Chapter Text
Logan watched the young man hesitate on his doorstep for some time before deciding to ring the bell. “Fuckin’ finally!” he muttered as he set off to the front door. He’d never admit to possessing any virtues, least of all the virtue of patience. Plus there was something about having to act all… landlord-y when setting up a new tenant that set his teeth on edge. The man who called himself Wolverine didn’t do welcoming, at least, not outside of the boxing ring.
Logan wrenched open the door and ran a considering nose and eye over the pathetic specimen in front of him. Blue eyes, probably in his twenties, dressed like his grandpa, scared- and wearing some kind of suppression collar very visibly. Great. Another one ashamed of himself and what the world thought of him and his kind. He snorted. Mutants who were afraid like this usually never warmed up to Logan, not that he cared one way or the other.
“You the new tenant?” he demanded, brusquely. The other mutant nodded, wide eyed and silent. “Here are your keys. You’re in 2012, studio apartment. Come on.” He turned, not waiting for the other to follow him, and went straight for the stairs. Whiners always asked about the elevator. Logan preferred to keep its cranky nature a secret as long as he could.
He slowed down when his sensitive ears detected the raspy breathing behind him. He was an asshole- proud to admit it, too- but he wasn’t a sadist, or he’d have become a drill sergeant, not bought an apartment block, when his back pay had come through.
“Bit of a climb, but the apartment’s worth it.” He offered, without looking round. A slight hitch in breathing was the only response he got. Logan shrugged. Eh, sometimes he wasn’t into talking himself.
“Here we are. 2012.” And he flung open the door of the apartment.
Chapter 2
Charles was regretting having agreed to be weaned off his anti anxiety medication. The fact that it combined unfavourably with some of the other pills he was taking was less important than first impressions with his new landlord. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained. He drew a deep, calming breath, though about clear skies, cool oceans and wide calm fields, and rang the bell.
The man who flung the door open was not completely terrifying. Short, hairy, muscly, snarly and rude, he was the absolute antithesis of the groomed and emotionless scientists and teachers who still inhabited Charles’s nightmares. Still, if he’d replied to the letters Charles had written, he had quite good handwriting, so despite his exterior he probably wasn’t a complete thug. That was nice to think.
Briefly, Charles rubbed his hand against his suppression collar. Without it, he’d have been able to perceive Mr Logan’s personality immediately. With it he was forced into this clumsy detective work, which was a difficult and unreliable method of working out people’s feelings and motivations. Without his collar, he was dangerous. With it he was in danger, unable to use all his senses to protect himself.
But it kept him out of the half way houses and mutant support hostels. Charles was completely determined to live his own, unsupervised, independent life for as long as he could. No one was going to lock him up, restrain him, drug him again, not even those who actually were doing it for his own good, instead of just saying it. Cain didn’t know he’d moved. Hopefully it would be a long time before he did. Meanwhile, Charles Xavier was going to keep himself safe and well.
Thoughts like these put the same strain on his breathing they always did. Charles thought it was likely his new landlord had noticed, but he didn’t say anything, only slowed his speed as he hurtled up the stairs. It did make things easier, and Charles felt silently grateful to the man; both for his thoughtfulness and for his tact in not mentioning it.
The flung open door revealed a bright, small place that silently delighted Charles’ heart. It was not large, but the ceilings were high enough that he didn’t feel cramped. There were two windows, both quite reasonably sized. One looked over the main street the block stood on; the other looked down the side street to the tiny local park. It was clean, and bright, and homely. And it was his.
Well, he hoped. Mr Logan had taken his deposit and his signature on several papers. That meant he was allowed to think of the apartment as his to rent, didn’t it? Didn’t it? He rubbed his forehead. He hoped so. So much of his life had been spent in one institution or another; sometimes he hardly knew what was expected and usual in the ‘normal’ world. Logan grunted.
“’M not holding your hand through this. Rent’s due first of the month, on the dot. Stick it under my door if I’m not around. Want to get in touch, do the same thing, ‘less it’s an emergency. Don’t call the number unless it’s an emergency or I’ll gut you. Got it?” Eyes wide, Charles nodded. “Huh. Good.” He threw the keys at Charles and left him to take possession of his own space.
It seemed very empty; and then he realised: No furniture. Well, hardly any. A stove and a refrigerator, plus one folding chair and table sat in the kitchen area. A heavy wooden box, a bit like a coffee table was the only other piece actually in the one room space. Still. One entire wall was nothing but shelves. That meant plenty of space for all the books he intended to collect. Charles loved books. He opened a cupboard and was pleased to see that it was clean and dust free inside, if empty.
Charles took a deep breath. This might just work.