Move In

Faye doesn't know when exactly it happened.

Little things stared to pop up here and there and it started with his cigarettes.

They would turn up lying about the place and she would complain about the cups of ash left behind. Then his packs ended up stuck in her cushions, on her tables or on her bed. She asked him why he would leave behind something he was so attached to, but he only gave her a vague answer of having more in his ship or back home.

Home he called it, she suspected he wasn't too fond of her not being there anymore, even though he wouldn't outright say so. Then again, what did she know about enigmas?

At first, she thought it was his way of marking is presence there. She wondered if he even cared about her bringing other men by. Faye childishly tested the theory once, and the guy was nice and nice looking. They didn't sleep together, but she made sure to steal his watch and leave it laying on the coffee table in plain sight. The next evening, when Spike was around, she caught sight of him staring at it. Sometime through the night it went missing.

He never questioned her, but he really didn't have a right to.

Faye didn't owe Spike anything.

They weren't a couple.

They were just friends, really good friends.

That's when his articles of clothing started to stay behind.

On her floor mostly, her bathroom or bedroom floor or tossed on her bed frame. Once he did make a point to leave a whole jacket on her sofa. It was usually a pair of socks, an undershirt, or the things that secretly made her blush like his boxers. She doesn't know why, but at some point, she forced him to wash the clothing and gave him a whole drawer. It was a lot better than the mess.

Then his toothbrush popped up, neatly in her little pink cup. Faye finally laid into him for leaving his personal belongings about in her personal space, but then he begged the question of her wanting to kiss him with an unwashed mouth, which shut her up. If he was going to stay the night, it probably made sense. Though that didn't explain his favorite bath towel being there too.

Finally, other things started to move in. His ties, his aftershave, his favorite pillow, movies and books of his, he even started to put some of his favorite snacks in her fridge and a bottle of his whiskey in her makeshift alcohol cabinet. Faye would sometimes find herself buying the items herself at the store too.

And then he was all there, and she didn't really mind at all.

Faye had no clue what made Spike want to spend so much time with her, but she wasn't going to call it a dream. Whatever it was, she would embrace it like a special gift from the universe.

"Be honest," she told him one day as she leaned over the dining table he sat at with his plate of eggs. "It's because of the feminine touch, right? Admit it, I keep it a lot nicer here than Jet does at home, don't I? You like that girly scent or something?"

Spike only stared up at her as he continued to chew, but he looked as if he were in deep thought for a moment. Then he smirked.

"Yeah Faye, I really like the feminine touch around here."

Faye narrowed her eyes before stealing a piece of his toast and walked away, "I bet you do," she muttered with annoyance.

When she stepped into their room, she found the bed was made and there was a fresh pack of her favorite cigarettes, unopened next to a new lighter on her pillow.

Lunkhead.