The Sanders Fleet

Would You Love Me More - Moxiety

{hey have angst}

You have to understand that

The one I kill is me

Changing what I was

For what you wanted me to be

I followed your direction

Did everything you asked

I hope it makes you happy

'Cause there's just no turning back

~~~Virgil~~~

Virgil's closet had changed.

Once it was full of black, grey, purple. Thick clothing that he could put on in layers, dark shirts with rips in them.

Now it was simple tees, light blues and greens. A few button downs, ties, even an admittedly nice grey suit.

Because that was what Patton liked.

Virgil's habits had changed.

Late nights were a thing of the past, so was sleeping in until noon. No more screaming along to loud punk music, no more applying dark eyeshadow for the aesthetic it provided.

Now it was quiet indie (he'd been able to keep a little bit of his old strangeness), bed by ten and up by eight for early morning jogs. Meal prep, a fresh face, smiling at strangers.

Because that was what Patton liked.

Virgil had forced his attitude to change.

It used to be attitude. He used to snap at everyone, insults were his specialty. He was the pessimist of his friend group, he always had the worst possible situation on his mind and he wasn't afraid to poke holes in people's excitement. He usually did it to relieve his own anxiety and stress.

Now it was nods in passing, keeping quiet when he couldn't think of something to say that was at least polite. Awkward smiles (but smiles nonetheless), small talk.

Because that was what Patton liked.

He stood in front of the mirror in his small apartment, staring at his appearance.

No more purple hair. A simple, traditional haircut, with gel to push it back a little bit.

No more eyeshadow. The bags on his eyes were still there, much smaller than before, but he didn't cover them anymore.

No more heavy black shirts. He was actually wearing a pale orange polo. A polo of all things.

No more ripped jeans. Slacks (black) or jeans. Jeans right now.

No more combat boots. A pair of simple tennis shoes today, old grey Nikes.

He had kept one of his old sweatshirts, a messy black zip-up hoodie with purple plaid patches sewn all over it. Some covered rips, some were just there for looks.

Virgil tried for a smile. It looked forced. It always did, but Patton never noticed.

He glared at himself. "You love him. He loves you. You two are happy and it doesn't matter what the cost of that is."

He'd lost a couple friends over this. They said he'd changed too much.

Virgil knew they were right. But he loved Patton so much, and he didn't want to lose him.