Summary: Buffy is with Riley, but she's thinking of Angel. Suddenly, she snaps.

Distribution: Just let me know where it's going, please.

Rating: PG, maybe?

Timeline: Season 4, at some point, before New Moon Rising/ Yoko Factor.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to it's rightful owners and not me. Made purely for fun, not profit.

Feedback: PLEASE-with-a-cherry-on-top!

Pairings: B/A, B/R

A/N: I wrote this at midnight in one hour and two minutes. I based Buffy's little freak out on my own experiences with claustrophobia, and overheated panic attacks. Haha, I'll turn on all the lights and wash my hands like a zillion times. I know, weird.

Memory quotes are BOLDED. Written in Buffy's POV.

I Think of You

I hate him for having a beating heart. How completely whacked out is that? I hate him for having to breathe and having body heat. And most of all I hate myself, for hating all these things about him. You left me, to let me live a normal life, have a normal relationship. You left to make me happy and I'm unhappier now than I've ever been in my entire freaky, supernatural existence. Ah, irony at it's finest. I was always happy with you, no matter what life was throwing at us. Through all the violence and pain we endured together, I also felt so much joy and ecstasy. More in three years than I could ever feel in an entire lifetime with anyone but you. I still think of you everyday. I wonder if you still think of me.

I lay on his bed, my head on his chest, as he sleeps soundly beneath me, slight snores escaping his lips. I cannot sleep. His heart beat under my ear keeps me awake. It throbs and pounds, grinding into my brain, drilling my nerves until I grind my teeth and feel like screaming. Your heart was silent. Peaceful and calm.

His chest rises and falls with each breath, and I wish I was lying on your unmoving body. You slept like the dead. Pun intended. The constant motion makes me want to pull myself free of his embrace, but I know I shouldn't feel this way, so I endure. I grit my teeth and try to relax against his chest. My thoughts drift, despite the annoying rhythm. My thoughts, as usual, are of you.

I think of our first meeting, of knocking you over in the alley, and the way my heart fluttered even in the first moments. "Who said I was yours'?"

I think of your jacket wrapped snugly around me. "It looks better on you."

Our first kiss. "About how much I want to kiss you right now…" "Kiss me?"

When you first told me you loved me. "I tried not to, but I can't stop." "Me too…I can't either."

I think of when we first made love. I skip over what comes next, as I often do. They are not happy thoughts.

I fast forward to when you came back to me, falling to your knees, crying and saying my name over and over.

I remember you getting better. Bringing you blood and doing tai chi in the garden side by side, you moving behind me, and our lips coming so close I can feel your cool nonbreath on my face.

I think of us walking through Sunnydale, arm in arm, the snow falling around us. A miracle in itself.

I remember jumping on you at the Bronze, totally charged.

I think of lying together in your bed with my hair sticking up in all directions and I think of you telling me I look beautiful anyway.

I dream of us at the prom…every detail in perfect clarity. My heaven….

Riley shifts beneath me, shaking me from my reverie. I'm torn from my place of joy back to the present reality, and immediately wish I hadn't been. He's so hot. Too hot. I begin to feel the onset of claustrophobia. I take several deep breaths, and think of your skin, to calm myself. You were always cold. Not uncomfortably so, but enough to keep me cool beneath the blankets and the California heat. Riley's arm becomes a trap, holding me down on his stifling sweaty body. My breathing comes in short bursts and I pant and think that if I don't cool down, I'm going to burst into flames and turn to ash.

I give up the charade, throwing his arm off me, and scrambling off the bed. I run to the window, sucking in greedy breaths of fresh air, still dazed and in a panic. Riley awakens with a start, and looks around dazedly. He catches sight of me panting in the corner, and sits up fully.

"Buffy, what's the matter? Buffy?" I don't respond. I just turn away. He stands up. "Buffy, honey, are you okay?" He climbs over the bed toward me. I cringe away.

"Don't touch me! You don't get to touch me! Only he can touch me!" I cry out, without even thinking about it.

"Buffy, what? Who? I think you're confused. Why don't you come back to bed?"

"That's not my bed. My bed is his bed…" I mumble nonsensically. I begin to come out of my daze, and realize what is happening. What I'm doing. And promptly decide I don't care.

"Buffy? Who are you talking about?" he tries again.

"Angel." I whisper, not as an answer to his question. More as a revelation. I grab my purse off the bedside table and fly from the room, wearing only my light thigh length nightgown. I hear him calling after me as I run down the steps, but I don't even slow my pace. I don't stop running until I reach the bus depot and use my emergency credit card to buy a ticket to L.A. One way.

The bus ride is short, and soon I am standing on your doorstep, knocking feverishly at the ordinary office door, marked with the name "Angel Investigations." I hear footsteps, and the door opens. You stare at me, standing there in only my thin nightgown.

I don't know how it happens, but ten seconds later we're kissing. You pick me up and kick the door shut behind us.

And I'm home. Here, living my destiny, with you.

Thanks for reading!