I loved this. So many B/A future fics--especially the ones that focus on the mundane details of their lives--are ultra-fluffy, which is nice, but rarely thought-provoking. This, though, is gorgeous. I love the slow build-up to the last piece, although the first nine broke my heart a little, especially,
Talking overbright, humor backlash to hurt, it was a trick Angel never used himself, and Buffy isn't talking about him. Sometimes he thinks she's a rockstar love, that moment in the lime light love, made-to-fade love, then love her from afar. Not like a song, because he can't sing; not like a poem, because he can't rhyme. He's not interactive, not electric, not burning bright and blond.
which is very true and very Angel, and
Buffy lies awake, turning her head to stare blankly at the blue glow from the lit screen illuminating the opposite wall. He’s so L.A., now, straight and sleek and tall, like a building, in his designer suits and shoes. She half expects him to slick back his hair, buy a pair of name-brand sunglasses, shiny like law offices. Whatever happened to that velvet jacket?
--partially because I usually think of that velvet jacked as wildly OOC (it always strikes me as something Oscar Wilde would wear), but this is making me consider the idea that the Angel that would wear that jacket--that ridiculous, twitchy, S1 Angel--is somehow less affected than the Angel of later seasons. Or is more real to Buffy, because that's how she first knew him.
And I love how you take all of those banal, petty arguments that couples have every day, and without flinching away from the reality of the fights show very simply that they're not deal-breakers. Beautiful.
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Talking overbright, humor backlash to hurt, it was a trick Angel never used himself, and Buffy isn't talking about him. Sometimes he thinks she's a rockstar love, that moment in the lime light love, made-to-fade love, then love her from afar. Not like a song, because he can't sing; not like a poem, because he can't rhyme. He's not interactive, not electric, not burning bright and blond.
which is very true and very Angel, and
Buffy lies awake, turning her head to stare blankly at the blue glow from the lit screen illuminating the opposite wall. He’s so L.A., now, straight and sleek and tall, like a building, in his designer suits and shoes. She half expects him to slick back his hair, buy a pair of name-brand sunglasses, shiny like law offices. Whatever happened to that velvet jacket?
--partially because I usually think of that velvet jacked as wildly OOC (it always strikes me as something Oscar Wilde would wear), but this is making me consider the idea that the Angel that would wear that jacket--that ridiculous, twitchy, S1 Angel--is somehow less affected than the Angel of later seasons. Or is more real to Buffy, because that's how she first knew him.
And I love how you take all of those banal, petty arguments that couples have every day, and without flinching away from the reality of the fights show very simply that they're not deal-breakers. Beautiful.