Chapter Text
He was running down the street at this point, rushing to his apartment, phone clutched in his hand. The battery was down to 1%, but when Wille’s name flashed on the screen, he didn’t hesitate. He always picked up Wille’s calls, no matter the charge.
He gets home in record time, ignoring the mess in the kitchen, running to his room, he grabs the charger and connects to the plug finally picking up the call with shaky hands.
“Hello?” he said, voice tense.
There was a pause, then a small, shaky sound — a whimper? His stomach clenched. “Wille?”
“Hi Erik,” Wille said, voice tight, almost breaking.
Erik’s chest tightened. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I… I think I fucked up,” Wille admitted. His voice rushed out in a jumble. “I had an argument with Simon. I was so angry after the call with Mom… she—she just—everything she said made me so mad. And then Simon got home, and I couldn’t… I snapped. I yelled. I told him off. And I think I hurt him… I hurt him and now he left, and I feel awful.”
Erik stayed silent for a moment, letting Wille’s words land. “Okay,” he said finally. “First, breathe. You’re allowed to be angry. And Mom? She crossed a line.”
“I know,” Wille said, his voice smaller now. “I just… everything hit me at once.”
Erik exhaled slowly. “I get it. You weren’t wrong to be upset. You weren’t in control of all of it — you were overwhelmed. And that’s okay. But Simon… he probably felt shut out and confused, too. You need to explain what happened in a way he can understand, not only apologize for your feelings.”
Wille’s hands clenched the phone tighter. “I just… I don’t want him to be mad at me, or think I don’t care.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong in how you feel,” Erik said gently. “Simon’s stressed too. He left, probably because he didn’t know what else to do. He loves you — he just needs context. He needs to know what happened inside you, not just what he saw.”
Wille’s breathing began to slow, just slightly. “I don’t know if I can explain it right.”
“You can,” Erik said firmly. “I’ll help you. Focus on telling him what you felt, what caused you to act that way. You only need to be honest Wille.”
The conversation stretched on, soft and careful, over nearly an hour. Erik reminded Wille of grounding techniques, acknowledged the anger and panic, and gave him reassurance that it wasn’t his fault — that it was normal to feel out of control sometimes.
Finally, Wille’s voice softened. “Thank you… for picking up. For listening. For everything.”
“Always,” Erik said without hesitation. “You know I always will.”
Wille let the phone rest against his chest, closing his eyes. The panic was still there but muted now. He felt a little lighter, a little able to breathe better now.
The door clicked open.
Simon stepped inside slowly, closing it behind him. The apartment was quiet — too quiet — except for the faint echo of his own footsteps on the hardwood. His gaze fell immediately on the first thing in the room: the mug. Broken, scattered across the floor.
His stomach tightened.
“Wille?” he called, voice low but urgent.
Nothing.
He moved quickly, scanning the living room, then the hallway, until he reached the bedroom door. Hesitation froze him for a moment. Please be okay.
“Wille?”
He opened the door and found him there, curled up on the bed, head buried in his pillows. Simon rushed to the side, kneeling beside the bed. Wille lifted his head slowly, and Simon saw the telltale signs — red eyes, puffy from crying.
“I’m… sorry,” Wille said first, voice small and trembling. “I was angry…”
“No,” Simon cut him off immediately, shaking his head. “I’m sorry too.”
“No,” Wille said again, voice sharper this time, but still quiet. “It’s my fault. I… I just threw whatever piece of madness I had all over you.”
Simon’s hand reached out instinctively, brushing a strand of hair from Wille’s face. “You know that you don’t have to carry that alone.”
Wille looked down, frowning. “And… and I’m sorry for reacting badly when you touched me.”
Simon leaned closer, voice soft yet firm. “We already talked about that. You don’t need to apologize for it.”
Wille didn’t look at him, hiding in his pillows again.
“What were you angry about?” Simon asked gently, letting the question float in the quiet room.
Wille hesitated, then spoke, his voice trembling as he let it all out. “It was Mom… the call. She keeps comparing me to Erik. Everything about me, my choices, my major… she says I should focus on myself, that this… us… isn’t good for me right now. She doesn’t think I’m ready. That maybe I’ll never be enough for her. And it just… it made me so mad, and then I… I didn’t know what to do with it, so I…” His voice broke, and he pressed the pillow to his face. The more he talked about his mother the more he realized that was really it. Wasn’t it? Nothing was ever enough for her. It hurt in his own chest.
Simon’s hand found Wille’s, squeezing gently. “Hey… hey, look at me,” he said softly. Wille lifted his eyes reluctantly, still wet. “You shouldn’t listen to her words. Not the ones that try to make you doubt yourself. But I get it. It’s hard. You want her approval, and sometimes… sometimes you can’t have it. And I’m sorry, you deserve the best Wille and it’s her loss that she can’t see just how incredible you already are.”
He leaned closer, voice quiet but fierce. “Sometimes you have to fight your own battles but doesn’t mean you’ll be alone. You have me, Erik, Felice… you wouldn’t ever, ever be alone on this. We won’t let you.”
Wille’s eyes shimmered, a mixture of relief and exhaustion. “Thank you,” he whispered. Simon pulled him into a careful, protective hug.
Simon drew him into a hug, careful, steady. Wille rested his head on Simon’s shoulder, hugging the pillows tight against his chest. They stayed like that for several minutes, letting the quiet settle around them.
Finally, Wille pulled back slightly, still in Simon’s arms. “I… I’m sorry about the cup too,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to break it.”
Simon glanced down at the mess and smirked. “It’s fine.” He tapped a piece of the mug gently. “Though I have to admit… it’s a pretty impressive explosion. You’ve got real talent.”
Wille let out a small laugh, the first one in what felt like hours. “I’ll go clean it up,” he said, pushing himself lightly against the bed.
“I’ll help,” Simon said immediately.
Wille pressed a hand against the mattress to steady himself, letting out a small wince.
Simon’s eyes snapped to his hand. “Wille! What happened?”
“It’s nothing,” Wille muttered, but Simon didn’t let him continue.
“Don’t argue. Stay right there,” Simon said firmly, already heading toward the bathroom. He returned moments later with the first aid kit.
He gently cleaned the small cut on Wille’s finger, which went down until his palm, and Wille flinched. “Sorry,” Simon said quietly, tone almost tender. “I know it stings.”
“It’s okay,” Wille whispered, still wincing.
Simon finished bandaging his hand, pressing the bandage firmly but carefully. “All better,” he said, giving him a reassuring smile.
“Thanks,” Wille said softly.
“Come on,” Simon said, holding out his hand. “We gotta clean up that mess together.”
Wille took it slowly, wincing once more as he gripped Simon’s hand, but allowed himself to be helped up. Side by side, they made their way toward the kitchen, ready to face the shards and the quiet aftermath together.