A/N:  Weird little drabble.  They so should have done more on Cordelia's death...hello, at least a mention of a funeral? 

A pat on the head and a kiss on the brow.

Xander thought it was a bit much.  The two loves of his life—gone.  Both within a matter of months.  Anya...her body buried beneath the depths of the Sunnydale sinkhole, and Cordelia's was in front of him.  In the beautiful coffin that seemed too pretty.  Too comfortable.  Do dead people and worms really need that much cushioning?

"I HATE YOU!"

"I HATE YOU!"

A snog, a heated make-out session, making with the smooches...whatever you wanted to call it; their first kiss always brought a smile to Xander's lips.  Their relationship was the epitome of love-slash-hate.  He really did love her, though.  Stupid hormones.  Stupid Willow-addled hormones.  He should have known she would have ended up a lesbian.  Of course, he never would have met Anya if they didn't break up.  But he screwed up that one too, didn't he?

Brush back her hair too roughly...she'll grab your hand and bite your head off.  But only in dreams.

Their closet.  The broom closet, actually.  How cliché.  But it was their closet, and that's the only thing that mattered.  Looking back on it, he regretted not talking to her more.  Who would have thought that Cordelia, of all people, would be making with the saintly-ness? 

Their mouths crushed together as they fell into the closet.  Suddenly, Cordelia's back hit something hard.

"Ow, I think I hit a broomstick!"

A wriggle of the eyebrows. "Is my stick too rough for you, Cordy?"

"Shut up, Xander, you're lame."

He seemed to always go for the brutally honest girls.  No sugarcoating for Xander.  Just the cruel, cruel truth, whether or not he wanted to hear it.

He wished this had been sugarcoated.  He wished that she didn't die.  That she kept on being vain, selfish, tactless.  Simply Cordelia.

A lift of the hand and one last kiss, this fairy tale says goodbye.

end.