Kinda Sorta

Disclaimer: All rights belong to Joss Whedon and ME.

Summary: Back by popular demand, I give you Buffy's plight involving a certain redheaded witch.

Alright, so I kinda have this thing. It's really not a big deal. At least, I don't think it's a big deal. You know how some things aren't really a big deal, but you think they're a big deal, so they end up getting blown way out of proportion and become a really big deal, and it's all your fault? Yeah, like one of those.

Okay, so the thing is, I think I accidentally admitted to Willow that I fantasize about her. Now, technically, she did first, what, with the inappropriate touching and moaning…

…of my name.

But I can't justify telling her just on a technicality, can I?

Willow's my best friend, and we tell each other everything. You know, everything except our deepest, darkest fantasies that would make a vampire blush. I mean, it's not like I can come home from slaying, all 'H and H' (damn you, Faith. You're in a coma, and you're still right…) and take it out on my roommate.

The whole fantasy thing is innocent, though. I mean, I'm a young adult with hormones a-raging, and Willow is the person closest to me in the non-family sense. Even closer than Riley. But just because my subconscious likes to occasionally undress my best friend in my sleep and I would rather spend time with her than my boyfriend doesn't mean I'm in love with her or anything.

I like boys. Not Willow. She's my Willow-shaped friend. Best friend. My sweet little redheaded witch who's so adorable I could just eat her up, and I'm suddenly wondering where that phrase comes from…

Fine, I'll admit Willow does have a hot little body. Flat stomach, firm ass, pert…er…perky smile.

And of course, who wouldn't love Willow in one way or another? She's a very lovable person, all cute and quirky and smart and loving and…okay, so maybe there are feelings there.

But I can't tell her that. I can't just walk up to her and say 'Hey, I feel a thing, you feel a thing, maybe we could have a thing. Wanna grab some Mexican?' It really wouldn't work because, well, Willow doesn't like Mexican. Maybe I could do that thing with my mouth that boys like and it'd work on her, too…wait…no, not that thing! Oh, the naughty images. The happy, happy naughty images.

But, no, that half-smile thing Willow told me I do. Maybe if I do that, it'd give her the message.

When I came home from patrolling, I found her laying across her bed with a book in front of her. Ever the dutiful friend, I threw my jacket on my own bed and plopped down next to her. "Watcha doin'?"

"Invading Normandy," she replied without missing a beat.

I stared at her for few seconds. "History midterm?"

"Yep."

"Ah."

She closed the book and turned towards me. "How was patrol?"

"Dull, Boring. Generally uneventful."

"No poofing for the Slayer, huh?"

Okay, now how did she manage to make 'poofing' sound dirty? I swear the woman tries to drive me crazy. Then, of course, images of the many ways how she could drive me crazy filled my head, and I missed her question. God, I have issues. "What?"

"I asked if you were going to Riley's tonight."

Didn't even consider it. "Nah." Horny and with no desire to go see my boyfriend. Huh. Weird. I noticed Willow was studying me, looking puzzled. "What's up?"

"Your brow got all furrowy when I mentioned Riley. Anything wrong?"

Did she sound hopeful, or was I just imagining that? "No, I just don't feel like seeing him right now. Need to log in my best friend time." Uh huh. No connotations there. Nope, none at all. "So, you want to get working on that oral exam?" She gave me a funny look, and oh, for different phrasing. "Verbal exam. For French."

Her look turned even more confused. "The test isn't for a week."

"And?"

"In all the time I've known you, you've never once studied for a test less than a day before taking it."

Oh. That's what she gave me the funny look for. "Well…uh…some traditions and rules are meant to be broken…in school, and…other…things…"

Willow tilted her head to one side. "You okay, Buff?"

"Peachy with a side of keen," I said a little too enthusiastically. I let out a nervous chuckle. "So…you up for it? Because I am."

"Sure."

I found myself thanking whatever powers were listening that I wasn't a guy, or 'up' would be the operative term.

An hour of rigorous French tongue twisting (er…you know what I mean) passed, and I was no less tense than before. Damn French and its sexiness. My mind began to wander, and for what seemed like the first time that night, it wasn't towards anything of the naughty sort. "You know what I just realized?"

"Uh...what?"

"If we merged our names together, it'd be 'Billy.'" God, I just had to say 'merge,' didn't I? So much for non-naughty thoughts.

Willow looked as if in deep thought. "Or 'Wiffy.'"

I think it was that moment that I knew. I wanted us to be Wiffy. Screw the half-smile thing. On impulse, I leaned over and kissed her. Hard. With tongue. It might have been the haze of desire playing tricks on me, but I think she met me halfway.

"What was that for?" she asked breathless.

Heh, I made Willow breathless. I gave her my best innocent look. "That was me studying for French."

"Oh. Well, that was…" Willow cleared her throat, "some fluent French, there."

I traced patterns on the comforter with my finger, coyly averting my gaze. Oh yeah, I was subtle. "Practice makes perfect, though."

"Of course," she agreed all too eagerly. "What else are best friends for?"

The knowing smile we shared kinda said it all.

End. Seriously this time.