#i just... yeah

“My mamá’s here,” Simon said softly. As he collected his things and moved towards the door, Wille stood from the bed. He watched Simon take a deep breath, shoulders rising then falling into a slump. One step through the door frame and Wille followed. How could he not? If Simon was really leaving, he had to–

Simon turned back and met Wille’s eye, then looked away. He gave a slight shake of his head. Wille froze in his spot. Simon didn’t turn back again. The click of the door closing was deafening in his quiet bedroom. 

Thinking back, Wille couldn’t remember how long he stood there. He also couldn’t remember how he ended up in Erik’s room, but he did. Somehow, he came back into his body and found himself standing, barefoot and teary-eyed in his brother’s room. He hadn’t been in there in months. Everything still looked exactly the same. The same perfectly made bed, the same perfectly crisp military jacket, the same perfectly organized desk. Everything exactly the same except now Wille saw it in a new light. It was all too perfect to be real. There were secrets in the closet, tucked under the mattress, buried in the curtains. He thought back to the phone call, the way his father had praised Erik, had said he didn’t have that same darkness. He thought back to the dinner, the way his mother had only talked about Erik, how she couldn’t even look at him. He thought, too, back to all those times he’d heard Erik laugh at August’s offensive jokes. 

Everything in the fucking world was fake, even Erik. The knowledge that he’d suffered so much trying to live up to his brother’s perfect standard. All the disapproving looks from Mamma, the ‘stop being so selfish’ from Erik. His brother had told him he could trust August and that was a lie. He’d said to listen to the third years and that was a death wish. He was doubting everything now. Would Erik have even cared about the video? Would he have sided with Mamma? He knew he was just working himself up; too exhausted, too many emotions after such an awful day, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Wille stepped forward and angrily ripped back the sheets of the bed, sending pillows flying. He pushed over the desk chair. He grabbed a portrait of some old noble off the wall and chucked it. He kicked at the wall, tore at the curtains. He sobbed and yelled and knocked a picture frame off the desk. Tiny shards of glass went skittering across the room. He grabbed the stupid frog prince ceramic from Erik's desk. He raised it above his head, gearing up to smash it on the ground.

When he looked up, he met his own eyes in the mirror. Eyes swollen, face red and streaked with tears, he tried to look away but couldn’t. Everywhere else there were pictures of him, or him and Erik, as children. He and Wille, practically babies, crawling on a fence somewhere outside. Him, climbing on a playground, holding a toy. He and Wille, arms around each other, laughing. 

Wille wanted to punch the mirror. He wanted to feel it shatter under his hands and to send the pictures falling to the ground. He wanted to scream. He wanted his fucking brother back. He wanted to ask Erik about the initiation, about the video, about the truth.  

He couldn’t have those things though, and would never get them. 

He put the frog prince back on the desk.

Slowly, he picked his way across the floor.