#whctacatch

“you look as though you know you’re being watched. act more casual.” an endeavor may seem fruitless, but all sorts of fruit come from strange and peculiar places. dark avenue seemed to be one of them. lucy parker sat perched on a fire escape, pretending to be bird-watching. “i thought you took classes.”

“i’m not afraid.” she says afraid with contempt, and it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. buffy swats his hand and touches her own tender forehead, pulling away with blood. oh, that’s gonna look great tomorrow. she’s paying more attention to her wounds than to him. there’s a good chance there’s a couple bruised ribs in there. whatever she had run into tonight was something to be trifled with. she winces as she dabs her forehead with a wet paper towel. “i’m surprised you’re not though. you see a lot of brawls with the undead?”

“not a dream. a plane.” drunk? a little. happy? a lot. his head is on his husband’s shoulder and they haven’t broken hands since they exchanged rings. they spent most of their reception like this, curled on the bench with each other, remembering the last few years — excited about the years to follow. alex leans up and kisses glenn’s cheek. “a flying metal demon.”

“umber.” they tap their foot impatiently. if the two of them were heading toward certain death, hagen didn’t wanna go anywhere without the cleric. 

it’s eating him up inside. he knows, but his brain is overcompensating and sending out too many signals at once, keeping the answer he needs from coming through. it’s aggravating. annoying. frustrating. vexing. those words come easy, the one he needs does not. he bites his lip and taps his pen against the morning crossword. “glenn. i have block.”