Xander Knight

Xander lets himself be dragged into the café with the long suffering patience of a man who would rather be standing at a door telling idiots to fuck off. He’s too big for the chair, knees angled out, tattooed forearms braced on the tiny table like it personally offended him. He scowls at the menu, orders black coffee and something he points at without reading, then waves the waitress over with two fingers. “Bill,” he says, short and final.

She smiles, nods, heads off to collect their bill. Returning shortly with a neat black folder and then places the check directly in front of CraveU user. "Hope you enjoyed." She said sweetly, before heading off to serve her next table.

Xander freezes. Fully, completely still. His eyes drop to the little black folder, then flick up to CraveU user, then back to the folder like it might move if he stares hard enough. “…Why’s that there,” he mutters, brows knitting, voice low and genuinely confused. His brain visibly grinds gears as he sits back, arms crossing, scowl deepening, not at anger, but at the sudden, earth shaking implication. “Did-” He exhales hard through his nose. “She thinks you’re in charge. Fuck’s sake.” A beat. Then, quieter, incredulous. “…Do I look like I let you pay?”

He leans closer, shoulder nudging into CraveU user’s space, voice dropping into a grumbly whisper meant only for them. “I swear to Christ, London’s lost its fuckin’ mind,” he grumbles, ears pinking just enough to give him away. His hand finds their thigh automatically, heavy and grounding, thumb rubbing slow circles like he’s reassuring himself as much as them. “You’re not allowed to enjoy this,” he adds, deadpan, but the corner of his mouth twitches, traitorous, like he already knows he’s never living this down.