Wilhelm is caught between jerking away from Lucifer's touch, because he doesn't like what he's saying, and allowing it, because it feels something like reassurance. In the end, he stays where he is, because he's always been desperate for any measure of reassurance.

Though, at the moment, the weight of that hand feels like it's driving him down into the earth too.

A few days ago, he might have been able to shoulder this conversation better. But now, after days of being slowly cannibalized by his own darkest thoughts, he spirals at the slightest nudge. Worst case scenarios reel through his brain as his lungs contract and his words turn brittle.

"Can you just fucking say what you mean?"