Title: Beside the Midday Sun
Author: James Walkswithwind
Series: Scene Shots
Archive: list archive, http://perian.slashcity.org/gila
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit made
Summary: a single shot scene.
Beside the Midday Sun
This was perhaps the best part of his days. Curled up with a book on his
knees, propped open so he could comfortably read whatever non-English
scribbles were on the pages. Wes preferred reading in languages other than
English - not because the English language lacked things found in other
languages, though it often did. Not because it kept his mind sharp, and
focuses, and the languages fresher in his mind when he practised them.
He liked reading in other languages for the same reason he chose to sit on
this particular spot, to read. The couch was beside the far living room
wall, far away from the television or the phone or the door. Sunlight would
stream in over his shoulder and fill the room, making it seem warmer than
it truly was. He could sit here and let the rest of the world fade away
until there was nothing but historical treatises or tomes of spells or a
fictional novel written in Turgani and only sounded as though it was full
of important prophecies. He was fairly certain that no one realised what he
had on his bookshelves - the demonic pulp fiction and mass market novels
slipped in among the research and academic studies. Angel, or another
Watcher-trained, would have been the only one to recognise the works, and
Angel never browsed his bookcases, and no Watchers ever visited.
The choice of reading material was not precisely what he loved about
sitting here, reading. Nor was it the sunlight, which he'd grown fonder of
in his years in California. It wasn't even the way he could take his shoes
off and prop his feet up on the couch cushions without feeling as though he
were somehow appearing improperly informal, even in his own home, far away
from disapproving parental eyes.
These were the best part of his days because as he sat, sideways on the
couch, book propped on his knees and sunlight warming his shoulders, arms
were wrapped around his middle, and his back was pressed against someone
else's front, and legs were laying on either side of his own, and
occasionally, very occasionally, someone's voice would whisper in his ear:
"What the hell are you reading now, English?"