INTRO LOG

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[[Exactly what it says on the tin! This is just an initial log to sort of get things started and is largely freeform, open to (but not limited to):

-Meetings before classes start
-First day business
-Dorm shenanigans meetings
-First classes in progress
-or whatever the heck else you want to do for beginning-of-term things!

There's a CR meme up now for some initial planning if you like, or feel free to just hop in here.]]

Comments

[ex_outofcontrol435]

How is it a detail that I don't want to fuck you?

[God, this argument is so circular, and yet it gets him just as irritated every time.]

[broil]

Why don't you want to fuck me?

[ex_outofcontrol435]

I'm not even answering that. You have selective deafness.

[And now he's got his lighter out, opening and closing under the desk. A sure sign of agitation.]

[broil]

Do I? All I've heard is 'I'm not gay'. Like that'd be a physical impediment to you coming all over my mouth if I sucked you off.

[He says that with an almost clinical tone, an argument in a debate. Totally not just an onslaught of blunt and shocking words meant to draw out that same old repulsion.]

[ex_outofcontrol435]

[He sucks in a sharp breath through his mouth, lets it out slowly through his nose, eyes squeezed tightly shut.]

I didn't wanna have to get personal here, Petre, but you're not my type. At all. In any way. I was just going for the most obvious reason.

[broil]

So what is your type. Since we're on the topic. Not disease-ridden hookers, we got that checked out.

[He leans his chin on his palm, all ears.]

[ex_outofcontrol435]

Mainly someone who doesn't devote every waking second of their life to making mine a living hell, as crazy as that sounds.

[He's self-aware enough to know that his side weakens as he gets angrier. He just doesn't have the control to stop it.]

[broil]

Stop lying to yourself. You actually like it. I'd be boring if I didn't keep poking at you all the time.

[Tell us the truth, bro.]

[ex_outofcontrol435]

You know what?

[He turns in his seat to face Petre, ready to lay some truth on him if he really wants it.]

I do like it when we can talk. Just shoot the shit. Tell stories, laugh at this place, whatever. But every time you turn it back around into some kind of campaign against me? You ruin it. This is on you, whatever you wanna believe.

[broil]

[For a moment he actually listens to John's every word and he does it without that mocking smile, because there's actually some sense in them. Something that could possibly appeal to Petre. And yet -]

You really don't get it, do you.

[He pauses, leans back on his own seat, fingers drumming on the desk.]

I just want your attention. All of it. All on me. All the time.

[ex_outofcontrol435]

Why?!

[How did he attract this kind of attention, of all things? All he wanted was one person who could listen to him without writing him off as a lunatic or or a psychopath or both, and he ended up with exactly what people think of him.

Then he shakes his head. Hard and brisk enough that several strands of hair pull loose and fall across his forehead.]

No. Forget it. You're just a goddamn toddler.

[broil]

[No, John, he doesn't forget it. He doesn't even flinch when he sees that roar of anger and frustration.]

Because.

[Petre is incapable of remorse.]

[ex_outofcontrol435]

[He runs a hand through his hair irritably, smoothing it back into its usual sleekly gelled lines before propping his temple against one fist. His other hand is still working the lighter, a steady and rhythmic clinking. He's not responding to that non-answer, but all of his body language is speaking loud and clear.]

[broil]

[Well, fine, gosh. He'll press on it himself.]

I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you.

[pay attention to meeeee.]

[ex_outofcontrol435]

[Yeah. He's trapped. He got that much the moment he opened the door to his new room.

After a long, long silence, he gives Petre a level look. Calm. The preface to a purely hypothetical question that in no way shows his mounting desperation.]

Would you actually back off? If you got what you wanted?

[broil]

You wouldn't want me to.

[Because he'd make sure John would want it. And keep wanting more, because that's how Petre works. He becomes an addiction, makes himself the center of attention until that one spotlight bores him and he moves on to the next stage.

It's all he knows. Ask him the one thing he's good at, and he'll tell you that's it.]

[ex_outofcontrol435]

Fuck you.

[Arrogant bullshit, and not a real answer. He'll never get a real answer to anything.]

[broil]

It's not bullshit. You wouldn't want me to.

[He presses on it, like a finger to a wound, smile gone.]

[ex_outofcontrol435]

[And he looks right back, just as intense.]

No one has that kind of power over me. I don't let them anymore. You can piss me off all you want, you can corner me and trap me as many times as you want, but you'll never own me.

[broil]

So you can own me instead.

[Right here, where no one can hear them.]

[ex_outofcontrol435]

[He curls his lip, uses the most powerful words he holds in his lexicon.]

I don't want you.

[broil]

[He barely even had to proposition himself to other students to get a yes, and then there's John. Ever the eternal spark he can never hold between his fingers.]

So say I back off. Give up. Where does that leave you?

[Bored.]

[ex_outofcontrol435]

Sane?

[No, that's a lie. He's not what other people think he is, but he's not totally right, either. The fire does it, heat always pulsating at the edges of his consciousness, coaxing and cajoling him to act on what he knows he can do. The lighter in his pocket, never far from his reach, never in someone else's hand. If anything owns him, it's his fire, but he owns it as well. It's the only relationship he'll allow.]

[broil]

[And that smile returns just as easily as it went, tongue licking the inside of his cheek. He tips his chin when he echoes what John said just moments before:]

Fuck you.

[Sane? Sane wouldn't have gotten his attention, John.]

[ex_outofcontrol435]

[After a little pause, John just ends up laughing. There's not a shred of humour in it, but he's laughing.]

All the way back to square one.