It was just a jacket. Vincent could fix the sleeve with some patchwork or switch back to his old one. But he couldn’t fix the problem that had caused it and he couldn’t go back to the way he’d been living. He couldn’t keep living like this either, getting pieces of Wesley’s bright, happy world and Wesley’s bright, happy affection as his own life continued spiraling. Couldn’t keep dreading the point when Wesley realized that Vincent wasn’t any different from his old thrift store jacket, threads always just about to break, fabric forever in need of extra care. Couldn’t keep stewing in discomfort
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