Oblivion
A soft rain was lightly tapping the windowpane as Spike Spiegel awoke from nearly three days of sleep. His entire body ached. He slowly opened his eyes to find Vicious sitting, deep in thought. He slowly turned to face Spike, who was lying on the couch. It seemed as though that movement was graceful in itself.
You could imagine Spike was a bit surprised to see what was supposed to be his mortal enemy waiting at his side. He tried to move, expecting him to pull his sword at any moment, but his attempt failed. Vicious finally spoke, "Don't try to move, you fell out of a window." It seemed as though he was unable to look at Spike.
Spike wasn't about to ask how high, fearing another answer like five or six stories. He was still drowsy. Maybe this is just a dream, he thought. He closed his eyes, picturing the fall. How it seemed as if the whole world slowed down for just that moment, making it peaceful and serene. "I guess I owe you one." Spikes voice was barely a whisper.
It looked almost unnatural as Vicious forced a frown across his beautiful face. "I'm the reason you're lying there. You don't owe me anything." His voice was deep and rich like the darkness of a moonlit night. There was a sense of hurt in his expression, but it was barely detectable to Spike through his long silver hair.
There was an eerie silence after his words. Not a sound, save for the soft dance of rain outside the window. Vicious shifted his gaze to Spike, who at that point was looking a little worried. He quickly averted his eyes as if stricken. The sight was only momentary, but it was enough for Spike to notice. He opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it. The words seem to be lost in his mind, unable to be spoken.
Vicious broke the silence once again, "Why do we do this..." He paused, thinking over what he had just said. Spike was confused to say the least, although he could detect a sense of longing in his voice. Vicious suddenly got up, sifted his fingers through his long silver hair, and swirled towards the door. The way he turned was memorizing, almost like he was moving in slow motion, letting the black trench coat he was wearing flow with his movements like a loose shadow.
Spike lifted a hand to try and stop him, but was about as able as he was when he opened his eyes. All he had the strength to do was breathe, and watch Vicious stride out through the tall wooden door. So he drifted back to sleep.