I've often wished I could just tell my heart what to think. It would really uncomplicate my life. Unfortunately, mind over heart was never really an option for me. And it would appear that my heart's a slow learner anyway.

With a sigh, I close the book in front of me. There aren't any spells in the world that can help me with my crazy life. I put the heavy tome on my nightstand, and I snort lightly as I catch a glimpse at the irony that is my love life on the table.

On one side, close to my bed, rests a picture of myself and Oz. It was taken at the homecoming dance, and I'm wearing *the* dress in it. He's standing behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist, head resting on my shoulder. And like any good betrayer, I'm smiling at the camera, pretending to all the world that my heart isn't reeling and my stomach isn't lurching at the thought of what I'd done to the wonderful man behind me. I couldn't stop the contempt for myself from pushing its way to the front of my brain again and again that night.

Because I should have felt more guilty about the fluke.

And I didn't.

Because it was wonderful.

Which brings my eyes to the other picture on the table, the one a littlefurther than it should be from the center. The picture of my oldest friend. Xander Harris. It's a picture I've had for a long time -- since before Buffy came and before Jesse died. It's my favorite picture of him. And not just because I took the photo. He's got this goofy grin on his face, not unlike the one he has when he's just stymied Giles. His mouth is kind of lopsided and his eyes are all lit up. It's my favorite picture because I know he was happy when it was taken. And I was the one who'd made him happy.

His parents had been fighting -- nothing unusual really -- but it seemed to be getting to him. I asked him over to my house to help bake cookies. And while he had both hands in the cookie dough, I grabbed my parents' camera from the dining room and idly asked him what he thought cheese said when it had its picture taken. His laughter exploded into the room, and as he raised his head to grin at me, I snapped the photo. That was a great day.

I hate this. I hate how my emotions refuse to listen to reason. Reason tells me who I *should* be with. It's quite obvious actually. So why doesn't my heart stop looking for the 'wrong' guy?

Oz deserves better than a girl who can't give him all of herself. But I've already given more pieces of myself to Xander than anyone else. I squeeze my eyes shut as the tears come again. I've chosen Oz and I have to live with it. I *want* to live with it. But my stupid heart keeps reminding me that there's someone else I care about. How do you learn to fall out of love with someone? Maybe you never do. If I could do that, Oz and I could move on.

But I'm not sure I even want to move forward.

I am supposed to be happy. Oz is a great guy. A fabulous guy. And I love him. I really do. So why does my heart jump a little whenever I see Xander? Why do I feel guilty just holding Oz's hand? Why do I still want Xander to want me?

I'm happy with Oz. He loves me, and he treats me well. I could spend the rest of my life with him. But there's that little voice in the back of my head that sows the seeds of discontent with whispers about how that would be settling. How that would be unfair to Oz. How it would be unfair to me.

And that rotten little voice is right. I still love Xander. Maybe there's a part of me that always will.

I hate that I'm doing the right thing instead of the thing that feels right.

*I understand there's no future for us here
Guess I fooled myself into thinking there was
Now you've made it clear
It'll never be right
Guess we knew it all along
Now we've got to say goodbye, and I've got to be strong
So tell me one more time how it's better for the both of us
Tell me one more time how we've hurt everyone if we stay
Tell me one more time then, darling,
There's just one more thing,
Before you walk away
Explain it to my heart
It's better that we're over now
Tell me one more time this is
The way it's supposed to be
Tell me that I'm better off without you
How it's better to forget about you
Darling, I understand
Now won't you please explain it to my heart?*
(From 'Explain It To My Heart' by Diane Warren, performed by Chicago)

Some nights it's easier to pretend that this is the way it's supposed to be. For years, I had convinced myself it was. Because deep down, I'm a coward. Sure, I think nothing of leaping into the fray and putting my life at risk; but putting my heart on the line is another thing altogether.

Willow was always too important to screw up. If you look at my life, it's really one big failure after another. Pretty much the only thing I hadn't put out of order was my friendship with her. So, here's where the cowardice comes in. I was afraid that if I let myself love her, as something more than a friend, then I'd screw it up and lose her for good. Everyone thought I was blind and stupid when it came to Willow's crush on me. They were wrong.

If there's one thing in the world I know by heart, it's Willow.

I always knew how she felt, but I was too chicken-hearted to act on it. I couldn't lose her.

Ironic how that's exactly what happened. Irony is a pretty strong theme in my life.

Sighing, I look at the objects scattered around me in my bed. Every valentine I ever received from Willow surrounds me. She probably has no idea I've saved them all. I keep them in a 'memories' box in the closet; it's filled with pictures and ticket stubs and cards and stuff like that. The valentines range in size and shape. Snoopys and lace hearts decorate the spaces around me.

The familiar ache in my heart swells just a little. I miss her. Not just the kisses and the feel of her hair in my hands -- I miss HER. She's totally amazing.

Our friends think she's brave and funny and smart and loyal -- and they're right about all that. But I know even more about her. There are things that she does that she's never told anyone about. Not even me. But sometimes, I've been able to see her heart in an act of kindness. Maybe that's what Willow's very essence is. Kindness and love. I know that she's mowed old Mrs. Murphy's lawn every Sunday since she was twelve, so the old woman won't have to pay someone to do it on her fixed income. I know that she still reads to some mentally challenged kids at the library every other week. I'll never forget how I admired her more than anyone when we were eight years old. When all the other kids were bragging about what they'd received from Santa after Christmas break, Willow noticed that Jillie Rodney hadn't said anything. I remember watching her walk over to Jillie and smile, making some quiet comment about how being Jewish was no fun at Christmas. Jillie's face had crumbled. She wasn't Jewish, but Santa had skipped her for the second year in a row.

I remember how Willow's brow had furrowed. Tears had come to her eyes. She felt bad for Jillie.

I know Willow saved her allowance for a whole year to make sure that Jillie and her family had some presents and a turkey waiting on their porch on Christmas morning the following year.

She cares about everybody.

And I care about her.

I wipe at the tear in the corner of my eye. I should be happy for Willow. She has Oz, who's a great guy. What we had was only a passing thing ... A chance for her to explore what would have happened with her crush on me. Nothing more. And I hate that.

Because I still love her.

But I'm not what she wants. And although it's killing me, I won't stand in the way of what she needs. Which is Oz. It's been harder to let go than I ever imagined it would be. I never planned for the fluke to happen. I was just as surprised as she was when it happened.

But I don't regret it, because it was perfect.

The feeling of her lips on mine, the smell of her perfume and the feel of her hands on my face. I miss all of it. It's weird how when we aren't looking, we always find the exact thing we're looking for.

I need to get over this. She wants Oz, and I have to step back. It's the right thing to do. It won't get me Cordelia back, and my heart protests the decision every morning, but I'm letting her go. It's the first truly brave thing I've ever done.

Because losing Willow is still my ultimate fear.

I quietly gather up the valentines and pack them back into the box, smiling bittersweetly at the unfairness of it all. I finally found the courage to love her, only to have her go back to Oz. Which is how it should be. Really.

I wouldn't change any of it. I wouldn't have missed kissing her, loving her, for anything. If friendship is all I can have, I'll take it. We used to exchange valentines as friends. Funny how a kiss can change the whole meaning of a greeting card.

My eyes travel to the card I bought in a moment of weakness. I've gotten as far as writing her name in it. Licking my lips, I pick up the pen from my desk and open the card. The poem is appropriately mushy, the hearts and flowers nice but not overwhelming. She'd love this card. My hand moves of its own volition and I write heartfelt words under the poem inside. 'I love you. And I miss you. Yours, Xander'. I examine the words for a moment, feeling the depth of the emotions. Then I crumple the card up and toss it into the garbage can beside my desk. I'm not good enough for her. I never was. It was just a fluke.

She doesn't want me anymore.

I'm just afraid she never really did.

Tomorrow's Valentine's Day.

I still have a love-hate relationship with it.

Some days, I'd be so excited at the prospect of getting a card and maybe a present from Xander. I'd spend hours picking out just the right card for him before carefully counting out the money I'd need to buy it.

I used to spend weeks trying to get up the courage to kiss Xander after giving him his card. I never did. In the end, I'm just a coward who hides behind what's right.

The phone rings beside me, and I pick it up, expecting Oz on the other end.

"Hey Will," Buffy's voice greets me instead.

"Buffy! Hi!"

"How're things?" she asks me.

"Good! I was just about to wrap Oz's Valentine's present." I know my cheerfulness sounds forced, and I'm almost pray she notices so I can talk to someone and get this all off my chest.

"Really? What are you giving him?"

My hope fades into the background and I chastise myself. I love Oz. I shouldn't feel any need to confess feelings for Xander. "A, um, a big guitar-shaped chocolate."

Buffy giggles on the other end of the line. "He'll like that."

"Yeah," I agree weakly. "Are you and Angel doing anything special?"

I can hear her sigh on the other end. "What is it?"

"What?" I ask innocently, scoping out her meaning.

"Will, it's Valentine's Day. You sound like it's a burden. Did you and Oz have a fight?"

"No, no. We're good," I bite my lip and try to decide whether I should admit what's bothering me. "But, I'm just not sure what I want anymore."

Her voice softens immediately. "Xander?"

"Yeah," I answer in a whisper. "I just feel.... Oz has been great through this whole thing, you know? I thought I really wanted to be with him. I do love him, Buffy."

"But?" the slayer prompts me.

"I wanted his forgiveness so badly. I wanted him to not be hurt. So I buried everything for Xander to, I don't know, alleviate some of the guilt, maybe. To save Oz from any more hurt. Being with Oz, it's the right thing to do, but it feels wrong to me."

"Who do you really want Will? It's not fair to anybody to be with someone out of obligation. You have to choose."

"I've already chosen," I murmur.

"No, you haven't. If you had, there wouldn't be any doubt... You know who you want, Will, you just have to find the courage to admit it."

I close my eyes. My heart screams the answer that will complicate everything even more. "Xander," I whisper.

"Then tell them. Tell Oz, and then go tell Xander."

"But what about Oz?"

I can almost hear Buffy's smile. "He'll hate you for a while, and then he'll get over it and be your friend. He's a great friend too, trust me."In a quieter voice she adds, "You deserve to be happy. Don't let guilt push you in a direction you don't want to go." I hear a soft laugh on her end. "It's Valentine's Day. Cupid's just taking care of things."

For the first time in weeks, my heart doesn't feel like it's sporting a big bruise. I look at the clock and jump to my feet. "Thanks Buffy. I've got to run."

"Call me later."

We disconnect and I grab my jacket and Oz's present. I glance at the clock. It's just after eleven.

I know what I want. And for a change, I'm not afraid to admit it.

It feels wonderful.

Oz answers the door looking a little disheveled. It's obvious I've woken him up.

"Hi," I begin uncertainly.

His lopsided grin catches me off guard. How can I possibly hurt him? What kind of person could love someone else more? It's strange that I doubt myself and my sanity, but I don't doubt what my heart feels -- for the first time in a long time.

"Hey," he answers. "This some kind of romantic I-want-to-be-with-you-at-the-stroke-of-midnight-on-Valentine's-Day thing?"

My nervous smile falters. "No," I answer softly. "I wanted to talk."

One eyebrow quirks up as he steps back to let me through the door. It's pretty much the only signal I'll get that he suspects something is wrong.

We settle on his couch and I hand him the present. "This is for you."

He glances at me and then at the inconspicuous box in his lap. "Smells chocolatey."

I manage a half-grin. I'd forgotten about his ultra sense of smell. Of course, that means he already knows I'm nervous, too. "Open it," I encourage.

He lifts the lid on the box, and he grins widely as he spots the guitar. "Cool," he murmurs, raising his eyes and smiling at me. He gingerly lifts the card and opens it.

I watch the emotions play over his face with more than a little trepidation. It was the card I was going to give Xander. It has a lovely script about friendship, and I'd written at the bottom that I hoped we could still be good friends after everything that's happened. Funny how the message could be moved around to a different person and still be so appropriate.

He sets the card to the side and searches my face. "This isn't exactly what I was expecting."

"I know," I reply. "I wasn't either, Oz. Honest. But it's right, for me. I'm sorry."

He runs his hand through his now-blonde hair. "You shouldn't be sorry. Feelings are feelings. You can't help it."

I can feel the tears form in my eyes as my chest tightens. "I really don't want to hurt you, Oz. And I do love you. But there's someone, out there, who I love more. I never meant for it to happen, but I can't stop it. It's not fair of me to hide from it anymore. In the end, we would have been hurt worse."

He nods. "Yeah, I know."

"Can, can we be friends?" I ask, dread filling my stomach with cold fear that his answer might be 'No'.

"Sure. But not for a few weeks, okay?"

I nod, relieved that he's willing to give it a shot.

"I've got to go," I announce, standing.

He remains seated on the couch. Concerned, I turn back before I reach the door.

"You're not under some kind of spell, are you?" he asks quietly, hope plain in his voice. "Like last time?"

I move back to him and reach out to gather him into my arms. He leans into me, and I almost go back on it yet again. If this wasn't Oz, there wouldn't be any problem. But hurting Oz is pretty much the worst thing I've ever done. "No spell," I murmur. "I'm sorry."

Oz looks into my eyes and reaches out a hand to stroke my face lightly. "Actually Will, there's always been a spell between you two. And I've never been able to break it."

"I'm sorry," I repeat, not knowing what else to say. "I tried to stop loving him. I can't."

He nods and then gives me one final soft kiss. "I love you."

"I know," I answer. "I love you too."

"I wish that were enough," he murmurs, pulling away from me.

I stand up and take a few steps back. "So do I." With my hand on the doorknob, I try to find the words. "I always want to be part of your life. You're too special to not take what we had everywhere I go."

He smiles, a little sad, but a smile nonetheless. "You can count on it."

Our local country station has switched its format to some romantic pop ballad stuff. Just my luck.

The rhythmic pounding of the tennis ball on the ceiling lulls me into a semi-conscious state. Without meaning to, I begin to think about the consequences of my fluke with Willow. I've lost everyone, and she's found the love of her life -- again.

I've been too hard on Angel. I smirk as the similarities of loving a woman so completely who I can never have dawn on me. If he's felt anything of what I feel, then that's one vampire I owe an apology.

I wonder if Willow still feels anything for me.

Nope. That leads to hope and happiness, which I don't deserve. I mean, think about it. There I am in all my Xander-y glory -- the idiot, clown, stupid, King-of-Cretins guy -- and Willow still loved me. She saw every flaw, every stupid remark, every mistake I'd ever made, and she still loved me. That's totally incredible. But then what did I do? I hid from it. I pretended to never notice, never care, because I didn't want to screw it up. I'm pretty good at the friend thing. I totally suck at the boyfriend thing.

I *so* should have kissed that ice cream off her nose. That would have saved us from getting involved with Cordy and Oz. Ah, the paths not taken.

The singer on the radio is crooning about love lost to another guy. Oh, yeah, share my pain, buddy. The tennis ball seems to have a mind of its own now. I barely need to throw it.

It was one year ago tonight that I went patrolling with Buffy and showed her that necklace I bought for Cordy. One year ago. Hard to believe. I actually fooled myself into thinking I could be happy with Cordelia back then. But that was before everything.

Before I kissed my best friend. And she kissed me back.

Before I knew what all these sappy love songs meant.

Before I lost them both.

No. Let me rephrase that -- before I lost Willow.

Because she's all that counts.

Some nights it sucks to be me.

I stare up at Xander's window. I can't see him, but the light is on and it looks like he's throwing a ball at his ceiling.

That's a sure-fire tip-off he's in country-music mode.

Which starts me thinking. Is he sad about me? Or Cordelia?

Maybe this is all a mistake.

I still love him, but I never thought to check and see how he feels about me. Oops.

I could just march up to his door, knock, and ask. Except there's the little factor of that great big risk to my heart. But isn't hiding from how I feel just as bad as the possibility of getting annihilated? Maybe I should call him and see why he's depressed first.

I sure hope there is a Cupid. And I hope he's watching over me.

I turn from Xander's house and make the trek down the road to a phone booth near the park. I know it's dangerous, but I have a stake and a cross. Besides, some things are more important.

I dig in my pocket for a quarter and deposit it into the slot. My hand pauses just above the numbers before it drops to my side. The realization dawns on me fast and furious.

It doesn't matter how he feels about me.

I'll love him anyway.

Just like all those years before when I was silent and sad. For the first time, all the different types of love make their presence known in both my head and my heart. And we've experienced every one. Friendship, unrequited love, passionate love, romantic love. Our hearts have already been on the line time and time again. There's nothing to be afraid of, since I've lived through it all before.

I abruptly reach for the phone book and begin flipping pages madly.

I know what I'm going to do.

Well, now that I've replayed all the parts of the events leading up to the fluke and the fluke itself on the slide show in my head, it's time to move on to the depressing part of our program. The post-fluke world I find myself in now.

Willow has Oz.

Oz has Willow.

I have a great big ol' achy heart.

Everything is right with the cosmos.

Except that I want it to be different.

I already know it's going to take me a while to get over Willow. And there's a very real chance that I never will. But I have to try. Because I am not what she wants.

My hand freezes as I catch the tennis ball and cold dread spreads throughout my limbs.

That doesn't matter.

I'll love her anyway. No matter what she wants. Sure, I may not be able to be with her, and I won't stand in the way of anything that makes her happy, but I can't turn my heart off. Love is about loving the other person. It's irrational and free and priceless.

More than anything, I wish I could tell her how I feel.

The radio's music stops abruptly, jarring me from my thoughts. I look at the offending instrument.

"We have a special Valentine's dedication from a very persuasive young lady," the deejay laughs. "She obviously isn't a regular listener -- she thought we still played country music -- but I promised I'd send out the message anyway. Xander, Willow's ready for something more. She loves you and she'll see you soon. Lucky guy," the deejay comments.

A soft song begins to play. The voice sounds familiar and I recognize it in a rush. That's Lisa Loeb. That's the song that was playing the night Willow and I kissed.

I can't believe my ears.

Man, an over-active imagination is sometimes a curse. It's got to be some wild hallucination, right?

So, I can't explain why I jump off the bed and run to the door. I really have no idea why my feet pound down the stairs or how my heart manages to keep time with them. And I will never know why I throw open the door and search for a streak of red hair in the night.

I study my watch and shift nervously from foot to foot. The deejay said at midnight. It's one minute after. I should go to him. My feet, however, don't seem to remember how to walk. What if he's laughing? I take deep breaths, one after the other, and close my eyes. I love him. No matter what. So, I need to go.

My feet begin walking.

I'm not surprised when the walk turns into a jog. Fearfully, I glance up at Xander's house. The door is open and light is spilling out onto the porch. I break into a run as I catch a glimpse of his silhouette. Suddenly it feels as if Xander lives on the other end of the Earth. He heard. He's standing there.

He's waiting for me.

I get closer and see him catch sight of me. His face wears an expression of concern, fear, and as he sees me, it all changes. It softens. And I know, without a doubt, that he loves me too. I didn't think I could run faster. He explodes through the door and begins running to me.

Just before we're about to crash into each other, I jump a little and sure enough, he catches me in his arms and holds me close.

The feeling of being able to love him without any guilt, limits, or boundaries is totally intoxicating.

I say the first thing that comes into my head. "Hi."

He searches my eyes, a small smile quirking up one side of his mouth. "Hi."

"You, um, heard the radio?" I ask, knowing that he wouldn't be standing here if he didn't.

"Yeah. What about Oz?" he asks. I know that uncertain tone from years of offering reassurance to him.

"We're going to be friends. Just friends," I answer. "I wanted something else."

One of us has to make the first move. I grasp the back of his head with both my hands and pull him closer to me. We both smile as our lips touch tentatively. It seems to loosen a dam for both of us, and suddenly I can't hold him close enough, kiss him hard enough. I want to somehow absorb him into me. I want to brighten his heart. I want everything.

Breathlessly, I pull back. His eyes are shining. I love him so much. "Will you be my Valentine?" I ask softly.

His lips are against mine again, and his whisper sends tingly vibrations around my mouth. "Always, Will."

"I love you Xander," I admit, feeling the emotions dance in my chest with an overwhelming happiness.

"I love you too, Will."

Happy tears spring to my eyes, and since I live on the Hellmouth and all, I think I should thank the unseen force that has brought us together tonight.

My movement catches Xander's attention. "What are you doing?" he asks, a huge smile lighting his face.

"Waving to Cupid," I answer.