“You know,” Ivo started, nudging Eron’s arm gently, “speaking of chaos, remind me to never trust Lucas with directions again.”

Oaklen chuckled, “You’re still hanging out with that guy?”

“Unfortunately,” Ivo said, dramatically resting a hand over his heart. “Last Friday, we were out for drinks. Nothing fancy, just a dive bar with cheap beer and chairs that look like they survived a war. Anyway, Lucas insists there’s a shortcut back to campus through the small botanical gardens.”

Ivy returned from the kitchen just in time to hear the start of the story, setting down a small tray of food in front of Eron with a fond shake of her head. “Oh, dear.”

Ivo nodded at her, eyes wide. “That’s what I should’ve said. But no. We follow him deep into the gardens. Mind you, it’s around 1 AM, and we’ve all had a few too many.”

He looked around at his rapt audience. “Then it happens. Lucas, in all his clumsy glory, accidentally kicks a goose. He doesn’t see it. Just boot. Full contact.”

Eron’s mouth twitched upward, eyes still lowered.

Ivo continued, hands animated, “The goose lets out this horrifying noise like a banshee caught in traffic. It then chases us. Like full-on berserker mode. I lose a shoe, Sienna falls into a rose bush, and Lucas, bless him, tries to apologise. Arms up, lying flat on the ground like he’s being arrested by a bird.”

Oaklen was laughing now, and even Ivy let out a short snort.

“The goose doesn’t care. It climbs on his chest and stares him down. I’m telling you, it was like witnessing a trial. Lucas just lies there, mumbling, ‘I’m sorry, bro. I didn’t mean it.”

Eron let out a soft, genuine laugh.

Ivo grinned at him, satisfied. “Eventually, a security guard comes out, broom in hand, like some mythic goose-slayer, shoos it away. Apparently, the goose is notorious, often biting drunken students. We eventually limp back to the dorms, Sienna with twigs in her hair, me missing a shoe, and Lucas swearing he saw his life flash before his eyes.”

He turned to Eron with a crooked smile. “Moral of the story? Never trust a shortcut, a goose, or Lucas after midnight.”

Acheron chuckled again, covering his mouth with his hand, but the sound was there, light and real.

And for the first time in weeks, the weight in his chest didn’t feel so suffocating.

Ivy sat up straighter, offering Eron a plate with a neatly halved wrap. Her movements were gentle, careful not to be overly doting, but deliberate enough that he noticed. She’d always been health-conscious, preferring clean foods, mostly grown in her own garden. Oily or fried meals had never been her thing, and by extension, never really theirs.

Eron accepted the plate and took a bite, expecting the usual grilled chicken, greens, maybe hummus, but the flavour hit him in the most unexpected way: warm, greasy, delicious. The chicken had been breaded and deep-fried exactly the way he liked it and exactly the way his mother never made it.

It should’ve made him happy, but it didn’t.

The calm that had been settling around him like a soft blanket suddenly frayed. He could feel the mood inside him unravel, thread by thread.

His mother’s gaze lingered, much too warm and too careful. He understood the intention behind the wrap, understood it all too well. She was trying to comfort him, to bring him something he enjoyed. It had, however, an opposite effect; instead of soothing him, it only deepened the pit in his stomach.

‘She pities me.’

The thought whispered in his mind, unwelcome and bitter. Every small deviation from her norm screamed louder than her words ever could. She never used to cook like this. She never used to try this hard for him.

Eron forced another bite past the lump in his throat. The taste now turned thick and cloying, like oil coating the back of his throat. He chewed, mechanically, until he reached the halfway mark, then carefully set the plate aside. Maybe this would be enough to avoid raising suspicion, and his mom would just think he was just full.

He didn’t want to upset her. He didn’t want to ruin the rare, peaceful warmth that filled the room like sunlight.

He just wished he could stop feeling like every kind gesture was a quiet apology for a past they couldn’t change.

“Acheron,” his mother called, pulling him from the haze of his thoughts. “Did you finish reading the documents Mr Sauveterre sent?”

From somewhere, Eron couldn't fathom, she produced another folder and began leafing through its contents, the pages whispering with a kind of urgency.

“No,” he muttered, stomach roiling. The nausea had returned, curling tight in his gut.

“You had the entire morning,” Ivy said, her voice edged with reproach.

“Read through them tonight. We need to set a meeting with the lawyer. The sooner we do that, the sooner we can talk to the police—”

“Mom, please—”

She didn’t stop.

“Once the police are involved, we can push for a court date. There’s still the medical documentation, and the witness statements—”

Acheron tried once more.

“Mom—”

“We also need to prepare for possible cross-examination questions, which leaves us with—”

“Just shut the fuck up!” Eron snapped, his voice cracking like thunder. His chest heaved, panic flooding in too fast for him to rein in. His hands shook. Ivy froze, her eyes wide in disbelief.

“Don’t raise your voice,” she said calmly. “And you know I don’t allow swearing in this house.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Eron bit out, voice trembling, “but can you please just stop talking about lawyers and court and hospital appointments for once? Do you even remember the last normal conversation we had?”

His voice broke on the last word. He looked at her, really looked, and his expression was raw, pleading. But Ivy, with her jaw tight and her fingers clenched around the edge of the folder, seemed to absorb the pain and then push it aside.

“We can’t keep hiding and running,” she said with soft but steel-like conviction. “We have to face this head-on. The sooner we deal with it, the sooner we can start moving on.”

Eron’s breath caught, and a sudden wave of heat surged through him.

“There is no we,” he shouted, louder than before, his voice scraping with anguish. “I was attacked. I was raped. I’m the one waking up in sweat-soaked sheets, feeling like I’m dying from the inside out. You may have the strength to fight and to look through those files, to sit with those crime scene photos, but I don’t. I’m barely hanging on.”

His voice collapsed into a whisper. “I don’t have anything left.”

He couldn’t meet her eyes anymore. He didn’t want to see pity. Didn’t want to see her disappointment. The tears came without warning, hot and fast, slipping down his face and neck like betrayal.

Then he turned and bolted through the hall, up the stairs, down the corridor until the door slammed behind him. The only thing he could hear was the rush of his feet across tile and the desperate groan of his stomach. He barely made it to the toilet before everything came up.

All of it. Gone.

A cruel end to what had been, at least for a moment, his best meal in weeks.

His head felt heavy, memories trying to press into his consciousness, trying to make themselves known. He stumbled his way back to his bed, falling onto his comfortable duvet, and he held onto one of his larger teddy bears, the same one his mother had bought for him. He wrapped his whole body around the stuffed toy, his face stuffed into its chest, allowing himself to fully break down.  

It was only after the sky turned dark that Eron was able to pull himself together. Not completely, but enough to wipe his face and to reach underneath his bed, trying to find his sketch book from this morning, but instead he pulled out a much older one. 

The book's cover is already starting to fade. He flipped through the pages. Watching his childish drawings slowly improve. Each piece pulls him to the past and fills him with a time that is much simpler than now. The last drawing made him pause.

It was far more detailed than anything else drawn so far. The colours were free and bright. There were telling signs of watercolour paint in the background. A medium he enjoyed using during his early teens. The art piece perfectly depicted the smiling face of Caden. 

Eron's heart clenched. He wasn't sure why. Regret? Sorrow? 

All he could think of was 

What if

The past, however, was just pigment now, stained into pages he couldn’t live in anymore.