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The Rosenberg house was unusually quiet for a Saturday afternoon when Oz arrived with extra boxes and packing tape. Willow opened the door before he could knock and gestured for him to hurry; he followed her as she led him upstairs to her bedroom.
"What's goin' on?" he asked as she quietly closed the door behind him, "You're all ninja-Willow."
She gave him an apologetic look, "My parents are less than psyched that I'll be living on campus; every time they catch me outside my room they start telling me horror stories about how loud dorms are when you try to study."
Oz's face fell into an easy smile, "I can't blame 'em; I'd be telling you horror stories too if I wasn't gonna be there with you."
“But you will be there with me,” Willow said, a happy expression giving away just how much that prospect brightened her mood. “Well, not in the same dorm room; but living on campus. And we can take a class together; maybe multiple classes. Generals classes.”
“As many as you want,” Oz said, walking over to the bed to deposit the folded down boxes and tape there. He started putting the boxes together, popping them into shape and dropping them on the floor. “You know, you're surprisingly unpacked, considering classes start on Monday.”
It was true; her room looked almost untouched. A few boxes were half-filled by the closet, clothing neatly folded inside, but her room on the whole was still waiting to be bundled up for dorm life.
“Oh, yeah,” she looked embarrassed. “I've been procrastinating. Most of my things are staying here – I don't want to crowd my new roomie – and I can't decide what to take with me.”
“You should make a list,” Oz suggested, finishing with the boxes he'd brought and sitting down on her bed. “Willow's Must-Haves. I vote in favor of the footsie pajamas with the Tasmanian Devils on them.”
Willow laughed, “I already made a list!” Then, with a bit of a blush, “And I already packed the footsie pajamas.”
Oz grinned, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, “So what's up then, Will?”
“What do you mean?”
“You don't procrastinate on anything,” he said, “Doesn't seem right for you to be procrastinating on college things. Especially on getting-to-college things.”
“I procrastinate!” she argued, “I procrastinated on my last English assignment.”
“The one you finished a week before it was due?” he asked.
“... yes.”
“I don't think you understand the definition of procrastination, Will.”
**
“I think I got it figured out.”
Willow looked up at her boyfriend from where she'd been taking an abnormal amount of time going through her books. “Got what figured out?”
“Why you don't want to get packed up,” he said, taping up the single box they'd managed to fill in the two hours he'd been there. “Your parents want you to stay, and the part of you that doesn't want to disappoint them by leaving is holding you back. It's a classic issue. Dates back to when cave-kids were going off to find their own caves to live in.”
“That's not it,” she said lamely, picking up a book and taking too long reading over the cover before putting it in the 'Take' pile. “It's just hard to pack for college.”
“Maybe,” Oz said with a non-committal shrug of his shoulders. “Or maybe it's reverse-empty-nest syndrome. Is it guilt?”
Willow sighed, “It's guilt.” She dropped a book on the 'Leave' pile. “They've fed and clothed me all these years and now I'm just leaving? Adios, thanks for all the laughs!”
“Not so much for the laughs, maybe,” Oz said, tossing down the tape on her bed and moving to crouch by her side, “But for the matzo balls, for sure.”
“And for the footsie pajamas?” Willow offered with a sad sort of smile. She gave a defeated sigh, complete with shoulder slump, and waved a book hopelessly. “It's like I'm betraying eighteen years of care and hospitality.”
“Not betraying,” Oz said, laying hands on her shoulders and leaning in to bump his forehead against hers gently, “Repaying by achieving higher education.”
“It feels an awful lot like betraying.”
“You'll get a degree, followed by a career, and then offer them care and hospitality when they're old and incontinent,” he said, matter-of-fact, “It's the circle of life.”
That seemed to make Willow feel better. She pressed a quick kiss to his lips; quick, but still freeze-frame inducing. “I do plan on having a career in the near future.”
“See?” he asked, eyes half-closed; his lips pulled up in a smile that was reserved only for her. “You're not ditching them; you're ensuring their comfortable old age.”
Willow nodded and broke away from him, refocusing herself on the task of packing up her things.
They were finished within the hour.