Author's Notes: Thank you guys for the amazing feedback. I'm happy that you're enjoying this story so far. I'll be focusing more on this story while my other ones, except Forever Will Be Gone, are put on hold. As always, feedback is encouraged because your opinions do matter and are helpful. In this chapter Willow does know how Buffy feels for Angel. On to chapter two. Chapter three will be posted soon. Enjoy!

Chapter Two

It was the next morning. Well, it was almost the afternoon if I was being truly honest, and the sun's rays were entering through the Venetian blinds, brightening the room for the first time in a week after the crazy weather we've been having.

I was perching myself near the edge of my four poster bed, immersing my attention towards brushing the last few strands of my blond hair that had decided to form into delicate knots the previous night, a silver gray radio blaring loudly from across the room, sitting on a porcelain night stand that I had gotten from a garage sale.

"With the success of your new album, and the first date of your U.S. tour beginning tonight in Los Angeles, how do you feel about your overnight success?" I heard the interviewer queried in a sing song voice, unnoticeably irking me as I scowled. I had always hated her due to the incessant questions that weren't always necessary.

And then I heard his voice, and I stood as still as a motionless statue, waiting in anxiety for his expected half-assed reply, my breathing even but my chest unmoving.

"I wouldn't call it an overnight success exactly. We worked ourselves off for the last fifteen years just playing in dive bars and casinos, so it took us a long time to make our way to the top. It's great to see that the hard work is finally paying off, and I'm very happy about that. We couldn't have been more blessed to get where we are today without our fans, our dedication, and our work ethnic."

I diligently rolled my eyes. The female interviewer, who was obviously flirting with him by the way I could detect her tone, decided to dive straight through with the next question, which proved difficult for me to hear straight due to my blood boiling as soon as the question was released from her big mouth. I didn't feel any semblance of anger. Mostly hurt. And the need to heave over the toilet.

"About those rumors…is it true what they say? About those 'extracurricular activities' that go on backstage during your shows?"

I clenched my teeth together in unison, tossing the brush into my makeup bag. I felt a lurch hitting directly in my heart. I couldn't believe that the bitch had the nerve to ask him such a barren question. Most of the time, in my eyes, Angel was just another arrogant rock star who needed to bring his head back down to planet Earth.

But still, to embarrass him in a public display like that was unbearable, even for me.

Rock stars weren't the most consistent type. I would know. They were notoriously known for their accessibility for women, booze, and drugs, and being disloyal in general. Why should Angel be any different just because of the way I feel about him? Half of the time I wanted to loathe him. The other half, well, I wanted to love him.

Even emotionally having to fight against the millions of fans and groupies, a small part of me continued to hope that somehow, someway, he would be mine, and that he could be changed into the person that he was before gaining notoriety. But who was I kidding? I probably needed professional help. Definitely needed it in my opinion. Call me insane.

Bringing my attention back to the radio, I noticed that he didn't respond to the question immediately. Almost without thought, I clutched a throw pillow and held it between my arms, holding my breath, my heart heavy.

"It's part of the rock and roll lifestyle, isn't it? Almost all of the front men from other bands I know do it. Why should it be a concern for anyone else?" He answered casually. Strong disappointment filled me, and in seconds, I went from a neutral expression, to one in which my lips were frowning. Oh well. I should had known better. "So you're saying that you take part…in those kinds of things yourself? No significant other in your life?"

Still, I kept a hold of my breath, hoping that he wasn't entirely serious.

"As far as having a significant other is concerned…I'm available. But I don't consider myself to be the one woman type. I have needs just like the rest of my fellow men. I don't picture myself having a wife, a huge house, two kids, and a white picket fence, you know? I just don't see myself settling down or falling in love with anyone. Right now, I'm here to make music, make money, keep the fans happy, and have a great time touring and partying. That's all. And if anyone doesn't like it, tough for them. I'm not here to make everyone happy. I'm not here to be role model or a savior. I'm just a singer."

I snorted at his confession; albeit with a tinge of frustration. Surprisingly, I found myself with a single tear etched in the corner of my eye. Using my long sleeve to dab it away, I heard a sudden knock on the door. "Buffy, you awake?" came the voice of one of my two closest friends and roommates, Willow Rosenberg.

"Yeah. Door's open, Will. Come in," I announced emotionlessly, rising to my feet to switch the radio off. I didn't want to hear anymore of his garbage. In comes Willow with a white envelope latched between her fingers. My interest peeked as my eyes caught sight of it. "What's in the envelope?"

"Oh, you mean this?" She feigned innocence, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ears. "Cordy was able to get us the tickets for tonight's show. Backstage passes included." Cordelia Chase was the other of my closest friends and roommates.

How that happened; it's a bit complicated to explain, unfortunately.

At Willow's words, my suspicions rose. "What show, Will? And don't lie. When you do, your wisdom teeth shows." I cocked an eyebrow, already knowing the answer. "Well, we were going to head on down to L.A. and catch Angel's show, thanks to one of his managers, I might add. Do you wanna come? Cordy's paying for dinner after."

For the second time, I snorted, keeping my lips shut while pacing back and forth in front of my dresser, clawing a hand through my hair. "Buffy, I heard the interview. I know you don't want to go, but I was hoping you'd come hang with us. Don't you worry about him or what he said. It'll just drive you nuts; which are good and crunchy, but not the kind I'm talking about."

"You don't think I'm crazy?" I rebuffed, avoiding her last words as I crossed my arms against the chest area. I peered into the patio doors that overlooked our terrace and the nearby parks, my face solemn. "You're my best friend. How could I not believe you? We saw what he was like back then. We know that he cared about you."

"Doesn't look like he does now," I quipped, my eyes focused on the street.

"I think he does, underneath it all. He's famous, but he's also messed up. It'll take time before he realizes. If he ever does."

I hesitated, then nodded. "I know."

"So, what do you say? Road trip with me and Cordy to L.A.?"

"Yeah, let's do it." Hopefully the night will go well. On to the City of Angels it is.

Ironic name, no?