Hey, Wil.

This is Xander writing to you, as you can probably tell from the handwriting. I'm going to die - or, from your perspective, I'm dead - and you're my best friend, so here's my letter to you.

The reason I write these letters every apocalypse is that I've always known somehow I would die young. I mean, I used to think my dad would do it. When we graduated middle school, there was a sinkhole that sucked down the whole school, remember? I nearly fell in, but you pulled me out.

You can't pull me out this time, Wil. I'm a redshirt. A guy nicknamed Ensign Toast isn't supposed to survive this long.

Tell Cordy and Oz that I'm sorry again, and that they have my permission to spit on my grave. If I don't get a grave - if I'm turned - stake me. Don't hesitate, no matter what I say to you. When I staked Jesse, I saw the look in his eyes, and for a few seconds before he was dust, he looked like Jesse again. Maybe he was. I don't know. Don't look in my eyes when you do it, and don't hesitate.

Tell Demon Anya not to feel guilty, and that I'm glad she's safe. Tell her I never would've gone, but I'm grateful for the offer.

I'm not sure what will happen with Buffy. Stick close to her and Giles. Tell her she's amazing and badass and all that stuff she already knows about herself but needs to hear anyways.

And you... oh god, Willow, you have the kindest heart and the brightest smile of anyone I know. You are and always have been my best friend. I hope I'm with you when the world ends, because there's nowhere else I'd want to be. I love you. I may not be in love with you, but I love you. I don't care what happens in your future, and I mean that. I will always love you.

I dare you not to think about Whitney Houston now. Just try it.

I'm sorry about sleeping with Faith. I'm not even going to try to defend myself. She's probably dead by now, and so am I, and I know you don't want to hate the dead, so don't hate me, please. Be cross with me and get over it.

You can tell my parents whatever you want. I couldn't care less. You'll probably make up something pretty and way more eloquent than I ever could.

You get half my savings. Cordy gets the other half, but you get that little ceramic punch buggy I keep it in. If you look in the back of my closet, there's a box full of photos of us from age five to eighteen, and they're yours. Most of the photos only have meaning to us two. You also get my bow tie. No danger of any more formal wear flukes anymore, at least.

Giles gets my Douglas Adams books. One of the books is his anyways - it's either the first Dirk Gently book or Last Chance To See, I forget - so he should probably get it back.

Everyone else can take what they want from my room. No more special requests. Just tell Cordy that there would be a second letter addressed to her, but there was a conversation that needed to happen first, and we've never been good at the whole communication thing. Also, I thought she might burn it.

Remember me by my Snoopy dance. I love you, Willow Rosenberg, and I know you're going to go on and be freaking amazing.

Xander