A
Guy Like Angel
By BeMu
DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.
Ok, I love him. I. Love. Him.
It’s a bad, bad thing. I shouldn’t. He’s not mine and never, ever will be. Never in a million years.
He’s Buffy’s. Buffy’s boyfriend. My best friend’s boyfriend. Plain and simple.
He’s taken, and not just by anyone. She’s my very best friend in the whole world, and I’m secretly in love with her boyfriend.
This isn’t me.
It’s not what I’m all about.
I’m the shy one… the innocent one. The one who’s never gone past a little French-kissing with my werewolf boyfriend.
I’m not supposed to fall for a guy like Angel. Not seriously, or anything.
Girls like me are supposed to see guys like Angel and sigh, and gaze longingly as they pass us by, more often than not, not noticing us at all. Maybe, every once in a while a guy like Angel will notice a girl like me shyly staring at him as he strolls past, and maybe, every once in a while, a guy like Angel with give a girl like me one of those devastating, coy smiles. The kind of smile that says, “Hey, you’re kind of cute, little girl, but I’m way out of your league. But thanks for looking.”
But then I went and fell for him. Head over heels. How did it start? Who’s to say? There were a lot of moments… I guess maybe it’s bound to happen when a girl like me gets lucky enough to spend a lot of time around a guy like Angel.
God, he’s beautiful. Chiseled out of stone… the finest of the finest marble. First is his height. I love tall men.
Yeah, I know, I’m dating Oz.
Angel towers over me, overwhelming me. He’s got this perfect hair. For a man that can’t see his reflection, he sure knows how to use mousse to its fullest advantages. I want to touch it so bad, because I know it’s soft… even with the mousse, I just know it’s soft. Then you get to his eyes… I know it’s cliched, but the eyes really are windows to the soul. I can see everything in those big, brown chocolatey eyes, not that I get the chance to stare into them very often. Every since he got back from Hell, he has a hard time making eye contact. He’s getting better about it, though. He’s getting stronger.
He’s different now that he’s back. At first, he was all angsty and broody like he was before, when I first met him. He feels so guilty about everything that the bastard Angelus did. Ok, so technically, it was still Angel, but he wasn’t in control. That wasn’t my Angel.
Anyway, as I was saying, he’s different now. Stronger. A little angrier, as if he has this rage just boiling below the surface. But he’s got it under control. I know he does… I’m the one responsible for that. His soul is anchored stronger than ever now. I made sure of it.
Maybe that’s an explanation for his barely controlled rage. Maybe he realizes somewhere deep inside his being that the demon can never take control again, so he allows him to show himself a little more these days. The demon that is. Because Angel knows that he can use that rage, that anger, to confront other demons and that he will still maintain full control.
Or, maybe not. I don’t know. Angel doesn’t exactly go out of his way to have deep conversations with me. He never even looks at me unless it’s absolutely necessary.
I don’t think Angel’s repulsed by me, or anything like that. I think he just doesn’t notice me. I’m Buffy’s friend, the nondescript one. I think he’s just indifferent towards me. I guess that’s ok. I guess that’s better than him being disgusted by me.
Guys like Angel aren’t supposed to notice girls like me. It’s completely unnatural. But, hey, I do live on the Hellmouth. Talk about unnatural.
I’m rambling, aren’t I?
Did I mention his mouth yet? His perfect lips? They are perfect, aren’t they? Always so serious. On those rare, rare occasions that I get to see him smile (Ok, it’s never really a smile… he doesn’t smile), the corners of his mouth just curl up ever so slightly, almost a twitch, and those fine little lines around his eyes get all crinkly, I think for a minute that there is hope for him. Hope for him to allow himself to be happy.
But then it disappears. He catches himself and it goes away.
He could allow himself to be happy. He could. He just won’t. Maybe he doesn’t know… I’ve certainly never told him that he’s free to be happy.
But I think he does know. He has to be able to feel it, to feel that his demon has been beaten. How could he not? How could he have that thing inside his body and not know that it’s been tamed?
But, that’s one of the things that I love about him. Most guys would just go with it. Men aren’t very good at not following their urges. Or so I’ve been told. Men don’t have urges towards me.
Pity yourself much, Willow?
Yeah, maybe I do. So what?
I want Angel. I want to stare into his eyes. I want him to tell me every detail of his life… all two hundred and fifty years of it. I want him to laugh with me. I want him to put his arms around me and hold me and hug me. I want to know what it feels like to be kissed by him.
I want to know what it feels like to feel his hands on the small of my back. I want to know what it would feel like to have his lips pressed against my neck.
I wonder what he tastes like? He certainly smells good. He never wears cologne, thank God. I hate that. He always smells like soap. Nice strong manly clean soap. It drives me crazy.
I hate this. I hate feeling this way. Oz is a nice guy. A good guy. Not a thing wrong with him. But he bores me to tears. It’s not his fault… he’s just not what I want.
I want Angel. It feels nice to be able to say that out loud. I want Angel.
I can say it here, where no one can hear me.
Oh, damn it. I’m crying again. Actually, it feels pretty good to let it all out. I walk around all day pretending to be happy Willow. It’s nice to be able to sit here in my room and cry. I wonder what people would think if they saw me right now, sitting her all alone crying.
Probably not much of anything. I wonder if Angel would ask me what’s wrong. Would he care? I bet he would. I bet he’d be concerned. That’s one of the reason that I love him, too. For a big manly-man, he sure is sensitive. He had to live for two hundred and fifty years to become a nineties man. Ironic, maybe?
Oh, well… Oz is a nice guy. And Buffy deserves some happiness. And Angel certainly deserves some happiness. Although, Buffy doesn’t really seem to make him very happy. Or, maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part.
So, as long as Buffy’s happy, and Angel’s happy, I’m happy, too. Right?
Yeah, right…
It amazes me that she can’t see her own beauty. She has changed so much in the past two years, and she doesn’t even realize it.
Look at her. She carries herself different now. She walks a little taller, a little straighter. She’s nowhere near as naïve as she used to be.
I’ll take the credit—or blame—for most of that. I guess I’d have to share that blame with Buffy, though. If Buffy had never come to Sunnydale, then I would have never come to Sunnydale, and maybe Willow would have never had to see the things that she’s been forced to see.
But Buffy and I helped, didn’t we? We made a difference. Ok, Buffy made a difference. I suppose I’ve caused more pain than I’ve alleviated.
Buffy made a difference, Rupert made a difference, Willow made a difference. Hell, even Xander made a difference, although few people know about that.
Maybe Buffy and I aren’t to blame for the changes in Willow. The Hellmouth is what’s really responsible. But, what’s responsible for the Hellmouth? Where did it come from, why does it exist? Good, evil, Heaven and Hell… the questions are too huge to ponder. Even with all the years I’ve been on this earth, I can’t even begin to explain the meaning of it all, or how it began. Rupert can give a textbook explanation, but even he hasn’t a clue as to the actual beginnings of all of this.
The Watchers, in their infinite wisdom, are as lost as the rest of us when it comes right down to it.
But we’re talking about Willow. She’s become a woman before our eyes. She doesn’t realize it, but she has. She looks exactly as a goddess should look. Alabaster skin, that incredible red hair. Ok, so maybe that color isn’t completely natural, but who cares? It’s her.
The eyes are natural though. That green… I’ve never seen anything that beautifully green in my life. Of course, she usually doesn’t make eye contact with me, so I don’t get the opportunity to gaze into them near enough.
I wonder if she ever thinks about me?
Nah, she’s got Oz. He’s a good guy. I can’t fault her for falling for him. He’s only a monster three days a month, as opposed to me. He loves her… cherishes her. Much like I do.
Something happened when she recursed me. I have no idea what, but something. It’s different this time. I don’t feel as frightened this time as I did before. I feel stronger.
Did she do this? Could she be responsible?
She’s crying. Why is she crying?
Is she hurt? God, what’s happened?
Oh, God, who’s knocking on my window this late at night?
I don’t want to open it… whoever it is will know I’ve been crying, and then they’ll ask why. It’s got to be Buffy. I really don’t want to deal with her tonight.
Or Xander. Yeah, he’d be really understanding. He hates Angel with the same amount of passion that I love him with.
Maybe if I ignore it whoever it is will go away…
Or not.
Something must be wrong. What if…?
Go on, Willow. Look out there and see who it is. Wipe your tears away and just see who it is.
Angel. Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod.
Angel. On my balcony. What on earth does he want?
Breath, Willow. In and out. Just breath. And open the window, you idiot. Quit staring at him.
What is he doing here? Something must be wrong. Buffy? Oh, God, Buffy…
No, it’s not Buffy. He wants to know why I’m crying. I can’t tell him the truth. C’mon, Rosenberg, think of something to tell him. Something believable.
I can’t come up with anything. Oh, no, I’m going to cry again. Look at him, look how concerned he looks. He must think I’m a freak. I can’t even talk.
Breath… stop crying and breath.
Oh, no, Angel, don’t do that. Don’t touch me. He’s going to hold me. Oh my God, he’s putting his arms around me.
STOP CRYING, DAMN IT!!!
Well, geez, Willow, you wanted to know what it felt like… your wish just came true. Now, speak. Say something… anything…
Oh, yeah, that was good, Will… “I’m fine, Angel, let me go.” That’s the best you could come up with?? Not that he could understand what you were saying.
Now, I’m getting his shirt all wet. Great… real sexy.
I’m still crying. God, am I ever going to stop. He’s cooing. Cooing… to me. He’s telling me that everything’s going to be ok, that he’s going to fix whatever it is that’s making me cry.
If he only knew… ::snort::
Oh, God, I snorted out loud. That was attractive.
Great. Now, I’m giggling. He must think I’m a lunatic.
What is he doing now? Oh, don’t do that, Angel… Please don’t do that. It feels so good… his fingers are so soft, brushing my tears away…
He’s trying to make eye contact with me. Imagine that… He’s trying to look into my eyes.
I can’t do it. If I do, he’ll see. He’ll know everything. Nope, not gonna look.
Hey, at least I’m not crying anymore.
Oooh… a direct order. He’s trying to force me to look him in the eye.
What is he doing here, anyway? On my balcony? Angel?
Ok, Will, try saying it out loud this time… There, that’s better.
He’s waiting for me to ask him now. I can do this. After all, I do have a right to know what he was doing on my balcony.
Oh, God, did he notice?
I love him. Oops. I didn’t say that out loud, did I?
::sigh:: No, thank God.
What are you doing here, Angel? Ok, out loud now… See, that wasn’t so hard.
Pay attention, Willow… he’s got to answer.
He what? C’mon, Angel, spit it out! You um? That’s the best you can do?
You um what?
I can’t just sit here and watch her. I can’t. I’ve heard sobs like that before… Something has hurt her terribly. Hurt her soul.
If Oz did this, I will kill him. Soul or no soul, I will kill him. He’s supposed to love her, and look what he’s done.
Shut up, you idiot. How do you know Oz hurt her? It could be anything.
She’s so alone. Knock, dead-boy. Just knock.
Ok, how about knocking loud enough for her to hear? She’s coming over here… Oh, God… I can’t run off now. She’d be terrified.
Too late… she’s terrified anyway. She’s just seen a monster on her balcony. She’s going to let me in. Why?
Oh, God… I can’t see her hurt like that. Willow?
Put your arms around her… You may not be what she wants, but hold her anyway. Hold her.
She’s so tiny… she feels so frail… and so good. Jesus, she smells good. What is that? Lavender? Would she even notice if I just gave her a little taste…?
God damn it… she’s in pain and I’m thinking about licking her? What’s wrong with me?
I guess it just proves that monster or not, I’m still just a man.
What is wrong with her? She’s crying harder. Is it me? Have I done something to hurt her? She’d be pushing me away if it was me, though… which she’s not doing. She’s holding on tight, actually. Very tight. Oh, God, that feels so good. So good finally having my little witch in my arms. I could die here. Right now. Holding her like this.
I’d die a happy man.
Except that I still don’t know what’s wrong. I’ll kill him. I’ll kill the little bastard if he did this.
She’s fine, she says. Bullshit. She’s not fine at all. Talk to her, Angel… tell her you’ll make it all right. How can I make it all right if she won’t tell me what’s wrong?
Her hair is so soft.
Did she just snort? She did. And now she’s giggling. What the hell?
She’s hysterical. Whatever it is, it’s pushed her over the edge. C’mon, Willow, look at me. Look at me, damn it.
How did I get in her room? She didn’t invite me… and I know she revoked the invitation. When did she invite me in?
What am I doing here? Oh shit. What am I doing here?
I… um…
To Be Continued