Fray-Adjacent

The last time Xander missed a really important call, he'd had no other excuse than not hearing the ringtone over his hometown falling into a sinkhole around his ears.

This time, at least he could say it wasn't his fault. The thing hadn't given so much as a buzz in the last two days -- which was actually kind of ridiculous, like half his construction clients had decided to go on vacation or something -- and then all of a sudden the message light was blinking at him from atop the pizza box he hadn't even opened yet.

Funny how, once he'd let it play, Xander really didn't give a crap that it wasn't his fault (or even entirely believe that, because... because there should've been something.)

He wasn't much in the mood for pizza anymore, either.
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[Open for texts/calls/people who live in THE FUTURE. Mmm, pizza.]

Doing maintenance and reconstruction for SPD wasn't exactly like being the construction crew for Team Buffy, but it was still a small enough staff that Xander was pretty sure nobody would be around to yell at him for having a seat on the bottom rung of his ladder and making some calls. It sure as hell beat actually watching the paint dry.

[OOC: Open for twinkiephone contact, the singular of spice, or anybody else who happens to be wandering the hallways of 2024.]

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.]

The weeks leading up to and following graduation had been... busy was not the word. Or well, it was one of the words, along with eventful, Fandomtastic, scary, heart-stopping, sad, worrying, nostalgia-inducing, work-filled, relieving, newsy, romantic, and occasionally MA-rated. Some of which weren't words, but whatever. It all added up to Xander not having had a chance to just flop down and vegetate in front of the tv for quite a while.

So.

Space Battles. He was almost up to the metal bikini.

[OOC: For the BFF. Will also be a linkdrop soonish, la.]

No matter how busy a day certain people might have had today (or yesterday, for that matter), at some point after the ice cream, there comes the bedtime. No, really.

[OOC: For the B-word people and eventually someone else. Whose name is not Madrox, Fray, Weasley, Cooper, Blank, Cox, Krevlornswath, or Animal. *waits to see who I forgot*]

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.]

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.]

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.]