Author's Note: I can't stop writing today. Here's the second part to "The Morning's Story" -- hope y'all like it. Let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. They belong to the geniuses at ABC. Just writing for the fun of it.

Archive: Yep. Just let me know, 'kay?

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One Sentence, Three Words
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A long pause. So long that Will actually can hear his hope for a reciprocal love with Sydney slip away. She hasn't moved, hasn't looked at him, hasn't responded at all. Shit, shit, shit. Oh no, no, no, no. I didn't just tell her I love her. I didn't just put everything on the line with one sentence, three words.

His mind blanks. All he knows is a long, white tunnel of flashing agony. The wait is killing him. Why doesn't she say something? Why doesn't he say something?

Take it back, you damn moron. Just shoot her a grin and say you were kidding. Tell her it was a fucked up, stupid joke gone wrong. Tell her you were talking to yourself. Tell her you were talking the croissant that was lodged in your throat. Tell her it was your deranged, completely foolish evil twin that just spoke. It wasn't you - not the well-educated, totally sensible Will. Awwwww shitthis is not happening. Shitshitshitshit.

The sadist in him can't take his crystal blue eyes off her. Really, he does not like this torture, this hurt, this sinking feeling in his stomach, but part of him is clinging to the notion that maybe she will lift her eyes to his and offer a smile.

Or maybe she'll just keep sitting there, looking at her hands, slackjawed. For another five minutes.

He's convinced he's the biggest jackass in the world. What kind of man sleeps with one woman one night and confesses his love to another the next morning? An utter fool. An egocentric idiot. A man who can't balance his checkbook. A man who really can't dance any better than his 62-year-old gray-haired father. A man who is chasing after an illusion, a dream of a woman who hasn't given him a single indication that she wants anything more than friendship.

But what about the journal? What about the love she has hidden away for someone? All signs were pointing toward Will, indicating newly blossomed feelings of love for him - right? She loves someone - why wouldn't it be him? And if it's not him, than who?

"Syd," he starts, his voice hushed. "I-"

"Stop."

The one word is hardly a whisper, but carries the force of a thundering roar. Will can't breathe. He can't see. Only one word breaks through the whirling static in his brain: shit. He's sensing a trend developing here.

She doesn't say another word. Her face is pale. She no longer carries the look of love on her cheeks. She looks like a woman reeling. She looks like she'd rather be anywhere but here.

"Let me explain -"

Her fingers, so quick, fly to his lips. The unexpected contact takes his breath away - he no longer thinks of speaking. His dry, parched lips can feel the soft smoothness of her fingertips. He doesn't dare move, although the only thing he can think of doing is puckering his lips against her taut flesh.
Then she looks at him and smiles as if she is really seeing him for the first time. His eyebrows feel like they're jumping right off his face. Could this be? Was I right all along?

Her fingers brush his cheek. He can hear his stubble scratch them.

"Will?" Her brown eyes are sparkling. He can't help but grin. She loves himshe wants him. He is the one she desires.

"Huh?" Yes. I am articulate.

Her fingers run across his cheek once more, just barely grazing the corner of his mouth. He resists the urge to ravish her right then and there. She smiles a wide, toothy smile. "You havea piece of croissant on your face."