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Cal has a new book.

This one is different from the others. He didn't choose it to learn something about someone else, or someone else's world. He didn't choose it at all. Bar gave it to him, about two hours ago, and he's reading it with a deeper level of absorption than he's ever had with any book.

It's an autobiography. The author is one Calvin Chandler, Junior.

He's been reading for so long that his head and vision are swimming. He may not want a distraction, but he needs one before he gives himself a headache.

tinytag: hey arnold

[OOC: Open for as long as it's on the front page.]

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Sam nods, leaning his head a little against the top of Cal's.

"I can understand that." It's how he tends to feel talking to mortals, if he lets himself feel it.

"It's not your fault, though."

"I know," Cal says. "It's not really - it's some kind of fucked-up survivor's guilt, I guess. Limited Milliways Edition."

He falls silent for a moment, thinking of the talk he had just a little while ago with Nathan Petrelli. Nathan's circumstances are eerily similar to his. Killed trying to do the right thing, stuck now in Milliways knowing he won't see his children again.

"Being dead here really sucks."

"More 'reviver's guilt', really," he comments.

Ba-dum-chssh. What, Cal thought he had the monopoly on terrible jokes?

He twists Cal's hair gently in his fingers.

Cal shrugs a little. Okay. He can take a hint when he (thinks) he hears one.

"That was terrible," he mutters.

"It really was," Sam admits, letting himself lean a little more against Cal. "Sorry."

"Are not," Cal says. No one who apologizes for a bad joke is ever really sorry.

"Am too!"

So there, Cal Chandler!

Slight smile.

"Okay. If you insist."

The occasional graceful concession never hurt anyone.

Also, one has to be in a specific kind of mood to be ready to go countless rounds of Preschool Debate. Cal is not in it right now.

Sam kisses the top of his head.

Gently, "Pillock."

Cal looks up at him, confused.

"What'd I do now?"

There's usually at least logical context for the friendly name-calling.

"Were you," Sam informs him cheerily.

"What, I need an excuse to call you a pillock, now?"

"Apparently not," Cal says. "You know, you're not exactly bolstering my self-esteem over here." He sulks at Sam.

It's not quite as hard to keep the smirk down as it usually is. By which the narrative means that he actually manages to do it.

Sam hangs his head. "I am so misunderstood."

"You just like getting away with calling people names," Cal counters.

Pause.

"...Well, yes, that too."

:D?

"I knew it." Cal rolls his eyes. "I get to have all the cool friends." He shifts a little in his chair. "You sure you're comfortable up there?"

"Yup!" he says easily.

Beat.

"I'm flexible."

Pause.

". . . I'm sure you are."

Neutral tone is neutral.

(This means it is neither approving nor disapproving.)

Sam just chuckles, looking particularly angelic.

Cal rolls his eyes again. That set of muscles is getting a workout today.

He sticks his tongue out!

Those muscles probably won't, though. Alas.

Cal reaches up and grabs it.

It's been long enough since he's done that that he figures it's the most unpredictable response.

Sam promptly pushes his head forward to lick Cal's fingers.

...What?

Cal groans and lets go, wiping his fingers on Sam's shirt.

Yes, saliva from someone you've made out with before can still be disgusting. It's all about context.

Sam smirks at him.

"You've changed your tune."