First Published: July 18th 2017

Pairing: implied moxiety

Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 983

Warnings: self-hate

Summary: Virgil doesn't like himself. Patton loves him regardless.

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He stares into the mirror and his reflection frowns back. His eyeshadow is thickly applied today so, if he does decide to drag himself out of his room, the others won't notice the dark bags sinking into his skin. His hair is a mess and he shrinks into his hoodie to compensate for this. The more things he hides about himself, the better he looks.

Virge sighs, and turns away from his own glare. It's no secret that he isn't exactly... fond of himself. A better description would be just 'he hates himself', but he never really had been as dramatic as a certain other side. It takes another minute of staring blankly at the bathroom tiles before he gives up and decides that today is just going to be one of those days where he doesn't leave his room.

He hopes no one will come looking for him, because then they'd see how awful he looks, and he ignores the part of himself that desperately wants for them to notice his absence from the commons. However, he's spent weeks in his room with no intervention before, so he doubts that they will seek his presence, even if they are trying to include him more.

An uncomfortable awareness of his every feature takes over Virgil's mind as he slinks back into the familiar darkness and cobwebs that makes up his living space. He wonders briefly if anyone realised that the room doesn't just hurt them, but also amplifies his internal negativity and that he had just mastered pretending to be fine. Then he shakes his head, because that would suggest that they're worried for him, and he knows too damn well that that is almost entirely impossible, as long as it's not affecting Thomas.

He closes his eyes and figures he can't be bothered to move to his bed, so he lies down on the carpeted floor instead. The silence settles around him thickly. His mind appears far too loud and he's half-tempted to go back to the mirror just so he can scrutinise his flaws when he hears the whooshing sound that signals the arriving of an intruder. Sighing, he opens his eyes and turns his head towards the side.

It's Patton. Virgil doesn't feel like speaking (his voice is dumb anyways), so he lets his head flop back onto the floor and wishes for him to go away. He hears movement and recognises that Pat is sitting next to him, but Virge refuses to meet his eye. He can feel Morality looking (judging), and his mind is quick to throw out some suggestions for why that is. (He's shocked silent by your appearance. Your hair is so messy. He's trying to figure out the best way to tell you he hates you. Maybe he wants to end your alliance. Maybe he never liked you anyway. Maybe-)

"Do you want a hug?" Patton asks, reaching out to run his thumb over Virgil's cheeks to swipe away the tears that had just started to leak down his face.

Anxiety doesn't know what to say (as always), but he manages to force himself to nod. The hoodie catches on the carpet and reveals his hair and the thudding of his heart stops as he panics. Morality lies down next to him on his side and helps him to roll over so they're facing each other. Patton's eyebrows knot together when he sees how much Virgil is crying, but wraps his arms around him regardless. It's a little uncomfortable, but that's what makes it real, Anxiety thinks.

Morality whispers, "Is this okay?" and Virgil croaks out a "yes" before he's clinging to Pat like a lifeboat. He tucks his head under his chin and shakes with his sobs. Patton wordless rubs his back and kisses his hair.

"You shouldn't be in here," Virgil protests weakly, even though he wants to stay like this forever (he doesn't deserve that).

"You shouldn't have to deal with this on your own," Patton retorts. "You're wonderful, Virge." (Lies.) "You try so hard to protect us. Thank you for all that you do. I'm proud of you." (How is he proud of a disease like yourself?)

He feels his eyes burn and his throats clogs up painfully with all the denials that try to get out. He doesn't understand why anyone would do what Patton's doing right now – willingly subject themselves to pain for Anxiety's sake.

"I- Patton, please. You can't be here, I'm not worth it. I'm not worth anything."

Whoosh. Now Virgil's done it. He's finally made Patton see that he really is worthless.

...It doesn't comfort him at all.

He wants to curl in on himself, but he finds himself unable to. If Morality's gone, then why can he still feel his arms around him?

"I transported us to my room. I think you'll like it better."

Virgil looks around to see that yes, Patton is still with him and that they are in his room. There are crayon drawings of puppies and kittens glue-tacked to the pale yellow walls. He spots a couple of artworks of the four of them labelled family and he can't believe he's included in every single one. His heart floods with happiness and warmth and love, and it's so unexpected that he gasps.

He rolls onto his back and looks up to see a painting of the sky on the ceiling, and is pleasantly surprised when the white fluffy clouds roll over one another as they move across. Patton watches this with a smile.

They cloud-gaze together and the anxiousness leaves them both. Patton rambles about his day and Virge listens with a smile that he hides with his hand. The other sees this and gently pulls it away, intertwining their fingers. Perhaps it's the effect of Patton's room, but when Morality says, "I love you," Virgil wants to believe it.