Fray-Adjacent

If Bridge and Xander slept in really, really late and are still kind of lazing around in bed, well, it's been a long, busy week. And if they're still really, really sleepy, well, yesterday was prom night, and Xander had visiting royalty in his bed. You do the math.

[For the B-word-persons.]

Okay, Xander, not usually a candlelight kind of guy, but then today's not exactly a usual kind of day. When you've been dating somebody for eighty-five years, give or take one, or possibly that's the other way around, your anniversary ought to be a little out of the ordinary, right?

Right, a little. Right. So Xander's taken the time to set up various things picked up on the mainland yesterday, as well as one retrieved from the Post Office, express mail from Brazil. The apartment's flickering with soft gold light, and Xander's waiting more than a little nervously for Bridge to let himself in.

This is a good idea, right? Right. Really. Right. Right.

[OOC: For the soon to be bewildered b-word-person. That Bridge showed up is fine for broadcast, what he finds... not so much. Eventually NWS.]

Despite Willow's closing rhyme, Xander had walked home slowly after radio, thinking about... well, a little bit of everything. Fandom weirdness. Upcoming graduations. Sooner-coming anniversaries. Nanaimo bars.

What? He had to pass Luke's Diner.

When he lets himself into the apartment, he's glad to see Bridge's jacket draped over the back of a couch, but most of the lights are out. There's a dim glow from the master bedroom, and he follows it back there, quietly pushing the door open. The lamp on the nightstand is turned down to its lowest setting, just bright enough to make out the shape of Bridge's face in sleep, half pressed into the pillow.

After this morning's wake-up call, Xander doesn't have the heart to disturb him. Instead, he just stands in the doorway for a long time, watching the shift of the covers, rising and falling to the slow, steady sound of Bridge's breath.

Finally, he turns and walks back to the living room, pulling out his laptop to tap out one last e-mail before returning to crawl under the covers himself.

To: wrosenberg@councilofwatchers.co.uk
From: purplefrog@yahoo.com
Subject: Do not ask. Never, never ask.

Dear Willow:

I didn't lick the frog. Do you know a spell to....


...love, Xander

__
[Linkstaaaablishy! B-word-person modded with permission.]

So after this morning, Xander had a pretty good idea what he'd end up doing with the rest of his day. And definitely wouldn't be doing with his evening. Well, actually, there are any number of things he won't be doing, like ingesting things with umbrellas, drunk-dialing Parker, reading the news, opening the office, or renovating a brothel, but if you narrow the category to Stuff One Does In One's Apartment With One's Boyfriend then it gets a little more obvious.

But hey, there are other Things One Can Do. Or, more accurately, Things Two Can Do. Like have a nice nutritious dinner.

Spaghettios are nutritious, right?

[OOC: For the wee b-word-person.]

If Xander's been a little clingy today - like "Call me when you get out of class and come straight back here plz" clingy - who's going to mock him for it? After landing on your ass in Prohibition-Era Chicago, not knowing what might happen if the folks in Fandom didn't find a way to get you all home, and spending a month away from everyone you know -- give or take seventy-five years -- you'd be clingy too.

Possibly not at the same time with the same person because that way leads to confusion and the establishment of hard and fast rules about not groping Marty Blank. Not dirty.

So anyway, yeah. There might be a couch and some popcorn and somebody attached to somebody else's side in a not entirely unlimpetlike manner.

[OOC: For Marty! No, wait.]

After everything that had been going on this week, Xander knew better than to wander around town alone, but staying inside the building was making him want to wear a circular track in the lobby carpet as he read and re-read the letters from the past he'd received from Mel, Willow and Bridge, trying to see if there was some clue he was missing because he wasn't Willow or Bridge. He wasn't the brains of the operation. He was the guy who was okay with an axe and getting better with a crossbow again and awesome at providing sarcasm and pastries, none of which was going to get the people he loved back from the past.

Eventually, he shook his head and headed up to the roof, letters in hand. At least there he could get some air and maybe think a little clearer, and he'd have the best view in town; not like he wouldn't see any angel statues heading for the building, from that high up. He leaned against the waist-high wall overlooking the streets below, smoothing out Bridge's second letter, the one that made him want to punch bricks, to re-read it yet again.

[OOC: For one. Muahaha.]

Xander was all for radio when there was good news to report. He didn't even hold a grudge when the squirrels caught him drunk or talking about porn.

Zoe's announcement however? He could live without news like that. And when only one of his phone calls got any kind of an answer, Xander threw his laptop into its bag and headed down to the school to hit the library. Hopefully Willow just wasn't answering her phone because she was holed up there, right?

[OOC: Estaaaablishy, though Xander's call with Bridge is still being played out.]

Xander woke with fur pressed against the tip of his nose, which wasn't unusual in recent days, but it took him a second to remember Oh yeah, Bridge is a sparkly ball of light this week, not a ferret. Also, not here.

The other option, therefore, was -- he flipped on the bedside lamp and grinned as he picked up Notzilla.

"This is the frog that I got from my boyfriend, isn't he greeeeeeen?
I sleep with him when I'm not with my boyfriend, isn't that keeeeee-

ARRRRGHGHGHG NO NO NO NOT AGAIN NO! WHERE IS THE FRAKKING DUCT TAPE?"

Stuffed frog: dropped. Drawer near the bed: rooted frantically through. Previous sentence: ended with a preposition.

Duct tape: located.

Duct tape: cuddled and hugged.

Duct tape: held aloft as Xander ( started to sing )


And then he sighed through his nose and went looking for a whiteboard.

[OOC: NFI, totally FB. OOC=shiny. Like duct tape. It always said Tuesday.]

This time, Xander didn't get stuck to the couch. He's expecting the boyfriend back, after all, and there's still... well, eight hours or so of Spring Break left. Sort of.

So he spent the evening in the kitchen. There's like, real food. Real "this came from a cow, and next to it is this thing they discovered in the New World called a potato and damn does it all smell good" food.

The only challenge is, well, not eating it before Bridge gets here.

[OOC: For the sparkly-ball-of-light-friend. Oh PR.]