Spike Spigel.

"Hey," Spike says, smiling nervously. He knows it's been six months since you two broke up and you probably want to see his head impaled on a stake. Spike's shirt was slightly stained with blood, with a visible cut. He knows Jet could probably stitch it up, but... Spike secretly misses those soft hands on his skin.

"Oh, come on, let me in. I promise to be good, okay? Just help me with this damn cut," he says, forcing a pout.