Willow breathed heavily on the inside of her bedroom window. A heavy, white fog condensed on the glass, and she traced a heart shape with her finger.
"Look, Oz!" she called. "It's a Valentine's thing."
Oz looked up from the book he was reading. "They came up with a name for those, a while back."
Her excited smile changed to sheepish. "I know. Um. But. Happy Valentine's Day."
Oz set the book up on Willow's vanity (against which he was sitting) and opened both his palms to her. "C'mere, Will."
"Okay!" She took several quick steps, failed to spot the edge of a throw rug, tripped, and fell heavily into her boyfriend.
He caught her, to the detriment of his ribcage. He laughed. "Enthusiastic. I like that."
"Sorry." She pushed herself off, and started to straighten both of their clothes.
He watched her work, and enjoyed the fleeting touches. "Happy Valentine's, Willow." He held her hands, and brought her fingers closer to kiss.
"Oh, wow," Willow said dreamily. "You're really sweet, Oz. Um. Hey, can we do something?"
"Sure. Anything you want." He started rubbing circles on the back of her hands with his thumbs.
"Truth or Dare?" she suggested hopefully.
His orange eyebrows wrinkled together, and then he grinned at her. "There's only two of us."
She was starting to turn red. "Well, it would be less dare-y, more truth-y."
"So… you want to talk," Oz clarified.
"Yeah, but with, you know, candor." She did that adorable nodding thing with her head, and then blinked even more hopefully at him with very, very big eyes.
He gave her that lopsided grin again, and repeated, "Anything you want."
She beamed. "Okay! My turn first. Truth or dare?" She pouted. "Pick truth."
"It's a tough choice," he admitted convincingly. They were still holding hands, her thin fingers moving inside his warm ones. "How about truth."
"Name one thing you like about me," she said, all in a rush.
"How you say my name," he answered just as readily.
Her face lit up. "Why? Even when I'm mad, because then I think it comes out kinda stoney and mean and I don't really mean to say it that way."
"Truth or dare," he challenged.
Her face fell, and she grudgingly said, "Dare," just for spite.
"Pose me and take a picture."
She pulled her hands into her own lap out of surprise, and gaped at him. "I can't do that!"
"It was a dare," he said lightly.
"No – I mean – I don't have a camera," she reminded him sternly.
"It's cool. I do." He produced one from his guitar case, in which he carried most of the world.
"But- I'm not a visual person!"
"You're an every kind of person," he promised. "I want to see what happens when you have to be creative."
"Fine," she huffed.
Five minutes and many fits of nervous giggles later, Oz was sitting on the edge of Willow's bed in the Thinker's pose. However, instead of resting on his knee, his free hand was in the Vulcan live-long-and-prosper symbol, and he was regarding it with intense scrutiny.
Willow took a picture, asked him how to turn the flash on, and took another one.
"Okay, finished," she said cheerfully, handing the contraption back. "That means it's my turn!"
"Truth," he answered preemptively.
"Oz," she scolded. And then she melted into worry. "See? Even like that? It sounds really grating from in here."
He set the camera on her bed and put his hands out for her to take again. She did. He said, "It sounds like you need me. Does that count as your turn?"
"Please can it not?" she asked sweetly.
He shrugged. That was the one that meant yes.
"I truth you to tell me your earliest happy memory," she declared with self-satisfaction.
He debated internally for a few seconds, and then said thoughtfully, "Well, there was this one time at the Bronze when I saw this girl in an Eskimo coat."
"Eskimo coat? That's not very happy."
His eyebrows rose dramatically.
She blinked. "Oh!" She grinned bashfully. "Me? I didn't know you saw me. Was there some other girl in an Eskimo coat?"
He kissed her fingers again, and let her hands go when she slid them up his arms to his shoulders and then back to the hair at the nape of his neck.
Oz hands held her waist, carefully above the hips and below the chest. He watched her with unrivalled interest and amusement.
Willow was half-breathless. "I've changed my mind. Can we spend a little while… not talking?"
"Anything you want," he repeated again, and then Willow slid into his lap and they were lost to the world for a while.
It was a good Valentine's Day, considering it was the first one where Willow actually had one.