TITLE: "Significant Others" (1/1)
AUTHOR: mcee (mcee@fangy.net)
SITE: http://fangy.net
ARCHIVE: List archives, or just ask.
RATING: PG

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Only a few guests remain, swaying idly on the dance floor. A rented contraption throws colourful swirls of light across the polished wood in time to the last few numbers of the night. The bar staff is beginning to pack up, wordlessly, almost invisible in their hotel-issued crisp white shirts and bow ties. The vacated tables around them are strewn with empty glasses, confetti and little paper hearts with names of them. It's past 3am and the party is, essentially, over.

Seven friends sit together. An odd (and one would think 'random', but they'd be wrong) combination of siblings and former crushes, white hats and repentant villains, everyday humans and ex-demons. Each is a hero, if a little drunk and tired and happy tonight.

By now ties are loosened, heels have been kicked off, and hair has been properly mussed throughout the night's festivities. It's kinda funny how the girls are all wearing the same thing, save the bride, who is sporting the traditional white to her bridesmaids' pretty periwinkle. As for the men, either one could be the groom to the casual observer. But if one looked closer they'd notice how one of them is practically glowing, how his smile is a little wider and giddier and stupider than the rest, because today he married the prettiest girl in the room and he still cannot completely believe his good fortune. The other boy looks at him and can't help but smile and approve. Things change drastically in Sunnydale, all the time. But this group, give or take a few stray feelings, remain the same.

"It was a good party, Buffy," Anya states with a smile and a surprising gentle kindness. She's the only one still sitting like a lady by now, because the concept of being a bridesmaid is still mind-boggling and terribly flattering to her, and she wants to do it right. Next to her, slumped in his chair, Xander smiles at the comment, his hand lazily stroking his wife's back.

Buffy, sprawled on two chairs and snuggled in the crook of her brand-new husband's arm, acknowledges happily. She stopped talking a little while ago, favouring instead a quiet appreciation for the people and things surrounding her on this particular night. There is a part of her that cannot wait to be alone with him, but for now this is what she enjoys. Her friends, the tightly-knit group she grew up with, and is happy to see are still alive inspite of all the monsters.



END