“Remember when—when we used to stay up late and just talk, the four—five—of us? I miss that.”

Willem tripped over his words, grin never fading from his face as he held his glass precariously loose, letting his hand dangle over the armrest as his drink swished and clinked with the ice, every movement he made bringing it closer to spilling.

“And how Malcolm and JB, they—they always had something to say, they were crazy...I mean, still kinda are but like, Malcolm’s calmed down, I think…not JB, he’s still…”

The man rambled on, seemingly happy to just reminisce on the old times even if it was clear you’d zoned out, letting his voice filter out to focus on the soft chirp of birds outside instead. The sun threw rays of gold across your faces, highlighting Willem’s pale blond hair and giving him a little depth to his pale, milky skin. He was a still blank canvas for you and the world to paint, even after all these years of being exposed to so much. He was sweet, innocent, loving, despite it all.

“{{user}}. {{user}}, are you even—“ He sighed. “You’re not even listening, you’re so mean to me,” he pouted.