Want to be Close
A/N: Spuffy, I suppose. Even though I'm a Fuffy shipper.
Written 22.01.04
He
found her in an alley. Hair matted, tear-streaked face, the mascara running
like cracks in a broken sidewalk. And her eyes. She had green eyes. He couldn't
forget them; he loved her already, and it was only 10:43.
They
went to his place, and he gave the girl his favourite blanket. It had ducks on
it, but nobody knew it was his favourite so it was okay. As she lay down on his
bed, he turned away. He would bring her some hot chocolate, and maybe she'd
feel safe.
When
she woke up the next morning, he smiled at her from his spot on the couch. He
couldn't ever remember seeing her like this, and probably never would again.
She wasn't his girl, he knew. And I'm not her man. Oh, but how he wanted to be.
It
went on like this for a few days. He would look at her and she would close her
eyes. She never said anything. Something was wrong, so definitely wrong, but he
didn't know how to fix it. He thought maybe he should bring her back to the
others. 'It's the right thing to do,' he thinks. 'But I just want to see her,
for a little while longer.' So there she stayed, and he didn't have the heart
to let her go. Back to them.
He
came back one day and she was gone. Just like that. Everything was hollow, the
crypt was silent, and he missed the way she smelled. Like Buffy. He missed
Buffy.