More from the "we miss writing to each other!" sessions.
A wee drabble.
Afterthoughts.
She slides like sin into the corners of his mind whenever he lets his guard down. A postcard from Tuscany, a letter from Rome, the girlish roundness of the words reminding him what being human felt like, just another memory he carries alone.
Sometimes, the memories mingle: the smell of formula and the taste of ice cream, Buffy's little gasps and whimpers, Connor's hungry wails. All the things he had and couldn't hold onto.
Connor pulled a 3.9 this quarter. Buffy's discovered the joys of hazelnut gelato and Italian men.
Angel wishes he didn't know they're better off without him.