Wilhelm grants permission in the slight shifting of his hips when Jesper presses their bodies together, and in the resulting sigh that simmers on his tongue. He gives it in the way he arches his back in reply to Jesper's hand slipping under the hem of his shirt, the way he tilts his head back in reply to his lips wandering down his neck, the way he clutches at his hair to keep him in place. When he decided to meet Jesper here, he wasn't sure of his own intentions. All he knew was that he needed to feel close to somebody. He needed to not be alone.

And, well, give an inch, take a mile.

Wille, Jesper murmurs against his pulse. A shiver slides up his spine. It's stupid — everybody at school called him that, but in his brain the nickname belongs to Simon in a way nobody else can claim. For one precarious moment, Wilhelm teeters on the brink between bliss and loneliness, the one emptying his head and the other his heart.

He's pulled back by the pressure of Jesper's lips on his neck, releasing with a soft wet pop. Jesper's palms cradling his face, his beautiful smile filing down those jagged edges inside him again.

"Mm...yeah..."

To help him, Wilhelm leans back to pull his sweater over his head. The plain t-shirt underneath is all Jesper's. As soon as it's discarded, he's leaning in to claim his lips. Running his hands down Jesper's chest, he starts to work apart the buttons of his shirt. It's only fair.