Fray-Adjacent

You know what you should probably take away from an almost-six year old person who, after a very busy day (and a very busy week) has already had dinner and dessert?

A phone that makes Twinkies.

For several reasons, all of them obvious.

--
[OOC: Making a specific call, but open for anybody who wants weetiny Xander to ring them.]

There's popcorn, there's soda, there's two guys sprawled on the couch on a work-free Thursday evening. Everybody knows what that means, right?

Right - it's Call And Torment Parker Night!

After all, there've been a few minor changes in plans, and while some people waited to leave the island until after they'd heard about them, some people left last year. So they deserve to get tormented.

Or possibly it's just fun.

[OOC: This post is brought to you by the letters B and P, and the number aleph-null. Someday when it grows up it will be a linkdrop.]

Xander is exhausted when he finally makes it back to his apartment, and not the good kind of engagement-announcing, Parker-tormenting, hard work and butt-bow-threatening kind of exhaustion.

No, this would be more the missing fiancé, teleporting to Greece, climbing Mount Olympus, hey-let's-play 20-questions-with-the-gods kind of exhaustion. Plus there was hopscotch.

You'd think some of that would go away after he discovered Bridge had been rescued, but not so much. Xander's still bone-weary with worry, and probably will be until he makes it inside and sees him face-to--- "Bridge?"

[OOC: For he whose name is on Xander's ass. Still not you, Jamie.]

Ray was right. Sitting down wasn't a problem. Leaning back was a problem. Which was why Xander was sprawled out on his stomach on the living room rug, tapping away at his laptop.

Dear Willow:

You missed underwear gnomes. And people being shirtless in the park. And I miss you and I got a (top secret) tattoo. These things are only indirectly related. And also something else but I invoke BFF privilege #23 to not tell you what until later in exchange for you being the first person I tell when later happens.

How's tricks by you?

love,
Xander

It would be wrong to send it to himself and BCC both of them. But not like special hell wrong, so he hit Send.

[Linkdroppy, but open for the BFF if she wants to reply!]

It's late, and it's dark, and Xander ought to be asleep. Even on a globe-hopping island, you can't party all night every night. He's got an office to open tomorrow. Calls to make, since his other business is finally picking up some speed again this summer.

He should be getting some rest -- it's not like the other person in his bed is keeping him awake. Bridge, after moving his stuff back from the cabins, dumping it in his room, then making his way across town for a late dinner, is out like the proverbial light - and the real ones too.

It's late, and it's dark, and Xander ought to be asleep, but he's not. He's sitting with his back against the headboard, the window open to let in the suddenly misty air, watching Bridge's chest rise and fall. Thinking about more people he loves leaving, growing up in another direction from the way she'd grown in another dimension, but still, up. About the fact that they'll be leaving at the end of the summer. Both of them. He'd add hopefully to that, but Xander realizes he can't picture a future that doesn't have both of them in it.

[OOC: Mostly stablishy, but also for the modded-with-permission B-word-person]

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

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[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.]

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.]

Like last weekend, Xander had spent this one with his boyfriend. Unlike last weekend, said boyfriend was in no condition to do any... practice-exam-taking. As you do on Spring Break weekends. Instead, there was a lot of ice cream, ear-skritching, DVD-watching, and working up plans for a closet-remodel.

At least he still had a warm body to sleep with? Even if half the time he woke up with a furry tail tickling the end of his nose.

Which, oddly, isn't happening right now. Xander's 7/8ths asleep, so he isn't quite registering what's wrong with that, but his fingers are already patting around on the pillow reaching for something that isn't there.

"Mrrf?"
__
[OOC: For the furry tail-owner. Up early for great OMG a weekend away from RP - withdrawal! Withdrawal!]