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Summary
Time feels muddled, it has since the night before, lingering traces of someone mucking about in his brain. It doesn’t help that the nicotine is starting to make him feel dizzy and sick, it took nearly an entire pack to get there. He shakes out the final, lonely cigarette, and flicks open his lighter.
“Those things will kill you, you know.”
He inhales slowly and absently smooths soft edges of cardboard with his thumb.
“Cheers, pet.”
(Buffy wakes up next to Spike in a life they don't remember, neither of them seem to be able to kill the other, she isn't very happy about it.)