[ It's a microwave dinner and paper grading night. But in Emma Frost style, the red pen is a marbled fountain pen and the microwave dinner came a private chef. All of that temporarily set aside. Because her eyes are being assaulted by a only-somewhat-in-focus photo of her boyfriend doing his best, dearest, most awful impression of an Instagram selfie. Which she knows he's proud of, and had to work himself up to take.
It makes the thing all the more endearing. Even if she can't stop staring at the thing.
To her own surprise, too, because the room is so much emptier without him. She's chosen the decor and the design, and finds it clinically bare without his presence in it. So to see his face, even at a bad angle that does nothing to show off his good side, causes a smile to her face.
This boy. This poor, stupid boy. ]
We do know several teleporters. I could be there soon.
[ Is what she eventually sends back to him. Having had to bite on the twin impulses to tell him 'no' and 'Logan isn't satisfying company?'. Because she's gone soft and domestic, and had two glasses of Proseco already. ]
[ It took about an hour, some showering, some artfully tousled hair that he went back and forth in the mirror about, a perfect angle of his pajama pants... it was a little difficult. There's about ten previous photos before he got the one good enough to send to Emma... look, it was a lot of work.
But he's proud when he sends it, imagining Emma's reply and it makes something in his chest clench just a little in affection. God, he loves that woman, and he misses her. It seems a little ridiculous to get her to teleport all the way this way but...
No, no. He can't do that every time he has a twinge of loneliness. ]
I'd rather not let them all know we're in the middle of a booty call. I can wait a little longer.
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fshgshg
[ It's a microwave dinner and paper grading night. But in Emma Frost style, the red pen is a marbled fountain pen and the microwave dinner came a private chef. All of that temporarily set aside. Because her eyes are being assaulted by a only-somewhat-in-focus photo of her boyfriend doing his best, dearest, most awful impression of an Instagram selfie. Which she knows he's proud of, and had to work himself up to take.
It makes the thing all the more endearing. Even if she can't stop staring at the thing.
To her own surprise, too, because the room is so much emptier without him. She's chosen the decor and the design, and finds it clinically bare without his presence in it. So to see his face, even at a bad angle that does nothing to show off his good side, causes a smile to her face.
This boy. This poor, stupid boy. ]
We do know several teleporters. I could be there soon.
[ Is what she eventually sends back to him. Having had to bite on the twin impulses to tell him 'no' and 'Logan isn't satisfying company?'. Because she's gone soft and domestic, and had two glasses of Proseco already. ]
look he is a DISASTER and now i am back
But he's proud when he sends it, imagining Emma's reply and it makes something in his chest clench just a little in affection. God, he loves that woman, and he misses her. It seems a little ridiculous to get her to teleport all the way this way but...
No, no. He can't do that every time he has a twinge of loneliness. ]
I'd rather not let them all know we're in the middle of a booty call. I can wait a little longer.
How are you?