Giles doesn't stutter around Wesley. Not much. At least he's not suddenly fourteen again, awkward and idiotic, uncertain of his words. Giles can offer Wesley a drink and know the man will take tea in the morning and afternoon, scotch after work. When he leans over Wesley's shoulder in the library, one glance at the text tells Giles that the two of them will have something to talk about over that drink. Uncertainty creeps in when he wonders if those drinks and conversations will lead to a different closeness, but it feels more like hope than a feeling of insecurity.
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