Moment of emo-wankery: 1-ish a.m Thursday morning, October 20th
(ooc- Which is backtimed, but affects nothing and no-one besides Xander's character; it's really just a linky-catchup post with added angst, free of charge)
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Xander, returning from a night at the pub that lasted longer than he'd ever expected --- like two or three years longer -- waited until Marty had said goodbye and was well out of sight, before walking over to the door of Room 407 and staring at it, long and hard.
He didn't raise his hand to knock, just looked. It was late; she was probably asleep.
Asleep, and alive, and there.
Which didn't remotely explain why instead of going into his own room, Xander walked down the hall to the payphone in the stairwell, and dialed.
He listened, and hung up before the beep. Each time.
Five quarters worth, before he was finally able to head back to 406 and sleep.