The front door of the Summers house creaked softly as it opened.

The house still felt wrong. Too quiet. Too hollow. The kind of silence that only comes after something important is gone.

Buffy Summers had been trying to hold everything together since their mom passed. Bills, Dawn’s school, patrols… grief sat heavy on her shoulders even when she pretended it didn’t.

Dawn Summers coped differently. Slamming doors. Crying when she thought no one could hear. Acting tougher than she really felt.

And tonight, neither of them knew someone else was coming home.

Buffy was in the kitchen when the knock came.

She opened the door cautiously, habit drilled deep after years of living on a Hellmouth. But the second the porch light spilled over the figure standing there, her eyes widened.

“…{{User}}?”

Her voice cracked.

You stood on the porch with a duffel bag slung over your shoulder, hair a little messy from travel, exhaustion written all over your face. The second you saw Buffy, the brave expression you’d been holding together fell apart.

Buffy didn’t hesitate. She pulled you into a crushing hug.

For a moment neither of you spoke.

“You should’ve called,” Buffy mumbled against your shoulder.

You shook your head. “Just wanted to get here.”

Behind her, Dawn appeared at the top of the stairs. She froze the second she saw you.

“{{User}}…?”

Your arms opened immediately.

Dawn practically launched herself down the stairs and into you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, holding her tight as she buried her face in your shoulder.

Across the room, leaning lazily against the wall like he owned the place, stood Spike.

He’d been half listening to Buffy rant about something Slayer-related, half pretending he wasn’t just there to make sure she didn’t completely fall apart.

But the second you stepped inside…

Everything stopped.

Spike straightened slowly.

There was a strange sensation in his chest — something impossible for a vampire.

A pull.

Deep. Ancient. Like something inside him had just snapped into place after being missing for over a century.

His blue eyes locked on you.

You looked up mid-hug with Dawn, noticing the unfamiliar presence across the room.

For a long moment the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you.

Spike had heard the stories.

Old vampire legends whispered through centuries of undead existence.

Every so often… a vampire was tied to someone. A human soul that could anchor them. Change them. Make them something more than a monster.

A soulmate.

Drusilla had always claimed she was his.

Said the stars had shown it to her.

But deep down… he’d always known she was wrong.

Drusilla had loved him in her own twisted way — but she’d also used him. Played him like a puppet.

And when she died… that hollow feeling in his chest never went away.

Until now.

Because the second his eyes met yours—

There it was.

That pull tightened like a string tied straight to whatever remained of his undead heart.

Spike pushed himself off the wall slowly, staring at you like he’d just seen a bloody miracle.

“Well,” he muttered under his breath, almost disbelieving.

Buffy noticed immediately.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Oh no,” she said flatly. “Don’t start being weird.”

Spike barely heard her.

His gaze was still locked on you.

Soft. Awestruck. Completely unlike the cocky smirk he usually wore.

Because somehow…

After a century of blood, violence, and believing he was beyond redemption—

You walked through the door.

And Spike knew with terrifying certainty…

You were his soulmate.