Oh yeah. Country music, music of pain, and all that jazz.

Some pretty-boy crooner and his mournful take on life always seemed to poke his nose into my business that year. Patsy Cline had some cameos, but it was mostly those star-of-the-week pre-adolescent tenors who kept me company.

So why does it not surprise me that now that I’m as depressed and lonely as I’ve been in a long time, that I’m listening to my old Bryan White CD and agreeing with him that someone else has wished on my star, someone else knows how I feel, and it’s only me and the moon? I’m not surprised because aside from a couple perky songs, this pretty-boy crooner has a CD full of angsty songs that remind me of exactly how much I miss her.

It’s funny; we spent nearly every day of our lives together, inseparable. And now that we’ve been closer than we ever were, ironically, we’ve never been further apart. We don’t touch each other anymore, don’t speak, hell, we hardly even look at each other. And it’s all because I took off my blinders. I’m not sure why I didn’t leave them on, since everyone knows I couldn’t budge them for seventeen years, but for once, I finally saw her the way everyone else had for a long time: as a beautiful woman with a heart the size of the Grand Canyon, capable of love so everlasting it was scary. And it was all directed at me. Until him, of course.

Then I had to go and screw up probably the best thing she’s ever had, and a relationship of my own that, while you couldn’t exactly call it healthy, was good for me anyway. Now both of us are miserable, lonely without our significant others, and we don’t even have each other to go to. And again, it’s all my fault.

The CD finally gets to the last track and I groan, recognizing it instantly. Go ahead, Bryan, twist the knife a little deeper. “Helpless Heart,” yeah, like I don’t know it already.

I could give Angel a run for his money with my little brood-a-thon, courtesy of Bryan’s heartfelt wailing about a love that he just can’t get away from him. I feel ya, bro.

Why did I take the chance on losing the best friendship I ever had? Hormonal impulses aside, I didn’t want her to ever leave my side. I never thought I could last a day without her. I guess I proved myself wrong, but still, it hurts to be so far away from her when she’s right there. That bond we had is stretching further and further, until it feels like no more than a fragile thread that holds us together, and I’m afraid that it’s going to snap if I look at her wrong.

I have to believe that we’ll get through this. Our friendship will survive, despite the seemingly insurmountable obstacles I’ve placed in front of it. I don’t care what I have to do. I’m not going to lose her. I love her too much to let our friendship fade into nothingness. Even if I have to pretend she doesn’t mean anything more to me than a friend, I’m going to keep us together.

Taking a deep breath, I reach over for the phone, holding on to my courage, hoping to hear her voice before I chicken out of calling her. Just as I touch the receiver, however, the shrill ring of the phone jolts me. “Hello?”

“Xander?”

I chuckle slightly. “Why doesn’t it surprise me that you’re calling me at the exact second I was working up my courage to call you?” It doesn’t surprise me because despite everything we’ve been through lately, we’re still as connected as we ever were. What I did wasn’t enough to break that thread of friendship that keeps us tied.

I can hear her smile, like it’s a tangible thing. “Because I can read your mind?” she guesses with a giggle.

“Or because you know me so well that it’s as good as reading my mind?” I guess back.

“Or maybe it’s because I know you so well that I know you’re trying to give me what you think I want, which is space to sort this whole mess out,” she returns seriously. “And maybe I know you so well that I know you’re dying to talk to me, but you’re afraid that I’m angry with you. And maybe I know you so well that I know you really don’t know what you’re thinking, but you miss me and want to see me and be assured that we’re okay, despite everything that’s happened and everything that tells you that we should step away?” she continues, with that amazing insight I always envied her.

“Maybe it’s all of the above?” I offer with an uncharacteristic sigh and slumping of my shoulders.

I wince as I hear the remaining vocals of the song, the soft repeat of the chorus fading into the final notes, hurrying to shut it off before she can hear. If she does, she doesn’t comment on it.

“I’m not going to let you walk away from this, Xander,” she says quietly. “You and I did what we did because there’s something there between us. There always has been. I saw it a long time ago, and I waited for you to see it. Now that you have, there’s no reason for us to run. For you to run. Cordy and Oz, well, they hate us now but they’ll forgive us eventually. There’s nothing we can do about them right now, we have to wait until they forgive us in their own time. But there’s something we can do about this strained silence between us. I hate it, Xander. I miss you. I need us to be okay again.” Her voice has taken on a child-like pleading tone, and of course, I melt.

“I miss you too, Will. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right between us again. I just don’t know what you want,” I say uncertainly.

“Isn’t it obvious, Xander? You. I want you.”

I sigh in relief. “Thank God, Wills. I didn’t know what I was going to do if you told me you wanted to be alone, that I was too much trouble in your life.”

She breaks the serious note of the conversation with a giggle. “Of course you’re too much trouble. You’re Xander. It should be your middle name instead of-”

“Don’t say it!” I plead pathetically.

“-Lavelle.”

“Wench,” I mutter.

She laughs again. “But you still love me,” she teases.

Silence ensues. I debate whether to answer her honestly or flippantly. Thankfully, she saves me the trouble.

“You do, don’t you?” It’s very matter-of-fact, not questioning at all, and I feel relieved that she doesn’t doubt it.

I nod, even though it’s silly because she can’t see me. “I really do, Wills.”

Her voice is happier. “I sort of knew. I knew you wouldn’t risk ruining our friendship, my relationship with Oz, your relationship with Cordy, for something temporary and hormonal.”

“How *do* you make a whore moan?” I crack.

“Xander!” she cries in exasperation. I laugh.

“Willow, I do love you. I always have, even though I didn’t really know it.” I try to explain but it sounds awkward and insincere, even to my ears.

“Xander, I understand. Let’s just not, well, talk about it, okay? I still get uncertain. Let’s just leave it at the fact that I know you love me, you know I love you, and the world is all sunshine and roses, okay?” she asks hopefully.

“Okay,” I agree. I settle back onto my bed, the emotionally draining part of the conversation well past. “So what are we doing on our first date?”

“First date?” She sounds mildly outraged. “Well, mister, I would like to be *asked* on said date before I *discuss* said date.”

“Fine,” I sigh exaggeratedly. “Miss Willow Rosenberg, would you please do me the favor of accepting my invitation to go on a romantic evening rendezvous?”

She pretends to consider it. “Well, with that kind of invitation, I can’t very well turn it down, can I?” she asks petulantly.

I grin. “Absolutely not. So, where are we going?” I ask again, reaching over to turn on my stereo while Willow excitedly bubbles over with ideas for our date. Instead of clicking on my CD player, I turn on the radio, letting the sounds of Fuel play in the background.

After all, who needs the music of pain when, thanks to Willow, this helpless heart isn’t breaking anymore?