The elevator doors slid open just as Buffy stepped inside.
She didn’t look up at first, too focused on everything else to spare a second glance. The strap of her bag slipping from her shoulder, an errant curl tickling the back of her neck, the text from Kika asking where she was, the bottle of wine she brought balanced in the crook of her arm. All distracting.
It wasn’t until the doors began to slide shut that she felt the presence of someone else. Subtle. Almost imperceptible like they were holding their breath in an effort to not startle her. Her chest tightened before her mind caught up.
She looked up.
And there he was.
Oscar stood across from her, one hand resting lightly against the railing, posture relaxed in a way that would’ve read as casual at first glance. But she saw the stillness underneath it. The pause. Almost like he’d stopped short the second she entered. His shoulders held just a fraction too steady, breath caught in this chest.
For a second, neither of them said anything. Buffy simply turned her back on him, staring blankly at the mirrored doors in front of her.
Six months. That’s how long it had been, a lull that promised to stretch for eternity had just abruptly ended in this elevator.
“Hi,” he said finally.
Buffy blinked once, like she needed the extra second to place him somewhere that wasn’t memory. “Hi.”
The doors shut fully, sealing them into the space.
It’s suffocating, too small a space for something that hasn’t been touched in months. A year ago, they’d met like this. Not in this particular elevator but something close, on the way to a similar get together. .
They had fallen into each other’s rhythm without trying.
She shifted her weight slightly, eyes flicking to the numbers above the door before settling on his reflection in the doors, close enough to see without committing to looking directly at him.
He looked the same but at the same time he didn’t
Broader, maybe? If that was even humanly possible. Not dramatically so, but enough that it registered in the way his shirt sat across his shoulders, the way the color of his shirt fought to fit his neck.
His hair was longer too, just slightly, softer at the edges curling slight against his ears and neck.
Of course she noticed the small things. The things easy enough to miss if you didn’t know him. Impossible to ignore if you did.
He smelled the same, familiar in a way that caught her off guard. It lingered faintly in the enclosed space, clean, understated, something warm underneath it. Distinctly him.
The realization rooted itself somewhere deeper in her chest than she would admit. Time hadn’t touched that part of him, she couldn’t quite tell if that made it better or worse.
“You’ve been busy,” she said, the words coming out more measured than she felt.
It sounded neutral. It wasn’t. It was pointed, a silent confrontation of what transpired between them.
Oscar nodded once. “A bit” he paused, “You too?”
Buffy huffed quietly, almost a smile but not quite. “Not exactly the same kind of busy.”
“Still counts.”
Easy. Certain. Like the rhythm between them hadn’t been broken.
She looked at him properly and for a second it slipped. It was too familiar, like no time had passed whatsoever.
The elevator hummed softly as it climbed filling the silence.
“You could’ve reached out,” she said.
It came out more direct than she intended, cutting clean through whatever fragile ease had started to form.
Oscar didn’t flinch. “Yeah.”
Simple, no excuse, not deflection. No long winded reason for why. Just yeah.
“But you didn’t ...”
“No.”
A beat stretched between them,Dense with everything they were choosing not to say.
“I thought about it,” he added.
Buffy’s expression shifted, just slightly. She tilted her head. “And you landed on not doing it at all?”
He met her eyes, steady. “Didn’t think you’d want me to.”
Honest. Simple. Far too casual for how this conversation felt.
She looked away first, facing the doors again exhaling softly. “You didn’t get to decide that for me.”
“I know.”
Another beat. The elevator dinged. Perfect timing.
The doors slid open before anything else could be said. A metaphorical period at the end of the sentence.
Buffy stepped out first.
⸻
The apartment was already alive. Warm with noise and smell, music low in the background, voices overlapping, food slowly cooking in the kitchen. Warm, inviting. Far too easy for how Buffy currently felt.
“Finally,” Kika called, appearing from the kitchen with a glass in hand as they pushed through the front door. Her eyes flicked between them, quick, entirely too observant. “You made it.”
Buffy stopped just inside the doorway, turning toward her slowly. “You didn’t tell me he was coming.”
The words slipped out in Portuguese, sharper than anything she’d said so far.
Kika didn’t even hesitate,”It didn’t seem important.” A shrug added to the tone. Buffy stared at her. Of course she was meddling.
Behind her, Pierre let out a quiet laugh, already catching onto something he absolutely did not need explained.
“Of course it was important,” Buffy muttered, switching back to English as she slipped her shoes off. “You’re unbelievable.”
Kika just smiled, Completely unapologetic, shamelessly even,“You’re welcome.”
Buffy shook her head, but there was no real heat behind it. Too distracted by how hyper aware she was that he was standing just a few steps behind her. That she could not be looking at him and still know exactly where he was.
Before dinner, they didn’t speak again. Not directly, but the familiarity was there. It threaded through everything and was impossible to ignore. They moved around each other without meaning to, like instinct hadn’t caught up to reality yet. A shift to the left to make space. A pause that lasted half a second too long. Conversations that blurred at the edges because something else was pulling focus.
Buffy caught glimpses of him without trying.
Across the room. Half-turned toward someone else. Laughing at something she didn’t hear.
The laugh hadn’t changed either.
Still soft at the start. Still fuller than he expected by the end. It hit her the same way.
Which was…so fucking annoying if she was being completely honest. And disorienting. It annoyed her in ways she couldn’t describe.
By the time they sat down for dinner, it wasn’t a surprise when they ended up next to each other. Another side effect of Kika’s meddling obviously.
Buffy didn’t comment this time. Just took her seat, smoothing her napkin over her lap like it didn’t matter.
Oscar sat beside her a second later. Close enough that it made her pulse spike.
The quiet brush of his sleeve when he reached for his glass. The warmth at her side that hadn’t been there a second ago. The same familiar, understated scent is stronger now in the closer space.
It shouldn’t have mattered. She should have been able to ignore it.
The conversation around the table flowed easily: racing, travel, plans for down time but somewhere along the way, it shifted.
It started small.
A quiet, dry comment passed just between them as Pierre animatedly tells a story they have heard dozens of times before.
“He’s told this story before,” Buffy murmurs while taking a sip of wine.
“Yeah,” he replies. “But this time it has a better ending.
She glances at him, a small roll of her eyes, “That’s not promising.”
Then the first touch.
He reaches across the table for water, hand brushing lightly against her back.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, but his hand lingers, just for a second
Buffy stills then leans into it. Barely but just enough.
Across the table, someone was watching. Then someone else.
Because it didn’t look new.
It looked practiced.
Like something that had been happening long before tonight. Like something that hadn’t learned how to stop.
After that, it becomes easier, not dramatic but constant. Hands brushing, their shoulders almost touching. Their attention drifts back to each other without meaning to.
Like they’ve fallen back into something their bodies remember better than their minds.
Later, as plates were cleared with the promise of dessert and conversations fractured into smaller groups. Buffy found herself on the edge of the balcony.
She needed air or space. Both felt like the same thing in this scenario. She needed a space that didn’t feel like it had been touched by him.
The door slid open behind her.
She didn’t turn.
“You okay out here?,” Oscar asked.
There was something in it familiar in a way that settled and unsettled all at once. Like he’d picked up a thread they never finished.
Buffy leaned against the railing, arms folded lightly. “It was oppressively hot in there.” That was half true.
He stepped up beside her, not too close, back against the railing looking into the party through the glass doors.
For a moment, they just stood there. Monaco stretched out below them, all warm light and distant movement.
“You look good,” he said.
She glanced at him. “That’s what you’re going with?”
“I had six months,” he replied. “Figured I’d start simple.”
That almost got a real smile out of her. Almost.
Silence settled again.
“You disappeared,” she said after a moment. No accusation. Just fact.
Oscar nodded slightly. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
He exhaled, gaze drifting over the party, before returning to her. “Why did you?
Buffy watched him carefully. “That’s not really an answer.”
“I know. I didn’t think,” he started, then stopped, adjusting. “I wasn’t sure what it was. And I didn’t want to mess it up.”
She studied him. “So you just… didn’t do anything?”
“When you say it like that—”
“That’s what happened,” she interjected.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
Buffy looked away, jaw tightening slightly before easing again. “It was easy. It almost felt right.”
“I know.” There it was again, the two words that had haunted the evening.
“That’s not enough for me.” ‘I know’ wasn’t an answer, it wasn’t anything. Just words.
Oscar didn’t hesitate this time. “It is for me.”
She turned back to him, caught off guard by how quickly he said it.
“That’s the difference,” she said, quieter now.
“Maybe,” he agreed. “Or maybe I just didn’t say it before.”
Buffy exhaled, shaking her head slightly as she looked back out over the city. “You can’t just say things like that now.”
“Why not?”
“Because” she stopped herself, pressing her lips together briefly. “Because it doesn’t change what already happened.”
“No,” he said. “But it changes what I do now.”
She didn’t let herself sit in it for long.
“We’ll see,” she said, softer this time. Not dismissive but not convinced. Buffy almost wasn’t sure what there were talking about anymore but she didn’t fight it.
Oscar nodded once. He didn’t push, didn’t offer more of an explanation and didn’t move closer.
He just stayed there beside her. She noticed it differently than she would have six months ago. How it felt different.
Not just that he was there but that he seemed steady, changed but somehow still distinctively Oscar.
