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Willow pulled the covers up to her chin, settling back into the mattress with a contented sigh. After so many nights of lying here staring at the ceiling wishing she could forget, or go back and undo, or just put her mind at rest long enough to get some sleep, it was blissful to lie here knowing things were okay, that Oz had given her the chance to make it all up to him.
Of course, that left her with the question of how to go about that. What did Oz need from her? To prove to him somehow that he was the only guy for her, that everything like that between her and Xander was over. But only time could do that, really.
They had agreed to get together tomorrow night, and thinking of it, Willow was half excited, half nervous. Before … everything with Xander, they had just started to move past kissing to … more stuff. Oz was experienced, but it was all new for Willow, and she knew he had been taking things slowly for her. Would he still want to take things slowly—or do things at all? Did they need to ease back into all of that, start over from the beginning? Would it feel different?
Part of her worried that it wouldn't feel right anymore. She cared for Oz; she wanted to be with Oz. But when she had been making out with Xander, it had felt … different. Because wrong, yes, but also because familiar and safe. Oz was wonderful and sweet and mysterious and made her feel special—but he wasn't safe.
Sighing with something other than contentment, Willow rolled over, plumping up her pillow, her mind racing just as hard as it had the last few nights, with all new questions.
Oz glanced out the window, gauging the size of the moon, a habit that had grown automatic in the past months. Still plenty of time.
He was sitting on the edge of his bed with his guitar, quietly strumming, letting his fingers wander in no particular melody. Just … Willow thought.
Something inside him that had been ripped up and tangled was smooth now, whole again, the feel of her in his arms back in his head where it belonged. Tomorrow night he'd be with her, hearing her voice and holding her hand and feeling what she made him feel.
The blood surged faster through his veins at the thought. He knew his Willow, knew that she needed to step slowly and process every change, that the shift in her over time from the girl he had first met, the one who was afraid of her own body and sure no one else would ever see her as a woman because she couldn't see herself that way to this more confident, more open, more aware person she was becoming was frightening to her.
"Huh," he said out loud to no one in particular. When you put it that way, was it any wonder that she had gone to Xander? Her safe space, her other half—of course she would test out her first real exploration of her sexuality with him. Some part of Oz burned knowing she didn't feel safe that way with him, but the other part understood, and felt every ounce of what it meant that she had come back to him. He wouldn't push her, wasn't sure he was ready to push himself, but … it would be good, once they got past the first few moments when they would both be thinking of what they were trying to put behind them. It would be very good.