The witch snored quietly on the other side of the bed, peacefully asleep after a thoroughly exhausting night of crying and romcoms.
Buffy didn't mind. It was kind of a cute snore. Definitely the way a girl like Willow should snore. It just added to the overall adorable picture of a tiny redhead girl in fuzzy pajamas, really. It reminded her that this moment, the two of them in bed together, wasn't just a dream.
Eugh. Thinking of sleeping next to Willow as a 'dream'. Nice one, Buffy. Definitely not super creepy or anything. Keep those hands where I can see them, champ.
She turned away from Willow and stared up at the ceiling, the faint afterimage of the girl next to her dancing on the white plaster. It did no good to beat herself up over the truth. She had spent a year dealing with how Willow made her feel. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt, wore it out in the wash and gave it to Goodwill. She was attracted to the girl. It wasn't some big problem. It was normal teenager questioning-your-sexuality, straight out the Young Adult section at the library.
Well, it would be, if the library had a Young Adult section. I think it just has a demon section, a vampire section, and… I think a demonic vampire section? Or a vampire demon section?
There wasn't much to be done about it, either. She just had to face her problems head-on. She couldn't even get rid of Buffy-Willow-girl-night to give herself a little space. That was a sacred tradition, and a damn good excuse to watch late-night cable TV in its full, R-rated glory. She wouldn't deny Willow a shoulder to cry on, even if the warmth of her friend's body against hers made Buffy's thoughts take some pretty not-friend-acceptable turns.
Okay. Once again, not a good place for your head to be going when you're sharing a bed with the girl. Think about baseball. Or, pretend you know something about baseball, then think about it.
Why would her thoughts have to be friend-acceptable, anyway? There was no good reason for the purgatory she kept herself in. Willow was clearly the sort of girl who wouldn't judge if Buffy admitted she had… feelings. She'd be totally okay with it. She'd be supportive. And she'd smile. She'd say she would give it a chance. And her eyes would do the cute smiling thing they did. And she'd probably hug me, her head tucked against my neck, her lips gently brushing against my skinoookay that's enough of that.
It wasn't like they had anything else going on, either. Willow and Oz were apparently on the rocks. Angel was talking about leaving her. What do you have going on nowadays, Buffy? What does she have? Why won't you just roll over, shake her awake, and say that you're madly in love with her, you've spent the last three years having nightmares that someone hurts her, you've been patrolling outside her house every night in case something's out there, you dream about the life you could have together? Why won't you just tell her?
Answered your own question there, girl: because you can't stand the idea of hurting her.
The thought came unbidden, but once there, it wouldn't leave. She hated that thought. It plagued her. It tasted happiness on the air whenever Buffy let herself dream, and it ripped those hopes to shreds. Once it attacked, the other thoughts followed, like they always did:
What kind of life would Willow have as my girlfriend?
Could we ever live like normal people?
Would Willow stay up at night when I was out patrolling, wondering if I'd come back safe?
What would happen when I didn't come back? (It'll happen someday.)
Would she be able to move on, or would she want revenge?
Would she stand a chance against anything that could kill a Slayer?
Would she die for me?
By the time the scavengers had picked her fantasies clean, all she had left was herself.
No Willow. It had to be that way. The thought stung, but she had thought her way down this path before. It only hurt a little by now. We're talking 'bad papercut', tops.
Buffy rolled over to face Willow once more. The other girl slept peacefully, unaware of the struggles inside the head of her friend.
Screw it. I can't have her, but I can sure as heck snuggle her.
She wrapped an arm around the redhead and edged a little closer to her. Just a little. Just so they were sort of spooning. Nothing creepy.
The witch was warm, soft. Comfortable, if slightly bony. Buffy thought that was fitting. She smelled like fabric softener and store-brand shampoo. Also appropriate. Very Wil.
She buried her face in her friend's hair, breathed deep. Surprisingly nice. Kind of soothing...
... made everything feel better, really...
... always worked like that.
She fell asleep before she knew it.
