True Confessions: Someday

Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the tall windows of the Hyperion, turning the lobby a soft, lazy gold. It had been one of those rare, blessedly quiet days—no visions, no clients, no apocalypse knocking on the door. Cordelia was stretched out on the red couch, head resting against Angel’s shoulder, his arm draped loosely around her, fingers idly tracing patterns on her upper arm. It had become their spot. Their quiet place. The honesty pact had turned these stolen moments into something neither of them could walk away from anymore.

Cordelia let out a contented sigh. “You know what I keep thinking about?”

Angel’s voice rumbled low against her hair. “What?”

“That perfect day we talked about.” She tilted her head just enough to look up at him. “The one where we actually get to do it. Not just daydream about it.”

His fingers paused on her arm. “Yeah?”

She nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. “I want that someday, Angel. I want coffee that doesn’t taste like it was brewed in a demon’s sock. I want to watch you browse dusty old bookstores and pretend you’re not secretly judging the covers. I want a moonlight drive up the coast with the windows down and argue over what song to play next. I want one whole day where the only thing we have to worry about is whether the stars come out before we’re ready to come home.”

Angel was quiet for a long moment, but his arm tightened around her. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough with something deeper than usual.

“I want that too,” he said. “More than I probably should. I keep picturing it… leaving late in the afternoon when the light is softer. Driving up the coast as the sun starts to set. Stopping at one of those little overlooks once it’s safe. You eating those ridiculous pastries while we watch the sky change colors. Then maybe finding a quiet bookstore on the way back or just heading home to watch something stupid on TV. No demons. No crisis. Just… a day where I get to be with you without counting the minutes until something tries to kill us.”

Cordelia’s heart did a slow, aching flip. She shifted so she could face him properly, one hand resting on his chest.

“So why are we still waiting?” she asked softly. “The pact was supposed to be about honesty, right? Well, here’s mine: I’m tired of ‘someday.’ I want us to pick a date. Soon. Before the next apocalypse decides to crash the party.”

Angel’s eyes darkened with that familiar mix of want and fear, but he didn’t look away. Instead he lifted his free hand and brushed his thumb along her cheekbone, slow and reverent.

“Someday,” he murmured, the word heavy with promise. “I want that more than anything.”

Cordelia leaned into his touch, her lips curving. “You keep saying ‘someday’ like it’s a shield, broody. I’m calling it. Next clear Saturday. You, me, the coast at sunset, and zero saving-the-world required.”

For a heartbeat he looked almost startled by her boldness. Then that rare, devastating half-smile broke across his face—the one that always made her stomach flutter.

“Next clear Saturday,” he repeated, like he was testing the words. His hand stayed on her cheek as he held her gaze. “You’re really going to hold me to that, aren’t you?”

“Damn right I am.” Her fingers curled into his shirt. “And you’re going to love every minute of it.”

They stayed like that, bodies angled toward one another, his thumb still brushing her cheek while her fingers stayed curled tightly in the front of his shirt. The quiet lobby wrapped around them like a secret. The tension that always hummed between them felt different now—warmer, deeper, fuller. Like it wasn’t just pulling them toward something unknown anymore.

It was pulling them toward the someday they’d both stopped pretending they didn’t want.

The End.

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