If looks could kill. And if Angel weren't already dead? Then the vampire would have dropped dead on the floor then and there. Thus was the look Wesley gave in the direction of voice upon hearing it. The look turned positively glacial to the extend that it would have the polar-bears on the Arctic running form the cold. Saying that Wesley was still angry at what had happened the other night? That would be a severe understatement
( ... )
Ouch. He had known things wouldn't be pretty, but he still wasn't exactly prepared for that charming little welcome.
He visibly winced from the doorway, half shaking his head as he tried to figure out how to answer that, if it even would matter one way or the other. Or if he should even try. "It would," he decided, "But it wouldn't make me leave, either. Sorry." There was a part of him that wanted to just step back, let the door close, and leave. It would have certainly been the easiest thing to do, anyway.
In Angel's many years of unliving, though, he had a nasty habit of choosing the road less traveled. The one with all the dead ends, and twists, and turns, and falling rocks. If anything was going to make him change his course, it seemed silly that it would be this little bump.
And so, he stayed. He even opened the door the rest of the way, and took a step forward, but didn't come in any further than that. "I just wanted to talk."
"Then what is the point of asking," Wesley observed bitterly. Even more so when Angel hardly even acknowledged that he'd been stabbing Wesley in the back. With his distrust, with his lack of confidence in his own best friend. They all had acted as if Wesley had gone mental while there had been no signs of it
( ... )
Hoo boy. Angel never liked when Wesley was feeling like this, but to be the apparent cause of it all? That was really...something. He didn't like it. He wanted to fix it, but the more time he stood here, the more he was thinking he'd have a greater chance of learning how to fly
( ... )
Comments 5
Reply
He visibly winced from the doorway, half shaking his head as he tried to figure out how to answer that, if it even would matter one way or the other. Or if he should even try. "It would," he decided, "But it wouldn't make me leave, either. Sorry." There was a part of him that wanted to just step back, let the door close, and leave. It would have certainly been the easiest thing to do, anyway.
In Angel's many years of unliving, though, he had a nasty habit of choosing the road less traveled. The one with all the dead ends, and twists, and turns, and falling rocks. If anything was going to make him change his course, it seemed silly that it would be this little bump.
And so, he stayed. He even opened the door the rest of the way, and took a step forward, but didn't come in any further than that. "I just wanted to talk."
"To apologize," he clarified after a beat.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment