I could have sworn you wrote a fic where Charles ad Erik visited Canton and David in an effort to recruit them where Erik effectively crushed Canton's balcony and put it back together again, but since I can't find it, I would like to know what went through your head writing this:
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Canton and his fucking gadgets. David's sure Canton's smiling smugly in his office, knowing that his TARDIS-inspired propensity for staying on top of the latest technological trends has once again proven a boon. He had all their music digitized years ago. David had rolled his eyes at the time, but it has proven useful. Both their record collections are contained neatly on the house computer, easily accessible from their laptops. They're legends at the local Apple Store. Apparently there aren't many couples in their seventies who keep up to date on the latest technology and even fewer who can out-genius the kids at the Genius Bar.
It's making this easier, of course, but he almost wishes it was harder, wishes he was sitting in a room surrounded by dusty old boxes of records instead of sitting at a computer and scanning haphazardly through fifty years of their history while keeping one eye on his email.
He doesn't even know where to start, scrolling absently through their massive music library. He sighs and leaves the mouse be, closing his eyes to scan through memories instead. It might be easier this way, thinking of the soundtrack of single moments.
Like their first fight. David sitting in his shitty apartment, listening to the radio and bemoaning the fact that he was head over heels for some stuck-up, snot-nosed rich white boy who apparently had no problem choosing some high society party over a date they had planned weeks ago.
In the present, he laughs and opens his eyes. Stupid. They were both stupid back then, stupid and young and wrapped up in themselves and the world's expectations for them. That fight would end when Canton showed up, drunk and soaked and pouting at one a.m., trying to explain what was done and what wasn't done and his complicated relationship with his father, all while waving his hands in complicated motions that he clearly thought would translate his drunken ramblings. At the time, David thought it was a stupid idea to let him stay the night, but he did anyway. Now he knows that's just Canton--stubborn and ridiculous and following his own fucked-up moral compass with intense loyalty to the people he calls his own, even if he doesn't agree with them half the time.
He puts his hand on the mouse again and adds "Why Do Fools Fall In Love?" to a new playlist that he titles, with a shot of joy and trepidation, wedding must-haves.
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Canton and his fucking gadgets. David's sure Canton's smiling smugly in his office, knowing that his TARDIS-inspired propensity for staying on top of the latest technological trends has once again proven a boon. He had all their music digitized years ago. David had rolled his eyes at the time, but it has proven useful. Both their record collections are contained neatly on the house computer, easily accessible from their laptops. They're legends at the local Apple Store. Apparently there aren't many couples in their seventies who keep up to date on the latest technology and even fewer who can out-genius the kids at the Genius Bar.
It's making this easier, of course, but he almost wishes it was harder, wishes he was sitting in a room surrounded by dusty old boxes of records instead of sitting at a computer and scanning haphazardly through fifty years of their history while keeping one eye on his email.
He doesn't even know where to start, scrolling absently through their massive music library. He sighs and leaves the mouse be, closing his eyes to scan through memories instead. It might be easier this way, thinking of the soundtrack of single moments.
Like their first fight. David sitting in his shitty apartment, listening to the radio and bemoaning the fact that he was head over heels for some stuck-up, snot-nosed rich white boy who apparently had no problem choosing some high society party over a date they had planned weeks ago.
In the present, he laughs and opens his eyes. Stupid. They were both stupid back then, stupid and young and wrapped up in themselves and the world's expectations for them. That fight would end when Canton showed up, drunk and soaked and pouting at one a.m., trying to explain what was done and what wasn't done and his complicated relationship with his father, all while waving his hands in complicated motions that he clearly thought would translate his drunken ramblings. At the time, David thought it was a stupid idea to let him stay the night, but he did anyway. Now he knows that's just Canton--stubborn and ridiculous and following his own fucked-up moral compass with intense loyalty to the people he calls his own, even if he doesn't agree with them half the time.
He puts his hand on the mouse again and adds "Why Do Fools Fall In Love?" to a new playlist that he titles, with a shot of joy and trepidation, wedding must-haves.
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