He watched the young girl start to doze off on the train. She looked so peaceful and so lovely. The rumbling of the subway must be soothing to one who was very tired, he thought. He smoothed his tie and sat next to her. He wanted to wake her, to make sure she didn’t miss her stop when she came to it, but he couldn’t. She looked so beautiful. Her eyelids fluttered as she slept, her chest rising and falling slowly. The train stopped, and he tapped her on the shoulder. He gently shook her, knowing that they did not know each other and it would have been weird to be more forward. “Excuse me,” he said gently.

                Her eyes fluttered open. She breathed in sharply and started to scoot away from him. “Sorry, I just wanted to know if this was your stop. Didn’t want you to miss it.” She blinked slowly, taking in what he was saying. His voice was a soft purr with the tinge of an English accent. She looked around, through the windows to see what stop it was. She nodded, standing up and picking up her shoulder back and smoothing her uniform skirt.

                “Thank you,” she said as she started to walk off the train. He waved after her, taking in the sight of her legs in those thigh-high socks. He shook the thoughts out of his head. She had on a uniform, for crying out loud. She must have been in high school. He waited, deep in thought, for his stop on the route.

Buffy shook her head, finding it hard to believe that she dozed off on the train. At least that nice man woke her up. She remembered very little about him but his bleached blond hair that was combed back neatly. His face was a blur from her sleep-induced haze. She thought that maybe he was attractive, but she couldn’t remember. He was probably too old for her anyways.

                She stepped into her house and dropped the shoulder bag off by the stairs. “Mom! I’m home!” Her mom came in to greet her and kiss her on the cheek.

                The next morning she saw him as she got on the train. He sat there with a book in his lap, a charcoal grey suit on with a red tie. A sleek silver tie pin glinted in the fluorescent lights. She sat on the bench near him, but not too close. She didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. He closed the books and smoothed his hair back, putting his right ankle on his left knee. Now that she could get a better view of him, she realized he really was attractive. He was lean and muscular and had this air about him. He seemed predatory and thrilling. She felt a shiver run down her spine. He glanced over at her and smiled.

                “Did you make it home alright?” He looked at her in this way that penetrated her defenses. It seemed a little weird of a question, but she shook it off.

                “I got home fine, thanks to you. You made sure I woke up.” Her hands twisted and gripped at her skirt nervously. He was so damn attractive, and the look he was giving her made her feel so vulnerable. What she didn’t realize was that as she was nervously gripping her skirt, she was unconsciously pulling it up. He could see almost the entirety of her leg and he felt something surge in him, some desire to slide his hand up the rest of her skirt. She was so little, probably a good foot shorter than him and much smaller.

                “I almost didn’t want to wake you. You looked so peaceful.” He smoothed his tie. “I’m William.” He held out a hand to shake hers. She took it and he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed gently.

                “Buffy.” She blushed red and didn’t know what to do. She wished he’d take those lips and kiss hers. “What are you reading?” She asked, looking at the book closed in his lap curiously. Her eyes drifted across his groin before she looked away, her face growing a darker shade of crimson. She brushed her blonde hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear.

                He smiled and flipped through the pages before responding. “Emily Dickinson.”

                “Huh. A poetry guy. Who’d have thought?”

                “Yeah, well. It just feels right, you know? Her poems are broken and without form. They’re a thing of beauty.” He flipped to a certain page that was dog-eared and worn and held it out to her. “Read this.” She leaned over his shoulder, so close to him. She smelled like lavender. He wanted to touch her hair, which looked like pure gold. She was beautiful.

                Buffy squinted at the page where his finger pointed.

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

                She breathed in sharply as if she hadn’t breathed before. The simplicity and the ease of the words held such sadness in them, but such feeling. She looked up at him, and realized they were so close. It was just a few inches away from her lips to his, and she could close the gap so quickly and easily. His eyes were on her lips, and he looked like he wanted to drink of her, to devour her and engulf her. Desire filled her and she began to lean forward, wanting to feel his lips on her, on her lips and skin and feel the heat burn in her.

                He pulled away from her and stood up silently, walking quickly off the train at his stop. She sat back. She couldn’t help feeling disappointed and somewhat insulted by the fact that he just left. Did she do something? Did she cross a line when she leaned in to kiss him? She couldn’t help but wonder.

                A crumpled up scrap of paper was on the seat where he was. She picked it up and flattened out the small scrap and found a phone number on it. She looked at it quizzically and realized it has his name on it. It must be his. She folded it carefully and tucked it into the breast pocket on her blouse. Maybe she would call him later. She hoped he wasn’t mad at her for trying to kiss him. She wasn’t even sure if he meant to leave this for her. What if he meant to but crumpled it when she leaned in, deciding then that he wasn’t going to? Would it be wrong then, to call him?

                William rubbed his eyes hard as he sat at his desk. Much to the surprise of many, being a lawyer is a lot of sitting at a desk doing nothing. He found his mind drifting back to Buffy. He wanted to ravish her and to know her better and to be with her. He didn’t know what he was going to do. She was so young, just a child basically, but he wanted her anyways. She was beautiful and the look on her face when she read the poetry… he knew it hit her. He knew that she could appreciate the beautiful things he could show her.

                He hoped she got the note with his number on it. He hoped she would call his cell at some point that day. This hollow, empty, distracting feeling gnawed at his core, keeping him from concentrating on his work. He wanted to be Spike with her.

                Spike was who he was at his core. The rebel, the bad boy. Spike was the part of him that wanted to hurt her and to have her like it. Spike was the part of him that wanted her to belong to him.

                He shoved that part of him down. He could not feel that way. She was a child! He couldn’t think those things about her. He couldn’t.

                But he also couldn’t help but want her to call.