Room 406, Tuesday evening

[soldtoarmenians]

Xander sat on the edge of his bed, laptop on his knee. He wasn't typing, or reading really either, though he was scanning up and down a snarky review of the latest Mr. What episode and idly noting where he should be cracking up if he were actually paying attention to it. Which he wasn't. He was mostly just... not taking down posters.

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[Open for visitors after Isabel leaves; just if Willow's here, nobody else is; you either came before or after her.]