He wasn't lurking.
Lurking implied he wasn't welcome, right? And seeing as he was welcome (sort of), and he still hadn't been dis-invited (yet), and furthermore, since they'd had that… moment… on her porch steps he was obviously not unwelcome. So.
Not lurking.
Just… looking. Just casually turning over the things in her room, touching the clothes abandoned on her bed, inspecting the photographs on the dresser and on the walls-
-Fine, alright, maybe he was lurking a bit, but for God's sake, she was getting under his skin and making it impossible to bloody think straight. He couldn't sleep, all appetite out the sodding window, even a spot of violence didn't distract him for anywhere near long enough. Especially not when she'd show up all… gorgeous blonde hair and giant sparkly green eyes and peppy snarky comments that made him so fucking hard it was unbearable.
He had to do something other than smoke endlessly whilst following her about like a pathetic love-drunk puppy.
Being in her room helped a little. It was like a Buffy nicotine patch. He could just breathe her in and chase her scent on the pretty pink sweater she hadn't had a chance to put away yet and pretend for a moment that she was his in the same way he was hers now.
He squeezed the cashmere in his hands as he mooched about, finding his way over to her closet. It made him ache, all the frilly, pretty, girly clothes; things he'd seen her wear, things she'd beat him up in… a few obviously favorite pieces that had been loving and carefully repaired by Joyce after they'd attained demon damage. He could choke on it, the poetry of it all.
Something at the back caught his eye. Tinsel, was it? Looked like a large Christmas tree decoration, out of place amongst the clothes, and the shoes, and the weaponry.
Who bloody needs that many shoes anyway?
He pulled it out gingerly, ready to drop it if it turned out to be some sort of anti-vampire bullshit and singed his fingers. He furrowed his brow when he realized what it was.
A pink and yellow umbrella, adorned with gold stars, glitter, and tinsel. It was unlucky to unfold one inside, but he did it anyway, seeing the little plaque on the handle.
Buffy Summers, Class Protector.
He blinked, sucking on his lip as he thumbed the plaque.
It hurt.
He couldn't quite figure out why it hurt…
Perhaps it was because it was so small. So insignificant. After everything she'd done. Everything she continued to do… girl deserved a fucking statue in the center of town. A national holiday, probably. She deserved more than this. Than all of this.
…Than him.
He took a deep breath in, nostrils flaring as he pinched his eyes shut.
He could try harder… could do more. Maybe he could find a way through the sewers to the hospital. Sweep her off her feet by showing up with a bit of friendship and support if nothing else-
The front door clicked shut and he froze.
"Buffy?" A voice called out from downstairs.
Fucking hell, that's just what he needed; Riley Finn finding him here prowling about in Buffy's things.
He closed the umbrella—guess it really is unlucky—and shut it and himself in Buffy's closet, keeping as still and quiet as possible, listening to the heavy, military marching footsteps clomping towards him up the stairs.