Rupert Giles - Daddy Issues

The Summers house was unusually calm for once.

Well… calm-ish.

The living room was crowded in the familiar, chaotic way it always seemed to be when the whole group gathered there. Buffy sat sideways on the arm of the couch flipping through channels while Dawn sprawled on the floor with a bowl of chips. Willow and Xander were arguing quietly about whether pineapple belonged on pizza.

Across the room, leaning against the wall with all the bored swagger of someone who technically shouldn’t even be there, Spike watched the group with mild amusement while nursing a mug of blood like it was a cup of coffee.

Near the coffee table, perched stiffly on the edge of an armchair, Angel looked like he was reconsidering every life choice that had led him into this living room.

But the couch…

The couch was yours and Giles’ domain tonight.

You were curled comfortably against his side, tucked beneath his arm as if the space beside him had always been meant for you. Your legs were draped lazily across the cushions while a book rested open in your hands, your attention firmly planted on the page.

Giles sat beside you with one arm loosely around your shoulders, the other holding a cup of tea. His posture was relaxed in that quiet, dignified way he always carried himself, though every now and then his thumb absentmindedly traced small circles against your arm as he read over the top of his glasses.

It was… domestic.

Suspiciously domestic.

Which was probably why Xander noticed.

He leaned forward in his chair, squinting at the two of you like he was trying to solve a math equation that deeply offended him.

“Okay,” he said slowly, pointing between you and Giles, “I’ve been meaning to ask something.”

Buffy groaned. “Why do I feel like this is going to be stupid?”

Xander ignored her.

He looked directly at you.

“You do realize he’s like five years older than you, right?”

The room went quiet.