As she scorns all the impossible standards they're held to, and all the voices that tell you you're not good enough, Wilhelm nods along sympathetically. There's a weariness to it, like his head is heavier just by thinking about all those things. Like it's holding every unflattering headline, every sharp internet criticism, every disappointed look from his mom. He could say a lot about the weight of expectations, but Abby is doing a fine job ripping into it on her own so he lets her go.

Then she talks about love and her incompatibility with it, like her jagged edges could never line up with somebody else's, and his mouth pinches into a frown.

"You don't think there's anybody out there that would want to be with you?"

After a series of disasters in his embattled love life, he has held the same worry. It's not starry-eyed naivete that keeps him hoping that he'll find somebody who can help piece him together and keep him together, somebody who sees all of him and likes him anyway, somebody he can have all to himself. It's loneliness, an ache that the rest of him stretches thin around.