Buffy/ABVH

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#8 Buffy/Asher – She's always been drawn to broody vampires, why would this one be any different – 379 words

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"Come on," she wheedles for the last time, resisting the urge to tug on his arm like a toddler, trying to get him to come along. "It'll be fun!"

It's Jason's birthday tonight and there's a party and she really, really wants to dance with her boyfriend. Well, lover actually, since he refuses to be called her boyfriend. Whatever. Right now, he's not being much of either.

"I don't want to come, Buffy. Would you leave me alone, please?" Asher sighs, tucking a strand of golden hair behind his ear – on the good side of his face. Six months in and he's still hiding from her.

She flops onto the sofa next to him and pouts. "Why? Jason's your friend, annoying as he is. You're invited."

"I don't want to go." Right. He said that before. Half a dozen times. As many times as she's asked why he's not coming. Why, why, why. She knows the answer anyway.

Because he hates people. Because he hates crowds. Because he hates how they look at his perfection and, when the light falls right, his imperfections. Because most of the time, he hates himself and she's pretty sure a lot of the time he hates her, too, for not caring about either the beautiful side of him, or the ugly one. It's all Asher, to her.

Not to him.

She gives up with a slump of her shoulders and stands, picking up her purse and tugging her skirt into place. It's a last ditch effort, show the man what all and sundry is going to see of her if he's not there to literally cover her butt. His eyes follow her hands to the hem, then up her thighs, smoothing over her hips and stomach. But he makes no move to get up.

She doesn't sigh again, doesn't ask again. She tucks her purse under her arm and turns to go. "Bye," she calls, getting no echo back as she closes the door behind her.

One of these days, she promises herself, she'll find someone to love without so many hang ups. Healthy. Balanced. Not broody. Possibly human.

"Buffy," he calls after her through the closed door and she stops and hopes, cursing herself for it.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

He always it.

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