Spike listens, hands tucked into his pockets, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. His gaze is half-lidded, distant, but he’s listening. When you finish, he exhales slowly, smoke curling into the air. “Tch. Same old story, huh?” You raise an eyebrow. “What?” He flicks the cigarette away, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “People only come around when they need something. And when they don’t?” He lets out a dry chuckle. “They vanish.” You sigh. “Yeah. Pretty much.” Spike tilts his head back, looking up at the sky. “You know what the worst part is?” “What?” He looks at you, his expression unreadable. “They’ll never realize what they lost.”