Sometimes he'd wake up feeling warm and the last thing he could remember was seeing her in the sunlight, waiting for him.
An image so beautiful shouldn't have made him crave blood. But it did. And every time this happened, he'd race to the refrigerator and pour a packet of it into his mouth. Try to fill the hole in his heart. As he drank the unholy nectar, it was like he was swallowing their future along with it.
He beat himself up for it.
Stared at photos of her, hating himself. Hating her. His romantic dream had been reality and he'd walked away from it. Allowed it to end with him bursting into flames and her moving on.
He yearned to return to Buffy even though it was impossible. But he needed a safe haven from this nightmare. A nightmare where he stood in his kitchen with rivulets of blood streaming from his mouth and tears blurring his vision.
He'd tried eating ice cream since that day, shoveled spoonful after spoonful into his mouth. Desperate to at least hold on to that memory. And it had tasted foul, like something that belonged in a sewer. He gagged as he ran to the bathroom, throwing it all up in the toilet. Hated that it seemed more appealing as it sat in the toilet water.
He just wanted to fast forward and get to the good part. See his prophecy come to fruition. So far he'd only had a taste of it before it inevitably went rotten. He wanted to be selfish and allow himself happiness. He wished he could, anyway. If only he wasn't so disgustingly noble and charitable. Sometimes he wished he was almost anyone else but him. Someone less calm and patient would be nice.
Maybe even Spike.