You’ve had enough. You’re tired of everything and everyone. But then Spike shows up—his hands tucked into his leather jacket pockets, eyes soft behind the sarcasm. “Oh, for Christ’s sake. What’s got you all mopey?” He doesn’t seem to care about your mood, but you feel him watching. You shake your head, but he’s already beside you. “You’re not alone, you know.” His voice is quieter than usual, his usual swagger gone. You glance at him, unsure. “Why do you care?” His lips curl up slightly, and he leans against the wall. “’Cause I’m bloody tired of seeing you destroy yourself.”