Summer
There was ice cream on her nose.
Not the sort fresh from the parlor, still misty with dry ice and all bite-like with its sting. They had been walking for a while, after all. He was the one that had placed the restrictions on their game. The quotes could only come from movies they had watched together. It should not be that hard, she thought. Not really. The rule still left them with hundreds of movies to choose from. It was a defined staple of their days together, especially before the last year. Of course, it went on and on, and she could only get more frustrated.
Star Wars, an extremely sensible voice in her head sounded, was such a gimmie. But what was she supposed to do? Admit that the last few fifty movies or so, she spent more time paying attention to him, and not the tv? Because she had perfected the fine art of looking while not looking while you were looking.
It was a very specific place.
And now there was ice cream on her nose. Cold, but not icy, warmed by their walk. The summer air -- which seemed especially determined in its heat, those last just-before-school-returned days. His mouth. Her cheeks flushed brightly at the thought of just one body part. And Buffy wondered why she had never addressed her feelings for the lot of them together?
"Xander," she finally scolded. "My nose is cold."
That was certainly true. And had nothing to do with his mouth.
She watched her best friend carefully.
And wondered how a person that would pick scissors every time in rock,paper, scissors forty-six times over could still manage to surprise her.
Not the sort fresh from the parlor, still misty with dry ice and all bite-like with its sting. They had been walking for a while, after all. He was the one that had placed the restrictions on their game. The quotes could only come from movies they had watched together. It should not be that hard, she thought. Not really. The rule still left them with hundreds of movies to choose from. It was a defined staple of their days together, especially before the last year. Of course, it went on and on, and she could only get more frustrated.
Star Wars, an extremely sensible voice in her head sounded, was such a gimmie. But what was she supposed to do? Admit that the last few fifty movies or so, she spent more time paying attention to him, and not the tv? Because she had perfected the fine art of looking while not looking while you were looking.
It was a very specific place.
And now there was ice cream on her nose. Cold, but not icy, warmed by their walk. The summer air -- which seemed especially determined in its heat, those last just-before-school-returned days. His mouth. Her cheeks flushed brightly at the thought of just one body part. And Buffy wondered why she had never addressed her feelings for the lot of them together?
"Xander," she finally scolded. "My nose is cold."
That was certainly true. And had nothing to do with his mouth.
She watched her best friend carefully.
And wondered how a person that would pick scissors every time in rock,paper, scissors forty-six times over could still manage to surprise her.