Regular Guy

A/N: Written 23.01.04

Xander was a regular guy.

Sure, he battled the forces of the night every now and then - well, it was really more like all the time - along with the rest of his friends, all of whom had superpowers. And over the years, he learned more about medieval weapons than how to successfully conjugate Spanish verbs. Though, if you were to ask him, he would say the only words he'd ever need to know were taco and burrito. Not to mention pita.

But he was still regular. And it was okay with him, really. He didn't mind. It didn't bother him that he had to use his fists instead of magic, or grow fangs and look really pale. This was California, right? Everybody's got a tan. Tans were in. Xander wanted a tan.

So what if he spent his nights hanging out in graveyards rather than wasting time at stupid places like the movies? Hey, if he wanted a good time, he sure as hell wouldn't find it with those ignoramuses and their useless popcorn machines. They didn't even have the buttered kind. Talk about pathetic. And bowling? Those shoes cost way too much anyway. Better sticking to the cemeteries.

He loved his friends. If it weren't for them, he wouldn't be.. him. Who he was. Who was he. They had their full moons and sometimes-freaky spells, and he had a scar on his back in the shape of a cross. Just as well, really. The whole killing thing isn't really something a guy can forget. And now it was burned into him. He must really love his friends.

And then there was Anya. Anya, with her capitalistic remarks and the face of an angel. He wanted her more than anything else. She was the only thing left that reminded him of himself sometimes. But only sometimes. He never wanted to wake up and find her not there. It was simply unacceptable. Xander loved Anya. And Anya loved Xander. When there was Anya, he wasn't a regular guy anymore. No, he didn't feel regular at all.

Xander was a lucky guy.