He woke up gasping and drenched in sweat. He had seen the same dream again. The same one that has been haunting him for a few months now. It was as vivid as it had been the first time he saw it. His mind at this late hour of the night fresh of it. He could see himself very clearly, dressed in yellow and black and wearing a very strange helmet that he never saw in his life. But he was never alone in the dream. There was always another man there. One that was only a few inches shorter than him. He has dark brown hair that looked so soft, Erik could almost feel the texture of it. The man also had one striking aspect of his appearance. His eyes - which were the thing that stood out to Erik the most - were of the deepest most shining blue Erik had ever laid eyes on. He could've sworn they shined brighter than the moon if he were to see them at night. But this wasn't the entirety of the dream. As handsome as the man was and as much as Erik tried to deny his attraction to him, there was the part of the dream that caused Erik to wake up gasping for air in the dead of the night. In this nightmare, Erik continuously sees himself deflect a bullet being shot at him by a woman he couldn't recognize. The bullet avoids him but it hits the handsome man in the lower back as he is trying to get up. In every single dream, every single night, Erik can feel the same jolt. He feels his heart drop to his knees as the man he can't get out of his head falls on the warm beach sand. He tries to reach to him every single time but the nightmare manages to end and Erik wakes up just before he has the chance to reach the hurt man.
Lying awake in bed, Erik decides that there is no way he can fall asleep again especially with dawn fast approaching. He sits up and swings his body to the right, dangling his legs off the side of the bed. He just sits there for a few minutes, staring into the blackness of his bedroom. He yawns and stretches then just before he gets up, he flicks his wrist in the direction of the bathroom to turn on the taps of the shower. His life has had this routine for a while now, always waking up before dawn drenched in his own sweat and having to be up when no else was. It was taking its toll on him, and it was very visible. He had dark circles under his eyes from sleep deprivation and he lacked his usual upbeat energy. So as he dragged his feet to the shower, he was ready to spend a few extra minutes under the warm running water. It relaxed his muscles and untied the knots he felt in his back and he felt a relief from that. A relief he let be shown as he sighed under at the touch of the water. Erik didn't quite know how long he stood there just enjoying the warm water as his thoughts were consumed by the beautiful vision that had been visiting him in his dreams. Try as hard as he could, Erik couldn't get this man out of his head. Just having him comprise all of Erik's thoughts put a smile on Erik's face that he couldn't possible hide. Realizing that he had been standing in the shower too long by his skin that was starting to look like prunes, Erik completed his shower.
Outside, he got dressed and combed his hair in less than five minutes. That was another thing that tired Erik. He normally did his routine procedures quickly which left him a lot of time for his brain to wonder. Walking out of his bedroom, he made his way to the small kitchen of his London apartment. Usually Erik's breakfast is fairly simple, Black coffee. Deciding that he wants to take some of the time his brain has to wonder, Erik starts to cook himself some breakfast. That was something he hadn't done in a long time but it felt good. He takes a few eggs out of the fridge and sets them on the counter as he grabs a small frying pan. He fills a new filter with fresh coffee from a package he just opened and turns the coffee maker on. Gathering his spices and seasoning, he starts to cook his eggs and the smell of it was heavenly. His ability to cook was something he would never reveal to anyone, even though there was nothing to be ashamed of. With the coffee machine signaling that his coffee was ready, Erik sat down at his small kitchen table and began to enjoy his breakfast. His mind being free again, it didn't take long for the handsome man with the stunning blue eyes to occupy Erik's thoughts again. This time he wasn't in pain though, he was sitting across from Erik at the kitchen table and joining him in having breakfast. Their eyes would meet every few seconds and whenever they did, Erik could feel his heart smile and increase in its beat. A simply beautiful way to recompense for the nightmare that he had been having.
With his eggs and coffee all done, Erik quickly washes the dishes, and puts on his coat and boots to check the mail as he hadn't checked it for a while. As soon as he sets foot outside his door, the cold January air sends chills down his spine and Erik can't help but clutch his coat tighter around his neck. A few steps and he reached the beautifully hand-crafted mail box that had come with the apartment. Opening it he finds a small package that was about the size of his palm. He reads the recipient name on it and it matches his own but the sender's name is what confused Erik a little. Charles Xavier, the package read. "Who's Charles Xavier?" thought Erik to himself "Do I know a Charles Xavier?" He had no memory of the name but it seemed very familiar to him. Almost as familiar as his own name. He was beginning to see his breath rise in small clouds in front of him, so he chose to settle this case in the warmth of his apartment. But what warmth? So consumed in his thoughts of his beautiful man, he forgot to light the fire in the old-style fire place. So as he walked through the front door, he picked up a couple of small logs and the matches and started to build the fire. The warmth filled up the entire apartment quickly and Erik sat on the ground in front of the fire with the package in front of him and rubbed his hands together for warmth while exhaling into them. He was starting to feel warmer and his fingers were no longer too frozen to open the mysterious package. He looked at the sender's name one more time before opening the package and that same feeling of familiarity filled him. Inside the palm-side package was a small key and a piece of paper folded into 4. The key caught Erik's attention first, being metal. To his expert eye it looked to be a key used for a very small lock, one usually used on jewelry boxes. He held onto the key as he picked up the piece of paper. On it in what Erik thought was the most elegant and beautiful script was his name. Erik Lensherr, written to look as though printed by a master of calligraphy. It made Erik feel a twinge of jealousy as he had never written his name so beautifully before. But he quickly disregarded that thought as curiosity was getting the better of him. With one quick flick of his fingers, Erik unfolded the paper and was shocked. The entirety of the message was in the same perfect handwriting that said his name. "Only someone so mesmerizing could possibly have such good looking handwriting" he thought to himself aloud in the freezing cold dawn and his voice echoed against the silence interrupted by the gentle crackling of the fire. The message was very short, it read:
It's time for you to know who you
are. The key I've included should open
a box I've hidden under the statue across
from your apartment. It should be fairly easy for
you to find it.
Best of wishes, Charles Xavier
Erik didn't know what to think. The statue of an angel across the street from his apartment had been there ever since Erik moved in. He never thought of it as a special place until now though. Standing up, he picked up the package and placed it along with the letter on the kitchen table on his way to the window of the living room. He kept the key in his hand. He moved the curtains blocking his view and looked out at the angel. Under the statue, the base supporting it was made of brick and Erik was quick to notice that one wasn't fully attached to the others. He thought that maybe that's where Charles hid his box. Already in his coat and boots as he never took them off when he came back after checking the mail, he went out into the cold winter again.
He moved slowly, anxiously. He didn't know what could possibly be hidden under the statue but something kept his feet moving. For some reason, Erik connected the faceless name of the package's sender to the nameless face of the man he continuously hurts in his dreams. To him at this moment, the shorter man with the silky brown hair and blue eyes that were deeper than galaxies was Charles Xavier. He crossed the snow-filled street without looking out for any passing cars, his mind already preoccupied by the image of his visitor. But it didn't matter that he didn't look because if there were any cars he would be able to feel their metal and stop them if necessary. As he reaches the angel statue, he gets down on his knees and starts investigating. He removes some of the snow surrounding the base of the statue with his bare hands, his fingers burning with the temperature of the snow. He clears out the entire base so that the loose brick was fully visible. He gives it a tap, but it stays in place. He taps it harder a few times, yet it remains attached to the other bricks. He knocks on it, and his hears the familiar hollow chamber sound. A smile graces his face as he realizes that there is truth behind all of this and it's not a simple prank by someone. Using whatever strength his frostbitten fingers could manage, Erik pulls the loose brick away from the others and surely enough there a chamber behind it. He reaches inside and finds a box just like Charles said there would be. Examining it, Erik is in a state of awe. The box just like the name is so familiar to him. He would recognize the excellent craftsmanship and the flawless "X" on the lid anywhere. He didn't know how he recognized it but he did. His fore finger idly tracing the beautifully carved "X" as his brain tries to make sense of all of this. He is jolted out of his trance by the start of the snow fall though and he stands up to make his way to his apartment.
