"....sixteen. She used to babysit my kid sister." Devon grimaces, taking another swig. "If there's anything good about this town, this is it. Nobody wants to die a virgin."
Oz nods, absentmindedly strumming a few chords on the guitar.
"Do you think this could all have been different? I mean, I'm not just talking about us. About... everything and shit. This whole town. This whole fucking world."
Oz considers. "Maybe."
"Yeah. Everything would probably be just as shitty, anyway." Devon rests his head on the bottle. "Speaking of shitty... how's Veruca?"
"Good, I think. She's in L.A. Haven't heard from her much," he answers, struggling to keep his voice neutral.
Devon studies him. "See, that's what I don't get about you. You're friends with every damned one of 'em. Even the ones who screwed you over." He discards the bottle and moves closer, a small sardonic grin on his face. "Like me."
He leans in slowly, giving Oz enough time to turn his head away. He doesn't. Their mouths meet and open, hot wet pressure and the familiar taste of pot and tequila and something else underneath.
Oz closes his eyes and leans into the kiss, putting the guitar aside.
It's not love, he thinks. But it's close enough.
They're lying in the back of the van. It's dark, save from the tiny stars pasted on the ceiling. They're glowing faintly neon in the dark and Oz smiles a little, remembering the night he put them up. He'd still been together with Veruca back then, and she used to complain about wanting to sleep under the stars. So he bought hundreds of stars and placed them in the ceiling for her. His smile fades when he remembers being told by Veruca she needed a little more out of her life than what Sunnydale could offer.
What he could offer.
Veruca always had a wild side, and apparently, Oz wasn't really wild enough. He never blamed her for leaving. But it hurt.
The blanket next to him is moving now and he hears Devon's voice whispering in the dark, heavy with sleep. "Hey Oz... You awake?"
A faint rustle as Devon positions on his side. "Remember when we were kids? We used to say we'd start a band. Do you ever think about it?"
"Yeah? 'Cause I do too, sometimes. You an' me, maybe some of the other guys too. Getting rich and famous. Though that was mostly me. You never really cared about that crap, huh?"
"I guess not."
"It sucks, you know? I mean, we used to think we had this whole future lined up ahead of us. And now, it's like we have nothing. No dreams, not anything. We just try to stay alive one more day."
"And make it good," Oz adds.
"Yeah... But mostly, they're not. Most of the time you're high or drunk just because you don't want to be fucking sober and scared." Devon pauses. "And you... You're just too damn noble. You let everyone walk right over you. Veruca. Me... And I'm sorry about that. I really am. You know that, don't you?"
"Yeah." Oz traces Devon's face with his fingers, the calloused hands of a guitar player. He leans in and kisses the wetness away from the cheeks.
He's never been in love, he thinks. But for him, having one good day is close enough.