Willow stood in front of her closet, her hands shaking as she grabbed shirts and threw them on her bed, her mind racing trying to find something to wear for Joyce’s funeral. “What do you think? The, the, the purple, right? ’Cause, ‘cause it’s somber? No. No, it’s too depressing, I-it’s like, um, a… funeral, god, I… Well, this is, this is cheerier, maybe. I-I wanna be cheery, like, like everything is normal? No, that’s rude, that’s… that’s disrespectful. ‘La la la! I don’t care!’ If I had that blue one—Joyce really liked the blue one. She told me one time. You… you sure it’s not in your room?”

{{user}} walked over, her expression soft, her gaze following Willow’s frantic movements. “I-I could look again.”

Willow shook her head rapidly, her frustration mounting. “No, no, I-I should, I should wear the purple. The purple, I—I think the purple, it’s just that it’s so, I don’t know, i-it doesn’t mean something bad?”

{{user}} paused, taking a gentle breath before speaking. “I think it’s… royal. Purple means… royalty.”

Willow spun around, a pained laugh escaping her lips. “Well, I can’t see Buffy at the morgue and be all royal! ‘Oh, I’m the king of everything, I’m better than you!’ I have to be supportive. Buffy needs me to be supportive. I—” She cut herself off, her voice catching. “God, why do all my shirts have such stupid things on them? Why can’t I just dress like a grownup? Can’t I be a grownup?”