#fjdkfjksdjf

Xander’s at work right now, much deeper into the still-unfamiliar city that’s strikingly more gray than Windmire’s black. And Inigo, just a short while ago, got back from a dance class he found nearby. He’d like to say he’s going to a rehearsal tonight, but… Well, he’s between jobs.

He doesn’t really have connections in this part of Nohr. It was a struggle to get them for a while in Windmire, and he made the poor assumption that because he already went through that once, he wouldn’t again. Inigo’s been beating himself up for not asking around more to see if there were any friends-of-friends around here when he had the chance. Anxiety and freelancing unfortunately do not go hand-in-hand.

He hasn’t been completely jobless, but he’s certainly not busy at the moment. It’s harder to get a shoe in for contracts and auditions when he’s relatively unknown. And even if he’s been socializing in his classes to try and make some meaningful connections, so is everyone else, and Inigo is really great at flubbing things up.

Xander keeps telling him not to feel guilty—it’s always a possibility to be without work for a while with a job like this, and Xander makes more than enough to keep them afloat. But it’s hard to help it. Inigo was hoping he’d have gotten into a groove by now, yet he very much hasn’t, and it’s hard not to feel guilty using Xander’s money for his own things.

Not that moping by the sea is improving his situation whatsoever. But it’s pretty, it smells nice. And if nothing else is lovely in this gray city, at least the gray ocean has a charm. He doesn’t get to see it often.

Inigo’s outside longer than he realizes, because he gets a text from Xander asking where he is. He’s probably home, then—whoops. He tells him he’s by the ocean side, and asks if he should come back, but Xander doesn’t reply. So Inigo stays put, sitting quietly on his blanket, until he hears footsteps from behind.

Expectedly, it’s Xander. “You found me,” Inigo says lightly, scooting over a bit to make room. Xander sits down next to him, still in his stuffy work clothes, and he kisses Inigo’s temple lightly.

“You weren’t too hard to spot.” Which is fair, since Inigo’s like, the only person out here. It’s cold today—and Xander’s nice and warm, so Inigo certainly doesn’t mind the company. He leans into him, eyes still on the ocean, loneliness drifting away for a while.

“How was work?” Inigo asks. He’s still surprised it’s gotten so late. He’s not usually the sit-still-and -close-your-mouth type, but he’s feeling awfully sluggish today. So perhaps that’s why.

Xander sighs. “Fine,” he says. “Work.”

“Ah, yeah. At least you’re done now.” Xander’s work clothes are also gray, sometimes black, and sometimes Inigo gets him to wear a colorful tie. But he’ll always have a shock of blond that keeps him standing out. Inigo’s just the opposite, hair gray and dull, but he likes to wear blues and greens and whites. Sometimes purple, too, because his mother likes it most.

Xander puts his arm not quite around Inigo, but sets it down behind him so it crosses over his back. “How did your class go?”

Inigo shrugs. “Good, it was good. Pretty fun today, we worked on new stuff.” He inhales, then slumps. “I, uh. I’m kind of sort of making some friends?” It’s hard to be a socialite when the one tactic he had is completely off the board, now. Getting married kind of kills the flirting game. Not that he always got the best results with that, anyway.

Xander hums. He leans into Laslow, too. “I’m glad it’s coming along.”

“Ah, that’s a good term for it.”

A cold and slightly wet wind comes by, and they both shiver. Even if you can’t see the sun in Nohr, the nights are still colder than the days, and the evening is rolling in without a second thought. It was already chilly, but it’s getting chilly chilly.

“What are you doing out here?” Xander asks, and Inigo chews on his cheek. There’s why is he out here, and why has been out here for so long, which are two different questions with two different answers.

And despite what he asked, Xander’s probably looking for the latter. “I… Just got lost thinking, for a while,” he says. He looks down at his knees, covered by soft blue sweats and not doing a great job at keeping the cold out. “Wishing I’d get a call back, or something.”

Xander does put his arm around Inigo now, rubbing his arm gently. It warms him up a bit, and Inigo goes on. “There's this terrible feel of… Isolation, that I've got. Like—if you and I weren’t doing this together, what would I be doing? Living in a hovel and eating stale bread, workless as I’ve been?” He huffs, and cuddles into himself. “I hate having nothing to do.”

Xander scowls, in a very cute way that involves his lips scrunching a bit as his eyebrows lower. “You aren’t alone, there’s no point in giving what-ifs attention,” he says. “I’m here, I don’t mind. Take your time.”

“I know, I know,” Inigo says with a pout. “And I’d rather you here than not. It’s just—boring. And depressing. And you work for entirely too long, I get lonely.” That being, Xander works a respectable nine-to-five which he’ll only sometimes come back late from, since Inigo pesters him immensely otherwise.

Xander gives a small and considerate looking grin. "Maybe I'll try harder to beat the traffic next time," he says, which is nice. “Do you have plans for tomorrow yet?”

Inigo’s classes are every other day with a three-day weekend, so when a fraction of his time isn’t taken up by that, he’s sort of left open ended. Not that Xander doesn't work tomorrow, though, so he can't count on his company until later.

“I might go to the gym?” Inigo says, since he’d much rather be ready than not if he does end up getting a proper contract. “And, uh—if we need anything, I could go shopping, too.” Xander thinks for a moment, and so does Inigo—and then he completely hangs his head. “I feel like—like, I’m all washed up. Don’t I sound washed up? Am I still young enough to say I’m not old enough for this? ”

And Xander does not seem to appreciate the comment. “You aren’t washed up,” he says firmly, then frowns. “You were doing fine in Windmire.”

“But I feel like I am, and that makes all the difference.” Inigo throws out an arm, like he’s presenting himself. “Look at me. Sitting dramatically by an ocean, on a dark cloudy day, getting rained on—”

“Is it raining?” Xander says, interrupting Inigo’s self-deprecating rant and glancing up to the sky.

Inigo lets it go pretty seamlessly. “Oh, it has been. Only a little.”

Xander looks similarly unamused. “We’re going back inside,” he decides, and starts standing, leaving Inigo quite cold and alone.

“What? Nooo,” he says, since he was slightly enjoying the miserable feel. “I shouldn’t have mentioned that.”

Xander extends a hand to Inigo. “You’ll get yourself sick.”

Inigo just looks at his hand for a moment. And then he frowns, and takes it, and as he’s pulled to his feet he grumbles, “I won’t get sick.”

“You will,” Xander says, meaning Laslow didn’t mumble his grumble enough. “And then you’ll sulk around the apartment feeling useless all day.”

Laslow snatches up his blanket from the rocks. “I do that anyway.”

They start walking back together. Xander looks pretty cold in just his button up, so maybe it’s better they do. It’ll only be getting colder, after all.

And Inigo guesses—even if he’s feeling guilty and washed up, and even if he’s antsy all day and anxious all night—