This isn't weird.

Weird Bagel Wednesday

 It was early morning on a Wednesday, far earlier than any reasonable human being should have been awake of their own volition—6:13 AM, to be precise—and Ben was already putting on his shoes. Indigo was nearby, stretched out languidly on the couch, his palm resting on his chin in elegant repose as he stared directly into the lens of a camera he had positioned about two feet away from his own face. Neither his eyes, nor his camera, were pointed at Ben, and yet Ben could not escape the niggling feeling of being watched. And judged.

"What?" Ben finally asked as he finished tying his laces.

Indigo's eyebrow raised ever so slightly—the closest his face ever really got to wearing anything resembling an expression. "I haven't said anything," he replied in his typical monotone, but he seemed to take the acknowledgment as an invitation to reach for his camera and swivel the lens in Ben's direction.

Ben didn't seem to notice. "You don't have to say anything," he grumbled. "Your silent judgment is deafening."

"I never judge. I simply observe," Indigo replied. "Though this Wednesday morning ritual has been quite a stepchange in your behavior. I was under the impression that you despised early mornings."

"Mornings are great. I love mornings. What, are you tracking my schedule n—Oh. I see." Ben suddenly grinned. "You're just curious, huh? You want to know what I've been doing. You can just ask, you know." Indigo's response was a withering silence, and though his face betrayed nothing of it, Ben was pleased to sense that he was annoyed. "Come on, you know you want to. Just ask."

Indigo sighed. "Fine. What are you doing?"

"Weird Bagel Wednesday!" Ben replied brightly.

Once more, Indigo's eyebrow climbed a few millimeters upward. "And what, praytell, is a Weird Bagel Wednesday?"

"Exactly what it sounds like," Ben said. He took both a green shirt jacket and a blue quilted windbreaker off of the coat rack and looked between them indecisively. "This kitschy little breakfast place opened up down the street a couple months ago—it's basically just a bagel shop with delusions of grandeur. They have all these snobby, gourmet ingredients that don't belong anywhere near a bagel."

"That sounds revolting."

"Absolutely. So, on Wednesday mornings, Millie and I meet up and try to come up with the grossest, most fucked up combination of ingredients we can to put on a bagel, and see who can choke the most down. Loser buys." Ben put the green jacket back on its hook and pulled on the blue one. "Girl has an iron stomach. Hasn't lost once. But I've got a new strategy in mind this week. I'm going to create the wettest bagel possible."

"That's disgusting."

"That's the point. And the coffee's good, anyway."

"You despise coffee."

"Coffee is great. I love coffee." Ben took off the blue jacket and reached instead for a brown leather one.

"Why Wednesdays?" Indigo inquired.

"Because Miss Millie McKillip absolutely adores alliteration," Ben replied with a very particular smile.

Indigo sighed. "It's starting to become a bit tragic watching you fall over yourself for a girl in a lesbian relationship," he said.

"Wow, what happened to 'I never judge,' huh?" Ben scoffed. "I'm not falling over myself, we're just friends. And for your information, it turns out she actually is bisexual—not that it matters, because we're just friends."

"Uh huh. Just a friend that you get up at sunrise for so you can shower and shave and put on a nice shirt so you can go on your twee little breakfast dates."