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"Heard you're like suicidal now. What's up with that?"
"Who told you that?"
"Xander."
☀︎
Lilith takes Spike down to Willy's bar. Her idea of a cheering up. Willy's is this bar for demons in the sketchy part of town. Spike's already been there a few times. Lilith found it after she followed a demon she'd been tracking for an artifact deal, and she winded up at Willy's by accident.
The second she set foot in there, it was like walking into a thunderstorm of suppressed desire, shame, regret — all things she feeds on.
She's loved it since.
Lilith and Spike pick a booth by the corner. She makes him get them their drinks. As he passes her her drink, he says, "Thanks for, um, the clothes."
After the embarrassing bit of trying to use Xander's washing machine and shrinking his clothes on the process, Spike had been forced to use Xander's colorful wardrobe—which included a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts.
And so, despite how amusing it'd been for Lilith to see him this way, as a merciful act, she'd lent him clothes more suited to his style. Black jeans, black tee, black leather jacket. His usual.
She takes a sip of gin. "Belonged to an ex."
"Of course," Spike says, unsurprised. "I like the jacket."
"That's mine. You're not keeping it." She got it from this niche place rockstars used to go to back in the seventies.
He shrugs, makes himself cozier with the jacket. "I can hurt demons."
Lilith wonders if he says it as a way to indirectly remind her that he can still hurt her or if he's speaking generally. She finds it hard to reply, so she just nods.
Spike leans closer, like he's about to share an achievement with a friend. "I killed two Vahrall earlier today."
Lilith pretends to be moved. "Wow, good job! Need a pat on the back, little something more?"
