He found the key and slid it into place and the black car rumbled under the tall black buildings and the big black sky with sparkly dots like the ones that hid in her eyes when she was laughing hard or smiling wide or crying like her lungs were being ripped out through her throat.
But then he stopped before her dorm and the giddiness faded into fear, and his alcohol- induced optimism turned to ice in his belly, and he was a coward and turned to his black, shiny, sparkle-reflecting car with it's seats and carpet so harsh on his hands when he thought of her softness. How could he tell her anything, tell her what the gypsy witch had said when he had saved her and she had bound his soul almost a month ago? There were no words. He lost his words when she came near him, when she was hurting his eloquence failed and
(freak-show)
but it was nothing in his mind when he heard a voice through the window, and it wasn't the right voice but it was close,
"I'll be back soon, Buffy, just going to the library."
And then he had to strain, had to almost meditate to hear the reply and he almost sobbed when all that came was a quiet mumble, but he could almost feel the intonations and rhythm of her speech. It struck him then, that it seemed he was doing a lot of eavesdropping these days, and then he laughed, a choked laugh, cause he had always lurked, always eavesdropped for news, and if he hadn't for a while then that while was over now because he was standing outside her window, listening in.
"Yep, got my stake, 'n my holy water, 'n my cross, and a whole bunch of well-thought out witty quips. Kay, so, see you soon, not too much moping! Sure you don't wanna come? All right, but you know where me and Oz are gonna be- oops- well, what can you expect, I'm college girl now! All free and loose and yeah, stuff like that. So, uh, bye!" The last word was a squeak, and Angel almost smiled but then remembered her audience and his heart ripped too much for him to laugh.
But then he stopped before her dorm and the giddiness faded into fear, and his alcohol- induced optimism turned to ice in his belly, and he was a coward and turned to his black, shiny, sparkle-reflecting car with it's seats and carpet so harsh on his hands when he thought of her softness. How could he tell her anything, tell her what the gypsy witch had said when he had saved her and she had bound his soul almost a month ago? There were no words. He lost his words when she came near him, when she was hurting his eloquence failed and
(freak-show)
but it was nothing in his mind when he heard a voice through the window, and it wasn't the right voice but it was close,
"I'll be back soon, Buffy, just going to the library."
And then he had to strain, had to almost meditate to hear the reply and he almost sobbed when all that came was a quiet mumble, but he could almost feel the intonations and rhythm of her speech. It struck him then, that it seemed he was doing a lot of eavesdropping these days, and then he laughed, a choked laugh, cause he had always lurked, always eavesdropped for news, and if he hadn't for a while then that while was over now because he was standing outside her window, listening in.
"Yep, got my stake, 'n my holy water, 'n my cross, and a whole bunch of well-thought out witty quips. Kay, so, see you soon, not too much moping! Sure you don't wanna come? All right, but you know where me and Oz are gonna be- oops- well, what can you expect, I'm college girl now! All free and loose and yeah, stuff like that. So, uh, bye!" The last word was a squeak, and Angel almost smiled but then remembered her audience and his heart ripped too much for him to laugh.
