What is Choice?
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)
Rating: PG-13 mostly, with one NC-17 epilogue.
Spoilers: Through Chosen.
Author's Note: Spike/Buffy, but only kinda. This story is a bit odd. Also posted on my website(http://lostinwonderland.org/buffy/fanfic.html).
Chapter title from Peter Gabriel's "Solsbury Hill."
Chapter One: My Heart Going Boom-Boom-Boom
Another beautiful day was dawning in the east. The sun rose and filled his rooms with light. The sound of the ocean drifted in through the open windows. The breeze brought the tang of salt and tropical flowers into the airy, open house.
Yet Will Smythe noticed none of this as he blearily stumbled down the hall to the bathroom, a shower the only plan his sleep-addled brain could grasp.
When he emerged fifteen minutes later, he was better prepared to face the coffee maker and the morning paper. Will took his paper and his coffee out on the balcony that overlooked the waters of the Pacific. For as long as he could remember, he had loved sunlight and the outdoors, and breathing fresh air did as much to wake him up as all his other morning rituals.
Will sipped and flipped, while part of his mind debated what to do today. It was Saturday; he had just finished his latest project at work, so for once, his weekend was relatively his own. He had thought about visiting his mother in Los Angeles, but he felt rather stay-at-home right now. True, LA was not that far from San Diego, but a transplanted Brit like himself still quailed sometimes at California freeways.
He probably would call his buddy Rich and find out what was happening tonight. Rich always knew what was going on within their group. Who wanted to celebrate, who needed to forget, who felt like club hopping and who wanted to host movie night.
He gazed out towards the ocean as he drank the last of his coffee, letting his thoughts wander. He wasn't really much for introspection, but something about the way his life was going was making him more contemplative lately.
At the ripe old age of 27, Will Smythe had a good career, working for a local college in their public relations office. However, the job was mostly a way to pay bills until he could write full-time. Writing was his real love. He had written some short stories that had been published in well-known magazines, and he was working on a few new ideas, one of which he hoped could develop into a novel.
He lived in a small but comfortable house near the ocean. His mother, to whom he was very close, lived in near enough to visit, but far enough away to prevent embarrassing drop-in visits. He had a good circle of friends, dated relatively often, and had even been in love once or twice.
Yet lately, he had felt a niggling sense of . . . dissatisfaction with his life. Like there was something out there, just beyond his reach. Something sparkling, that was bigger than his simple life, that would make him a different man when it was all said and done.
But he didn't have the foggiest idea of what he was looking for.
"Right annoying, that," he muttered to himself, just as the phone rang. He walked inside and picked up the phone, cradling it against his ear as he washed out his coffee mug.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Limey. Up for some good deeds tonight?"
Will smiled at the sound of his friend's voice. "You're psychic, Rich. Was just thinking about calling you. Good deeds? I hope a parole officer, a thick Croatian accent, and a man named Tiny aren't involved in this."
Rich laughed. The two of them had met at an alumni function at the college Will worked at; Rich had graduated from there five years before, but had just finished his master's degree at the time of the function. One of their more memorable nights out had involved a run-in with the law and some community service. Although Will gave as good as he got, he never failed to remind his friend that the events of that night had been instigated by Rich.
"Nah, not this time. I've got a buddy of mine down visiting, with one of his friends, and we're all getting together tonight. Wanna join us for some dinner?"
"And chance your cooking?"
"What's wrong with it?" Rich asked, his voice huffy.
"Oh, nothing, if you like blackened macaroni and cheese," Will retorted, his voice teasing.
Rich humphed. "I'll have you know that Rosie is cooking tonight," he said, referring to his girlfriend. "See if I put in a good word for you with Xander's very single, very gorgeous, friend of the female persuasion."
"Don't need a good word when you've got all this British charm," Will said with a grin.
"Well, what you call charm, I call the reason us Colonials revolted. And trust me, you'd need the good word. This girl is a babe, beating off guys with a stick. I speak from experience; Xander tried to set us up once, but nothing clicked. Besides, it's not like you're Mr. Stud. You haven't seen anyone seriously since what's-her-name; you know, the flake?"
"Melody," Will said with a grimace. "I wouldn't say that was serious--more like punishment for me."
"I never got that--you, Mr. Commitment, having a fling that was all about sex."
"Not proud of it, but it's done," Will said, hoping that Rich would move on.
Rich obviously had flunked the Mind Reading 101 class, because he said, "I mean, you spent years and years with Drusilla, why I don't know. That girl was a nutcase. And when you finally get free of her clutches, you go for someone who's just as big a nutcase, only blonde and a lot more shallow."
"New topic," Will growled. "And as I'm well-acquainted with your romantic history, I doubt either of us is in a position to throw stones."
"Too true," Rich said, seeming to finally get the message. "All right, can I count on you tonight? It'll be a nice, quiet, pressure-free night, I promise."
"Sure, Rich. See you at your place, when, around seven?"
"Sounds good. Oh, and bring dessert."
"What the bloody hell for?"
"Women love it when a guy brings dessert. It's the modern equivalent to killing the woolly mammoth and dragging it back to the cave. Plus, much neater."
Will sighed but agreed. "I doubt it, but I'll rustle something up. See you tonight."
Will hung up the phone, pondering Rich's words. It was true that lately, relationships hadn't been a priority for him. After he had finally managed to convince Melody that it was over between them, he hadn't thought much about dating. But that had been four months ago, and most guys would have already been back in the saddle.
He went back outside, wanting to spend some time just staring at the ocean that flowed towards the beach. As he gazed at the water, thinking about Drusilla, he sighed, feeling that same mixture of sadness, shame, and embarrassment he always experienced when he thought back to the years he'd spent with her.
He had met Drusilla when he was 16, and had fallen head over heels for her. Nothing that anyone said could convince him that she was anything but his dark girl, his princess. At eighteen, she was older than him, and had opened his eyes to things he'd never considered, experiences he never thought he'd have. With her, he'd explored London's clubs, discovered punk rock, and learned the joys of fighting.
He shook his head. Dru loved to start fights; she'd lead on a guy, and then when he tried something, she'd yell for her "sweet Will" to save her. Of course, being the stupid guy he was, he always jumped in, swinging away. She always seemed to go after the rugby player type, so he'd learned quickly which punches hurt the most, and what dirty tricks to use to level the playing field.
It was in one of those fights that he'd received the distinctive eyebrow scar he still carried today. And it was that fight, which ended up with him in hospital with pending charges of assault hanging over his head, that made his mother insist that he come with her when she moved to California.
He had resisted mightily. By that point, he was eighteen, and he couldn't bear the thought of leaving Drusilla. But his mother had begged him to go with her, and considering her medical condition, Will realized that he owed a greater responsibility to his mother, his only family. So even though he hated it, he told Dru that he was moving to America with his mother.
She hadn't taken it well. Her quirky personality always made him unsure of how she'd react when he disagreed with her. This time, she had merely accepted his decision, promising to stay in touch with him. He had been surprised, but happy that she seemed able to understand why he had to leave.
Of course, once he got to California, her behavior made him wish they had broken up. She'd call him at two in the morning, sobbing about how much she missed him, how lonely she was. She pleaded with him to find a way to bring her over, so she could stay with him. She said she missed him too much to stay apart from him.
He was still in love with her. His mother's condition had improved, but she was planning on staying in the United States anyway, and had even gone so far as to discuss becoming a US citizen. He had actually started trying to figure out when he could go back and visit Drusilla, and tell her that soon he'd be home for good.
And then she had shown up on his doorstep one day, cooing that "Mommy had come for her darling dangerous boy." At first, he had been thrilled that she had come, had shown him that she loved him.
Will's mouth twisted as he remembered that time. Oh, yeah, she had loved him. Loved him enough to cheat on him while she was staying with him, even bringing guys back to the apartment they were sharing. When he had found out, he had gone crazy, trashing the apartment and throwing all her things out into the street.
When she had returned that evening, she was calm and matter-of-fact about his anger. "I had wanted us to be together again, Will my love, but I can taste the other one on your lips."
Will had screamed at her that it wasn't him that was screwing around in the relationship, so what the hell was she talking about. But she hadn't answered, merely picked up her things and left.
Yet despite all his anger, she had been like a drug for him. She'd pop up in his life again for a week or two, and they'd go right back to wild shagging and nights out in dirty bars. A year ago, though, Dru had decided to go back to England, but he didn't even let her ask him to come with her. He was tired of the toxicity of their relationship. Tired of feeling used, tired of feeling out of control. Tired of feeling second best. He let her go, with sadness but not regret. She had opened his eyes to a new world, but he realized that he no longer wanted to share that world with her.
She had seemed to understand, once again mentioning that other one. He had just chalked it up as one of Dru's fancies, and had put it out of his head. Lately, though, her words had been rumbling around inside his head, rubbing up against some ideas he had for a book.
He straightened up from the hunched-over position he had taken, leaning over the railing, and went inside the house. After all that brooding, he felt a need to do something more proactive, even if it was writing. He decided to put in a few hours writing, before he worried about a few chores that needed doing.
Grabbing a bottle of water and an apple, he headed into his closet-sized study. What it lacked in size, it made up for with the window that looked out at the beach and ocean. He had placed his desk in front of this view, and quite a few ideas had come to him while gazing at the water and people-watching.
Will fired up his computer and opened up his idea file. He read over the various notes he had made for each idea. He frowned a bit as he reviewed things. In the past, he had written in a manner that had been described by carping critics as "florid" and "overdone." Yet he had managed to restrain most of his excesses, and his work had found enough admirers.
Lately, though, he had noticed that his style seemed to be shifting. Now, it was a bit more terse, more focused on observations of human nature versus reflections on beauty and other ideals. Oh, the delight in beauty and nature still came through, but as if a veil had been pulled over the concepts, giving shadow to sunshine thoughts. Will didn't really understand how it was happening, but it was invigorating to see this shift, and calculate how to best work within this new world.
"At least that wanker from The New Yorker won't say I've sacrificed another goat to become the prose incarnation of Wordsworth," Will muttered, still upset over a review he had received for a collection of his short stories that had been published last year.
Will perused the ideas one more time, before closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. He focused on the various threads of stories, before grabbing hold of one. With a nod, he opened his eyes and fired up his word processor. The cursor blinked at him, and he paused for a moment, before letting his fingers fly across the keyboard.
When I was fifteen, a man came to me and told me I had a destiny. I was fated to play a critical role in fighting evil. Naturally, I didn't believe him. I was more likely to lead the fight against no homework, or attend a rally for year-round school. The closest I'd gotten to evil were the three football players who harassed me once a week. I was their "good luck charm" that ensured a win every week. The man wasn't dissuaded by my protests. He merely said, "Luke, haven't you noticed the strength? The reflexes? The dreams?"
As Will wrote, the part of his brain not occupied with plot and character marveled at how the words flowed. It wasn't often that the story flowed like water from a faucet, but this was definitely one of those times. Disregarding everything, he kept writing, until he had paused to stretch his cramped fingers, and noticed the time.
"Five bloody PM? Bollocks!" Will shouted, as he quickly saved his work and jumped from the computer. He ran into the bathroom and groaned at the image presented. His sandy brown hair, which he normally kept slicked back, had dried into a giant puff of curls. His eyes were watering from staring at the computer, and the stubble shadowing his jaw made him look drunk, not rakishly handsome. Filling the sink with water and grabbing his razor, he mumbled, "Don't know how Wes pulls it off," thinking of his cousin who could pull off the stubble look.
Beard dealt with, Will snatched up a comb and gel to tackle the hair, but he knew it was a losing battle. He gave it a half-hearted try, then gave up and settled for at least reducing some of the poodle qualities. He ended up with a head full of curls, but at least they had a sexy bedhair aspect, he thought to himself. At least, that was what he was hoping. A quick scrub of the teeth, and he headed into his bedroom to dress.
Throwing open his closet, he congratulated himself for doing laundry last weekend. Pulling out a pair of gray slacks and a long-sleeved blue tee, he dressed, slipped his feet into some shoes, and headed back into the bathroom. Some cologne and he was done.
Will sighed as he glanced at his wristwatch, hunting for his wallet and keys. 5:45, and there still was dessert to take care of.
"It's not like a date, you poof. Calm down," he reminded himself as he headed out of his house and got into his car. "It's just dinner with a bunch of people."
Despite what he said, Will still felt a touch of nervous energy. He tapped his hands against the steering wheel as he drove, and took a few corners a bit tighter than normal. Probably it was just the high of a good day of writing, but Will felt like this night was special, important. He felt like the stars were pouring their energy into him, making him shine like sunlight. It was a good feeling. He wanted to keep feeling this way.
He got a cheesecake from a bakery near Rich's house, and even gave into his impulse to buy flowers. Rich, lazy slob that he was, probably had barely cleaned, but nothing distracted the eyes like flowers.
Will chuckled at the turn his thoughts had taken, wondering if he had been watching Queer Eye for the Straight Guy a tad too much. But even his self-deprecation couldn't prevent the minor case of butterflies in his stomach as he pulled into the parking lot outside Rich's condo. He paused before leaving the car, taking a few deep breaths. Despite outward appearances, he had a definite shy bent, and meeting new people sometimes threw him for a loop. But Will rolled his head and tapped back into his buzz as he exited the car.
He juggled the bakery box and the flowers as he drew up to Rich's door, and managed to press the bell. When no one opened the door after a few moments, he banged his foot against the door and yelled, "Come on, you pillock, man with dessert out here!"
And then the door opened, and he felt like he wasn't just getting energy from the stars, but was among them in the heavens.
End, Chapter One
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)
Rating: PG-13 mostly, with one NC-17 epilogue.
Spoilers: Through Chosen.
Author's Note: Spike/Buffy, but only kinda. This story is a bit odd. Also posted on my website(http://lostinwonderland.org/buffy/fanfic.html).
Chapter title from Peter Gabriel's "Solsbury Hill."
Chapter One: My Heart Going Boom-Boom-Boom
Another beautiful day was dawning in the east. The sun rose and filled his rooms with light. The sound of the ocean drifted in through the open windows. The breeze brought the tang of salt and tropical flowers into the airy, open house.
Yet Will Smythe noticed none of this as he blearily stumbled down the hall to the bathroom, a shower the only plan his sleep-addled brain could grasp.
When he emerged fifteen minutes later, he was better prepared to face the coffee maker and the morning paper. Will took his paper and his coffee out on the balcony that overlooked the waters of the Pacific. For as long as he could remember, he had loved sunlight and the outdoors, and breathing fresh air did as much to wake him up as all his other morning rituals.
Will sipped and flipped, while part of his mind debated what to do today. It was Saturday; he had just finished his latest project at work, so for once, his weekend was relatively his own. He had thought about visiting his mother in Los Angeles, but he felt rather stay-at-home right now. True, LA was not that far from San Diego, but a transplanted Brit like himself still quailed sometimes at California freeways.
He probably would call his buddy Rich and find out what was happening tonight. Rich always knew what was going on within their group. Who wanted to celebrate, who needed to forget, who felt like club hopping and who wanted to host movie night.
He gazed out towards the ocean as he drank the last of his coffee, letting his thoughts wander. He wasn't really much for introspection, but something about the way his life was going was making him more contemplative lately.
At the ripe old age of 27, Will Smythe had a good career, working for a local college in their public relations office. However, the job was mostly a way to pay bills until he could write full-time. Writing was his real love. He had written some short stories that had been published in well-known magazines, and he was working on a few new ideas, one of which he hoped could develop into a novel.
He lived in a small but comfortable house near the ocean. His mother, to whom he was very close, lived in near enough to visit, but far enough away to prevent embarrassing drop-in visits. He had a good circle of friends, dated relatively often, and had even been in love once or twice.
Yet lately, he had felt a niggling sense of . . . dissatisfaction with his life. Like there was something out there, just beyond his reach. Something sparkling, that was bigger than his simple life, that would make him a different man when it was all said and done.
But he didn't have the foggiest idea of what he was looking for.
"Right annoying, that," he muttered to himself, just as the phone rang. He walked inside and picked up the phone, cradling it against his ear as he washed out his coffee mug.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Limey. Up for some good deeds tonight?"
Will smiled at the sound of his friend's voice. "You're psychic, Rich. Was just thinking about calling you. Good deeds? I hope a parole officer, a thick Croatian accent, and a man named Tiny aren't involved in this."
Rich laughed. The two of them had met at an alumni function at the college Will worked at; Rich had graduated from there five years before, but had just finished his master's degree at the time of the function. One of their more memorable nights out had involved a run-in with the law and some community service. Although Will gave as good as he got, he never failed to remind his friend that the events of that night had been instigated by Rich.
"Nah, not this time. I've got a buddy of mine down visiting, with one of his friends, and we're all getting together tonight. Wanna join us for some dinner?"
"And chance your cooking?"
"What's wrong with it?" Rich asked, his voice huffy.
"Oh, nothing, if you like blackened macaroni and cheese," Will retorted, his voice teasing.
Rich humphed. "I'll have you know that Rosie is cooking tonight," he said, referring to his girlfriend. "See if I put in a good word for you with Xander's very single, very gorgeous, friend of the female persuasion."
"Don't need a good word when you've got all this British charm," Will said with a grin.
"Well, what you call charm, I call the reason us Colonials revolted. And trust me, you'd need the good word. This girl is a babe, beating off guys with a stick. I speak from experience; Xander tried to set us up once, but nothing clicked. Besides, it's not like you're Mr. Stud. You haven't seen anyone seriously since what's-her-name; you know, the flake?"
"Melody," Will said with a grimace. "I wouldn't say that was serious--more like punishment for me."
"I never got that--you, Mr. Commitment, having a fling that was all about sex."
"Not proud of it, but it's done," Will said, hoping that Rich would move on.
Rich obviously had flunked the Mind Reading 101 class, because he said, "I mean, you spent years and years with Drusilla, why I don't know. That girl was a nutcase. And when you finally get free of her clutches, you go for someone who's just as big a nutcase, only blonde and a lot more shallow."
"New topic," Will growled. "And as I'm well-acquainted with your romantic history, I doubt either of us is in a position to throw stones."
"Too true," Rich said, seeming to finally get the message. "All right, can I count on you tonight? It'll be a nice, quiet, pressure-free night, I promise."
"Sure, Rich. See you at your place, when, around seven?"
"Sounds good. Oh, and bring dessert."
"What the bloody hell for?"
"Women love it when a guy brings dessert. It's the modern equivalent to killing the woolly mammoth and dragging it back to the cave. Plus, much neater."
Will sighed but agreed. "I doubt it, but I'll rustle something up. See you tonight."
Will hung up the phone, pondering Rich's words. It was true that lately, relationships hadn't been a priority for him. After he had finally managed to convince Melody that it was over between them, he hadn't thought much about dating. But that had been four months ago, and most guys would have already been back in the saddle.
He went back outside, wanting to spend some time just staring at the ocean that flowed towards the beach. As he gazed at the water, thinking about Drusilla, he sighed, feeling that same mixture of sadness, shame, and embarrassment he always experienced when he thought back to the years he'd spent with her.
He had met Drusilla when he was 16, and had fallen head over heels for her. Nothing that anyone said could convince him that she was anything but his dark girl, his princess. At eighteen, she was older than him, and had opened his eyes to things he'd never considered, experiences he never thought he'd have. With her, he'd explored London's clubs, discovered punk rock, and learned the joys of fighting.
He shook his head. Dru loved to start fights; she'd lead on a guy, and then when he tried something, she'd yell for her "sweet Will" to save her. Of course, being the stupid guy he was, he always jumped in, swinging away. She always seemed to go after the rugby player type, so he'd learned quickly which punches hurt the most, and what dirty tricks to use to level the playing field.
It was in one of those fights that he'd received the distinctive eyebrow scar he still carried today. And it was that fight, which ended up with him in hospital with pending charges of assault hanging over his head, that made his mother insist that he come with her when she moved to California.
He had resisted mightily. By that point, he was eighteen, and he couldn't bear the thought of leaving Drusilla. But his mother had begged him to go with her, and considering her medical condition, Will realized that he owed a greater responsibility to his mother, his only family. So even though he hated it, he told Dru that he was moving to America with his mother.
She hadn't taken it well. Her quirky personality always made him unsure of how she'd react when he disagreed with her. This time, she had merely accepted his decision, promising to stay in touch with him. He had been surprised, but happy that she seemed able to understand why he had to leave.
Of course, once he got to California, her behavior made him wish they had broken up. She'd call him at two in the morning, sobbing about how much she missed him, how lonely she was. She pleaded with him to find a way to bring her over, so she could stay with him. She said she missed him too much to stay apart from him.
He was still in love with her. His mother's condition had improved, but she was planning on staying in the United States anyway, and had even gone so far as to discuss becoming a US citizen. He had actually started trying to figure out when he could go back and visit Drusilla, and tell her that soon he'd be home for good.
And then she had shown up on his doorstep one day, cooing that "Mommy had come for her darling dangerous boy." At first, he had been thrilled that she had come, had shown him that she loved him.
Will's mouth twisted as he remembered that time. Oh, yeah, she had loved him. Loved him enough to cheat on him while she was staying with him, even bringing guys back to the apartment they were sharing. When he had found out, he had gone crazy, trashing the apartment and throwing all her things out into the street.
When she had returned that evening, she was calm and matter-of-fact about his anger. "I had wanted us to be together again, Will my love, but I can taste the other one on your lips."
Will had screamed at her that it wasn't him that was screwing around in the relationship, so what the hell was she talking about. But she hadn't answered, merely picked up her things and left.
Yet despite all his anger, she had been like a drug for him. She'd pop up in his life again for a week or two, and they'd go right back to wild shagging and nights out in dirty bars. A year ago, though, Dru had decided to go back to England, but he didn't even let her ask him to come with her. He was tired of the toxicity of their relationship. Tired of feeling used, tired of feeling out of control. Tired of feeling second best. He let her go, with sadness but not regret. She had opened his eyes to a new world, but he realized that he no longer wanted to share that world with her.
She had seemed to understand, once again mentioning that other one. He had just chalked it up as one of Dru's fancies, and had put it out of his head. Lately, though, her words had been rumbling around inside his head, rubbing up against some ideas he had for a book.
He straightened up from the hunched-over position he had taken, leaning over the railing, and went inside the house. After all that brooding, he felt a need to do something more proactive, even if it was writing. He decided to put in a few hours writing, before he worried about a few chores that needed doing.
Grabbing a bottle of water and an apple, he headed into his closet-sized study. What it lacked in size, it made up for with the window that looked out at the beach and ocean. He had placed his desk in front of this view, and quite a few ideas had come to him while gazing at the water and people-watching.
Will fired up his computer and opened up his idea file. He read over the various notes he had made for each idea. He frowned a bit as he reviewed things. In the past, he had written in a manner that had been described by carping critics as "florid" and "overdone." Yet he had managed to restrain most of his excesses, and his work had found enough admirers.
Lately, though, he had noticed that his style seemed to be shifting. Now, it was a bit more terse, more focused on observations of human nature versus reflections on beauty and other ideals. Oh, the delight in beauty and nature still came through, but as if a veil had been pulled over the concepts, giving shadow to sunshine thoughts. Will didn't really understand how it was happening, but it was invigorating to see this shift, and calculate how to best work within this new world.
"At least that wanker from The New Yorker won't say I've sacrificed another goat to become the prose incarnation of Wordsworth," Will muttered, still upset over a review he had received for a collection of his short stories that had been published last year.
Will perused the ideas one more time, before closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. He focused on the various threads of stories, before grabbing hold of one. With a nod, he opened his eyes and fired up his word processor. The cursor blinked at him, and he paused for a moment, before letting his fingers fly across the keyboard.
When I was fifteen, a man came to me and told me I had a destiny. I was fated to play a critical role in fighting evil. Naturally, I didn't believe him. I was more likely to lead the fight against no homework, or attend a rally for year-round school. The closest I'd gotten to evil were the three football players who harassed me once a week. I was their "good luck charm" that ensured a win every week. The man wasn't dissuaded by my protests. He merely said, "Luke, haven't you noticed the strength? The reflexes? The dreams?"
As Will wrote, the part of his brain not occupied with plot and character marveled at how the words flowed. It wasn't often that the story flowed like water from a faucet, but this was definitely one of those times. Disregarding everything, he kept writing, until he had paused to stretch his cramped fingers, and noticed the time.
"Five bloody PM? Bollocks!" Will shouted, as he quickly saved his work and jumped from the computer. He ran into the bathroom and groaned at the image presented. His sandy brown hair, which he normally kept slicked back, had dried into a giant puff of curls. His eyes were watering from staring at the computer, and the stubble shadowing his jaw made him look drunk, not rakishly handsome. Filling the sink with water and grabbing his razor, he mumbled, "Don't know how Wes pulls it off," thinking of his cousin who could pull off the stubble look.
Beard dealt with, Will snatched up a comb and gel to tackle the hair, but he knew it was a losing battle. He gave it a half-hearted try, then gave up and settled for at least reducing some of the poodle qualities. He ended up with a head full of curls, but at least they had a sexy bedhair aspect, he thought to himself. At least, that was what he was hoping. A quick scrub of the teeth, and he headed into his bedroom to dress.
Throwing open his closet, he congratulated himself for doing laundry last weekend. Pulling out a pair of gray slacks and a long-sleeved blue tee, he dressed, slipped his feet into some shoes, and headed back into the bathroom. Some cologne and he was done.
Will sighed as he glanced at his wristwatch, hunting for his wallet and keys. 5:45, and there still was dessert to take care of.
"It's not like a date, you poof. Calm down," he reminded himself as he headed out of his house and got into his car. "It's just dinner with a bunch of people."
Despite what he said, Will still felt a touch of nervous energy. He tapped his hands against the steering wheel as he drove, and took a few corners a bit tighter than normal. Probably it was just the high of a good day of writing, but Will felt like this night was special, important. He felt like the stars were pouring their energy into him, making him shine like sunlight. It was a good feeling. He wanted to keep feeling this way.
He got a cheesecake from a bakery near Rich's house, and even gave into his impulse to buy flowers. Rich, lazy slob that he was, probably had barely cleaned, but nothing distracted the eyes like flowers.
Will chuckled at the turn his thoughts had taken, wondering if he had been watching Queer Eye for the Straight Guy a tad too much. But even his self-deprecation couldn't prevent the minor case of butterflies in his stomach as he pulled into the parking lot outside Rich's condo. He paused before leaving the car, taking a few deep breaths. Despite outward appearances, he had a definite shy bent, and meeting new people sometimes threw him for a loop. But Will rolled his head and tapped back into his buzz as he exited the car.
He juggled the bakery box and the flowers as he drew up to Rich's door, and managed to press the bell. When no one opened the door after a few moments, he banged his foot against the door and yelled, "Come on, you pillock, man with dessert out here!"
And then the door opened, and he felt like he wasn't just getting energy from the stars, but was among them in the heavens.
End, Chapter One