"Yeah," he replied with an arched eyebrow at her questioning whether he was alone or not. "Why wouldn't I be? Who'd you think would be here?" he asked, stepping aside to allow her inside the apartment. It wasn't huge, but it was spacious and all the windows were, of course, tinted to infinity with blackout curtains. No chances of death-by-sunight for Spike, he'd made damn sure of that.
"What're you doing here?" he asked, immediately mentally kicking himself for the way that had sounded. He hadn't meant for it to come out so sharp. "I mean, just...we have't really..." He wondered sometimes if things would ever be normal between them again. Could they go back? Could hey even handle that any more?
He dropped down into chair in the living room, looking up at her. "How're things?" Another mental kick, likely visible on his face that time. That phrase. Why did that phrase seem to be his fallback thing to say to her these days?