Nervously, Angel fidgets, watching her untie the satin ribbon. This year, Buffy’s birthday is unnerving for reasons other than the usual carnage. She doesn’t know that yet, though.

Buffy glances up. Frowns. “You okay?”

Damned memories. “Yeah,” he reassures her. Adds, “If you don’t want it, you don’t have to...”

She looks wary. His heart is pounding. He’d be thrilled at that if he didn’t feel like throwing up.

The world centres on a velvet box. A tiny, simple ring.
“Marry me,” he forces out.

And just like that, the old gloom dissipates, and birthdays will never be the same.