Chapter Text
Wille almost didn’t answer.
Kristina’s name lit up his phone while he was sitting on the edge of the couch, sketchbook abandoned on the coffee table, charcoal smudged across his fingers. He stared at the screen for a long second before swiping to accept.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Wilhelm.” Her voice was composed, clipped in that way that always made his shoulders tense. “Do you have a minute?”
“I guess.”
There was a pause. Not the kind where she was thinking the kind where she was choosing her words carefully.
“I spoke to your aunt today,” Kristina said. “She mentioned you’ve officially declared your major.”
Wille’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. I have.”
“And it’s… arts.”
He exhaled slowly. “Yes.”
Another pause. He could picture her now, lips pressed together, disappointment neatly folded into something she’d later call concern.
“Erik started his fifth year of law,” she said. “Do you remember that?”
Wille laughed, sharp and humorless. “Of course I remember. You remind me every time we talk.”
“That’s not fair,” Kristina replied immediately. “I’m just trying to understand your choices.”
“My choices don’t concern you, nor need understanding,” Wille said. “They’re mine.”
“Wilhelm,” she sighed, “after everything you’ve been through, I would’ve thought you’d want stability. Structure. Something that keeps you grounded.”
His chest tightened. The ice, frozen, once steady started feeling the cracks from the pressure. Sharp skates, gliding through.
“That has nothing to do with my major.”
“It has everything to do with it,” she countered. “You’ve been through something traumatic. You should be focusing on yourself, think about what kind of life you want to build and not chase unrealistic dreams, nor getting tangled up in relationships that distract you from healing.”
Wille’s fingers dug into his thigh. “Simon isn’t a distraction.”
Kristina’s tone cooled. “This relationship shouldn’t even still be going on. With the kind of reactions that you still have… after years… they’re too- wild, Wilhelm, you should at least take more time to focus on yourself, than rely on some random boy.”
Something in Wille snapped. The small cracks, now bigger with each slide on very thin ice.
“You don’t get to say that” he said, voice shaking now. “You don’t get to use what happened to me as a reason to control my life not you of all people.”
“I’m your mother,” she said. “It’s my job to worry.”
“No,” Wille shot back. “It’s your job to listen, and support. And you never do.”
Kristina inhaled sharply. “Erik understands responsibility. He understands what it means to honor the family, to build a future that—”
“I’m not Erik!” Wille shouted, the words tearing out of him before he could stop them. “I never will be, and I don’t want to be.”
Silence.
When Kristina spoke again, her voice was quieter. “I just want what’s best for you.”
Wille stood abruptly, pacing. “Nothing I do is ever enough for you. Not unless I’m perfect. Not unless I’m him.”
“That’s not what I—”
“I’m done,” Wille said, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry I’m not your ideal son. But I’m not apologizing for loving someone. Or for choosing something that makes me feel alive.”
“Wilhelm—”
He ended the call.
The phone felt heavy in his hand as he let it drop onto the couch. His heart was racing, his thoughts tangled and loud, anger buzzing beneath his skin like electricity with nowhere to go.
The apartment was too quiet.
Wille was still standing where he’d dropped the phone when he heard the lock turn. The sound was sharp, sudden, scraping against his nerves. His shoulders tensed automatically.
“Hey,” Simon called from the hallway, keys clinking into the bowl by the door. “I’m home.”
Wille didn’t answer.
Simon stepped into the living room, taking one look at him and slowing. Wille’s jaw was set, eyes unfocused, like he was staring straight through the wall.
“Did something happen?” Simon asked carefully. “You look… off.”
“I’m fine,” Wille said, too fast.
Simon frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Yes!” Too fast again.
“You keep saying that, but doesn’t feel like it.” Simon tried again.
“I said I’m fine.” Wille turned away, crossing his arms like he could hold himself together that way.
Simon hesitated, then moved closer. Not crowding him — just enough to be there. “Wille, talk to me. Please.”
When Wille didn’t respond, Simon reached out, his hand resting lightly at Wille’s arm, a familiar touch meant to ground him, to pull him back.
Wille flinched like he’d been burned.
His breath hitched, pulse roaring in his ears. The touch didn’t feel gentle anymore, it felt loud. His skin sparked, nerves firing all at once, every instinct screaming danger.
“Don’t touch me.” he snapped, twisting away.
Simon’s hand dropped instantly. “Hey— I didn’t mean—”
“I said don’t,” Wille repeated, anger spilling over because panic had nowhere else to go. “Why is that so hard to understand?”
Simon stared at him, stunned. “I was just trying to help.”
“Well you’re not!”
The words came out harsher than Wille intended, but he couldn’t pull them back. His chest felt too tight, like the air had thickened around him.
Simon’s frustration flickered through his expression. “Then tell me what’s going on. Because right now you’re shutting me out and I don’t know why.”
“I don’t need to explain everything,” Wille shot back. “Can you just drop it?”
Simon shook his head. “No. I can’t just drop it when you’re clearly not okay.”
Wille clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms. Every sound felt too sharp, every second stretching thin.
“I can’t do this right now,” he said, voice trembling despite himself. “Just leave it alone.”
Silence fell between them, heavy and strained.
Simon took a step back, dragging a hand through his hair. “Okay,” he said slowly. “If you don’t want to talk… maybe I should give you some space then.”
The words hit harder than Wille expected, but he couldn’t stop them.
“Fine,” he muttered.
Simon grabbed his jacket, jaw tight. He paused at the door, like he was waiting for Wille to say something anything.
Wille didn’t.
The door closed behind him with a dull click.
The quiet rushed back in, louder than before.
Wille turned abruptly, pacing the kitchen, heart racing, skin still buzzing. His elbow knocked into a mug sitting too close to the counter’s edge.
It tipped.
Time seemed to slow as it hit the floor.
The mug shattered, ceramic exploding across the tiles, the sound sharp and violent in the small space.
Wille froze, breath coming fast, staring at the broken pieces scattered at his feet, chest tight, hands shaking, everything inside him still screaming.