The Bronze pulsed with music and colored lights, the bass vibrating through the floor as Buffy, Willow, Xander, and you crowded around a small cocktail table near the dance floor. Buffy was mid-story, hands waving dramatically, while Xander tried — and failed — to interrupt with commentary.

Across the room, the doors swung open.

Eric strode in like he owned the place.

Willow noticed first. “Oh… that guy,” she muttered, already shrinking slightly behind her drink.

Eric scanned the room and — of course — zeroed in on you. His grin sharpened, and he started over with the confidence of someone who’d never been told to sit down in his life.

Buffy sighed. “Five bucks says he’s headed right here.”

“You’re on,” Xander said immediately.

Before Eric could reach the table, a familiar leather-clad figure slid into the space beside you. Spike didn’t look at Eric right away — just leaned casually against the table, arms folded, eyes half-lidded like he was bored with the entire universe.

But his posture shifted ever so slightly, placing himself between Eric and you.

Eric stopped short. “Hey,” he said, trying to sound smooth. “Didn’t realize this seat was taken.”

Spike’s gaze lifted slowly, sharp and amused. “Funny thing,” he drawled. “Didn’t realize anyone asked.”

Buffy hid a grin. Willow looked relieved. Xander whispered, “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Eric laughed awkwardly, trying to recover. “I was just talking to—”

Spike cut in, voice calm but edged. “Doesn’t look like they’re interested, mate.”

The music thumped louder. Eric hesitated, clearly weighing his chances against Spike’s unblinking stare.

And all eyes turned to you.