheaper. Face paint would be so much cheaper. He has half a mind to get her some of that instead and call it a day. Unfortunately, he wants his sister to have a good Christmas and make her day. The one thing he cares about when it comes to Christmas is seeing his mom and sister smile. That’s all that matters to him. He’ll buy the gifts and sing the songs and - gag - wear the matching sweaters if it means making them happy. 

Simon spends a few hours fighting off the masses and accomplishes his list with minimal drama. There was an older lady who pushed him because apparently he was blocking the entrance to the knitting store. He almost socked her in the throat but then thought better of it. Tidings of good cheer and all that. 

Disaster strikes when he steps outside. A thick fluffy blanket of snow has covered the city in the three hours he spent inside, and it’s still coming down in large, heavy flakes. It is - for a lack of a better word - a winter wonderland. It would almost be beautiful if it wasn’t for the tow truck trying to free a car from the back of another car. If that’s any indication, there’s no way the bus will be coming in a timely manner. Even if it does, there’s no guarantee he’d make it off in one piece. 

So, he decides to walk. On a nice summer day it’s about a 45 minute walk from the mall to his place. Long, but manageable on the odd time he misses the bus. On a miserable winter day, however, it’ll be well over an hour. And his phone is at 22%. Everything is fine. 

He’s about halfway home, trudging along the slippery, snowy sidewalk, snow collecting in his shopping bags when he hears an unmistakably familiar voice calling after him. He sighs internally. He’s got two options: he could pretend he didn’t hear Wille and carry on his way, or he could stop and turn around and talk to him. In a temporary lapse of judgement, he chooses the latter.

“Oh, hey Wille,” he says, raising the hand not carrying any bags and waving at him. Wille looks like an overjoyed golden retriever as he bounces through the snow banks towards him. 

“Simon! Isn’t this weather crazy?”

Simon frowns and looks up at the sky. Snowflakes pelt him in the eyes. “Oh. I hadn’t noticed but now that you mention it, yeah it’s pretty crazy.” 

Wille chuckles as he reaches Simon’s side. “There’s that dry sarcasm you’re so famous for.”

“Am I?” Simon cocks an eyebrow at Wille. 

“Well, no. I guess not. But you could be!” He reaches up and brushes away the snow that’s collected on the top of his hair. “You’re much more appropriately dressed for this than I am.” 

Simon reflexively lifts his hand to adjust the striped beanie on his head. He suddenly becomes aware that it’s completely soaked by all the snow, and it’s not really comfortable anymore. 

“What are you doing out here?” he asks Wille. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Wille retorts. Simon holds up his bags as an answer. “Ah. Well, I’m just on my way back from the shelter.” 

Simon, who had just started walking again, pauses. “Shelter?”

“Yeah,” Wille says with a smile. He grabs Simon’s arm, and the two of them continue on their way home through the flurries. “I volunteer at the homeless shelter. I work at a coffee shop, but my real passion is the shelter.”

Oh. Simon hadn’t considered that Wille might actually have a life beyond bothering him. And that he actually had a good heart that extended outside the walls of their apartment building. 

“That’s… that’s really cool,” Simon says rather lamely. He’s not entirely sure what to do with this new information. 

The two of them walk along, Wille carrying most of their conversation with Simon offering two or three words here and there. They pause a few times to brush the piles of snow that keep forming on top of their heads, and at one point Wille pulls out his phone to snap a photo of the street in front of them. Or rather, where the street usually should be, but now is just a blank sheet of white. 

“What is that,” Simon says, peering at the screen over Wille’s shoulder. “You’re not even taking a picture of anything. At least let me be in it so you can tell what’s going on.” 

Wille turns to look at Simon, and just kind of stands there staring at Simon’s face for what feels like an excruciatingly long time. “Oh. Um, okay.” 

Simon steps in front of Wille, holding up his bags and smizing at him. “How do I look? Is this good?” 

Wille grins as he takes a few pictures. “That was great. Now do something else. Maybe turn your back to the camera and look over your shoulder.” 

Simon complies, and Wille cackles as he continues to take photo after photo. Simon continues switching up his poses, and the two of them giggle like children. 

Suddenly, a rather strong gust of wind comes out of nowhere and shakes the trees around them. One with particularly large branches that hang over the street shakes loose all the snow on them, and one branch just so happens to be hanging right above Wille’s head. Simon watches as a giant mountain of snow goes sliding off the branch and directly on Wille. He shrieks at the frosty surprise and Simon doubles over in laughter, dropping his bags. 

“Oh my god,” he wheezes, “are you okay?” 

Wille just stands there and glares at Simon. Then he starts to smile and steps forward towards Simon. 

“Whoa, hey,” Simon holds up his hands and slowly steps back, “whatcha doing there Wille?” 

Wille lunges at him, shaking his hair around so it falls in Simon’s face. This time it’s Simon that shrieks. He pushes Wille away and bends over to retrieve his bags, then takes off running (and slipping and sliding) away from Wille. Wille yells and takes off after him. 

Simon can barely stay upright as he runs and laughs, and nearly faceplants once or twice. He stands at the corner of their street, taking a breather and looking around. Wille is nowhere in sight. He frowns, and suddenly there’s a freezing cold and wet sensation going down his back. He yelps and turns around, and Wille, who looks like he’s in pain from holding back his laughter, quickly ducks out of Simon’s reach and runs across the street. Simon chases him and leaps at Wille’s back, clinging to him with his arms over Wille’s shoulders. 

“Ah!” Wille cries, and then the two of them tumble gracefully to the ground. 

Simon pushes himself up on his hands and Wille rolls over beneath him, looking up at Simon. 

“I think you gave me a concussion,” Wille groans. 

“Well I think you gave me hypothermia,” Simon fights back. He glances down at Wille. His cheeks are flushed from the cold and there’s some snowflakes stuck to his eyelashes. Wille’s eyes meet Simon’s. The eye contact feels so… intense that it almost hurts to look at him, but Simon can’t seem to pull his eyes away. 

Wille opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something, but the sound of someone clearing their throat above them pulls them out of whatever weird moment they just shared. 

Simon looks up, and the very last person he wants to see ever is standing there peering down at them. 

“Oh, hi Marcus,” Simon says, rolling off Wille and getting to his feet. Wille stands up next to him. “I thought I told you to stay away from me.” 

Marcus winces and looks down at his hands. “Yeah, you did. But I just wanted to come by and apologize for my behaviour the other night. I was really drunk, but it was totally uncool of me. I’m sorry for doing that to you.” 

Simon really doesn’t need to be having this conversation with Wille standing right there. Wille who is currently looking between Marcus and Simon with a very concerned look on his face. It almost warms Simon’s heart, but the cold weather wins out. 

“Yeah, okay thanks,” Simon says shortly. He thought he had moved on from the incident pretty quickly, but Marcus standing in front of him pisses him off all over again. “That was a completely unreasonable reaction to someone not replying to a text. Especially when we hadn’t spoken in months. You were pretty shitty and gaslighty the entire time we dated and I said I was done with you so why can’t you get that through your incredibly thick skull? Please, Marcus, leave me alone.” 

Marcus’s eyes shift to Wille and his whole expression changes, as if he’s just noticing there’s another person with them for the first time. Simon watches as Marcus gives him the once over. “Is this him?” 

Simon frowns. “What?”

“The new guy your friends were talking about.”

It takes Simon a second to realize that yes, Wille is in fact the hot guy Ayub told Marcus he’s dating. 

“Oh, no, we’re not-“ Wille starts to say, but for some stupid fucking reason, Simon decides to throw his arm around Wille and take advantage of the situation. 

“Yup, this is Wille. We’ve been dating for a few weeks now. He’s really great!” He grins brightly at Marcus and gives Wille a squeeze. Wille shoots Simon a look with creased eyebrows and Simon in turn widens his eyes at Wille, urging him to go along with it. 

“Ah yeah, hi. Wilhelm,” he says, holding his hand out to Marcus. He leans into Simon lightly. So lightly, Simon is not entirely sure if he meant to do it or not. 

Wille’s full name is Wilhelm. Simon had never really thought about it, but it makes sense. He’s also not too sure why this piece of information feels so monumental to him, but it does. 

Marcus reaches out and shakes Wille’s hand. “Hey man, Marcus. Nice to meet you.” Wille just gives him a small nod in return.

An awkward silence settles between the three of them. Simon tries to think of a tasteful way to get away from both of them when Marcus speaks. 

“So Wilhelm, have you heard Simon’s singing yet?” 

Simon freezes and a strangled noise makes itself known at the back of his throat. Marcus looks really pleased with himself. 

“I have, actually,” Wille replies without missing a beat, looking at Simon as if he’s the most precious thing in the world. Simon’s knees almost turn to jelly. God, if he didn’t care about other people so much he could have a really successful career as an actor. He’d be the heartthrob of the moment in an instant. If you were into that sort of thing. 

“Well anyways,” Simon says, needing to bring this conversation to an end, “I’d kind of like to go inside now. So long, Marcus. Come on… dear.” Wille snorts at that, and Simon leans over on his toes and plants a kiss on Wille’s cheek to really sell the whole thing to Marcus. He doesn’t know why he does it, but it works. The look on Marcus’s face is priceless. 

He feels Wille tense next to him and immediately feels his stomach flip over with guilt. He shouldn’t have done that without asking first. 

Instead of seeming terribly bothered by it though, Wille slides his arm around Simon’s waist and smiles sweetly at him. Simon’s stomach flips again.

“Bye, Marcus. I’d say it was nice meeting you, but it wasn’t really.” Wille squeezes Simon’s side, and then the two of them walk right past Marcus and his dumbfounded expression, and into their building. 

Neither of them let go of the other right away after being out of sight of Marcus. It’s weird, but Simon kind of likes it. It almost feels safe. 

“Sorry for pulling you into that,” Simon apologizes, finally dropping his arm so Wille can unlock the inside door. “You were there and I panicked. But thanks for going along with it.” 

Wille waves his hand. “Don’t even worry about it. Happy to be of service.” 

Right. This is what Wille does. He helps people. 

They climb the stairs in silence, all the while Simon grapples with finding something to say. He feels like he should say something else, but he doesn’t know what. 

“I have heard you singing, you know,” Wille says as if he can read Simon’s mind. They come to a stop outside their doors, and Simon freezes with his hand halfway into his pocket. 

“What?”

“Yeah, sometimes when I’m in the hall I can kind of hear you singing in your apartment.”

Simon feels his entire face catch on fire, the chill from outside long forgotten. “Oh god,” he groans. 

“No, don’t be embarrassed! You’re really good.” 

“Ha. Well, thanks I guess. I don’t love the idea of you sticking your ear against my door, though.” 

“What, should I just open the door and watch you next time?” 

“Mmm on second thought…” Simon trails off, feeling around in his pocket for his keys. He reaches into his other pocket. Nothing. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, sticking his nose into his bags. “Where are my keys?” He sets the bags down and takes his jacket off, shaking it out. Nothing but a few stray clumps of snow fall from it. “Shit.” He looks up at Wille. “Why don’t I have my keys?” 

“Well,” he starts, stepping towards Simon, “I suppose there’s two possible explanations. One, maybe you didn’t lock the door when you left.” He reaches out and tries to open Simon’s door. It doesn’t budge. “Or two, they must have fallen out of your pocket at some point today.” 

Shit, fuck, hell and every other uncouth word known to man. That means they’re either on the floor somewhere in the mall, or buried under a mountain of snow somewhere along his course. Simon closes his eyes and throws his head back.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do now? There’s no way I’m gonna go back and retrace my steps now. My mom has an extra key, but I can’t ask her to drive all the way here in that snow.” 

“Um,” Wille clears his throat. Simon opens his eyes and looks at him. “I know this isn’t ideal, but I can’t really think of any other solutions right now. You could come to my place? You can sleep on my couch and then we’ll figure it out tomorrow. If you’re comfortable with that.”

The thought of spending the night at Wille’s place makes his skin crawl. He really doesn’t want to be having this lost key meltdown in front of his neighbour, but realistically there doesn’t seem to be any other option. 

Why is Wille so nice and giving? It’s not normal. 

“You know if it was you who had lost your keys, I would have laughed in your face and let you spend the night in the hall.” 

“I know,” Wille smiles and opens his door, letting Simon in first. 

Simon steps inside, and immediately bursts out laughing. 

“Oh my god, you’re so predictable.” 

There’s a string of lights around every window and doorway, and various garlands and christmassy knickknacks covering every available surface. In the middle of the living room, very much in an inconvenient spot, is a giant christmas tree adorned with white twinkling lights, glittering tinsel, and about a million different snowflake ornaments. With the initial comedy of it all wearing off, Wille’s place actually looks very beautiful and cozy. 

“How much is your electricity bill?” Simon turns to Wille, raising an eyebrow. 

“I like it,” Wille says simply with a shrug. 

Simon kicks his shoes off by the door and steps deeper inside. There’s so much to take in. There’s a little table by one of the windows, a few potted plants on it. A pile of what appears to be cat toys next to the television. On the fridge there’s a handful of pictures of a younger Wille and another boy. Judging by their goofy grins as they hold each other in headlocks, Simon guesses Wille must have a brother or something. There’s another photo— a much more recent looking Wille, surrounded by a group of smiling kids that look to be young teens. Simon wonders if maybe it was taken at the shelter. There’s a familiar twinkle in Wille’s eyes in each of the photos. It’s the same one he has whenever he messes with Simon. He’s come to know it well over the past few weeks. 

“You learning all my secrets?” Wille hasn’t moved from the front door. He just stands there, watching Simon inspect the place. His mouth is turned up slightly in a soft smile, but there’s a timidness in his body language. 

“I don’t think you have any secrets. You’re way too open for that.”

“I’d argue the people who seem like they have no secrets probably have the most,” Wille says dryly. Simon takes that as a message to not pry. Instead, he redirects his attention to the plate of cookies covered in cling wrap sitting on the kitchen counter. They’re sugar cookies, very masterfully decorated with icing in a way Simon has only seen in movies. 

“You weren’t kidding the other day when you said you take your baking seriously.” 

“I find it therapeutic, putting all your energy and focus into making something pretty and also delicious,” Wille replies, finally moving from the door. He joins Simon at the counter, and lifts up a loose corner of the plastic. “Want one?” 

Simon starts to decline the offer, but Wille won’t hear it. “Come on, you need to replenish your strength after that treacherous trek.” 

“I’m okay for now. Maybe later.”

“Fair enough.” Wille picks up a snowman, and bites its head off. “Can I get you anything else? You can take a shower, if you want.”

Now that sounds exactly what Simon needs right about now. 

“I’d actually really like that. You don’t mind?” 

Wille waves his hand. “Of course not. Mi casa es su casa and all that.” 

Huh? 

“Do you speak Spanish?” Simon used to hear that phrase all the time growing up. His mother would say it all the time to Rosh and Ayub, who often took it quite literally— leaving dirty socks and dishes all over the place pretty regularly. 

Wille laughs. “No, but it's a pretty common phrase isn’t it?” 

“Right. I guess so.” 

Wille leads Simon down the hall to the bathroom, not that Simon really needs the guidance. Wille’s apartment is the exact same layout as his own, just flipped. 

“Feel free to use whatever products are in there,” Wille says, opening the closet across from the bathroom and offering Simon a towel. “Oh.” He looks at Simon, borderline shyly. “I guess you’re gonna need clothes too, huh?” 

“Oh, no that’s okay,” Simon says quickly. “I can just put these back on.”

Wille shakes his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, those need to go in the wash. You can borrow some sweats, but they’ll probably be a little big.” 

Simon thanks him quietly and blushes. Never in a million years would he have guessed he’d be in his arch nemesis’s home in the middle of a snowstorm a week before Christmas, using his shower and borrowing his clothes. He’s pretty sure he watched a movie a few weeks ago with Rosh and Ayub with the same plot. 

Wille leaves Simon to wash the last few hours off of him. Simon steps under the warm running water and has to stop himself from letting out a pornographic moan. Trudging through mountains of snow and falling has left his muscles aching. 

He picks up a bottle to inspect the bougie looking label. Eucalyptus and cedarwood. Simon didn’t think those scents existed outside of spas and fancy hotels. He opens the cap to smell it, and suddenly everything goes dark. He drops the bottle and yells. Did Wille’s expensive body wash just blind him? 

There’s a knock on the door.

“Simon? Are you okay? The power went out.”  He hears Wille’s voice say, muffled by the door. 

Oh, thank god. 

“What?” 

“Huh?”

“What did you say? I can’t hear you Simon.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“It sounded like you were relieved the power went out. Are you plotting to murder me? I’d appreciate the advanced warning.” 

“Oh. No, I just momentarily thought I had gone blind.” Simon bends over and feels around on the shower floor for the bottle. 

“Well, can you see?” 

“No! That’s why I thought I went blind.”

“Oh, right.” A harsh beam of light suddenly appears. “I’m just putting a flashlight on the counter for you. I’m not looking.” 

“You should make use of your gift of sight while you still have it. You should never take that for granted.” Simon cringes the moment the words leave his mouth. That sounded way flirtier than intended. 

“Sorry, I don’t do nudity on the first date.” Thanks to the small amount of light from the flashlight, Simon can just make out the shape of Wille’s body, his back turned to Simon. 

Simon snorts. “In what world would any of this current situation be even remotely considered date-like?” He’s very pointedly ignoring the weird thing his chest does every time the word ‘date’ is said. The Marcus trauma is messing with his head apparently. 

Simon sees Wille’s shadow shuffle towards the door. “Sorry, I thought we were doing a bit.”

“No no, we were. I guess it just needs more work.”

“Right, well. I’ll leave you alone now.” Simon watches Wille leave and close the door behind him, then gets back to the task at hand. 

When he steps out of the shower, he wraps himself in the fluffy towel Wille gave him. There’s a pair of sweatpants and a sweater neatly folded next to the flashlight, and a green toothbrush still in the package sitting on top of them. Simon smiles to himself. Taking care of people really seems to be Wille’s whole thing. It’s kind of endearing. A week ago he would have said he’d rather get kicked in the ass by a horse than call Wille endearing, but here they are. It dawns on Simon that Wille might be becoming his friend after all. At any rate, he seems to have certainly removed himself from the ‘annoying neighbour’ category. Simon never thought he’d see the day. 

He slips Wille’s clothes on. The pants bunch at the ankles and the sleeves fall well past his fingertips, but they’re dry and cozy. He picks up his phone to shoot his friends a text about current events. 

Simon

guess where i am right now

Rosh

prison

Ayub

our third grade teacher’s backyard 

Simon

???!

Ayub

you said guess. i guessed. 

Rosh

WELL??

Simon

i’m at wille’s place

wearing his clothes 

Ayub

WHOS WILLE??!!! 👀👀

Rosh

WAIT

IS THAT YOUR NEIGHBOUR

OH MY GOD

YOU LITTLE HOE

ITS A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE!

Ayub

this is the best gift your mother and i could have asked for :’) 

Simon 

MY MOTHER????

Ayub

relax i meant rosh 

Rosh

i’m so proud of you my son

i’m a MOTHER

Ayub

A MOTHER

Simon

goodbye. 

Rosh

WAIT NOOOO

WE NEED DEETS

COME BAAAACK

Simon rolls his eyes and sets his phone down, but it immediately starts ringing with a facetime call from Rosh. 

“What?”

Ayub and Rosh are both looking at him expectantly on his screen, barely visible in just the glow from their phones. 

“How was it?” Ayub asks, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Oh my god you guys I did not have sex with him,” Simon hisses quietly, hoping and praying to every known deity that Wille is not standing on the other side of the door. “I lost my keys and he invited me into his place. That’s all.” 

“So then how did you end up in his clothes?” Rosh narrows her eyes at him. “Did you slip and fall out of your own?” 

“We walked through the snow together and my clothes got completely soaked. We were both on our way home and happened to bump into each other. It’s really not that exciting.” He very pointedly leaves out the part about how they chased and jumped on each other. They would blow it completely out of proportion. 

“Okay so,” Rosh’s mouth curls up into a smirk, “you don’t have your keys and the power is out. You two gonna cuddle all night long to keep warm?” 

“Make sure to leave room for baby Jesus!” Ayub pipes up. 

“I’m gonna sleep on the couch. You guys are clowns. Goodbye.” 

“The couch?! He must have studied at the same school of chivalry you did!” Rosh shrieks before Simon jabs his finger at the screen to end the call. He stands there in silence for a few seconds, and then Wille’s voice comes through the door. 

“Simon? You okay in there?” 

“Yeah,” Simon says, opening the door and grinning at Wille, showing off his new outfit. “Sorry, my friend called.” 

Wille stands there staring at him, and Simon shifts on his feet, uncomfortable under Wille’s gaze. 

“That sweater looks so much better on you. You should keep it.” 

Simon snorts and lifts his arms, shaking the ends of the sleeves around. “Really? You think this is a good look?” 

Wille nods. “Everyone will be rocking it by spring, mark my words.” 

Simon strikes a pose, and then they walk back to the living room. Simon sits himself down tentatively on the edge of the couch and Wille putters around in the kitchen. 

“Are you hungry? I can’t exactly cook anything, but I could make sandwiches. I guess you could have cereal too, if you wanted.” 

“A sandwich sounds great, thanks.” Simon gets up and joins Wille in the kitchen. “Can I help you with anything?”

Wille shakes his head. “You’re a guest, just hang out.” 

“That’s ridiculous. My mom would kill me if I didn’t make myself useful.” 

“Okay well,” Wille looks around, collecting his sandwich making supplies from the fridge and closing it quickly, “you can hold the flashlight.” 

Simon picks it up. “Is this good?” He waves it around, briefly shining it in Wille’s eyes. 

“ Ah!” Wille yelps. “I should have known earlier that blinding me was part of your evil plot.” 

“Nah, I’m gonna light your Christmas tree on fire first, so you can watch it burn.” He shakes the flashlight at the tree. 

“See, I’m not so sure you’re joking.” Wille moves over to the cupboard, and pulls out a crinkly bag of chips, pulling out a handful and placing them on the sandwiches. 

“Really? Chips in the sandwich?” 

“Shut up. Don’t knock it till you try it.” Wille places the sandwiches on two plates and slides one over to Simon. “My brother used to do it when our parents weren’t looking.”

Simon’s mind goes back to photos on the fridge. 

“Is that your brother?” he asks, shining the flashlight on it. 

“Oh, yeah. That’s Erik. He uh, he died a few years ago.” 

Well shit. That’s why there’s no recent looking pictures of the two of them. 

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. For your loss, and also for bringing it up.” Simon really wishes he had his keys right now. 

“No no, you’re fine. I like talking about him. Makes him feel not so far away.” 

Simon doesn’t really know what he’s supposed to say. Sure, Simon’s dad might not be in the picture anymore, but that was done on purpose. And he’s still alive. Although if he were being honest, Simon has sometimes thought that it would be simpler if he weren’t. “Were you guys close?” 

“He was my best friend,” Wille says with a sad shrug. 

Simon nods. “I get that. I’m really close with my sister, too.” He picks up a half of his sandwich and bites into it. The crunch and saltiness of the chips certainly adds to it. “Okay, you’re right. I think I’m gonna have to eat my sandwiches like this for the rest of time.” 

Wille smiles. “I told you so.”

The two of them eat their sandwiches in silence and near darkness. Simon can barely even see the snow falling outside the window. It actually all feels vaguely creepy – being trapped in what should be this beautiful, wintery Christmas scene - but with the lack of light just feels like the beginning of a holiday horror film.

Simon feels something cold and wet press against his ankle, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. He looks down and sees a small creature scurrying away from him. Wille laughs and bends over, scooping the creature up. 

“This is Pretzel.” It’s a cat. This makes sense, Simon realizes, because of the cat toys in the living room. He tentatively reaches out, and the cat sniffs at his fingers. 

“What kind of a name is Pretzel?” 

“Well, I found her outside of the shelter about a year ago, and she was eating a pretzel someone had dropped. Ergo, Pretzel. The thing is I actually kind of hate pretzels, but it stuck.” 

Simon scratches under her chin, and she nuzzles into his hand. “You really like helping people, don’t you?” 

Wille shrugs. “I like doing things that matter.” 

It’s such a simple, matter of fact statement, but it feels so big. There’s weight behind it Simon doesn’t think he’ll ever fully understand. And he’s not going to pry. 

“That’s really cool,” he says instead. 

The cat jumps out of Wille’s arms and scampers off, and Wille redirects his attention to the cookies from earlier, probably trying to change the subject. 

“Can I interest you in a cookie now?”

“No thanks,” Simon declines. “They look amazing, and I’m sure they taste amazing too, but sugar cookies aren’t really my favourite.”

“Oh, well then.” Wille goes back to the cupboard, pulling out tins upon tins of cookies. “What’s your favourite? I’ve got gingerbread, ginger snaps, snowballs…” 

Simon blinks. “You made all these?” Wille just grins at him in response. “I’ll go with the gingerbread men.” 

“A fantastic choice.” He makes a big show of opening each tin and shining the light inside and closing it again, then doing the same with the next one. “Sorry, this will only take a moment.” 

“If you’re opening each one, I might as well try one of each.” 

“Yeah?” Wille looks up at Simon as if he just told him he won the lottery. For Wille it’s honestly probably the same thing. “Start with the ginger snaps. I tried a new recipe this year and no one else has tried them yet.” 

He’s practically bouncing on his toes as Simon reaches into the tin and pulls one out, taking a bite. 

“Holy fuck,” he mutters, mouth full and grains of sugar on his lips. “This is fucking delightful.” 

“Really?” Wille is beaming. The power might be out, but his face practically illuminates the entire place. “You’re not just saying that?” 

Simon rolls his eyes. “Why would I have any reservations about hurting your feelings?” 

“Fair enough. I’ll have to note that on the recipe.” He nudges another tin towards him. “Do the snowballs next.” 

“I’m not sure how things could get any better than they are right now, but,” he picks a cookie up, “I look forward to being proven wrong.” 

A few moments later, Simon has sampled each cookie, and gone in for seconds. Wille is waiting for him to rank them all, and Simon kind of wants to cry. 

“It’s completely disrespectful for you to ask that of me. I blacked out about ten minutes ago, and you think I can use my brain?” Simon reaches out and lightly punches Wille on the arm. “I genuinely cannot pick a favourite. You’re a genius.” 

“Thanks,” Wille says, looking bashful. “My freezer and the freezers of three of our neighbours are currently all stuffed with batches that I’m going to bring to the shelter. People say my baking is the highlight of their year.”

“I wholeheartedly agree,” Simon nods. 

Wille goes about putting the cookies back in the cupboard, and then turns to face Simon, smiling. 

“So, now that I’ve shown you my secret talent, when do I get to hear you sing?”

Simon makes a noise. There is no way in hell he’s singing for Wille. 

“Er, you’ve already heard me sing,” he points out and crosses his arms over his chest, grateful for the loophole. 

“That doesn’t count! It was through the wall and I wasn’t even supposed to hear you,” Wille argues. “I won’t force you if you don’t want to, but it’s not even seven pm and there’s literally nothing else to do.” 

Unfortunately Simon can’t argue with that logic. 

“So what, we’re gonna do karaoke?”

“Yeah! Why not?” Wille pulls out his phone and taps at the screen, and then the opening notes of the song that’s been haunting Simon start playing through the tiny speaker. 

“Oh god, please turn that off,” Simon groans, slapping his hands over his ears. 

“Oh, so you’re too cool to enjoy Christmas music? That’s very sad, Simon. Sad, sad, sad.”

So, Simon explains the whole backstory with Marcus, the fiasco at the bar the other night, and why he did what he did outside earlier. Wille sits there and listens intently, nodding and frowning and making disgusted noises at all the appropriate moments. 

“Geez, what a loser,” Wille mutters once Simon finishes his story. “If he keeps bothering you, I humbly offer you my fake boyfriend services whenever you need them.”

Simon snorts. That’s not exactly what he wants, either. 

“Thanks.”

Wille smiles. “It’s what I do.” Right. “Now, karaoke? Taylor Swift’s got a whole catalogue of songs for when you’re better off without your ex.” 

Simon grins at him, and they spend the next hour or so belting Taylor Swift’s greatest hits and deep cuts. 

As “This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things” comes to an end, Simon feels better about the Marcus of it all than he has all week. Taylor Swift is truly cathartic. 

Wille, who had been standing on the couch holding Pretzel, hops down and lets the cat go. 

“Usually the point of karaoke is to wail at the top of your lungs sounding terrible, which is why I think it’s totally disrespectful of you to actually sound good.” He places his hand on Simon’s shoulder for a second before quickly dropping it. “You’re really good, Simon.” 

Simon feels himself blush. “Thanks. You’re really not good.”

“Oh, how dare you use such hateful words towards me in my own home?”

“I only speak the truth,” Simon quips with a shrug. 

By the time they decide it’s an acceptable time to go to bed, they’ve gone through all the classic power outage boredom busters: they sat in silence, save for the christmas music drifting from Wille’s phone, drawing Pretzel by the christmas tree (Wille’s drawing is exponentially better than Simon’s, but he won’t hear it). They communicated with the apartment building across the way via light signals through the window, and they played about a million rounds of Uno. 

They’re working on the border of a 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle of a wintry scene on the living room floor, but the minimal light is proving to be a challenge. 

“Okay,” Wille says, standing up and holding his hand out to Simon. “Bedtime.”

Simon takes his hand and lets himself be pulled to his feet. Wille’s hand is warm and soft, and Simon’s hand feels so tiny in it. He swallows and pulls his hand back. 

“So here’s the thing. Without the heat it’s gonna get really cold out here.” Wille busies himself with pushing the puzzle to the side and picking up their water glasses. “If you want, if you’re comfortable, you can sleep in my bed with me. You know, for warmth.” 

Oh. Simon feels his heart jump into his throat. The thought of sharing a bed with Wille is weird. Obviously they’re both mature adults, but Simon isn’t entirely sure that means he needs to share a bed with the guy. 

“Um, I think I’ll stick to the couch.”

“Okay, that’s fine.” Wille nods and moves over to the closet to retrieve some blankets. “I’ll give you every blanket I own. Hopefully that should keep you warm.” 

Simon goes to use the bathroom first. He picks up his phone, sure he’s got about a million and two texts from his friends, but his phone has finally died. He’ll have to deal with their wrath tomorrow. 

When he returns to the living room, Wille’s got the couch made up with a mountain of blankets and pillows. There’s a fresh glass of water on the coffee table, and a plate with some cookies next to it. Simon snorts. 

“Are you expecting me to give you a good review on airbnb?” 

Wille emerges from his bedroom laughing, and Simon’s mouth goes dry. Wille’s shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his hips, and Simon is pretty sure he’s gaping at him like a fish. Somewhere deep inside his mind he feels some dots start to connect, but he can deal with that later. 

Wille just stands there with his horrifically distracting chest, looking at Simon expectantly. 

“The uh,” he coughs, certain his entire body has gone a deep shade of scarlet. Thank god for the power outage. “The cookies are a nice touch.”

Wille shrugs. “I want to make sure you have sweet dreams.” 

Simon rolls his eyes, and picks up a gingerbread man. 

“I just brushed my teeth,” he informs Wille, taking a bite anyway. 

“Good thing we’re not in a toothpaste shortage.” 

Simon nibbles on the cookie and Wille goes to do his bathroom routine. Simon’s grateful to not have to be staring at Wille’s bare skin anymore, when he remembers something he’s wanted to confront Wille about for weeks now. 

“Hey,” he says, padding over to the bathroom and leaning against the door frame. Wille looks up at him through the mirror, toothpaste foam on his chin. “What’s the deal with all the shit you’ve been sticking to my door?” 

Wille leans over and spits into the skin, rinsing off his mouth. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Right, so another overly cheerful resident in our building has taken it upon themselves to force christmas cheer on me, got it. I just need to know who to yell at for the giant pile of nonsense collecting on my counter.”

“Wait,” Wille turns around to look at him, eyes wide. “You kept all that stuff?” 

Simon shrugs. “I wasn’t going to, but then I decided I was going to get you back by sticking everything to your door.”

“You loved it, didn’t you?” Wille’s grinning so wide it almost looks painful. 

“I wouldn’t say I loved it, but sure, I was entertained.” Simon refuses to let him know how he started looking forward to coming home everyday to see what the day’s surprise was. 

“Wow,” Wille sniffles, pretending to wipe away a tear, “the grinch’s heart grew three sizes that day.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Simon says with a roll of his eyes, walking back to the living room. “I’m going to bed now. Goodnight!” 

“Goodnight, holiday cheermeister!” 

Simon makes a noise, and crawls under the layers of blanket on the couch. 

He tosses and turns on the couch for what feels like five years. The couch is actually quite comfortable, but he can’t manage to shut his brain up. The events of the past few hours keep playing on an infuriating loop in his mind, and he’s coming to a conclusion he doesn’t think he can ignore for much longer. He’s attracted to his annoying neighbour. 

What’s more, he’s into his annoying neighbour. 

Wille is undeniably attractive, has a giant heart with room for everyone he’s ever encountered, stays optimistic despite some less than ideal circumstances, and when he looks at someone, it’s like no one else in the world exists. 

Simon is completely, entirely fucked. 

He sits up and grabs the glass of water, downing almost the whole thing in one gulp. The cold is seeping into the apartment and Simon kind of really wants to go warm up in Wille’s bed. He absolutely cannot now, though. He should probably go sleep in the hall, stay as far away from Wille as possible. 

He lasts about five more minutes, then accepts defeat and gets up to knock on Wille’s bedroom door, before opening it slightly. 

“Simon?” Wille’s sleepy voice quietly drifts through the darkness. Simon’s heart squeezes at the sound. Oh. That explains the ridiculous things his insides have been doing every time Wille so much as breathes in his direction. 

“Hi, sorry,” Simon whispers, feeling bad about disrupting him. He doesn’t know how long he had been lying on that couch, but long enough that Wille had probably already fallen asleep. 

“No, you’re okay. I wasn’t asleep yet.” That’s a total fucking lie. “What’s up?”

“Um,” Simon steps into the room. “It’s really fucking cold out here. Could I uh..” he motions towards the bed, even Wille can’t see it. 

“Of course.” There’s the sound of rustling sheets, Wille making room for him. “Climb on in.” 

Simon takes a breath. This is fine. This is totally normal. Nothing has to change between them, even though Simon kind of wants to run his hands all over Wille’s bare chest. It’s fine. 

He walks around to the other side of bed, bumping into it. He moves the blankets aside and slides in, and there’s a meow of protest from Pretzel. 

“Sorry,” Wille says, trying to push her out of the way, “that’s usually her spot and she doesn’t like sharing.”

Simon laughs and reaches out to pat her. “I’m so sorry Pretzel, can I please snuggle with you to stay warm?” She makes a noise and starts purring. Simon takes that as a yes. “Thank you.” 

It’s certainly a lot warmer in bed with Wille. Almost too warm. His brain is still going a mile a minute, as is his heart, and on top of it all he’s certain he’s incredibly sweaty now, too. 

“Hey, can you quiet your thinking over there?” Wille mumbles. It sounds like he’s facing away from Simon. “I’m trying to sleep over here.”

“I’m sorry for kissing you before,” Simon blurts. There’s a swishing sound as Wille rolls over. 

“What?” 

“Earlier when we were talking to Marcus. I just kind of accosted you. That wasn’t cool, I’m sorry.” 

“Oh,” Wille huffs out a soft laugh. “That’s okay, you did what you had to do. Don’t worry about it.”

“But I am worried about it.” Simon sits up. “That’s like, consent 101. You know, can I kiss you, and all that.” 

Simon hears Wille take a breath. “I mean sure, yeah, I guess you probably should have asked. But really, it’s fine. Please don’t lose sleep over it.” 

Simon is most definitely losing sleep over it. 

“I’ll make sure to ask next time.” There’s an awkward beat between them. 

“Next time? You planning on kissing me again, Simon?” 

“Um,” Simon clears his throat. “I mean, like, if Marcus is around again.”

Wille hums. “Okay well, if ever you feel the need to kiss me in front of Marcus, you have my standing consent. You can even kiss me on the mouth to really sell it.” 

“Uh, okay. Cool,” Simon says quietly. He kind of wants to go running down the street in his bare feet screaming. How the hell did he find himself in this situation? 

He lies back down and squeezes his eyes shut, willing sleep to take him out. 

They’re quiet for a while, and Simon listens to the soft slowing of Wille’s breathing. It tickles his cheeks. He feels himself falling asleep, right on the cusp of passing out, when he hears Wille whisper into the darkness. 

“You’re a catch, Simon. You deserve someone that treats you like it.” 

Simon stops breathing, his heart squeezing in his chest. He’s not sure he was even supposed to hear it, or if Wille was even consciously saying it. He shifts, scooching infinitesimally closer to Wille, and finally falls asleep, Pretzel purring peacefully between them. 

Simon wakes in the morning to sun streaming in through the window, and a weight on his chest. He assumes it’s Pretzel, who he can hear purring in his ear, but when he reaches up to pet her, his hand makes contact with something that is very decidedly not a cat. He looks down. Wille is lying on his stomach cuddled right up against Simon, his arm draped over Simon’s chest. 

Simon freezes, unsure of what he’s supposed to do in this situation. There’s no way in hell he’s going to wake Wille up. He looks like a cherub, peacefully snoozing away. Simon kind of wants to take a picture, but that would be absolutely creepy. He also kind of has to pee. 

He shifts beneath Wille, trying to sneak out of his hold without disturbing him. It doesn’t work. The moment Simon slides over to the edge of the bed, Wille groans and rolls over, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Morning,” he mumbles groggily, voice thick with sleep. 

“Hi, sorry,” Simon whispers, “go back to sleep.”

“What, so you can burn down my apartment with me inside?” Wille lifts his head, peering at Simon through one eye. 

“Exactly.”

Simon stands there for a second, just looking at Wille. His hair is mussed against his pillow, and Simon has to fight the urge to smooth it. He’s so beyond fucked. 

He pads out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, trying the light switch. Nothing. 

When he’s done and opens the door, Pretzel is sitting there waiting for him. 

“Hi.” He crouches down, scratching behind her ears. “I bet you’re hungry, huh?” She meows in agreement. “I’m sorry, but you’re gonna have to wait for Wille.” She nuzzles into his hand, and he decides to try picking her up. She goes willingly, sticking her nose into his chest. 

He drifts around the apartment, petting Pretzel as she purrs against him. He has no idea where he and Wille are supposed to go from here. He woke up yesterday pretty sure he hated the guy, and now he feels very much the opposite. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that perhaps Wille might feel the same way. Probably not, because Wille seems to act like he’s in love with everyone, that’s just how he is, but still the possibility is there. He’s put so much effort into messing with Simon and trying to get him to admit he likes Christmas. That’s gotta mean something, right? 

“Oh Pretzel, what am I going to do?” he asks her quietly, rubbing his face against her. Surprisingly, she doesn’t respond. However, someone else does. 

“What are you going to do about what?” Wille asks, emerging from his room. 

“Oh! Um,” Simon bends over, letting Pretzel onto the floor. She immediately goes and rubs up against Wille’s legs. “Just that the power is still out and I don’t have my keys and my phone is dead.”

Simon watches as Wille goes about giving Pretzel her breakfast. He so desperately wishes Wille would put on a damn shirt. 

“Well, you can use my phone,” Wille says, placing Pretzel’s bowl of food on the ground next to her water dish. She happily scampers over and digs in. “You’re wearing my clothes and slept in my bed. I’m not exactly worried about you borrowing my phone.” 

“Oh, right. Thanks.” Simon looks down at himself. He had forgotten he was wearing Wille’s clothes. He remembers how Wille said he should keep the sweater. He might just take him up on the offer. 

“As for breakfast, my coworker just texted me saying the cafe has power. We could walk over there if you want? It’s not too far.” 

Simon shrugs. “Sounds good to me.”

The pair get bundled up and head out in the search of food and hot coffee. It snowed a huge amount in the last day, and the streets and sidewalks haven’t been properly plowed yet, so it’s a slow journey as they go climbing through snowbanks. Simon uses Wille’s phone to call his mom, who is hugely relieved to hear that he’s still alive and okay, and promises that she’ll be over shortly with her set of keys. Wille keeps his glued to ground, on the off chance that Simon’s original set of keys miraculously turns up. 

At the coffee shop, they’re warmly received by two of Wille’s coworkers. They seem absolutely beside themselves at the fact that Wille brought Simon along. It’s kind of uncomfortable the way they keep eyeing Simon and whispering to each other. Simon looks over at Wille, who’s got his hands stuffed into his pockets and is very pointedly ignoring their glances. 

They get their breakfast sandwiches and coffees to go, and enjoy the slow walk back to their place, nibbling and sipping, basking in the winter wonderland that the city has turned into. 

“Sorry about my coworkers,” Wille says between sips of his ridiculous peppermint mocha with all the fixings. “I might have mentioned our christmas war once or twice when they ask me why I show up to work in a good mood.” 

Simon falters. Wille goes into work in a good mood because of him? Does that mean he isn’t just permanently in a good mood? He almost drops his coffee. 

“They think I’m in love with you.” 

Simon scoffs, trying to sound nonchalant but feeling anything but. “That’s hilarious.”

Wille shrugs. “Stranger things have happened.” 

Simon completely stops in his tracks at that, full on deer in the headlights. Wille stops a few steps ahead and turns around, looking at Simon with a raised eyebrow. 

“What?” 

Simon blinks a few times, his heart thudding cacophonously in his chest and ears. “What did you just say?” 

“My coworkers think I’m in love with you?” 

“Yeah, but after that.” Simon takes a step closer to Wille. 

“Stranger things have happened,” he repeats slowly, as if Simon is suffering from some exceptionally short-term amnesia. He honestly feels like maybe he is. 

“So… being in love with me isn’t that strange?” 

Wille steps towards Simon. “Haven’t I made it pretty obvious?” 

“What?” Simon needs to sit down before his knees give out. 

“You think I was driving you crazy for fun?”

“Um,” Simon lets out an honest chuckle at that. “Yes? I actually thought you making my life a living hell was entirely for your entertainment.” 

“Simon,” Wille hesitates for a moment, then carefully places his breakfast on the ground. He steps forward and does the same with the items Simon’s holding, then takes his hands in his. Simon’s heart beatboxes furiously. “When you moved in this summer, I immediately knew I was done for. You were so sweet and genuine with your mom and sister. And then on those times I’d hear you singing through the door, I’d just stand there and listen for a while. Honestly pretty creepy in hindsight, but I couldn’t help myself. So it kind of killed me when you were rude to me. I didn’t know what I had done to make you hate me so much, and all I wanted was to be your friend. So kept bothering you. I know I should have stopped and left you alone, but even at your most irritated, at least you were talking to me.” 

Simon stands there, hands in Wille’s, mouth hanging open. His eyes might be watering, but that’s probably from the cold. 

“I,” Simon starts, but Wille cuts him off, continuing his speech. 

“Your whole ‘I hate everyone and the world’ exterior thing you’ve got going on is actually insanely enchanting, which I’m sure isn’t what you’re going for, but it worked on me anyway.” He sounds awfully out of breath. It’s perhaps the most adorable thing Simon has ever seen. “So uh, can I kiss you, Simon?” 

“Hey!” Simon cries, squeezing Wille’s hands. Wille squeezes back. “That’s my line!”

Wille frowns. “‘Can I kiss you, Simon?’ is your line? How are you kissing yourself?” 

Simon laughs and shakes his head. “You’re an idiot. Can I kiss you, Wille?”

“Remember when I gave you standing consent?” Wille grins. He leans in, and Simon’s eyes close as their lips meet. Or, not their lips but their foreheads. 

“ Ow,” Simon groans, freeing one of his hands to rub where their two heads crashed together. 

“Oh god,” Wille mumbles. “I’m so sorry Simon.” He starts to giggle. “Are you okay?” 

“I think I’ll live, asshole.” Simon swats at Wille’s arm. 

“I’m sorry, can we please try that again?” 

Simon looks up at him, and reaches up to the back of his neck, pulling him in. 

A shiver runs down his spine as he kisses Wille. It’s soft, and gentle, and warm, and entirely overwhelming to all of his senses in the best way possible. Wille slides his hand around Simon’s waist and pulls him closer. It feels like a Hallmark moment. He feels like should be doing the Princess Diaries foot pop. He pulls away by a millimetre and his heart squeezes as Wille tries to follow his mouth.

“Just so you know, I’m doing this romantically. With intent.”

Wille smiles before bringing his lips back to Simon’s. “Thanks for clarifying.”

They allow themselves to get lost in the kisses for a little while longer, before regrettably pulling apart. Simon’s mom is probably waiting for them.

They continue their walk, finishing their breakfast. As they round the corner, Simon spots his mom’s red car sitting outside their building. She waves and quickly gets out of her car, all bundled up. 

“Hi, my love,” she says, cupping Simon’s cheek with a gloved hand. “How did you lose your keys, you silly boy?” She turns to Wille. “Thank you for taking him in. That was very kind of you.”

“It was absolutely no trouble.” Wille sneaks a look at Simon, then holds his hand out. “Wille. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Linda,” his mother replies, shaking Wille’s hand with a smile. She beams at him then turns to Simon. She drops the keyring into his hand before pulling him into a hug. 

“He’s sweet,” she whispers into his ear, and Simon rolls his eyes. 

Linda leaves after Simon and Wille both assure her multiple times that they don’t need anything. She concedes after Simon promises to call her should that change. 

They head inside and Simon retrieves his things from Wille’s place (Simon’s clothes from the day before are being held hostage in Wille’s washing machine. He insists on washing them for Simon. Simon warns Wille he’ll be holding on to his until he gets his own back. He kind of hopes Wille takes his time). He then goes back to his apartment and tries to process everything that’s happened in the last 20 hours. 

The next few days fly by in a blur of wrapping gifts, willingly listening to Christmas music, and smiling shyly at Wille every time Simon bumps into him in the hall. It’s different now. Every time he opens his door he hopes Wille is doing the same across the hall. His heart skips a beat every time Wille smiles and says “morning, neighbour”. He still wants to grab him, but instead of shaking him about and twisting his head off, he just wants to kiss him for a bit. 

Simon has a plan. It’s December 22nd, and he’s recruited his mom, sister, and Eva from upstairs to help him. His mom and Eva have brought along their favourite recipes and the four of them spend the day baking up a storm. Simon has no idea what he’s doing, but it’s loud and chaotic and warm and everyone is laughing to the point of tears. It’s what Christmas is supposed to be - the little moments shared with loved ones that make you think things will turn out alright after all. It’s the most Christmassy Simon has felt in years. 

By the early evening, every surface of Simon’s kitchen is covered in baked goods. There’s squares and loaves and a variety of cookies that they all pack into patterned boxes lined with wax paper. Simon carefully places some cookies on a plate and sets it aside, then loads all the boxes of treats into a larger box and sets it by the door. He thanks his visitors profusely and sends them on their way, then grabs the plate he set aside and marches across the hall. 

“Hi,” Wille says, smiling brightly as he opens the door. 

“Hi.” Simon shifts on his feet, suddenly shy. This feels like a terrible, embarrassing idea. 

“What’s up?” Wille asks, eyeing the plate in Simon’s hand. 

“Oh, um. I made you some cookies.” It sounds more like a question than a statement. “They’re not as good as yours, but I tried.” He shrugs and thrusts the plate at Wille. 

Wille accepts the plate with a laugh. “Wow Simon, this is amazing.” He looks up at Simon, his eyes practically shining. “Thank you.” 

“I also uh,” Simon steps back towards his door and drags the box forward, “made some stuff for the shelter. My mom, sister and Eva all helped.” 

Simon nearly gets knocked over as Wille throws himself at Simon, wrapping him in a hug. 

“Oh my god, this is absolutely incredible. Thank you so, so much Simon.” 

“Merry Christmas,” Simon mumbles into Wille’s shoulder. 

“Sorry, what was that? I didn’t hear you.” Wille pulls back from Simon, very clearly having heard what he said. 

“I said, Merry Christmas, Wille.”

Wille grins and leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to Simon’s mouth. 

“So, I was wondering if you wanted to watch a movie with me?” Simon asks, wishing the kiss had lasted a few seconds longer. 

“Are you asking me on a date?”

“Can you call it a date if I’m inviting myself into your home?”

Wille shrugs. “Sounds romantic to me.” He takes Simon’s hand and pulls him inside. Simon barely has a chance to grab the box and drag it along with him. 

Simon commandeers Wille’s television, pulling up the movie. Meanwhile, Wille putters around the kitchen making hot chocolate. He claims to have a very special method for making it, but Simon is too tired to find it in himself to pretend to care. He sits on the couch and waits patiently, petting Pretzel who’s curled up on the cushion next to him. 

Wille joins him shortly after, wielding two steaming mugs of hot chocolate with a mountain of whipped cream and marshmallows on top. He hands one to Simon before taking a seat on the other side of him. 

“So what are we watching?” 

Simon simply grins at him in response and presses play. The opening sequence of Love Actually takes over the screen. 

“Oh, really?” Wille raises his eyebrows at Simon. 

“Be quiet,” Simon grumbles, leaning into Wille’s side. 

The movie is decidedly long. Simon takes issue with movies that are over 100 minutes. However, he barely even notices. He’s too consumed in the twinkling of the lights on the tree, the snow falling outside the window, the hot chocolate which is admittedly (and not at all surprising) the best hot chocolate Simon’s ever had, and the warmth of Wille snuggled into his side. He wants to capture the moment in a snow globe and keep it on his windowsill. 

Simon spends Christmas at his mom’s house. Without fail his dad calls and makes his mom cry which is never pleasant, but other than that it’s a pretty good day. Sara is overjoyed with her makeup palette, and his mom cries (good tears) when she opens the tshirt with a photo of the three of them with I love my kids! written at the bottom. Simon only ever gets her silly things like that, because every year when he asks her what she wants she squeezes him and says that he and his sister are gifts enough. 

Wille calls to facetime for a bit, and Linda snatches the phone right out of Simon’s hand so she can give him a tour of their house and all the gifts. Simon follows behind her whining and trying to steal it back, but he can see on the screen that Wille is listening very intently. It’s so sweet it makes Simon’s stomach hurt (although that may be because of the huge amount of chocolate and candy he’s consumed).

Wille is spending the day at the shelter, singing songs and playing games and distributing the enormous amount of baked goods he had to lug over there, but he promises to stop by the house for Christmas dinner at Linda’s insistence. 

When Wille texts that he’s on his way over, Simon goes outside to wait for him. He wants a moment alone with him before his mom and sister spend the rest of the night fawning over him. 

“Hi,” Wille says, walking up the path and pulling Simon into a hug. “Merry Christmas.”

Simon reaches up on his toes, placing a kiss on Wille’s cheek. “Hi.”

“I have something for you.” Wille holds out a small red gift bag to him. “It’s not much, but I had to get you something.”

“You absolutely didn’t.” Simon pretends not to swoon and peeks into the bag. “ Oh.” He pulls out a framed photo—a selfie of the two of them taken in the snowpocalypse last week. There’s a bunch of shiny stickers stuck around the frame. “I love it. Thank you.” He looks up at Wille, holding the photo to his chest. 

“So.” Wille carefully pries the frame from Simon’s hands and places it in the bag, then puts the bag on the ground. He then takes Simon’s hands. Exactly like he did last week. “This thing we’ve got going on is really cool, but I was wondering if perhaps you wanted to be my boyfriend?” He’s blushing, and Simon reaches a hand up to cup his cheek. 

“You’re such a loser.” Wille grins at him with a shrug. “I’d love to be your boyfriend.” 

He tilts his head up and kisses Wille, who wraps his arms around Simon’s waist and picks him up, twirling him around. 

Simon yelps, and it’s at that moment Linda and Sara come running out the door. He and Wille quickly spring apart, just in time for Linda to pull Wille into a hug. They’ve only briefly met once, but Simon can tell how deeply Wille appreciates her.

They all enjoy their Christmas dinner together, Wille and Simon secretly holding hands under the table. His family easily welcomes Wille into the fold, and at the risk of sounding absolutely cliché, Simon thinks it’s the best Christmas ever.