@iwannadogirlystuff

               Ya know, the culture always changes. When you’re immortal, it tumbles by at warp speed. So fast it practically makes your ears pop. You get comfortable in your solitude. Super deep, totally tortured, extra black-on-black. Before you know it, you’ve lost yourself somewhere in the din of past decades and you emerge… only to find that girls no longer find stalking a big turn on. Although, he seems to remember having that explained to him, once. Painfully.

       Angel’s not stalking, though. He’s just following a vaguely familiar whip of blonde curls through a crowd, trying to keep up. Did that sound creepy? It is. It’s fucking creepy, but he doesn’t know what else to do. If every sense he has, down to her scent, weren’t telling him – screaming at him – that the woman crossing the street in front of him is the love of his life, he wouldn’t believe it.

                  Buffy Summers is dead, so the shoulder Angel is reaching for can’t belong to… “Buffy?”