helltapestry sent :Â Â â ain't you a sight for sore eyes. y'know, starin' at so many zombies makes me appreciate the finer things in life. '
   âhe said he was a what â ?â
   spike actually sets down the beer can and leans forward, like he must have misheard. it casts this whole fucking afternoon into an even more surreal light. crane downs half of his own beer in two swallows.Â
   ââlicken - thrope.â spike â seriously, you think i can make this shit up? hand to god, man. he said he was the victim of an ancient curse, and that, uh â that he had to leave his safe zone because one of the survivors there was a ââ
   âthen what, fuckinâ bigfoot?âÂ
   âcolder.â he grins. âa ghoul. wanted me to help him grab, uh, wolfsbane, and â fuckinâ cinnamon? for some bullshit âcureâ dahlia told him about.â
   âdahlia â thatâs the one who thinks sheâs a witch, right?â
   âiâm not so sure she isnât. or that she isnât batshit enough to really believe it, anyway.â
   âjesus, mary ân joseph, every time i think the world canât get any crazier.â spike snorts a disbelieving laugh and shakes his head, picking up his beer again to gesture at crane with it. âwhat is it about you, man?âÂ
   âwhat dâyou mean?âÂ
   âyou attract crazy. you got this whole all - american, white - boy - former - military thing, you got most of the people in this city looking to you just as much as brecken, but â still, here you are, talkinâ to me about werewolves and ghouls âcause you managed to run across the one crackpot left who canât even pronounce the word âlycanthrope.ââ
   ââ lycanthrope?â comes deannaâs voice from the doorway. âdamn. whatâd i miss?â
   crane looks over at her, the amusement in his grin softening around the edges. âoh, nothinâ much, just a guy ââ
   âcrackpot,â spike corrects with a lift of the beer can.
   âcrackpot,â crane amends. âthought he was under some werewolf curse. donât worry â i helped him find a cure. just in time for the full moon.âÂ
   she lets out a chuckle of an exhale, almost like itâs more to herself than to them; almost like she gets the joke better than they do.
   there must be something all too plain in the way her eye contact holds craneâs, because spike clears his throat, pushing himself into a stand and arcing his empty beer can into the trash.Â
   âyou kids catch up,â he says, the uptick of a knowing smile at the corner of his mouth. âbe easy, crane. see ya âround, dee.â
   deanna moves slightly to the side to let him pass, then promptly takes his unoccupied seat. not before she snags herself a drink and pops it open with a satisfying fizz. âso,â she says.
   âso,â crane echoes back.Â
   âainât you a sight for sore eyes. yâknow, starinâ at so many zombies makes me appreciate the finer things in life.â
   he laughs and thereâs a softness to it. genuine. heat touches the exposed skin on the back of his neck. she always does this, and he can rarely tell if itâs accidental or calculated or some combination of both that even she doesnât know the finer points of yet. it started off small. subtle enough to overlook, to brush off and compartmentalize when there are a million other things coming at them from all sides, all the time.Â
   moments like this, itâs harder to pretend nothingâs going on. moments like this where itâs just the two of them and the maelstrom outside is quiet.Â
   âyouâre good,â he says, but thereâs more to it than that.
   more in the constant friction between them than just a little heat.
   he raises his beer can.
   canned fucking beer. go figure. remind him to bust into breckenâs stash next time.Â
   âaside from the finer things â and letâs not forget the five - star view,â the visual tour he takes is anything but accidental, âwhat are we drinkinâ to?â