Author's Notes: This chapter was inspired by the awesome song Pressure by Paramore. Listen to it while you're reading. Please.

Also, I wrote this in Seth's POV to change things up a little.

And one more thing: I'm going to be out of town and without internet connection for the next 10 days.

Chapter Twenty - Pressure

It was a very cold Tuesday when Willow approached me with something to say.

I was sitting on my front porch and doing my homework, and, when I heard feet shuffling by, I looked up and just about melted. You'd think that after knowing her this long, I wouldn't react like this whenever Willow came by, but I did every single time. I just couldn't help it. Willow would have asked what cheese factory I was churning these phrases out of if I said them aloud, but love or obsession or even both were enough to describe it. She was just perfect, a goddess walking on Earth, and I still couldn't believe that she paid me any mind.

"Hi," I said to her as she climbed up the stairs and sat down next to me. I thought it was funny how she was covered in coats, considering I was about a hundred and nine degrees all the time, but she's not a werewolf, I reminded myself. So I didn't say anything about it.

"Hey," she said. And then: "God, it's cold."

"To you."

"Shut up."

I put my homework down, knowing that I wouldn't be able to concentrate on it while Willow was here, and turned back to her. "So what's up?"

"Heather's driving me freaking insane."

I nodded. "How far along is she, again?"

"Nine months and a day. Technically she's overdue, but I told her that she should just get over it and she shut up."

This was what I liked about Willow: she wasn't afraid to speak her mind or let anyone else know if she was annoyed. I had been like that once, too, but after my dad died, it was different. Everything was different, really. But Willow…Willow helped me out. A lot. Sometimes, when she was down in the dumps, I cheered her up, and vice versa. We balanced each other out nicely.

"Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about something," Willow began cheerfully.

"Go ahead."

"I think I'm in love with you."

I opened my mouth, and, after a second, closed it again. I couldn't think of a response. I guess you could say I'd been struck dumb.

"You're probably thinking, 'Oh God, the shit has hit the fan,' I know, right? But I was thinking, 'Well, I know he already cares a lot about me and crap, so if I tell him, it won't be all dramatic and nerve-racking like it always is in those really cheap movies.'" She smiled at me and that pull, that strange gravitational pull, shouted at me. I ignored it as best as I could and tried to come up with an understandable reply.

"That's…"

"Yeah, crazy, isn't it?" Willow always talked a lot when she was nervous. I was surprised that she had any trace of anxiety in her whatsoever. Did she think I would say the whole imprinting thing was a joke or something?

But then again, knowing Willow…

Probably.

"I don't think it's crazy, Willow."

"You don't think anything's crazy."

"I wouldn't say that's true."

How the hell was I being so calm? The most wonderful person in the universe had just confessed her deep feelings of attraction to me and I was verbally avoiding the subject. So weird. Willow thought she was crazy, but she had that turned around. I was the psycho one.

"So anyway, the way I figured it out was last night when I was up and Heather was telling me to get her cookies, I thought about you. And I was, you know, thinking about the whole imprinting thing and all that and I thought you must be getting awfully impatient with me."

"I don't--"

"And I've been feeling, like, different lately," she went on enthusiastically, ignoring me. "Not bad, but I guess…different. And then I decided that I was in love with you. So huzzah, right?"

Huzzah, indeed.

"Willow, I'm glad that you think this and all, but are you okay?" God, I sounded like a pessimist.

"Yeah. Why?"

I frowned. "You weren't at school today."

"And?"

She had a point there. Willow skipped school a lot. Nearly every day, really. When I asked her about it, she waved it off and said, "It gets boring."

I could smell something funny in the air. Something…not nasty, exactly, but definitely not appealing. I inhaled deeply and said to Willow, "Okay, where'd you get the beer from? You're underage."

"What beer?"

"I can smell it on your breath."

"But I haven't been drinking. I'm not drunk."

I hated when Willow lied to me; I could tell every time. My stomach sunk. So her lovesick confession was just a drunken lie. Crap. Way to get my hopes up.

"You know, drinking isn't good for you." Wow, I really did sound like a male Mary Sue.

"Everyone else does it."

"But if you drink too much--"

"Dude. It was, one drop, I swear. Okay?"

"It was not one drop," I protested. "If it was, I wouldn't be able to smell it like I can now. And God, it smells. How much did you drink?"

I knew she wasn't going to tell me, and I wasn't surprised when she closed her mouth tightly and stared at the ground.

"Well, good luck with a hangover in the morning," I said, turning back to my homework. I think both of us were surprised by the cold tone to my voice.

"What's your problem?" Willow barked.

"What's your problem?" I responded coolly.

"Oh, my problem? I have a problem? That's rich, Seth. Well, actually, I do have a problem. With you." She paused and, after taking in a deep breath, ranted, "You're too damn judgmental, alright?"

"How am I judgmental?"

"'Oh, drinking is bad for you…' You're not a nun, Seth."

"Maybe not, but I am worried about you, Willow."

"One drop of beer isn't going to kill me."

"I'm not saying anything is going to kill you. God, do you think I'm homicidal or something?"

Willow's eyes tightened. "That's not funny."

"I wasn't trying to be."

Neither of us said anything for a minute. I was sensing discomfort crawling into the atmosphere, and I didn't like it. I hated to argue with Willow, my life and soul and all that mushy crap.

But I wasn't going to go down without a fight here. She had to see sense.

When I was ten, my dad had a talk with me. My teacher had called him during work hours because I was arguing with a fellow classmate. There was no violence involved - honestly. It was just that he was wrong, and I was right, and he had to know that.

"Seth," Dad said, "you're very stubborn."

I didn't know what that meant, and asked for an explanation.

"It means you stand your ground. Your feet are cemented to it."

Oh.

"I think you got that from your sister. Where the heck she got it from, I don't know, because neither I nor your mother are stubborn in the least. Though we can hold a hell of a grudge, trust me."

This was weird. Why wasn't he getting mad at me? Maybe he was just trying to lead up to it and surprise me. I'd seen that done in a movie once.

"And I just have one thing to say," Dad continued.

"What?"

"I'm mighty proud of you."

"You know that I really care about you, Willow, so I can't let you keep doing this," I said to her now.

"Mary Sue," she grumbled.

My thoughts exactly.

"Look, I can do whatever I want, okay? It's my life."

"Fine, then. Get wasted out of your head and end up arrested for being underage…or passed out somewhere…or, oh, I don't know, pregnant with the kid of a man you don't even know. I don't care."

"Where's the shitty mood coming from?"

"Well, God, I don't know. Maybe it's because the woman - the immature girl, actually - I love has just told me she cares about me under the influence of alcohol."

"Fuck you, then."

We stood there and glared at each other. I could feel a steady ripping in my stomach. It wasn't the only one that was upset because I was arguing with Willow; I could actually feel my lip trembling a little, and was disgusted with myself. Crying wasn't right. Not for me. Crying was for girls and infants, but not me, the one keeping everything together. No tears allowed.

Willow opened and closed her mouth a few times. Then she flattened it and said in a tight voice, "Well. Well, I can see that you obviously don't want me here. Or within a ten-mile radius of you, really."

I was about to protest - because I wanted Willow with me, I needed her - but her phone rang and she turned away. She answered it and spoke in a quiet tone, obviously not wanting me to hear her conversation. When she was done, she put her phone back in her pocket and literally ran away, dashing up the street in a matter of seconds.

Not good.

After less than a millisecond's hesitation, I flew after her. I had to apologize. If I didn't, things could get horribly ugly. And I loved Willow, whether or not she was drunk. An argument would just kill me.

As expected, nobody came to the door of Willow's house when I knocked on it. The third time wasn't the charm, either. I tried to open it, but it was locked. Great.

It was then that I remembered the bobby pin Willow always kept under the plant, and I retrieved it and had opened the door quickly. Willow was leaning over Heather, who was sitting on the floor and clutching her stomach, wearing an expression of obvious agony. When Willow looked up and saw me, she growled, "Get out of here."

"I'm s--"

"I said get out!"

"I'm not going anywhere until you listen to me."

"I really don't want to see you right now. Or ever. Heather's having the baby, and I don't want to deal with you. Just go away."

"But--"

"Just go away." Willow's voice broke, and she wiped at her eyes.

"Please."