AN: Letters not capitalized for a reason, hun.
(Imagine.) in another life, they are maybe friends of the best kind (the kind you can talk home and show off to your parents and have them listen to how witty and sarcastic and homey they are, and your parents will love them, completely, and will bring out the normal dishes when they visit.) they live in a small white house with a blue door and pictures in the living room and blue sheets on the bed, with kids next door dancing and singing and playing.
"Charlie," the neighbors would say, when he leaned out the door in his robe for the morning paper. "How do you keep your place so clean?" and he will nod like he doesn't know, and shrug and go inside to help Erik find that sock he lost, and smile when it is in an obvious place and say, "You're only human," and Erik will smile and say, You think I don't know that?
(reality) as they are now, Charles is never Charlie and magneto is never human and they are maybe friends, but the kind that strays away so far in opposite directions that when they come together again it is already the end, and the battle is over. Charles will have his wife, and magneto will have his girls, and when they meet back after those many years, when these girls and wives are gone, it is after the fighting, and they are not like they were when they met. they are old and worn and if they could see themselves, they would laugh at their mockery of an apology. They would laugh at wrists turned upward and hair gone grey (or just gone) and sigh in retrospect, because they will finally be peaceful, but not content. words and phrases and little, black, symmetrical numbers ironed into skin will spill from the hole between them and fade off in the distance, because these words were never meant to be said, but to become apart of the landscape.
solid and vaporous and laughing; ignored.
