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You'll Never Be Friends

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“I don’t like lemonade anymore,” Willow grumbled, a small pout on her face. “I mean, who even drinks lemonade in February? I think Mrs. Summers should update her beverage selection every so often.”

“You okay?” Oz asked her, beginning to wrap the bandage around her hand.

Willow’s pout faded as she gave Oz a grateful smile. “Uh huh,” she replied. “It just stings.”

“Maybe you should be a little more careful.” Oz took out some medical tape and fastened the bandage. “Buffy tends to put things back hastily.”

“It’s like one of those awful things where you don’t even know if it’s your life or some cliché piece of fiction,” Willow sighed. “The girl drops the glass pitcher of lemonade, the glass cuts her, and the lemonade splashes up and gets into her cut.” There was affection in her eyes as she gazed at Oz. “And then the amazing boyfriend plays doctor.”

“Always happy to help.” Oz leaned forward and kissed Willow’s forehead. “Think we should head back to the living room? Xander’s probably eaten most of the popcorn by now.”

“It’s nice in here,” Willow mused. “Quiet, no people, just us…” She reached out with her good hand and stroked Oz’s cheek. He smiled at her fondly. She leaned in.

“I’m not sure if your best friend’s kitchen is the most ideal place to start a kissing session,” Oz observed, moving away just enough to avoid the kiss but not enough to let Willow’s hand drop form his cheek. “Can I suggest a temporary postponement?”

“Aww, come on, Oz!” Willow protested playfully. “I’ve been injured! I need sustenance.”

“Hmm. You make a good point.” Oz leaned in and kissed her, a light peck that lasted only a few seconds before he pulled away. “I guarantee more later,” he told her.

“Pinky swear?” Willow held out her injured hand, realized that making a fist would probably hurt a lot, and let her good hand drop from Oz’s cheek to hold up her pinky. Oz took her pinky with his and shook it with a seriousness that was ridiculously adorable.

It was his seriousness that she loved, because it was genuine without being stick-in-the-mud-y. If you were too serious, you ended up like Giles, and if you weren’t serious enough, you ended up like Xander. Both were definitely admirable guys who Willow had had a crush on at some point, but Oz was right in the middle, a perfect mix of both.

Except not, because Oz was Oz. She couldn’t say he was really like Xander or Giles in any way. He wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met, and he liked her. It made Willow feel special and loved and happy to be with him, this special guy who she loved and who loved her.

He was currently pressing a kiss to the back of her injured hand. “Think we should clean up the blood now or later?” he asked, glancing down at the dots of blood and the shards of glass on the floor.

“We can get it now,” Willow suggested. “I wouldn’t want Buffy to get hurt or something.”

“Okay. Just stay there.” Oz gave her another kiss, this one on her cheek, and he got out a dustpan from one of the cabinets. Before Willow could protest (it would have been along the lines of I don’t want you always cleaning up my messes or I don’t need people to help me, I’m independent), he added, “I don’t want you working near glass with a hurt hand.”

“You’re so chivalrous,” Willow informed him, and she probably sounded a little swoony, but she didn’t really care. She tended to be swoony around Oz a lot.