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]

[God, he can't even think of their game anymore. Of how much power he has right now, with Petre looking entirely small and sounding meek and subservient despite the words still being phrased as a demand rather than a request. The tone says everything that needs to be said, reshapes them into the question they really are.

No - the plea.

He turns around at the door, his expression more conflicted than angry now. It's no goddamn fun wielding power over anyone, not even Petre, when the very thought of what he'll have to do to use it causes a massive slippage of reality in his head. It's not even a cataclysmic shift like his manifestation, one he'll never be able to ignore; he can use a night on the common room couch to craft a brand new wall of denial and make himself safe again. But for how long? And who is he doing it for?]

I need to stop. [And there's his own plea in return, his throat working with another hard swallow at the way Petre's looking at him. He feels like everything in Petre's world right now and it's not at all as satisfying as such a thing should be.] I need to get my head together. I'm - not moving out or anything, just one night. Sober up. Then we can actually talk.

[He touches Petre's upper arm very gently, lets his hand fall again. A tiny whisper of comfort. One touch that won't bruise.]

[broil]

[this could be the moment where Petre would laugh, call John out on what he'd done. There was no taking it back anymore - John gave in, John proved he was right all along. All that prying an provoking and pushing until someone finally gave in and gave up. This should be Petre's greatest victory and he should be savoring it, but the thought couldn't be farther from his mind.

No, he feels small and bitter because he's being rejected. Again. He was given what he wanted and now he's being told he can't have it after all. John's running away again and this time it hurts. (like I was some kind of monster. I didn't even tell him I'm a mutant. I could've made him stay but I didn't. Waste of time.)

He licks his lips, swallows hard, presses his mouth in a thin, resentful line. He's hurt, he thinks. He really doesn't like it. Fucking alcohol.]

Yeah. Go. [fingers push against John's chest lazily.] Go, go, go.

[ex_outofcontrol435]

[That's pain he's seeing. That's actual pain. He knows the kind of anger and resentment that smother pain all too well, can practically smell them on someone else.

Somehow they've both won the game and neither wants the trophy.

And he's trapped again. He can't leave now, but there's no guarantee of what he'll allow to happen if he stays. He's someone else right now, or very much himself for the first time in - possibly ever, and he can't predict his own movements. But that's not Petre's fault anymore, at least not entirely.]

Listen. [There's a harsh rasp in his voice.] I'll stay. Alright? This is fucking stupid. [It is, dragging his bedding out to the couch and sleeping there because of a few kisses. It's childish.] But I just wanna sleep. We both need to sleep.

[broil]

No. [this time he presses with the heel of his hand, widening the distance between them. He almost stumbles when he turns away, walking back to his bed. His words are slurred again because his mouth is tense, brows furrowed like a sullen child.] Don't need your - fucking pity. Makes me sick.

[he crawls onto his bed. Doesn't bother with the covers or with his clothes.]

Go.

[ex_outofcontrol435]

[Pity. The ultimate insult. God, they are so much alike it's scary.

Quietly, he opens the door, slips out into the hallway. There's a moment where he considers going to someone about this, but really, who is there? He's already talked to Ryan about the campaign Petre waged against his sanity, so how does it look if he comes back and says actually, he was right all along, about everything? Pathetic.

This has to stay under lock and key until he pulls himself the fuck together. Petre's sullen, drunken moods mean nothing to him. All that sweet speech-making

(I need you)

means nothing to him. How many times has he seen Petre twist his own words to mean the opposite of what he said? Creating them from thin air must be even more effortless. John opened the door by admitting someone had touched him and Petre just barged in to take over that place. His new gambit: not the partner in crime, not the rival you love to hate, not the supposed friend, but an actual lover.

How was he so stupid. Halfway down the hall and his head is already clearing. This has to stay under lock and key forever.]