you never get over your first love.
And by "love", I mean, "holy shit".
Heeeee. Sitting in Angel's chair, wearing Angel's shirt, looking all bruised and petulant and, aigh, twelve years old.
Also, there are entire sections of this fic that are going to end up on the cutting room floor because they don't fit anywhere and are jarring tone-wise, but I keep writing them because Angel's all, "Can you make sure he's brushing his teeth at night, and not just pretending to brush them while he lets the water run from the faucet, but really, actually brushing them and also could you make sure he knows about underwear?" Augh, god, stop. I'm trying to build a goddamn tragedy over here! It's going to be, like, sad and stuff! You're mucking it all up! No! No more about vegetables!
Heeeee. Sitting in Angel's chair, wearing Angel's shirt, looking all bruised and petulant and, aigh, twelve years old.
Also, there are entire sections of this fic that are going to end up on the cutting room floor because they don't fit anywhere and are jarring tone-wise, but I keep writing them because Angel's all, "Can you make sure he's brushing his teeth at night, and not just pretending to brush them while he lets the water run from the faucet, but really, actually brushing them and also could you make sure he knows about underwear?" Augh, god, stop. I'm trying to build a goddamn tragedy over here! It's going to be, like, sad and stuff! You're mucking it all up! No! No more about vegetables!