The man wishes he had something to preoccupy himself with, for an item within his hands to effectively toy with or a point of focus for disquiet eyes to busily peer at, a firm knot having formed within the pit of Wesley’s stomach as he unburdens himself of the revelation - from his consistently elevated thoughts of her, he deemed that Fred deserved better and didn’t want to tell her… like this, not in this setting where there are guests bandying about without a care in the world and privacy is at a minimum, the desire to have an honest and candid conversation rooted in the conveyance of genuine sentiment as opposed to cheapened platitudes. She had meant the world to him ( still does, that would never change ), yet there’s the distinct feeling that a fragile chapter is on the verge of closing regardless of it having just been rekindled, a sensation that grips him with an untold degree of fear and uncertainty. Perhaps he’s reading far too much into this ( as he always does ) but as he had proven time and time again, despite having a way with words, he was never the best at imparting personal endearment.
There’s a minute shake of the former Watcher’s head with a feigned smile and an uncomfortable huff of laughter, trying to shrug away the brunette’s well wishes as he swallows down dryly, as if his mouth was suddenly filled with ash. “It’s no easy feat. My standards grow more convoluted as the years pass,” Wesley tries to joke, teeth catching at the soft flesh in the innermost corner of his mouth, lips pressing into a thin line. “I think you’d like him. Both of them. As much as it pains me to admit…” A self-deprecating chuckle emerges, one that’s genuine compared to prior efforts, features growing more sombre in reflection. “I was in an exceptionally bad place after Wolfram & Hart brought about the apocalypse. As important as our work was in LA, I desperately needed my life to change.” He can’t begin to convey the hurt and upheaval experienced during that period, blue eyes instead reverting back to sifting through the crowd, settling on Arthur and Valerie in their distinct corners of the room, observing their opposing mannerisms.
“They’ve been very supportive. I don’t think I could have done it without them.” Hands slipping into his pockets, there’s a shift in Wesley’s stance, a few steps taken to guide the pair in the vampire’s direction when she rapidly darts away, leaving the room entirely to head towards a staircase. The brunet huffs in exasperation as he grinds to a halt, head shaking in disbelief. “A tornado of a woman. Perhaps later?”
It was incredible how the two of them could be so comfortable with one another and yet so easily return to what she supposed was their default state of being quiet, eye-contact avoidant. Awkward. Gosh, where was Lorne when you needed him to force a little liveliness into wallflowers at a party?
Fred re-upped the smile, putting a hand to Wesley’s arm. “I’m… I’m sorry to hear that. I so wish I could have done more to help everyone, but… I’m really glad you were able to find better. I see flashes here and there of Illyria’s memories of it all. But I think change is for the best,” she said with a nod.
Change was always better when you were in control of it, of course. But even the ones that were thrust upon you could be taken under control eventually- or so Fred hoped, when it came to Illyria and her strange cohabitating situation. But that could wait- there seemed to be no shortage of Wesley’s friends who might be able to help, but at the very least, it was something she had under control for the night.
“Well, I don’t plan on goin’ anywhere- not in a hurry. I look forward to learning more about your life and your friends, Wesley. And ah’m glad I still make the cut despite your convoluted standards.”
