NOTE: I do not own Xmen or the song Who Knew by P!nk. This is my first fic. Enjoy! Also there is a possibility to write sequels to un-angst the situation, I will consider it if someone requests as I already have some ideas.

Who Knew

I wish I could touch you again
I wish I could still call you friend
I'd give anything

Charles stared out of the window sadly, at the vibrant autumn leaves swaying in the breeze, casting shade on parts of the jogging track of the estate. Hank whizzed past in a blur of blue. Charles sighed; he was the one to insist that Hank keep up his running even if he couldn't join him anymore, so it wasn't fair to be melancholy. He picked up the forgotten book from his lap – of course he'd forgotten, he couldn't feel its weight on his legs, after all – before it could slide off and returned to the desk.

He looked over to the antique chess set, now protected by a glass case, feeling a sudden urge to smash it. He only had himself to blame, again; the sentimental idea to preserve his and Erik's last, unfinished game was his.

I'll keep you locked in my head
Until we meet again
Until we
Until we meet again
And I won't forget you my friend
What happened

Charles would never forget the day on that Cuban beach – it's the sad fate of a telepath to remember everything, even things others can blissfully forget (like Moira, a guilty little voice at the back of his mind supplied), unable to turn their own powers upon themselves. His useless legs would also never allow him to forget, a dead weight reminder to drag about with him forever.

He didn't blame Erik or Moira or even himself, for standing up amidst gunfire against all instincts. Charles was glad for this, that the unescapable truth that the bullet that rendered him a paraplegic was simply an accident. He wouldn't bear to be angry – he had seen what anger could do to a man, what it did to Erik – not at himself, not at Moira. And of course, he could never be angry at Erik.

But I keep
Your memory
You visit me in my sleep

Charles only dreamt of the beach now, of Erik's face above his. Everything would play out as it had in life and Charles would watch, a helpless bystander, and curse himself for not having the courage to say the right words, for he knew what they were. He'd always known. From the moment he pulled Erik out of the freezing cold depths, away from a submarine holding one of the world's most horrific criminals, he'd known.

Charles Francis Xavier would always love Erik Lensherr.

And Erik Lensherr would never know.