#willow001

Humans were disposable, blood banks, worth little more than that. Being unable to do anything to them during most hours of the day was an inconvenience even if she found it quite pleasing that they were all required to donate blood. It was like a tax for allowing them to live. She didn’t put any effort into avoiding with them even if there were some families that she had kept an eye on over the generations out of pure curiosity that they had managed to make it for so long. Of the ones that she didn’t entirely abhor, Willow happened to be one of them. She liked to talk about herself and the centuries that she’d been outside of this town. The little librarian had a penchant for listening to stories. It was symbiotic.

That was why she was here. The church had burned and she had a lot to say, even if perhaps some of it was not something in which the other might wish to hear or record. She doesn’t consider the feelings of others much once she opened her mouth. Fleur never had. “You like your stories, hm?” There was no real question despite her words, continuing easily. “This town is going to Hell. Is there anything worse than burning a church? I think not. The heretics have gone even madder.”

He had broken the lease at his condo complex and paid the hefty fee to do it but it was going to be worth it in the long run. For starters, a two-bedroom apartment in Devils Point was more than half as cheap as it was in Boulder, where he had been working for the last six months. On top of the fact that his sister and father were in town, too. Plus, he had yet to meet the police officer his sister had been with for a while now. He hadn’t come down when she had gotten into the car accident a couple of months back but he had FaceTimed her nearly every day for a few weeks just to check in. Despite being the younger of the two, August still felt a need to protect his sister. It sort of came with the territory when you had a sister as nice, some may say naive, as Anya. 

His hands were gripping the steering wheel of his Chevy Traverse as if he was worried the wheel might pop right off for some reason. It wasn’t until his fingers were going numb that he even realized how tightly he was holding onto the wheel. While there were plenty of things to be excited about in moving back home, there was one thing sitting heavily on his chest, and not necessarily in a bad way. Just sitting there, weighting on him.

He squeezed the steering wheel again, trying to take in a deep breath. It had been years since he had even laid eyes on her. He had seen her on social media - a photo here, a news article there - but he hadn’t seen her 1,273 days. August 19. It had been four years ago, on August 19.

“I know, I know. I just...I can’t just let you go like this. It’s not fair. We’ve worked together at this for too long to just...I fucking love you. You know have to know that. Please tell me you know that.”

Not that he was counting. He really wasn’t; but the math wasn’t that difficult when he knew the last day he had seen her. The last night he had run his hand through her hair and rested his hand on the nape of her neck as he kissed her goodnight. He could almost feel her lips on his --

*beep*

August swerved out of oncoming traffic and slammed his palms against the steering wheel. “Shit!” Apparently, at some point, he had closed his eyes and drifted into traffic. He tried to settle his heart back into his chest from his throat and turned the music down in the process. He wasn’t even halfway home and he was already loosing it.

“You know I’ll always love you, Willow wind...right? Don’t ever forget that.”

--

He had been home for almost two weeks and had somehow managed to not see Willow. It hadn’t been easy, he was sure. He went straight to work and straight home. Anya had accused him of avoiding her and he had shook it off, swearing that wasn’t it. He wasn’t even trying to protect Willow; he knew she was strong enough to see him. He was protecting himself. He had nearly gotten himself killed on the way home just because had been thinking about her. His friends from high school hadn’t been able to get him out on a Friday night in two weeks so he hadn’t been surprised when the all showed up at his new place and basically dragged him from inside, much to his dog’s dismay. Taco had barked, whimpered, and then given up at trying to be a part of the fun. She had curled up on her dog bed and watched as August had wrestled with his friends, only to be shoved into a car and driven off.

Three hours later, he had forgotten the reason he hadn’t gone out until now, well, not forgotten. He just wasn’t expecting her to walk through the door. He was laughing, drinking, and every once in a while, yelling. The bartender was one of their old friends so the drinks just kept coming. He knew they were racking up a serious bill but they hadn’t done this in years. He had just passed his practical six months ago and gotten his license. He hadn’t done this when he passed his exam so he was doing it now. “Ay, listen, you are all just jealous that I’ve --” but he was cut off by a cacophony of boo’s from his friends as they all lifted a shot into the air. August followed, his head cloudy with the alcohol they had been drinking. 

“Cheers!” He threw back the shot, slammed the glass back to the table, and then his eyes settled. When they did, the silence in the room was palpable; all his friends must have seen her, too. His heart was in his throat and he was now painfully obvious to him that he hadn’t had dinner before he had gotten dragged from his apartment. 

“Willow.”

“ oh my god, willow, come on ! we have to go to the rink ! i got us all matching scarves with our initials embroidered on them. ” 

Aria didn’t have a lot of friends. There was a time she had plenty - young witches that followed her around and made it more fun and easy to do magic or have a good time out in town. Those days were long gone, snuffed like a candle in a hurricane of the events the followed her uncle’s descent to necromancy and eventual death. For a time, she spoke to no one - not even a girl she knew since they were children in school. Willow had seen Aria go through puberty, her weird semi-goth phase in middle school and all the questionable fashion statements and bad parties in high school. 

It wasn’t until she heard of Rowen’s disappearance that Aria had started to allow herself to feel guilt for abandoning someone who had nothing to do with her coven or her griefs. She’d gone into the library to check up on her old friend after her brother’s tragedy. One thing led to another and now Willow was one of the only people that Aria could really call a friend. With friendship came support, something Aria wasn’t used to giving or receiving lately. But there she was - standing outside the cemetery with her mournful, uncertain friend for no other reason than to give her some company and encouragement the same way she knew Willow would.

“Look...” She murmured, making her way over to sit beside her on the bench. “You don’t need to do this if you don’t want to, Will.” Aria sat down beside her and glanced at the yellow ribbon in her friend’s hand. “If you do this... it’s for you and Rowen - no one else.”

Every corner, every turn he made, Will could see himself alone, and the chilling absence that meant not having his best friend around. Not one from his classmates could tell how come he couldn't smile, when it had passed almost an entire year after the boy's death. And there he was, covered in mostly his own sweat, while he waited for each and every other guy to come out and leave the shower so he could enter and use it freely. Why? That way, there would be no one to grab his towel and leave him naked, it just happened so many times by now. He was too tired to fall for the same trick, again.

On his sight, there was coach Ransley: whilen he would never try and speak to him directly, made him feel like he's a safe card he could play if one of the guys wanted to mess around with him. But a card he wasn't too excited to play though. No when the man was a living reminder of how much he missed his best friend. Will sighed while sitting at the benche, judging by the laughs coming from inside: there was still plenty of time till even the last one would leave. But by the grace of the heavens, he was given the gift of patience.