Spike was in a bit of a state himself lately. He had gone from sacrificing himself to save the world to being a ghost in Angel's office in L.A. to some new end-of-the-world game in an alternate universe. There were fictional people, people he knew from different points in time than himself, the entire place was upside down from what he knew back home. Of all the people from back home that were around, Andrew was the one he seemed to talk to most. The kid--who, Spike had to remind himself, wasn't as much of a kid as he remembered--had somehow managed to squirm his way into some sort of pseduo kid brother spot with Spike. Everyone else seemed to be busy with their own things, which normally wouldn't have bothered him as much, but all things considered, the massive space wasn't exactly appreciated at this point. So, he'd found friends, distractions, people to focus on and keep his mind off other things. And it worked. Mostly.
She was always on his mind in some capacity, though. That's how he was when it came to Buffy. She brought out that obsessive part of him. It wasn't her fault, but he couldn't really stop it, either. It was a vicious cycle that he wasn't sure how to stop.
And as if on cue, there she was. The knock at the door was no surprise, in the sense that he knew she was there. Why she was, though, he wasn't sure. They'd hardly talked lately. He sighed. He couldn't avoid her forever, and he'd been complaining about not seeing her, right? Wouldn't make much sense if he blew her off now that she was here, would it? He pulled the door open, "Hey," he said, trying to sound casual, which was weird because he couldn't really manage casual with her.