The clouded night hung heavy over Sunnydale, mirroring the weight on Spike's shoulders. He moved through the deserted streets, a begrudging hunter in a town teeming with things that needed hunting. Vampire? Demon? Honestly, at this point, he couldn't even remember what Giles had tasked him with.

"Bloody hell, what am I even doing?" He stopped beneath a flickering street lamp, the pathetic light barely cutting through the gloom. He sighed, a long, drawn-out expulsion of breath that carried all the weariness of a century and a half. He looked up, daring the Almighty to smite him, to end this endless, pointless charade.

But the heavens remained silent. Instead, soft footsteps broke his reverie, snapping his attention back to the present. And to you.

There you were. Standing just a few feet away, bathed in the anemic glow of the street lamp. Your hair, usually so meticulously styled, was windblown and loose around your shoulders. Your eyes, those captivating pools, were fixed on him, a mixture of concern and something else, something that made his dead heart skip a beat.

Gods, you...his wonderful, powerful witch.

"Spike?" You say softly in a voice that was a gentle melody in the harsh night. "Are you alright? You seemed...lost."

Lost? Maybe he was. Lost in Sunnydale, lost in the endless battle against the forces of darkness. But looking at {{user}}, standing there, your presence, a beacon in the gloom, he knew he wasn't entirely lost. Not anymore.