*****

He sighed. Everyone but him was engrossed in research. "I can't stand this. I need something to do."

Giles glanced at Xander, surprised at the teen's announcement. "Well, you're free to leave. I just have to translate this last section, and then we're done."

"Thanks." He pulled on his jacket, wondering just what he would do with his unexpected hours of free time this particular evening. As much as he hated to admit it, all this togetherness was getting on his nerves, so he welcomed the chance to be on his own. But unless he was explicitly told he could leave, he always felt horribly guilty for causing the group to have one less person on their side.

He ended up at the Bronze, staring at the poster that informed him that Oz's band was playing that particular night. He sighed. It just figured. No matter how hard he tried to get away from everyone in the gang, he seemed to gravitate to them. He had nothing better to do, so he sighed again and entered the club.

Recorded music played over the sound system, so he wandered, hoping he didn't run into Oz. He really didn't feel like explaining why he was on his own that particular evening.

Then he saw Oz, cornered by some teenaged girl waving a glowstick and rapidly chattering at him. Xander didn't recognize the girl, and if Oz's expression was any indication, the guitarist had no idea who she was, either. And no desire to find out. As he watched, he realized he was seeing something else on Oz's face -- something he had never before seen on the laidback man's face. A rising panic at being trapped, forced to endure smalltalk from someone he had desire to speak with at that moment and no intention of ever seeing again. Briefly, Xander wondered how Oz would feel about being interrupted by one of his geeky acquaintances. Then he realized he had somehow crossed the room and was standing next to Oz, just out of the smaller man's peripheral vision. Xander cleared his throat, but the music was so loud that the sound was drowned out. The girl didn't acknowledge Xander even though he *knew* that she could see him. Xander decided to take that as a sign that he wasn't meant to interrupt.

He sighed and moved back away from Oz and the vapid babbler. On the up side, better Oz than him. The heat of the dancing bodies finally hit him, and he decided that he might as well get something to drink since he had absolutely nothing better to do. Beverage in hand, he began a slow wander through the room, carefully avoiding jabbing elbows that seemed intent on just one thing: jostling his arm and dumping his drink all over his clothing.

Bored with the circuit around the club, he stopped, slouching against one of the beams supporting the ceiling and gazing at the kids around him. He found it hard to believe that he himself had ever been as carefree and young as the rest of them, but he knew it had been true at some point. If he hadn't, he wouldn't feel the emptiness he did when watching those that had taken his place in the massive, faceless group referred to as "kids these days." Maybe emptiness wasn't the right word. But the one he was looking for was hiding from him at that particular moment. He sipped his flat cola-type beverage, wincing at the odd flavor that inevitably resulted when the same soda tap was used for cola, root beer, orange soda, and diet cola.

"Oh, hey, thanks." A hand reached out and took the cup from his hand. Startled at the interruption and amazed when he realized that he had somehow ended up scant inches from where he had been standing before he had decided he was thirsty, Xander could only blink as Oz pulled him down to whisper -- or if not whisper, at least keep his words at a volume that the girl in front of him could not hear -- in his ear. "Just go along, okay?" Xander nodded, and Oz wrapped his arm around Xander's waist. At normal club-conversation volume, Oz continued speaking to Xander. "I'm glad you made it. So you got the evening off?"

"Yeah, everyone else got sucked into things, but I escaped."

"Good." Oz's fingers somehow managed to work their way under Xander's shirt hem, right at the base of his spine. Xander wondered whose benefit *this* was for since as far as he could tell, the girl couldn't see those fingers stroking his back. "So I have you all to myself tonight?" Xander nodded. "Good." Oz turned back to the girl who was now standing open-mouthed, watching Oz fondle Xander's lower back. Well, she didn't *know* that's what Oz was doing, but that's what Xander was realizing what was going on. But the fact that Male Number One was touching Male Number Two in a rather intimate way was obviously more than a slight surprise to her. "Sorry. Gotta go."

"You're -- He's --"

Oz shrugged. "Apparently so. Enjoy the show." And he manuvered Xander away from the girl, finally relaxing when they were moving away from her. But he didn't remove his arm from Xander's waist, even when they reached a couch and sat down. The silence grew thick, and Xander felt the irresistible need to break it.

"Are you going to kiss me or something?"

For a long moment, Oz just gazed at Xander. It occurred to the brunette that he should probably feel uncomfortable, but he felt perfectly fine. Better than fine. More like he finally found what he had been searching for even though he hadn't been aware that he had been missing anything. Finally, the guitarist spoke. "Are you offering? Because I've got to tell you, if you're offering, I'll be taking. And if you'll be taking, I'm offering. So are you taking?"

Xander took back the drink cup, rehydrating his suddenly-dry mouth. He stared at the ice in the cup, wondering how long he could put off answering the question. Then he realized that it didn't really matter what *he* said. Oz had already announced that it would be perfectly fine with him. No fear of rejection or disgust at the possible interaction. "Yeah. I am."

~ the end ~