What box do you get put in?
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ugh. badnosleep... spent the majority of last night, despite being incredibly tired, thinking over every possible goddamn outcome of what could happen if i go to see little shop in leeds, including...
a) it all being a lie and him not being in it at all.
b) him sneaking out early (as usual) and us missing him completely
c) me losing it entirely a second time.
d) actually managing to be coherent and ask, sensibly and calmly, about the Fic. (this is the ultimate goal. it's bugging the hell out of me.)
e) managing to hold a decent conversation over coffee with him, along with whoever else might be going with me. (ha! that'd be bloody wonderful, but incredibly unlikely...)
f) myriad others i can't remember and probably don't want to either...
and this went on for a good, oh, 3 hours. punctuated by random mutterings of "oh, this is ridiculous" and "i want to sleeeeep, goddammit!" and, with slightly more regular monotony, "allan is a dead man. seriously..." although quite how i'm going to achieve that is anyone's guess.
so i'm very tired. and being struck, still, by the same random images from last night, and reading a spuffy fic on FFN where spike mentions in passing about not having to wear a suit since the 40s, which set me going again. really. not. helpful.
bloody allan. bloody jeremy. bloody sleep...