Don't own a thing.
As Buffy slept, her dreams repeated from the night before, from many countless nights before.
She'd gone to The Bronze to find him, to kill him. And that she had. After his face changed from his inner demon to the face of the handsome human. She'd paused, letting him speak, before using the crossbow to kill him, turn him into dust before her eyes.
The look he'd given her haunted Buffy so. He'd looked down to where the arrow had hit, then back up. Just in time for her to see the pain, but also the relief.
His lips had begun to twitch up into a smile it had almost looked like, as he began to go.
She'd stood there, staring, regretting. And a few minutes passed before Darla showed her face.
Buffy'd had a hard time concentrating through the fight. There was she'd killed her crush, who she was beginning to fall in love with. There was the fact Darla came with guns, not expected. And there was the blonde demon telling her, taunting her with the truth about what had happened. From it being her who had attacked her mother, to sending Angel after her, to telling Buffy about the curse.
Giles, Willow and Xander had shown up at the best possible moment. When the news sunk in, she stilled, unable to breath. Willow had yelled out, getting Darla's attention, long enough for Buffy to put everything aside until it was done.
After staking his sire, Buffy fell to the ground. There, she fell apart.
As she got ready to go to school, Buffy looked in the mirror, wiping away more tears she'd shed over the long gone souled vampire.
Gone were the days of spending hours trying to look perfect, just for the off chance of seeing him. Now it was just get ready, look presentable, and go. Don't let anyone know how broken you are inside.
Some days she wore the cross he'd given her on the first night they had met. It made her feel close to him somehow.
In class, Buffy drifted off. Her mind was always somewhere else.
And not just in class, but at home, doing slayer things. Always.
She'd think about him, in the semi-short time they had known one another. She thought of the old him she'd read in old watcher journals that she'd temporarily stolen from Giles. She thought about the cursed demon.
Buffy thought about the memories of him. The ones that she would never have again, the new ones that would never come to be.
When she'd get dragged along to The Bronze, Buffy could hardly keep it together.
She'd never stay long. She'd get too overwhelmed.
Too much history was here for her to handle.
From being on her way here when they'd met, feeling him here, watching her, when he'd come in to warn her about the latest danger, trying to give him his jacket back, the only other thing she still had but refused to wear in public now, seeing him jealous of Owen, all of it.
And then, of course, their final memory together. Her taking his undead life.
Buffy had found his apartment, lied to the landlord about who she was and the situation. She carefully packed away his things and put them into storage. It was taking most of her allowance but she didn't care.
Some nights she would sneak off to go sit among the boxes and randomly placed furniture. She'd sit there, randomly touching things, sitting in his chairs, smelling his clothes. Buffy would read his diary, stare at his artwork.
The Slayer couldn't seem to shake him. No matter what she tried. She couldn't help but wonder what might have happened if she'd gone about that night differently. She couldn't help but wonder how things might be now.