xavier_institute_logs | Opening Day [OPEN]

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Opening Day [OPEN]

WHO: EVERYONE
WHAT: Mingle/Figure out Room Assignments/Meet old friends again
WHERE: The whole campus.
WHEN: September 1st, 2018
WARNING(S): None. If anything goes into warning territory, please create a new log for it.

For all of the newcomers, welcome to Professor Xavier’s Institute of Higher Learning! For all of our returning students and staff, welcome back! Once Professor Xavier’s welcome speech wraps up, it’s time for everyone to get themselves situated in their dorms and, more importantly, get to know your fellow mutants! Even if you’re not sharing rooms, you’ll still be sharing the same campus with each other, so don’t be afraid to get used to all of those new faces! Or even catch up on old ones! You have options; don’t be afraid to use them.

[[ ooc: This is the general mingling post for all of our characters to get settled into their rooms, get to know each other, reminisce with old friends, all that jazz. The log will be split into multiple locations. ]]

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He's really not used to speaking about these kind of things at all. With time, he has gotten used to deflecting just about anything that might hurt if he lets it get too close. He just doesn't think about it much, and smiling and making jokes comes so much more easily to him anyway; he just lets himself be carried by events, ever present in the here and now, because what point is there to dwell on all the painful things? He can't change them, he can't make them any better. They're just there, and he lets them, but he doesn't have to acknowledge them.

He doesn't know why he would say something like that now, except the sight of himself cut out of context and pasted into a life he'd never had enough imagination to properly dream of... it all leaves a sick feeling clawing on his insides, burning in his throat.

"And you could restrain me, is that it? My sister never had to give me away because she didn't have to be afraid of me anymore." He's not sure if he's trying to mock the idea, a scenario far too perfect to belong in the real world at all, or if he has some other need for hearing the words spoken aloud. He'd met this man - or rather, the boy he had been - and the course of his life had changed. Was that it?

He didn't want to believe it could have been that simple.

The disbelief in Souji's tone, like he's mocking the idea that what happened even possible, drives something else home to rest uncomfortably, painfully in his heart. To Souji now, it's unbelievable that anyone ever gave him that kind of a chance, ever cared for him that much. Something that simple sounds impossible to him. What kind of a life did he live in his mind?

"It was hardly a one-sided arrangement. My brother, I suspect, hoped that it would settle me down to have some kind of responsibility." It isn't exactly an answer to Souji's question, which perhaps just shows that he has no way to argue with the younger man on that point. It's what happened, isn't it?

He turns a few pages, and they're a little older, perhaps three years or so. His hair has started to grow out, and he's dressed well, in jeans with a sweater and blazer for the oncoming autumn. Their second autumn in America, he thinks, with his hair that long. At his side, the Souji in the photo looks like he's laughing to himself at some unknown joke; his own face is stern, but softer about the eyes than before.

"You came with me, when I decided to come here for school." He suspects Souji rather insisted on being allowed to.

"I came with you," Souji repeats slowly, once more reaching out to touch, as if he needs to assure himself of the physical existence of the picture. It's not just something he is dreaming, some absurd nightmare - is it a nightmare? - that he'll soon be shaken awake from. Back in Japan, back where life was sterile rooms and calming voices, but at least it made sense.

If that's what happened at all.

He continues to follow up on Hijikata's story with the events as he remembers them; the bleak negative of every impossibly idyllic picture. "Back then I think I was still being passed around in foster care. No one really wanted me to stay for long - I can't really blame them, right?" A muted laugh. "It... didn't really matter if the families I came to were good or not."

He almost feels childish for telling the other man at all. He has his own set of memories, ones that can be proven and quantified as more than mere ghosts in someone's mind, so what does he care? Except he really does seem to care, deeply and personally. That in itself is a thought Souji has to back away from quickly right now, because it opens up like a chasm before his feet, and he can't seem to see the bottom at all.

"But in this place... Did I learn to get any better at controlling myself at all? Is that really possible?" And still he can't resist asking.

He watches Souji's fingers on the page, hears the interlaced hope and disbelief in his voice, and knows one thing.

Even if this feels like losing Souji all over again, like watching him slip away in each moment, he will protect him. He'll do every single thing in his power to help him feel safe, feel accepted, feel like he has a place again. His own feelings (like twisted shrapnel inside him, tearing him apart with each breath -- why had they been turned on again at all, after so long?) are secondary. They're irrelevant.

All that's important is to teach Souji what he can of what he forgot. To give him that hope again.

"Troublesome students aren't too unheard of here. They welcomed you. They welcomed us."

Because he'd been his own fair share of problems, hadn't he? Cold and sharp and selfish, untrusting, always getting into trouble with women and their boyfriends.

"You got better, and you will again. Even when we were young, there were some things I could teach you. There are more people with more specialized knowledge here. You'll learn again."

Again. As if he's already been taught before. As if he's actually had the ability not to be either a danger or a bother - or both - to everyone around him, and then it got taken away from him. And instead, he gets to remember a lifetime of never having anything even close to that kind of control; of not even knowing what was wrong with him in the first place.

If what they tell him about his memories is true - and he just isn't ready to truly believe that yet - then it really isn't fair.

Still, these thoughts aren't helping him. He knows they aren't. He's being illogical, silly, and probably a burden to this poor man. After all, Hijikata is only trying to help him, isn't he? And now more than ever it seems as if Souji needs help, and so that alone really does deserve a smile, and a kinder approach than he's given him so far.

The panic feeling is still there, but it's always there to some extent. He can ignore it. He knows he can.

"Well, I have definitely heard that I can be very troublesome, so I'm glad I fit right into the student profile, in that case. Last I heard, I think I might actually have left troublesome far behind me. Or at least I had the very last upgrade." He tilts his head forward, ending up watching the other man's face upside-down since he's leaning on the desk still, his hair for a moment spilling over the polished wood and the album. "Is that how I was before? Is that how you were before too, Hijikata-san?"

It's his posture, the ridiculous way he sort of bends himself around him, that strikes Hijikata in the chest this time. The fall of long, dark hair over the smooth wood of his desk, the little smile, the Hijikata-san...

It's suddenly hard to breathe. He leans back, taking another drag, grasping desperately at his calm.

"I never saw you that way. I was, though, by all accounts."

Oh. That certainly seems to have done more harm than good, didn't it? Souji supposes that makes sense, in a stupid and tragic kind of way. If he's tense and unhappy, he probably reminds the other man a lot less of the sweet, smiling version of himself in the pictures, after all. His shoulders slump just a little bit, and once more that feeling of being a disappointment eats away at him.

But what can he do? It's a choice where no answer is right and wrong, and it leaves him stranded, so he has to go with what still feels more useful. And so he laughs softly, perhaps even a bit apologetically. "Maybe I just needed a chance to become just as much of a delinquent." A pause, and then he adds in a quieter voice, "I'm sorry that I don't know what's going to upset you before it's already done. I don't mean to."

Souji can always goddamn tell, can't he? He sees that slump to his shoulders, and hates how powerless he feels.

Because what can he do? How can he possibly soothe him? Comforting Souji was, for a long time, very physical. Not sexual, at least not until the end and not necessarily even then, but intimate all the same, and he's a stranger now. He can't reach out and touch his cheek, or wrap an arm around his shoulders -- Hell, knowing Souji, the attempt might get him seriously hurt. But without it, how can he help?

"I'm not upset. Don't worry about a thing like that." Anything was going to upset him at the moment, he felt sure. The differences were bad, and the similarities were worse.

"I'll make one thing clear. Whatever you remember and whatever you forget, I'm here."

"I think you are. But I won't bring it up again if you think it's pointless to talk about it." After all, he could remember endless people trying to get him to talk about things that were upsetting, things that hurt, and whether these memories were true or not, that didn't change how frustrating the thought was even now. If he said that he'd felt betrayed and alone when his sister gave up on him; if he talked about what it was like to beg someone not to beat you, because you were afraid of what you might do to them; if he admitted that it had felt good to get into gang fights simply because it meant he was doing something right... would that make it better? There was no changing either of those things now.

If he asked Hijikata what it was that hurt him every time something he did managed to, could he be sure he wasn't making it worse?

"Thank you." A soft, rueful titter. "I imagine that you don't feel thanks are necessary, but I can't actually remember ever doing anything to deserve that, so it still feels like the right thing to do. And I'm going to need someone, I think."

Edited 2014-09-07 02:03 (UTC)

It's not pointless. He needs to talk about it, feels utterly overwhelmed by the scale and the destruction of the things inside him, but he knows already he isn't going to -- Souji was always the one who could understand him, and it's not right to burden him with his own feelings now.

Hasn't he borne it in silence for a long time already, anyway? It's just another boulder on the mountain. He doesn't need to tell anyone. If he acts as if it isn't there...

"You've done more than you know. Don't worry about it too much more than that."

There's so much pain there. Souji knows that with the memories he has right now, he hasn't exactly had an easy life. There really has been a lot of things that have hurt him, things which have been scary and confusing and overwhelming, and things he will probably never stop regretting.

Right now, it feels as if a lot of those things are hitting him all at once.

But... it's not the same, is it? Souji's never really had much at all, and he's made himself an existence out of nothingness. But Hijikata seems like a man who has rebuilt himself around some huge and aching void, and suddenly the foundation is crumbling, letting the darkness out.

Had Souji really done that? Had someone loved him so much that this is the result? That is a horribly compelling thought, and he's probably unkind for feeling that way. "That's the second time you tell me not to worry about things, which makes me think that I probably should." And how did his hand end up on Hijikata's shoulder, suddenly urging forward gently? No matter what he does, Souji seems incapable of teaching himself not to touch people. "But I admit you're making me curious and these-" the other hand gently touches a page of the photo album "-aren't my memories to root around in right now."

Edited 2014-09-07 02:41 (UTC)

The touch burns like the first breath back into empty lungs, and it's only his extreme control over his body that keeps him from flinching away. Why is lying to Souji so much harder than lying to everyone else, even when it's for their own good?

"Curious?"

He wishes he wouldn't be. Souji doesn't need anyone else's pain right now, let alone his.

Edited 2014-09-07 03:11 (UTC)

It's not the first time Souji wonders why his first response to any reaction is always to push against it; to poke and prod and try to reach deeper into it, understand it. He finds himself leaning in closer, body half propped against the desk as it seems to make decision all on its own accord. Even this close, he can hardly smell the cigarette smoke at all.

"It's hard not to be. You're someone who loved me so much that even after five years, losing me is still hurting you. And I-" His voice falters a bit, and so does the smile as he leans away once more. When it comes back, it's wistful. "I've never really had a person like that in my life. So I want to know more. And that's... probably rather selfish, I think."

The word buried in there cuts to the core of him -- not the least because, for all the truth of it, it was never really something they said.

He always regretted not saying it -- but there had never been a reason to. Souji knew what was important whether or not he said the L word, didn't he?

He takes another drag, looks away without drawing away physically.

"What do you want to know?"

That's the question, isn't it?

Souji is well aware that he wants to know everything, wants to pick the concept of anyone loving Okita Souji this much apart and study the components, as if truth is some kind of tangible matter that can be found if you look hard enough.

It's greedy, and selfish. He's not ashamed as such, but he can still make the choice not to ask for something like that, so he doesn't. Instead he turns his gaze back to the photo album as if drawn to it, flicking a couple of pages at random. There he is again, maybe fifteen or so and wearing some sort of training gear, disheveled and sweaty and asleep on the grass, as if he'd been resting after practice of some kind and had simply drifted off. The next picture is awkwardly angled, as he's clearly holding the camera himself, laughingly pointing at Hijikata, who appears to be asleep over a desk with an ink stain on his cheek - revenge, perhaps, for the first picture.

"It looks like I was around quite a lot. Didn't you ever grow tired of me? I'm a pretty exhausting person to have around, that's what everyone says. Or does it just look that way in the pictures, and I wasn't really... with you all the time?"

It's a question he doesn't know how to answer for a moment simply because it's so far away from how he feels. Tired, of Souji? It's a preposterous idea, like being tired of sunrises, or of breathing.

"You were always with me," he said, not tired, but grateful. "I don't care much what everyone says, you'll find. And as such, I'm not sure how you'd think I could get tired of you."

And then it's Souji's turn not to know how to respond. He's not sure how he's supposed to think differently. He's never had the opposite proven to him, not ever. It's not that he has never met kind and understanding people, but most of them have been professionals, and none of them have ever had a place in their lives for him.

But if Hijikata is anything but painfully earnest right now, he's the best liar Souji has ever met. And he doesn't seem like a man who has much patience with lying.

He glances down on the shirt he's wearing. A large, very cute knitted cardigan, a bit worn by frequent use. It's nice, but not like anything he can remember wearing before. If he looked through all of the pages of the photo album, would there be a chance of finding himself wearing it there? "I suppose it just seems a bit too good to be true, that's all." A pause. "But I must have been a very different kind of person before."

He takes another drag from his cigarette, largely as an excuse not to speak for a moment or two. Holds it in, breathes it out slowly, lets the breeze carry it right out of the window.

"In some ways, I think. Fewer than you imagine."

He smiles like him. He stands (and drapes and leans) like him. He pokes and pries at the things that hurt, and sees right through him, like he always has.

"But we'll see, I suppose."

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Opening Day [OPEN]

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