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It's over now, and she's clinging to me like she always does; as if she's holding on for dear life. I know what's coming next, and I wrap my arms tighter around her waist as she starts to sob. She's right on schedule again, never letting herself cry for very long before pulling my face back down to hers. Then flesh meets flesh, and for just a moment, she let's herself forget the reason she came here in the first place. For a moment, so do I.
Then it's over for good and she let's me hold her for a while. Let's me feel her sticky skin against mine, and feel the tickle of her breath against my chest. She let's me pretend, because she knows she's doing the same thing. We make love, and we pretend that there aren't any friends, that what we're doing is perfectly Ok. We let ourselves pretend that Buffy's still alive.
Then she rises to leave, and for a moment I try to stop her. I grab her wrist, and open my mouth to protest, but her eyes tell me what my heart already knows. That we can't stop, one way or another. We can't really be together, that time has come and gone, but we can't stop either. By no means. So, I let go of her arm, and she walks out of my house, leaving nothing but a ing scent of lilac on the sheets. I'd have to wash them before Anya got home.
This thought snaps me out of my Willow induced haze, and I come back to the real world. The world of friends and morals and reality. The world where Buffy is dead, Giles is in England, and Dawn is in L.A. with her dad. The world where I have to live until she comes to me again, all firey hair and pleading emerald eyes, asking me to hold her. I have to make it through everyday life until she comes, until I hold her, and make love to her, and help her calm her storms the only way she knows how.