no one can hold a candle, nothing else is quite the same

[chose]

Like so many others, Buffy tends to default on the rec room when there is nothing else to do, which, on Tabula Rasa, is far more often than not. Such is the case tonight, when she ducks in from the hallway and gives the room a quick once-over. Even in the corner, huddled between the shadows like that, Angel is unmistakable. Buffy edges out of the

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[todoright]

As Buffy entered the rec room, Angel surreptitiously shifted his right hand so that it wasn't in her line of sight, even before glancing up. Fanged creature of the night or not, Buffy wasn't quite as sneaky as she thought she was. The pain in his hand had gone down to a dull throb although the bruises weren't gone. He could manage. He'd had worse in his lifetime.

That stupid bookshelf had been taunting him. He'd hit it out of frustration, but it never retained a scratch. But he removes that from his face as he glances up at her, however briefly. Trying to act normal.

"Thanks."

[chose]

"I see you're feeling extra verbose today." As frustrating as Angel's cryptic is, Buffy has had years to become accustomed to it. You can't teach an old vampire new tricks and trying won't get you far. She knows that now, so instead, she hides any hint of annoyance. She plays the fool and pretends that she hasn't noticed anything amiss. Pretends that Angel sitting in a dark corner and reading doesn't raise little red flags of worry all over the place.

"Whatcha reading?" She asks, complete with the inquisitive brow and plastered-on smile.

[todoright]

"Voltaire." if Buffy's faking, then he can too. Angel looks up, the shadows from the candle casting over his face. She's worried yet playing innocent. It's his job to convince her that there was nothing to worry about. "Was there something you wanted?" He's determined not to say anything about being fictional. Some lies are more just than the truth, or at least that's Angel's morally gray view of it.

[chose]

The implication is clear: for whatever reason, Buffy isn't welcome here. He wants her to go; wants to be alone. Frustrated, Buffy lets out a snort of laughter - hard and humorless. He was just fine the last time they spoke. Better than fine, even, judging by the whole his-lips-on-hers factor. Hot one minute and now he's cold again.

"No, sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt that book you haven't read a thousand times before." In classic Buffy fashion, sarcasm masks hurt. He knows her, he should be able to read the subtext.