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Over the weeks since he and Willow had gotten back together, Oz had grown used to having lunch with Xander. Willow often spent her lunch hour studying or helping a teacher, and Buffy was usually in the library with Giles, so the two of them were left to their own devices.

Most often, Oz tuned Xander out. They both had an interest in comic books, so sometimes they talked about those. They never talked about Willow. Apparently they were two manly men who didn't discuss the fact that they had both kissed the same girl, and that was fine with Oz.

Today Xander's monologue had something to do with a scuffle he had gotten into on the quad with Jack O'Toole. This raised some minor interest, since Oz couldn't imagine why Jack O'Toole would even notice Xander, and the somewhat confused explanation of a football accident was more unusual yet, given Xander's lack of skill in any kind of sport.

"I don't know," Xander was saying. "Maybe I should just move on, and stop thinking about it, but I'm not sure I can. I mean, there he was, just standing there, and I've got, what, three inches on him, and he's backing me down like I'm some kind of spineless … thing without a spine."

"Huh," Oz said.

"You're right, he's just … Jack O'Toole. I shouldn't let it bother me."

"Hm."

"No, that's a good point—I should figure out what it is that he has that I don't. I mean, I know what it is. Cool. Jack O'Toole is cool, and Xander Harris is, emphatically, not. Born without it. Should just let it go, forget about it, right?"

Oz considered that for a moment. "Maybe."

"But … it's just that it's buggin' me, this cool thing. I mean, what is it? How do you get it? Who doesn't have it? And who decides who doesn't have it? What is the essence of cool?"

Moderately intrigued, Oz gave that some actual thought, but it wasn't something he'd ever felt the need to define. "Not sure."

"I mean, you yourself, Oz, are considered more or less cool." Xander studied him like a bug under a microscope for a moment, then shook his head, clearly not seeing it. "Why is that?"

Oz offered, "Am I?" It wasn't something he particularly tried to be. He mostly just didn't care what people thought, or at least, about what the general population thought. As long as he was a guy he was comfortable looking in the eye every morning, that was good enough for him.

"Is it about the talking? You know, the way you tend to express yourself in short, noncommittal phrases?"

If it was, Xander could give up all hope of ever being cool; lack of talking was never going to be his defining characteristic. "It could be."

"No—you're in a band! That's like a business class ticket to cool with complimentary mojo after takeoff." Xander ran with that for a moment. "I've gotta learn an instrument. Is it hard to play guitar?"

Oz shook his head. "Not the way I play it." For him, it was more the experience of playing than the sound, which never quite got exactly where he wanted it.

"Okay, but on the other hand … eighth grade, I'm taking the flugelhorn and getting zero trim. So the whole instrument thing could be a mistake."

It was amazing the way Xander talked himself into and out of things. Oz continued to be astonished at the deep bond between this guy, all over the place, almost proud of his lack of achievement, and his sweet, brilliant, overachieving Willow. Maybe that was why—maybe because Xander loved her even when she broke things and did badly in class, a luxury her parents had never offered her. Oz loved her that way, too, but he could sense that she wanted to seem her best for him, and that she could relax more around Xander, knowing he had already seen all the lesser parts of her.

"I need a thing," Xander said. "One thing nobody else has. What do I have?"

Well, that was the question, wasn't it? Xander was always looking for his own identity, never sure of who he was or what he had to offer. Since Oz really wasn't sure who Xander was, he didn't think he was much help. "An exciting new obsession," he answered. "Which I feel makes you very special."

Xander nodded. "Now with the mocking. Which I can handle because I know I'm right about this. I'm on the track. I just need to find my thing."

He wasn't wrong, so Oz offered some actual thoughts. Helping Xander helped Willow, in the end, and might make Xander more interesting to hang out with. "It seems like you're overthinking it. I mean, you've got some identity issues—it's not atypical. I mean, everyone does, more or less."

"But you don't—"

Oz cut him off with a look, a look that said, "Hello, werewolf?"

"Huh," Xander said. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm overthinking it. Still … a little contemplation never hurt."

"I suppose not." Oz got up and retrieved his lunch tray. "Good luck figuring it out."