after.midnight // v.naked
TITLE: Seven Days
RATING: R -- it's one huge pile of angst
FEEDBACK: Comment away.
DISTRIBUTION: My place.
SUMMARY: Someone's missing Angel.
DISCLAIMER: Joss owns 'em, not me.
NOTE: I've been lacking inspiration lately, so I'm a little off my game. But this hit me and I had to run with it.
It's been seven days since the last time he touched you, his fingers
gliding gently over your skin, sending shivers up your spine that made
him smile. You remember how he used to hold you, his bare chest
against your naked back, his arms wrapped around your waist, his
thumbs gently caressing your stomach. His skin was always cool, like
late night ocean breezes, and you never knew that the cold could be
so soothing, never knew that his chilly embrace would be your home.
You made love that night, just seven days ago, and you can remember
every touch of his lips against yours, the feel of his tongue as it explored
your body, the way he fit so perfectly inside you, filling the emptiness
in your soul. He told you he loved you over and over again that night,
his voice soft and gentle and filled with emotions you never thought
anyone would ever feel for you. He wanted you to know he meant it, that
they were more than just words uttered in the heat of the moment. You
didn't need them, his love for you evident in all the things he'd ever done
for you. But you accepted them, knowing he needed to say them, and
you let him know that you loved him, too.
You've barely made it through the last seven days without him, can't
begin to contemplate how you'll get through the next seven and the seven
after that. You feel him in the bed beside you, his body, solid and
real, in your arms every night, waking up hours later only to find it was
all a dream. You spend every night on the phone with him, his voice,
deep and soothing, lulling you to sleep. You begin each day sitting in bed,
hugging his pillow to you, the one that holds the faintest hint of his scent,
the scent that's slowly fading away. You miss him more than you thought
you'd ever miss anyone, and you count the days until he returns. You
try not to think about the fact that he may not be coming back, that this
battle may be his last. The thought of being alone without him forever
terrifies you, something you only let him know in the stillness of the night
when the miles between you are endless and your only connection is the
cheap plastic of the telephone.
It's better during the day, the daily routine of running the office, saving the
lost souls that wander LA's dark streets keeps you from missing him too
much. Cordelia's there, dragging you to lunch on company time, chatting
endlessly about auditions and rehearsals and scripts she's reading, little
things that help to take your mind off him. Wesley reads you stories
when you're sitting around with that look in your eyes, the one that says
you're miserable without him. Gunn drags you down to the hood when the
others have gone home and you just don't want to be alone. You don't
have the heart to tell him that seeing him surrounded by family, laughing
and joking and being together, only makes you miss him more. You wonder
when they started taking care of you instead of the other way around,
when they became your family too.
It's dark now, the sun disappearing below the horizon. It's his time of day,
your time of day, but now it only serves to remind you that he's gone. You
go to the calendar, marking off another day, trying to ignore the days that
came before. It's the start of seven new days, seven days without him.
The phone rings just as you slip into bed and you turn out all the lights
before you answer. It makes it easier to pretend he's there with you.
"Hi," you answer, your voice just above a whisper, hoping that will help
to hide the tears that have started to fall.
"Hi," he replies, and you can hear the smile in his voice, the longing and
concern. You know that he hears your tears, he always does. "I miss
There's so much in those three words. He misses you, he's worried
about you, he loves you, he wants to be home. There's that and more in
your voice when you answer:
"I miss you, too."
It's been seven months since you saw him last, seven months since
he went away to fulfill his destiny. You try not to think about when you
stopped living, when you started measuring months in days. It's gotten
easier, living without him. You have your job //his job//, you have your
friends //his friends//, you have your life //which isn't really complete
without him//. Every night you hear his voice in your ear, telling you his
misses you, that he wishes he was home. Every day you see his clothes
beside yours in the closet, his toothbrush resting on the bathroom sink
next to yours. They're little things, inconsequential things, but they remind
you that, even though he's away, he's yours, that he always will be. They
remind you that someday he's coming back to you.
You just have to make it through the next seven days.