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“Are you sure you're okay?”
“Hm,” she nods, lifting her head up, “yeah. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? And either way, I’m not too interested in talking about how my mother got a new boyfriend who turned out to be a psycho killer robot who was going to murder her and I knew something was wrong the whole time but none of my friends would listen to me, and so they all basically called me stupid and then said psycho robot threatned to abuse me and so I told my mum and she called me a liar and got pissed off at me and then her boyfriend did hit me and so I hit him back, and maybe I forgot that I have super human strength and maybe I accidentally made him fall down the stairs and then thought that I had killed him and so did my mother and then I got interrogated by police and then everyone thought I was a murder and my friends still wouldn’t listen to me and then I convinced myself I was a murderer but as it turns out, I wasn’t and he was a murderer psycho robot and still everyone acted like I was so stupid when I was trying to tell everyone the whole time,” she blurts out, almost without taking a single breath as she fishes through the bag.
“I’m sorry,” he offers, knowing it won’t do much, but he feels like it’s something he should say either way.
“Don’t be,” she says, unwrapping his hand, “stay still.”
“Sorry,” he says again, “...you know I can just do it myself, you don’t have to anymore,” he replies quietly.
“No,” she responds firmly, “I’m not gonna let you bandage your own torture wounds up. Especially when your hand is taking forever to fucking heal,” she takes his hand and unwraps it fully, “squeeze my hand.” She takes his hand and feels him squeeze it back, definitely not as strongly as she’s used to and he’s clearly trying to hide his pain as he does. “Okay,” she says, letting go slightly awkwardly, “do you think maybe it’s broken or something?”
He shakes his head, “it doesn’t feel broken.”
She sighs, grabbing a bandage and starting to wrap it over the palm of his hand again.
“So,” she starts, after a few minutes of silence, she tries an attempt at casual conversation to get rid of the slightly tense energy in the room that she knows she caused, “...what are you doing on the weekend?” She asks, before realising the stupidity of asking that question to him.
“Nothing,” he answers, not sounding even the slightest bit annoyed at her or her question, “what about you?”
“Uhm, not much. And I’m not really in the mood to make plans with the others right now. Pass me that tape.”
He passes a strip to her and she carefully places it on his bandaged hand. “Okay,” she smiles, a tad bit forced, “you’re all done.”
“Thanks,” he says softly, before clearly going to add something else, but he stops, hesitating. It takes almost the entire minute while she’s putting away bandages before he’s able to work up the courage to keep going. “So…uhm, since you’re not doing anything…did you wanna…maybe…do something?”
She turns, a small, this time genuine, smile on her face, “like go on a date?” Buffy asks, making her voice go a little lower as she leans forwards slightly.
He nods, captivated by her, “yeah…I guess.”
“Hmm,” she hums, looking away for a moment before facing him again with a grin, “it depends on what you have planned.”
He can’t help but smile as she stares intently at him, clearly trying to drive him insane. “Whatever you wanna do,” he manages, but it comes out far more lovesick teenage boy than he had intended.
“Well…” she starts, “how about we redo that whole ice-skating thing, but this time we don't get attacked by something that wants to kill me.”
“Okay,” he says, not really processing what she’s saying, more willing to do whatever she says. If her idea was to jump off a cliff or do something else beyond stupid, he would say yes before she even finished talking. He would do anything she asked of him, anything for her, to make her happy, to see her smile.
And she does, giving him a bright and soft smile as she moves herself to be sitting practically (literally) on top of him before continuing, “so. Tomorrow night sound okay? They close at around 10 on a Saturday, so how about 11?”
He nods, “11. Sounds good. …I’ll pick you up at around 10:30?”
She smirks and shakes her head, lowering her face to press her nose against his, “no. I’ll pick you up”
He’s almost taken aback by the demanding finality of that statement. It’s a side of her he doesn’t really know all that well, and he hopes that changes. Assertiveness suits her. But his favourite part is the fact she follows the statement with a little giggle before pressing a kiss on his nose.
She cuddles into him, her head hiding in the crook of his neck, taking much needed comfort in his presence, the arms around her back and the distinctive smell of him. He smells clean, like expensive beautiful shampoo that’s made of roses.
They stay there in silence, holding each other and she almost says it. She almost tells him. But the words get caught in her throat and the voice in the back of her head tells her not too. She’s not ashamed that she loves him anymore, she thinks she has loved him for a while. But now she doesn’t really care. Life is too short. And maybe she should apply that logic to this too. She should just say it. She should just tell him. Rip off like a band-aid. Scream it. But she can’t work up the courage to.
“I love you.” She says in her head, her lips slightly mouthing the words against his skin. And she swears she can feel him do the same.
______________
She knocks on his door again, slightly more aggressively then she had the first time, her short patience quickly dissipating. But any annoyance she held for him moments ago almost immediately vanishes when she’s met by him standing in the doorway half dressed.
“You’re not ready!” She accuses, but the smile on her face tells him she doesn’t care in the slightest.
“Yeah, well you’re early,” he accuses, buttoning his shirt as he turns back inside.
She shakes her head, “nope. It’s 10:32. I am on time.”
“Well…you’re early for you.”
She gasps, as if she has been dramatically hurt by his comment as she closes the door, “way harsh.”
“Sorry,” he offers, fiddling with the clasp of a necklace.
“I’m joking,” she smiles, sitting on the chair and swinging her legs back and forth and picking up the small box of silver rings next to her and fishing through them, “looking for these?”
“Oh yeah, thanks,” he reaches for it, but she pulls the box away, still looking through it.
“Pretty,” she says, picking up a newer looking one in the box. A detailed, yet simple silver band that met an ornate design. Hands, a heart and a crown, “what’s this?”
He glances over and if his heart was beating, it would have stopped. “Nothing,” he replies quickly.
She shrugs and hands it to him, and he’s thankful she doesn’t press it further as he quickly puts it on, whilst she looks through the rest of his jewellery before giving it back.
Two minutes later, she’s finally dragging him out of the apartment and into the cool dark night. Her hand is warm, and she tangles their arms together in a way so that for a moment, as they walk through the quiet streets, he can pretend that he’s warm too.
She tells him about her day. About how horrid her math homework was, and that she has a test on Tuesday that she hasn’t even started studying for, and how she’s desperate for a new wardrobe. He loves the way she talks, the words she uses that he doesn’t fully understand. He wishes more than anything he could see the world the way she does, experience it through her eyes for even just a few seconds.
They get in pretty easily, it’s not a well locked or protected place, it is the second time they have broken in, so that says a lot. Buffy jumps behind the front desk and quickly picks out a pair of white skates and throws them on the counter. She thinks for a second, scanning the rows before grabbing a black pair and handing them to him, “try those.”
“What?”
“Try them on? See if they fit?”
“I- I’m not…I thought you were skating.”
She gives him a confused look, “yeah. I am. Those are mine. But I know they already fit, so can you try those on.”
“Uhm…I thought you were just gonna do it.”
“And you were just planning on sitting there?”
He nods, hesitantly, “yeah. I- I don’t know how to skate.”
“That’s what I’m here for! Free private lessons with yours truly!”
But he still gives her a hesitant look, almost as if he’s scared of her.
“Come on! It’s just me, there’s nothing to be worried about. Besides, it’s no fun if I’m doing it by myself, it defeats the whole point of this being a date. It’s supposed to be about the two of us, not just me,” she gives him a reassuring smile, “just try them on.”
Once he does, she decides to go with the ‘just drag him’ tactic after he almost desperately tries to get out of it again. But it doesn’t matter what he does or says, she is not going to let him get what he wants. So the second she gets a chance to, she takes his good hand with a death grip and strides off, forcing him to follow and giving him absolutely no chance of escape.
She thinks he almost screams when they get on the ice, desperately reaching for her other hand as some form of support. She can’t help but let out a small laugh as he awkwardly fumbles and grasps onto her arms tightly, acting like some baby animal walking for the first time.
“Don’t laugh,” he manages, still trying to get his balance.
She smiles, shakes her head and carefully helps him in getting his balance.
“You alright?” She asks, as he seems to calm down a little, almost confidently standing but he’s still holding onto her arms tightly.
“Yeah,” he nods, “this isn’t too bad.”
She forces back a smirk, “okay then, I’ll race you to the other side,” she jokes, pretending to let go of him and she feels him hold her arms tighter.
“No,” he says quickly, sounding a lot more scared than he had intended. “Uhm…I mean…let’s just stay here.”
“You just wanna stand here?”
“Mhm,” he nods, avoiding eye contact.
She doesn’t think she’s seen him scared about something like this before. He does a good job of hiding the way he really feels most of the time, which can make dating him a bit of a challenge from time to time. Like how he doesn’t always understand her flirting tactics and how he often struggles to tell her how he feels about certain things. Communication is probably the thing they’ve had the most trouble with, but Buffy doesn’t really mind, because she knows it’s not something he means, he just had a hard time with emotions and it’s something she’s not scared to help him get better at. Like this situation and how it’s kind of forcing helping him to be vulnerable with her, even if it’s just him relying on her to stop him from falling.
She’s not sure how the time passes so fast. Once he gets enough confidence, they slowly make their way around the rink, but he never once lets her go and she’s glad, more so than she’d like to admit. She likes being needed by him. Even if it is just holding his hand while they ice skate.
She decides to keep their skates, she doesn’t care if it’s technically stealing.
They walk home hand in hand, her head resting on his arm. She wants nothing more than to stay, to stay right here with him. To curl into his bed and never leave. She wants nothing more than him.
But she kisses him goodbye instead. Pressing him against the door of his apartment, feeling his cool skin on hers and she never wants it to end.
But she climbs through her window alone. And she can’t help but wish that she had just stayed at his place. She puts the two pairs of skates on the floor against the wall. One black pair and one white pair.
______________
She’s not sure how she ends up here. She’s not sure why. She doesn’t want to be here. She doesn’t want these memories. She just wants to wake up.
She wants to wake up from this nightmare. She just wants to wake up. How? How is this her reality?
No, nevermind, of course it’s her reality. The second she has something, the second she has something good and beautiful and real and something, someone that makes her happy, it’s taken from her.
She can’t hate him. She can’t even try to. She should, she knows that she should. But she can’t. Because she knows it’s not really him . The Angel that’s here now isn’t the one that was here with her, only a few weeks ago, scared of ice skating. She can’t hate that Angel. She never will. She can’t blame him. She can’t be mad.
There is no world in which she could hate him. She hates herself. For what she did to him. And she hates the world. The world for not letting him be happy. Happiness. Of all things.
Everything reminds her of him. Reminds her of them. And she wants nothing more than for him to be here, to hold onto her arms again while she tries to teach him how to skate. And she hates more than anything that thing walking around in his body, has those memories. Has their memories. It’s not fair.
She spends most of her time these days fighting the urge to scream or sob. She’s exhausted. Exhausted from pretending to be okay with this. Because she’s not okay. She’s lost the only person that was always willing to listen to her, she’s lost the only person that made her feel safe, she’s lost the only person that made her feel whole. The person that made her feel worth something. The only person that understood. That she could turn to, and she always knew he would stay and that he would still love her, no matter what.
She was scared to fall in love with him, she can’t deny that. She was scared about what people would say. She was scared that she would run out of time with him. She was scared that him being with her would make people want to hurt him more. But she was never scared of him. She was never scared of the demon that lived inside of him, and even now that she knows that demon, she still can’t be scared. She thinks maybe she’s too exhausted to even try to be scared. She’s too exhausted to feel anything but this painful, gnawing emptiness.
She slumps against the edge of the rink, gripping tightly onto her jacket, so much so she thinks it might have ripped a little. And she lets herself cry. Cries which soon turn into full body sobs. Sobs that she can’t stop even if she really, really tried to. And there’s no point trying. There’s no point. She’s exhausted. She’s beyond exhausted. She’s got nothing left, and she’s tired. She’s tired of pretending to be strong. She’s tired of pretending to not care that he’s gone, tired of pretending that every single inch of her doesn’t miss him.
Memories feel like knives.
You shouldn’t have to touch me when I’m like this.
Stabbing her over and over.
Oh…I didn’t even notice.
Making her bleed out, till she’s helpless and weak. Till every breath she takes hurts like a thousand shards of something that used to be beautiful that is now stabbing into her sides.
There’s an ice-skating rink that’s closed on Tuesdays.
Tomorrow's Tuesday.
I know.
She was scared to fall in love with him, because she was scared to lose him.
And now she sits here, alone. Sobbing so much that her eyes ache.
Because she was so scared that something would take him from her. And now something has.
Her.