Buffy has always been conscientious about keeping a tidy house. Her mother was a clean person and it seems as though Buffy has inherited that. The table is always cleared after meals, floors are swept, carpets are vacuumed, the bed is made, and everyone does what they can to chip in.
Sometimes she’s pretty obsessive about it. In fact, there are little things that bother her to no end. Being a girl with long hair, she’s used to always cleaning the hair from the drain immediately after a shower and sweeping the bathroom floor when she’s done getting ready for the day. Her bedroom floor especially has to be swept at least once every day and the small sectional carpets shaken outside.
Her general theory is that hair is bad . . . unless it’s still attached.
Faith’s theory, on the other hand, seems to be that a hairy house is a happy house.
Buffy has never met someone who sheds as much as Faith does, and hey, she used to be friends with a werewolf. That’s gotta be saying something.
Alright, okay; maybe it isn’t that bad. In fact, Buffy knows she’s being neurotic about it. But she’s sick and tired of the hemoblobbins of dark hair that hide in the corners of every room like grotesque little tumbleweeds, just waiting for a breeze to send them tangling up in her bare feet.
She’s pretty sure that she could make a whole new Faith from the hair she’s cleaned up after her. That should be a sexy thought but right now, it just isn’t.
“Whatcha doin’?” Faith asks as she strolls into the room.
Buffy’s not sure if her neurotic mind is acting up on her or not but she’s pretty sure she sees a little tumbleweed follow Faith in the room. She narrows one eye and stares down at the ground, then shakes it off and looks up at Faith.
“Cleaning up your hair, Chewbacca.”
Faith makes and unmistakable wookie sound and laughs at herself as she hops up on the dresser and watches Buffy sweep the floor for what feels like the tenth time that day. When she leans her arms back, she hears a soft clink of glass and has to fight not to groan aloud. She looks behind her and finds no less than five empty but used glasses from the kitchen. When she gazes around the room, she sees at least four more.
She presses her lips together, trying hard not to voice her annoyance. Sure she might shed, but that was natural! She couldn’t do anything about that short of shaving her head and she was pretty sure couldn’t pull off that look. But Buffy, on the other hand; her bad habit was pure laziness! The girl was absolutely nuts about keeping the house clean and whatnot but she couldn’t take her own drinking glasses back to the kitchen??
Instead of bringing it up – yet again – Faith hops down from the dresser and starts to collect the glasses in her arms. When she’s got all nine of them, she passes by Buffy on her way across the room and they softly bump into each other.
The glasses clink together loudly in Faith’s arms and two long strands of her hair fall from her t-shirt onto the freshly swept floor.
They both growl a little in annoyance but Faith leans over and gives Buffy a kiss on the cheek before heading for the door. Buffy watches her exit . . . then watches a little tumbleweed of dark hair get swept up into the breeze and out into the hall.
Silently, Buffy laughs and shakes her head.
They really are the perfect (phobic) pair.
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