Willow entered her anthropology class more than twenty minutes early. Having finished the day’s assignment in her computer science class with plenty of time to spare, she had left early to head to her next class.

The redhead thought that she would take the extra time to read another chapter of the drier-than-the-Sahara textbook.

She grabbed a seat, prepared to do just that. She even opened the textbook to the appropriate page. But the witch just could not immerse herself in the material.

There were several contributing factors to that, she supposed. One of them was the fact that the book was terribly boring. It was quite possible that it was the most boring book that Willow had ever read in her life. Which was saying a lot. She had even read books on the language of Fyral Demons, just in case any of her friends happened to get turned into one again; and needed to talk to the rest of the Scoobies. Then there was the added factor that she was looking forward to studying with Jason, something that she knew would be considerably more entertaining and insightful than the textbook. There was just something about “Shy-Guy” that made Willow smile. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was there.

Willow was glad that she seemed to have the makings of a friendship with Jason. He would be her first in St. Louis. Maybe that was all it was about him that made her happy. She missed having friends around. But friendship was all she could have with the young wolf. The witch hoped that things progressed quickly enough that she would soon be able to tell him why his flirting would not work with her. So she could soon tell him all about Tara. At least, all the pre-Wicked Willow details. She wanted to be able to tell Jason that her heart had died with her beautiful girl, so that her lack of reception to his flirting wouldn’t be taken personally.

On top of all of those reasons that Willow found the textbook unable to keep her attention, there was also the fact that she was tired. And a tired Willow was never able to concentrate on the drier of the texts that she had studied. Yes, tired Willow was able to do research that contributed to world save-age. But read a boring textbook when she had a real, live font of information that she could learn from instead? Not when she was tired, thank you.

It would have been as pointless as reading those stuffy British watcher diaries about the death of the slayer during the Boxer Rebellion, or about the death of Nicky Wood, when she could just go and ask Spike.

Not that she had ever done that . . . at least not before she had spent some time with Spike in L.A.

Willow covered her mouth as she tried to stifle another yawn, the action reminding her of what she had been thinking. She was simply too tired to try to read the textbook at the moment.

The last couple of nights had been very restless for Willow. She’d had disturbing dreams. Not that her dreams were usually particularly pleasant. They really hadn’t been since “the incident”, as the Scoobies had taken to calling it. Not even when she had gone to L.A. and found a kindred spirit in Spike, someone who understood the pain her soul was in; and the fresh guilt that it caused. No, even then the nighttime remembrances had plagued her.

But she had gotten used to the nightly slide show of guilt, and found that, as disturbing as the dreams were, they had stopped leaving her feeling as if she hadn’t slept a wink. No, nowadays those nightmares were no more disturbing to her sleep than dreams of hugs and puppies.

But the night of the full moon her nightmares had been different. They weren’t about the horrors that she had committed, about the guilt she felt, about the people she hurt.

Instead, they were about the night, about the full moon itself. Willow had seen wolves paying worship to the moon, one of those wolves reminding her strangely of home. Then there had been Buffy, her best friend, the slayer. The girl had been in bed, Willow watching her twist and turn; as if in the throes of her own nightmare. Accompanying this image had been the words of many watchers, written in the countless watcher’s journals that Willow had read. Words about dreams, about power; and the visions of the slayer. After that had been a woman with dark hair and shadowed eyes, her posture rigid. She had stared at the moon apprehensively, as if, when she gazed at it, she could see it covered in blood.

The thing that had bothered Willow the most about the dream, though, was the sensation that had run through her veins at the images. It was a whisper of death, a caress of darkness, a feeling of doom. The feeling the witch could most closely compare it to was the feeling that she had had in those seconds at Graduation. Those last few seconds where the Mayor had still had a human voice; and was still trying to finish his speech. Those seconds where you knew that the end of the world wasn’t yet here, but that it was coming, and fast.

It was that feeling that made Willow as tired as she was. That feeling of an approaching apocalypse.

The day after the full moon, the first day of school, the significance of the dream hadn’t registered. All Willow had known was that she felt tired, irritable. That the dream had been different, for once. Instead of worrying the girl, it had made her grateful for the break from her nightly guilt.

There had been too much to think about that day to be worrying about a silly nightmare. And growing up on the Hellmouth was bound to give a person more than their fair share of bad dreams.

Willow had found herself not even thinking about it after leaving her place to head to school. She was simply too excited about returning to the world of academia, the world of knowledge, the world of normalcy.

But that uncomfortable feeling of upcoming doom had lingered throughout most of the day, and the only time that her anxious feeling had disappeared was when Jason had walked into class. Then the feeling had been replaced by a familiar tingling which reminded her of home.

Willow had fallen into bed the previous night tired; but calm. The day had gone well. She hadn’t been as behind in classes as she had feared, she had made a study date for the next day, and she had met a potential friend.

The witch’s eyes had closed, the girl expecting a peaceful night of sleep, perhaps even a dream-free one. Instead, the strange dream returned, every detail the same as the night before except for one.

Now, both of the wolves in her dream had felt familiar.

Of course, Willow chalked it up to the fact that, with meeting Jason, she now knew two werewolves personally.

The thought, however, had Willow thinking. If that detail of the dream was a symbol of something real in her life, what about the rest of the dream? It left her wondering if she should call Giles.

So Willow was not only tired, she was preoccupied. Which had her staring at the same page in her textbook after attempting to read it for twenty minutes. In fact, she was so preoccupied that her eyes stayed on the same words even when Jason entered the room.

Jason walked towards his anthropology class thinking about his phone call last night, and the idea that he might tone down the flirting with Willow because he’d rather be her friend than have her as a conquest. After all, none of the women that he’d ever taken to his bed had stuck around afterwards to be his friends. Well, then again, he hadn’t been friends with any of them to begin with.

On the other hand, of course, there was Anita. He supposed she was a friend. He was, after all, on her “people I protect because they’re mine” list. He figured that meant friend. And he’d slept with her. And she’d stuck around. In fact, she’d done more than simply stick around. She’d helped him get into school, and helped him hide the fact that it was his idea in the first place.

So, he guessed she was the exception to the rule.

Then again, when it came to sex, Anita was the exception to every rule. In fact, Jason was fairly certain that some elements of Anita’s sex life didn’t even have rules.

All that aside, Jason was resolved to stay friends, and only friends, with Willow. It would be a new experience for him. Sure, he’d still flirt with her. That was his nature. But he wouldn’t go beyond that and actual pursue a physical relationship with her, as he had with every other pretty girl he had ever met.

He could always find another girl that was willing to share his bed. The women he saw every night at work were evidence of that. But it was a rare thing to find a female that he wanted to be friends with, especially one who wanted to be his friend back, and Jason had the feeling that he had that in Willow. He thought that she would make a very good friend, considering the ease with which they had spoken on the telephone. He didn’t want to loose that to a meaningless physical fling.

Of course, that didn’t explain why he hadn’t told Dan about her when he’d asked this morning. If he only wanted her friendship, why not introduce her to his roommate? Maybe they’d hit it off.

In the end, Jason supposed that he just wanted something that was his, and his alone. If he shared her with Dan, chances were that the whole pack would know about her before long, and he didn’t want to drag her into that. And he just wanted a friend that was his and not a friend to the pack.

A friend who liked him, not because he was a wolf, not because he was a stripper, not because he was the master’s pet, but because he was Jason.

Yes, he would not try to get Willow into bed, like she was any ordinary woman. Instead, he would begin pursuing a sold friendship with her, starting by sitting next to her in class. After all, Professor Enns already knew he was a wolf; so sitting up front wouldn’t draw any additional attention to himself. Plus, he’d get to talk to Willow.

She was now firmly a friend in his mind, not a potential conquest. His resolve on the matter firm, he approached the door to the lecture hall.

Of course, that resolve lasted only until he made it through the door. One look at Willow, and Jason’s new resolve shattered into a million pieces.