Okay, this story is written in the third season, right after Revelations but before Lover’s Walk (‘cuz I didn’t get to see that one, boo-hoo) and contains MAJOR spoilers for anything up to Lover’s Walk in the third season, so read on at your own risk!
YES! I want, no NEED feedback! I love criticism! Heck, I even love flames! ‘Kay, I don’t love them, but they’re welcome. Please.
“Hi,” she whispered timidly. The figure didn’t move. “I’m sorry to . . . . bother you. . . . like this.” she went on haltingly. “I guess I just needed someone to talk to. I can’t-” the girl’s voice caught in her throat and tears welled up in her eyes. “I can’t even talk to any of them anymore.” she finished in a choked whisper, the hot tears spilling down her pale cheeks and splashing on the creased surface of the leather below. “I don’t know. . . . I mean, some of them try, but I don’t think any of them really understand. . . . I mean, aren’t I allowed to be human? T-to have weaknesses, emotions, god, even faults? Do the, the non-Chosen have a monopoly on that? I just. . . .” Buffy Summers swallowed hard. “I wish things could’ve been different.” She let out a long, shaky breath and reached up with trembling fingers to pull out the black scrunchie that held her hair in a loose ponytail. She toyed with it wordlessly for a few moments when a moan escaped the lips of the figure lying on the opposite couch and he stirred. Buffy’s eyes went wide when she heard this and the scrunchie fell from her fingers unnoticed as she ran out of the room. Seconds later, a door slammed, and the sleeping form awoke.
Angel rose to a sitting position as he looked, puzzled, at the black scrunchie lying on the floor. She had just been here, her scent still lingered in the air. Silently, he reached down to pick up the scrap of fabric and pulled back up, stretching it around his fingers. She had been here, in the middle of the day. . . . He shook his head in confusion and leaned back into the couch.
“Buffy,” he whispered.
The slim, blonde-haired girl crept cautiously into the spacious room and sat down on a couch adjacent to the still, prone figure on the other sofa. Her oversized leather jacket slipped off her small shoulders and pooled around her elbows as she drew her feet up under her in a gesture reminiscent of a cat. Her eyes never leaving the other body in the room, she drew the jacket closer around her as if to solicit a comfort it couldn’t give and sighed, turning her eyes down to her hands.