It was saturday, a few minutes after two and Rogue found himself counting the minutes. It shouldn’t take so much, he thought. And then, when the clock’s minute hand reached the seven it happened. There was a sound at his back and Rogue didn’t even turn around to look at it, his eyes still glued to the TV.
“How can you keep failing your spell?” He said, while a weight dropped at his side on the couch. “And how have you not been kicked from that class already?” “Hey, it’s saturday, they don’t need to know about those… incidents. And that’s why I need to keep practicing! So I could make it right when they test me.” “I wish I could talk to them, so I could tell them you keep dropping at my house without being invited. Maybe then you would stop” “If it annoys you so much why do you keep doing extra food?” Said the blond then, while taking one of the dishes over the coffee table near. “It’s just leftovers” “Sure. That’s why it’s still warm and all”
Rogue shrugged, refusing to answer and pretending he didn’t see the smile on the other one’s lips.
“You know” the blond added “if you keep doing this I’ll end by thinking you actually want me to drop by your house every saturday” “In your dreams, failed teleporter” was Rogue answer, but inside he thought that maybe that wouldn’t be a terrible idea.
And I think that’s got something to do with the way Russell just tweaked it. And he didn’t change much; and it’s the same show it always was. But he gave it… I don’t know, an emotional accessibility. He gave it a heart, or two… And it always had but he managed to find a way so that it connected with an audience in the twenty-first century. And I think it’s Russell’s fault that we’re all here.