***************

 Xander sighed as the cold November wind blew through him. He buried
his head deeper between his shoulders and walked along the quiet
streets of the still sleeping Sunnydale. In his mind he was wondering
what the Hell he had been thinking when he had asked the librarian to
help him with history. He could have asked Willow, which would have
made this a nice and easy morning but noooo he had to do it the
torturing way and ask Giles.

 It wasnít that he didnít like the Watcher. It was the problem of
liking him too much. He knew that once he got to Gilesí apartment he
would sit down and then it would begin. The older man would sit next
to him, smelling of spicy after-shave and with that smell lingering
around him, Xander would get nothing done. He would lean closer to
point out a thing from the books and speak in a low, calm tone with
that sexy English accent.

 Xander was familiar with the spinning feeling that would come. The
couch would feel soft and comfy and he would have that falling
sensation again. The day when he would be caught would come. They day
when Giles would turn around and find him staring at his lips. Or the
day when he would notice the sudden gasp when he touched him. And
then it would be all over. No more morning tutorials. No more
conversations after the books had been put away. No more laughing
over a cup of tea. He would look at him with disgust in his eyes and
that would be the end of him.

 The boy smiled when he thought about the librarian laughing. At
least he could get him to laugh. Not many people could. There had
always been a bond between them. They shared a consensus that Buffy
and Willow could never understand.

 He stopped in front of the door and frowned. He hated the feeling he
had after every one of these meetings. The sad, depressed feeling of
knowing that he wasnít for him. That there would never be nothing
more then friendship between them. But he would keep torturing
himself for just a little bit longer. Because even the feeling of
darkness was better than this empty feeling he had when he wasnít
around him. Sighing again, he rang the doorbell.

 The smiling man opened the door.

ìXander. Good.î

 The brunette boy forced a smile on his lips.

ìReady and eager.î

 He dropped his bag on the couch just like he always did. He pulled
out the big, battered history book, that had been slammed against the
wall more then once, and placed it on the table, like he always did.
And then he waited. The librarian had disappeared to the kitchen and
Xander could hear the clattering of dishes. His eyes began to wander
around the room. He would probably always remember the wallpapers of
the room, the curtains, the smell of the couch and the musty old
books piled up on the corner. Some of his best memories came from
this room. Like the hug Giles had given him after his first B in a
history test. Or the laughing fit Giles had gotten after Xander had
imitated some old English comedian.  He grinned when he remember how
Giles had struggled for air as the waves of laughter had passed
through him.

 He quickly pulled himself together as the other man walked to the
room holding two steaming cups.

ìI thought some nice tea would be nice before we begin.î

 Walking closer he held out one of the cups. For some reason that was
the thing that later kept returning to Xanderís mind. That the cup
had had a big red rose printed on it.

ìI thought that today we would start fromÖ Oooooppps!î

 While walking enthusiastically across the floor, the man had
forgotten about the fold in the carpet. His foot caught right to it
and then there was only flying hot liquid. Some of it landed on the
couch but unfortunately most of it ended up on Xander.

ìAarrrggh!î

 Giles crawled to the couch. He swept the broken porcelain under the
couch and pulled himself up.

ìOh dear. Are you alright?î

 Xander managed to let out a little yelp. The hot tea was soaking
through his shirt and jeans and was beginning to burn. He raised his
watering eyes and whispered:

ìHurtsÖî

ìOh my.î

Giles ran to the kitchen to get a towel and the dashed back, kneeled
on the floor and began to wipe the tea stain on Xanderís jeans. He
was almost knocked down by the boy jumping up. He watched as the boy
backed away across the room.

ìSeriously, G-man. Iím fine.î

 Giles looked at him suspiciously. Something about his voice told him
that he was nothing but fine. And his slouched shoulders didnít make
that impression any less.

ìObviously you are not fine.î

ìI am.î

 Xander was leaning against the fire place. His face was turned away
so that the older man couldnít see his face. Which was just the way
he wanted it. He couldnít handle it if Giles could read his
humiliation from his face. If he would find out the way his touch had
affected him.

ìYouíre notÖ I think you should get out of those wet jeans.î

 The boy gasped. Praying that the man hadnít hear the sudden sound,
Xander turned it into a cough. The librarian had no idea how many
times he had said those words in his dreams. But now his concerned
voice was far from the hoarse, lust filled whisper that the boy heard
in the darkness of his own bedroom in the middle of the night. The
man was able to hurt him like no other and had no clue about it.

ìGo to the bedroom. Thereís a bath robe by the bed. Iíll wash those
for you.î

 Xander avoided Gilesí eyes as he walked by him and up the stairs but
he could feel them glued to his back as he ascended.

 The bath robe was right there where he had said it was. Slowly the
boy pulled down his pants and wrapped himself to the warm piece of
clothing. the softness surrounded him as he sat on the bed and
stroked the bed sheet. Closing his eyes, he slid his fingers over the
fabric so that he could retrieve the memory when he would be all
alone in his bed. When there would be only memories and dreams to
comfort him. He wrapped his arms around his body and swayed slowly
from side to side trying to calm down the storm of emotions in his
heart. He couldnít face the man like this. He would know. And then
there would be nothing. Only darkness. There was a quiet tap on the
door.

ìXander, are you alright? Pass me the clothes so we can get back to
history.î

 The brunette boy stood up and wiped a tear from his cheek. Coughing
to clear the hoarseness that the tears had brought to his voice, he
answered:

ìYeah, sure.î

 He stood up and took one last look around the room. After all, what
else did he have but history?

***************