#ceapon

Parker sits idle on the bed with his hands in his lap. He picks at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt, head down deep in thought — Xavier sits across from him in a chair and observes him the same way that other scientists at the lab tend to whenever he visits Helen to ask for a little extra change. Pensive, but not quite fascinated. Interested, but not curious about him as a person. It’s the look that one might give a frog before he cuts it open and takes it apart to understand it’s internal structure and learn the way it works. 

Parker knows that look well — except Xavier is different. 

Xavier looks at him in a way that is both similar yet unlike other scientist. He already knows his internal structure, how it works, and all science that make up something Parker does not and most likely would never comprehend fully. He’s not interested in dissection, there’s something else that piques his interest. Yet, when every time he meets Xavier’s eye, the older never does flinch but something in him does like he’s experiencing a painful memory.

They sit across from one another. And Parker watches the steady continuous raise and fall of Xavier’s foot after he crosses his legs. 

He’s biding time by not answering Parker’s question. Parker lets him by not asking it again, curious with other things, wondering if he’ll ever he the answers to the questions he asked upon arrival-- though he is starting to feel a little ridiculous, perhaps he asked too many questions and he just ask more, unable to really keep his mouth shut when he knows so little. 

“It’s just, that I heard about you from someone. And they told me you can read minds, is that true? Are you reading mine right now?” 

“Give it here.” Xavier speaks for the first time, leaning forward to hold out his hand. And Parker hands over the slip of crumpled paper with Xavier’s name, and address without hesitation. 

“Did you — did you just mind control me?” Parker asks, eyes wide as he sat back. 

“No, you’re just overly obedient.” Xavier says, reading the slip before he tucks it away into his pocket. He doesn’t press for more information on who gave him the address, though Parker suspects he already knows, though he hasn’t gotten the answer to another question that would answer why he won’t quite look at him.

“Shoulda woulda coulda…” Every move he makes somehow sounds louder than usual— his actions turbulent. Xavier sits across from him, arms folded, shirt as white and crisp as the paper he keeps jotting notes on. He’s perfect in nearly every way, and his primness pisses him off more than it should but given it’s a monday night he takes it as an excuse to be more pissy than usual. 

“Didn’t.” The gun in his hand feels light as he points it at Xavier. He’s wanted to do this for awhile now. It’s a satisfying feeling, nearly as satisfying as watching asmr videos after a kill. A crooked smile spreads on his lips— Xavier doesn’t flinch but he does remain silent in Wade’s mind, knowing and ready eyes never once breaking eye contact with Wade’s unpredictable, unsteady, and impulsive ones. His mind bound to change directions even in mid thought, he nearly feels sorry for Xavier. He wonders if he gets migraines every time he has to come into his mind. 

“It’s funny.” Wade lowers the gun, flipping the safety before he tosses it into his backpack. “I think it’s so god damn funny that you, of all people, want to talk morals.” 

Wade stops talking for a minute, sitting back in his chair he takes a good look around Xavier’s office. It only further worsens his mood with it’s cleanliness, not a single book out of place, and pictures of both Blythe and Xavier smiling so bright it’s disgusting really. He sighs, slumping even lower in his seat. So far, their weekly ‘therapy’ sessions weren’t going very well it’s evident that Wade is making slow process. Now he only makes inappropriate innuendos about screwing Xavier’s boyfriend just to piss Xavier off rather than it actually being a real personal goal of his like it was when he first moved in. 

Raking fingers through his hair his eyes fall on the date on the calendar on the wall. Attention fully diverted he frowns slightly, fingers stilling. 

Abusive father. Cancer. Special Forces... today was the anniversary of the day his life went to complete and utter shit as he lovingly refers to it. 

Wade raises his eyebrows, blinking away the memories and forcing himself to return to his previous train of thought. “It’s funny because you took a boy that needed saving and turned him into a monster like me.” Wade returns his attention back to Xavier, leaning forward in his chair gauging the others reaction. 

“It didn’t matter to them that I would have done anything to survive. I was another test subject doomed to fail—that was supposed to fail, yet here I am.” I’m not Blythe. I won’t look at you like you’re my new religion, and you’re a god came to save me. 

His thoughts are poems built without a decent rhythm to flow to. They’re lyrical set of words that speak when spoken to, and sound more like an cacophony instead of euphony the inherent pleasantness of beautiful words spoken together. He’s left wondering in the dead of night of things such as the mystery not of light, or how it gets in or something like that. He pieces together the mystery of life, the mystery of everything really until he falls into a comfortable sleepy daze. 

Oh, how he wishes he could piece together a form of art to express how peaceful the person of his desires looks in this state, face obscured in shadows of the night. How he longs to stay here beside him and watch the raise and fall of his chest for just a while longer as he thought of life’s greatest mysteries, of how he, a simpleton, a failure in every way that Xavier is a victor in this fucked up world of theirs – had he ended up here.