Fray-Adjacent

He knew, he really did, but dammit, somebody somewhere owed him this much. That for one minute, Xander could let it be what it was supposed to be when he was nineteen years old and couldn't sleep at night for wishing. That he could smell the same shampoo, feel the skritch under his fingertips of that superfuturepolyblend uniform that still can't manage not to be itchy, and rest his chin on Bridge's head and just be here.