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step 1. prepare your utensils and ingredients
He does it on purpose, Erik is sure. There’s no way Xavier doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing, fluttering those stupid eyelashes that frame those impossibly blue eyes (is it a part of his mutation? He’s yet to work up the courage to ask) at their seminar tutor. It makes her smile and nod along with whatever the hell Xavier is saying, which, today, is unsurprisingly more bullshit.
“... 20% of the mutant population in the UK are unemployed. 77% of those who are employed are in mutant-run companies, so it’s fairly obvious that what this country really needs to do is start educating non-mutants and encourage them to employ mutants. Otherwise, we’re going to be in an increasingly segregated society --”
Erik heaves a sigh, as loud as he can, like he always does to make Xavier shut up. There are quiet groans from the other students around them as Xavier’s attention turns to him, his dark eyebrows raising above his bright blue eyes, and then he’s asking, “Yes, Erik? Do you disagree?”
The tables are arranged in a big rectangle and Erik is opposite Xavier, who has a table to himself to accommodate the wheelchair, near the door for easy access. This is how it’s been, ever since Erik made the mistake of sitting at the table next to him one time last year and ended up nearly nose-to-nose with him in one of their many heated debates. Next to him, Sean mutters, “When don’t you two disagree?”
He’s not wrong. They’re second year students now, but since they met during their very first seminar together last year, they’ve disagreed on almost every topic they’ve tried to discuss. Mutant Politics would be boring as fuck without Xavier, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t drive him up the wall. If he wasn’t wrong about everything, they might have been able to be friends. Unfortunately, Xavier seems to be determined to spout rubbish every chance he gets and over the course of the last year-and-a-bit, any patience Erik had has been ripped into teeny, tiny pieces.
Now, Xavier is nothing but the enemy.
“Of course I disagree. Why is it our responsibility to educate non-mutants? If they aren’t willing to educate themselves, mutants will never be safe and comfortable in their employment. It’d all be a matter of filling enough spaces to look good statistically. Mutants are best off in mutant-run companies and we should focus on creating more mutant-only spaces,” Erik says, all in one long -- well, is it really a rant? No. It’s a very valid point on his part. “Non-mutants fear mutants, that’s why they avoid employing them. They’ll always fear mutants. There’s no point pretending otherwise.”
“I politely disagree, my friend.” That’s what Xavier always says. Every time, without fail, he politely disagrees and calls Erik his friend , as if they’ve even had one friendly conversation since they started university. “If we all have that attitude, then of course, they’ll always fear us. But so many of us have non-mutant relatives. Do they fear us? I think not. Working with relatives of mutants to help educate other non-mutants, we can definitely work towards a society that doesn’t fear mutants at all.”
“Your optimism never fails to astound me, Charles,” Erik says dryly. “Which isn’t a compliment. What you’re proposing is unrealistic.”
“Your pessimism is detrimental to all of mutantkind,” Xavier argues. It’s not the first time he’s said it and it probably won’t be the last time, either. “I’m not trying to pretend we’ll reach some sort of utopian society where everybody is accepting of mutants, but we should be trying to move forwards, not further dividing mutants and non-mutants.”
It’s a shame, because Xavier is actually quite smart. Erik has read all of the articles he’s published in the university’s newsletter for mutants, and all of his posts on the LGBTQ+ Society’s blog, and everything he’s written for Disability Rights UK’s social media platforms. He’s charming and eloquent and it’s no wonder everybody loves to hear him talk.
His points about mutants, though? Even if they are well-argued, they’re just wrong, 99.99% of the time. Xavier just doesn’t understand that society, at the end of the day, would prefer they didn’t exist.
Non-mutants aren’t their friends. Certainly, they aren’t all bad, but they’ll never fully understand the struggle. Even his mother, who he loves more than anything, who supports him entirely, is sometimes just a bit dismissive of the difficulties he and other mutants face. Sometimes, he suspects even she would’ve preferred to have a non-mutant child, because they wouldn’t have been suspended for damaging all the pipes in a school’s bathroom in a fit of rage.
“... has anyone else got any opinions, on, er, Stark Industries opening a mutant-only department?” their seminar tutor asks meekly. Once again, they’ve flown off-topic. No doubt she’ll be sending him and Xavier an email about not getting too distracted by personal debates -- again.
There are just quiet groans from everybody.
The seminar tutor clears her throat. “Then I think that just about wraps us up for this week,” she says. “I’ll see you all in two weeks. Don’t forget to email me the topic you decide on for your essay.”
Everyone scrambles to pack away. It’s all right for them; they get to escape. Erik has to see Xavier again later, at Debate Society, the one place they can really tear into one another.
***
“Quite frankly, Erik, your ideologies are dangerous. Humans and mutants aren’t so different. We shouldn’t even make out as if we’re an entirely different species. If that were the case, mutants wouldn’t be capable of producing fertile offspring with humans.”
The two of them glower at each other from opposite sides of the table, Xavier’s blue eyes alight with barely-contained anger, Erik’s own jaw clenched with red-hot fury. Mutant Rights is written on a folded piece of paper in the centre. Standing off to the side, the president of the society, Moira, has her hand pressed to her face, looking as if she deeply regrets her choice of topic for this particular table.
“It’s about more than genetics and you know it. You just enjoy any opportunity to show-off the fact you have a degree in Biology, you nerd, and you’re only studying here to add to your collection --” But Erik doesn’t get any further than that because Moira clears her throat loudly and gives him a pointed look.
“No personal attacks, Erik,” Moira says. Somehow, and Erik isn’t quite sure how, she always manages to keep her cool, though she does become more Scottish whenever she has to tell him or Xavier off. “Stick to the topic at hand.”
“The University of Sussex has one of the best Politics courses in the country and the best Mutant Politics modules nationwide,” Xavier says, eyes narrowing, ignoring the sigh Moira heaves entirely. “I’m studying here because I’m interested in the topic, not to add to some collection. But you’re right. It is about more than genetics, but history has proven that the segregation of communities isn’t a way to fix society. In the long-term, it does far more harm than good.”
“That’s because historically, segregation has been implemented by those in power. This would be different. This would be mutants choosing to separate themselves from human society,” Erik insists, struggling against the urge to smack his hand down on the table for emphasis. Why can’t Xavier just understand his perspective? Why is he always so argumentative? In another life, they could’ve made for a wickedly strong team. “It’d be for our own benefit, not to make the lives of humans more comfortable.”
Xavier sighs. “You can’t be so dense as to not see the slippery slope that would set before us, Erik. Where would lines be drawn? What if somebody doesn’t think someone is mutant enough, but humans don’t think of them as human enough? What about somebody like me? Trust me, my friend, I’ve encountered plenty of mutants who think my wheelchair is a weakness. I’ve been called a poor excuse of a mutant.”
The scoff breaks free of Erik’s lips before he can stop it. “That’s ridiculous. Your power is incredible. Your wheelchair doesn’t make you any different to the rest of us.”
A smile twitches at the corners of Xavier’s lips before he asks innocently, “But our powers make us so different to the rest of humanity?”
“You’re comparing apples to carrots.”
“Horses wouldn’t turn their noses up at either.” The smile is definitely present on Xavier’s face now and the rest of Debate Society are watching them, their expressions varying from exasperated to fascinated. Even Moira is quiet, looking amused, more than anything. Damn her.
Gritting his teeth, Erik forces out, “You’re infuriating.”
“And now, you’re deflecting.” The bastard looks smug, his blue eyes bright as he stares back at Erik, refusing to break eye contact. “My wheelchair doesn’t make me any different, but my powers do? Why? Because my powers are an advantage and my wheelchair is quite the opposite? It’s not something to be proud of?”
“No. Stop trying to trick me into saying something ableist,” Erik snaps, glaring across at him. “It’s not that, it’s -- they’re two entirely different things. You were born a mutant.”
“I was born bisexual as well, but I’m not in a hurry to rush off and found some LGBT safehaven,” Xavier says, cool as a cucumber and smug as can be. “So if I was born in need of a wheelchair, it’d be okay then, for me to wheel off into the sunset and separate myself from those who don’t have disabilities? To create a community for other wheelchair-users, where we’re all accepting of one another? Where every building is accommodating of accessibility needs and doesn’t tack them on only as an afterthought?”
Erik’s eyes widen and then his mouth drops open a little. He’s fumbling for words and knows already, he’s lost, this time around. So, the only thing he can manage to say is, “This is about mutant rights.”
“But you see the similarities,” Xavier says. “It’s a decent metaphor and you know it.” He gives a small shrug. “It’s not so cut-and-dry, Erik. You know that, deep down. But separating ourselves from the problems in society won’t make them disappear. We need to change the world, not split its populations further. We all need one another.”
There’s nothing Erik can say that wouldn’t make him sound like a massive arsehole. He’s cornered, beaten, and everybody in the room is aware of it. “That’s the hour up,” Moira says, breaking the silence that’s fallen over the room. “See you next week, guys.”
Erik hurries to leave, deciding he’ll have to spend the next few days mulling over his arguments to make Xavier understand, once and for all.
***
The annoying thing is, before he met Xavier, Erik was articulate. Debating had come naturally to him and his opponents were always annihilated on the spot when they tried to disagree with him. All of that seems to have been tossed out of the window since Xavier rolled into his life with those stupidly captivating blue eyes and his delicious accent and his ever-present patience and his ceaseless optimism regarding human nature.
“Are you going to actually drink that coffee or just glare at it ‘til it disappears?” Logan drawls from behind the counter. The cafe has long since emptied, leaving only Erik and the world’s grumpiest cafe owner within the safety of its walls. “I have to shut the place up eventually, kid.”
Rumour has it, Logan’s cafe has been here longer than the university itself. Supposedly, every time they try to persuade him to shut up shop so they can open something else in its place, Logan stubbornly digs in his claws and kicks up a fuss until the university relents and gives up the fight.
The best part about Logan’s cafe is the fact Xavier never comes here, because apparently (and Erik only knows this because he overheard Xavier talking to his sister when she was down for a visit and he definitely wasn’t eavesdropping, that would be absurd) Logan’s tea is more like watery piss and an insult to Britain. But that means it’s a safe place for Erik to hide away and not have to worry about getting into an intense debate.
In reply to Logan, Erik just gives a grunt.
“You spend too much time moping and looking dramatic,” Logan grumbles. “Jesus. You need something to help you relax and you aren’t gonna find it in my cafe. Go find a hobby.”
“Debating is my hobby,” Erik argues.
“No, you’re just slowly driving yourself insane. You need something calming. Y’know, knitting or something,” Logan says as he dries off a mug. He puts it away on the shelf behind him and then moves around the counter. One by one, he starts lifting chairs onto the tables, tidying up for the night. “Or baking. There’s a Baking Society, you know.”
“Baking Society,” Erik repeats, deadpan. “Do I look like a baker?”
“Do I look like I own a cafe?” Logan asks, his eyebrows raising. “You can’t constantly be fighting the world. Go and bake. Hear their annual contest is starting up soon, so there’s still an element of competition, if that’s what you’re after.” He points towards his corkboard on the wall by the door, full of all sorts of notices. “They’re looking for more people. And I’ve been invited to judge this year. Won’t go easy on you just ‘cause you linger ‘round here like a bad smell, though.”
Erik drains the last of his coffee from his mug and stands up so he can walk over and look at the corkboard. Sure enough, one of the posters is for Baking Society’s Great Campus Bake Off, asking for more people to consider joining the society so that they have plenty of participants to compete.
After a moment of thinking about it, Erik, with some reluctance, says, “I’ll think about it.” It could be a good distraction. Debating is dominating his life at the moment. Maybe a change of pace will do his mind some good.
“Good. Now get out. I need to lock up,” Logan says, just as he’s putting the final chair on the last table, the one Erik has just vacated.
Erik offers a wave as he leaves, the door swinging shut behind him with a rather definitive thunk.