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It’s not natural to feel like this.
Spike walks in a dream. So he only sees out one eye and the other is hazy, if not actually real at all, and so the world doesn’t seem real either; a fuzzy backdrop like he’s constantly drunk. He walks with a veil all around him. He doesn’t like the world to get too close.
It’s not natural to only see out of one eye and to only see out of that eye a reality that isn’t even that. It’s not natural to be hung up on a woman who broke his heart in less time than it took to cheat on his best friend and run away when the going got too tough. He might have died and she might have died too but he would have stuck around for that. Something told him that she was worth it.
But the dream is the dream and the dream is not quite real - that one day they will meet again. They will die at the end and then Spike will wake up, two eyes seeing and a single heart beating and everything clear again.
She formed a part of a missing piece but, like a poorly made jigsaw, the piece never quite fit.
Spike is made of broken pieces. That’s not natural either.
He watches Faye. Faye storms around and shrieks and drinks and steals whatever he and Jet are foolish enough to leave lying around. Silly things like oxygen and space. She is always all up in his space like it is the most natural thing in the world. She makes being Faye Valentine always seem rather effortless.
And Spike’s completely fascinated by her. That’s the most unnatural thing of all.
The way she moves and talks and that look in her eye that she gets when she’s about to screw you over and she thinks that you don’t know it yet. Spike can read her like a book. She’s become his favourite novel.
He’s fascinated by the way that she dresses like a hooker but is actually more closed off than any woman he has ever met. A piece that doesn’t fit. These things never have to match.
One day he’s drunk, which comes all too naturally and the dream becomes more dream-like, which suits him just fine. She’s there and she’s plotting and she wants to move on by him. His fingers curl about her waist, along that expanse of skin, and he thinks that his thumbs almost meet above her belly button. He likes that she can fit between his hands.
He hears her sharp intake of breath, the opposite of a cold draught from an unlocked door but untold warmth still drawing him in. He breathes her in as well, all warmth and sweat and that stolen shampoo that she insists on using.
“What’s got into you?”
Her voice is nervous. He’s fascinated by this as well.
“You smell good.”
“You’re drunk.”
His fingers drum against the base of her spine.
“I’m dreaming.”
“A dreamer, huh?” She raises an eyebrow at him. Spike leans down and kisses it.
“You awake yet?” she says, murmurs in heat that touches his throat and tells him that yes, he’s awake.
“Not quite yet.” His lips reach the corner of her mouth.
His mouth pressed against Faye’s, his cock stirring to be inside her; this coil sprung back and forth that is all unresolved tension between them; Faye’s walls and Spike’s veils and everything coming tumbling down; these are the things that Spike remembers.
Faye tilts her head and kisses him back with a tiny flutter of a sigh. And it feels like the most natural thing in the world.