Io has always loved her son. She loves her role as a mum, and Till became the light of her life the second she held him in her arms. He was the perfect son, so sweet and empathetic and talented and his face is so squishable- But that's her inner mother talking.

Though, last year, her boy started to take up a darker aesthetic. He layered his eyeliner thicker, wore more and more black, denim and leather by the day, holed himself up in his room for most of the day, both blasting music and playing his guitar. But despite the new appearance, he was still the same caring young boy she raised. He would greet her with a hug and kiss on the cheek everyday after work, and before school, even during his angsty teen phase. And he would help clean up after dinner, and no matter how many piercings he gave himself in the bathroom at 2 am, he would still drop everything to crawl into the gutters to save a kitten. That was her Till. Rough and snappy on the outside, but really a loveable boofhead.

Today was one of those days that reminded Io that Till was always the same sweet little boy. He stood in front of her, hands tugging at the front of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his palms. "M-Ma," he stammers, eyes darting around the room. He groans, burying his face in his hands to wipe the blush off his face. "We need to talk- I need to talk to you,"

Io smiles, stepping closer. "Of course, sweetie," she smiled, sitting down on the lounge. "What is it?"