A/N: I've been having a really horrible month. I feel like my head is stuffed with awful stuff that's already happened PLUS a lot of worst-case scenarios; and even worse, I still have these brief moments of hope and happiness which inevitably get cut to a screeching halt by some other terrible event.
I'm miserable, which means that this fic is miserable too. It's pretty short, particularly in comparison to my other stories. Set in the OTNK timeline, so you'll see a few references to past fics.
I don't know anything about the fashion industry, so forgive me for any mistakes. Just chalk it up to the Hitachiins being unconventional and doing things no sane designer ever would.
This fic is for the higher powers in this universe, in an attempt to beg them to stop messing with my life. A little mercy would be nice.
Crossroads
Chapter One: The Weight of the World
Hikaru hadn't really believed them when they said it would be hard.
For the summer holidays, he and Kaoru decided to help out their parents with the business. Every summer their parents would hold a sort of fashion tour de force, showcasing different lines in various countries over an absurdly short time period. It was the sort of madness that very few designers would attempt—and fashion designers weren't famed for their sanity to begin with. Kaoru had gone with them last year; but since Hikaru had chosen to go to St. Tropez with Tamaki at the time instead, this was his first time.
Plus his parents had a very hands-off approach: they were letting the twins showcase their own pieces apart from the Hitachiin line—and told them not to expect any help. He'd been told, over and over again, that he was going to be in for hell.
"It's the worst," one of their parents' trainees said. "I went last year and considered seppuku."
He'd laughed.
Of course he'd laughed. Designing was in the Hitachiin blood; where other designers nearly killed themselves over their sketches, the twins produced gorgeous works one after another, never seeming to lack for inspiration. And okay, fashion shows were nerve-wracking for everybody, because they never seemed to go as planned, but they had no problems dealing with that sort of pressure. And as for sweating over critique, they didn't really give a damn what most people said—and for that matter, what most people did say of them was glowing praise.
"Oh, Hikaru," Kaoru had said, shaking his head with the annoying superiority of someone who'd already experienced something they were warning you about. It was the sort of tone which Hikaru usually punched people for, but he wasn't too keen on breaking his twin's nose. Or getting killed for it by Kyouya, for that matter. "You have no idea what we're in for."
As it turned out, he really hadn't known.
It wasn't the designing. It wasn't the shows. It wasn't even the critique.
It was the nightmare of country-hopping, never staying long enough in one place to get over their jet lag. It was switching from French to Italian to German in the span of a week and a half until he could barely remember where he was anymore.
"Bonjour," Hikaru had greeted someone when he'd just hopped off the plane, practically sleep-walking. His father gave him a funny look and informed him that they were in London.
It was craving rice and miso soup and sushi—real sushi, not the poor imitations they did here which were always too dry or too salty or too something. It was dropping into uncomfortable, lumpy mattresses in sterile hotel rooms.
"Seriously, for all the money we're shelling out, I can't believe we sleep on rocks," he complained.
Hitachiin Yuzuha snorted. "Hikaru, darling. Last time it was too soft, the time before that it was too hard, before that you said that the bedspread was too frilly..."
"The mattresses are fine. What you're thinking," Kaoru said, "is that they don't feel like home. And you won't find one that does." Then he made a face. "You were right about that time with the bedspread, though. It looked like it was scavenged from a Barbie dream house."
It was the parties, the endless appearances that they had to make in between their shows, forcing them to stay up until what-the-fuck-o'clock even when Hikaru wanted to do nothing more than pass out.
"Sadly, the excuse that we're turning in early to do wicked and wayward things together can only be used for so long," Kaoru told him one night they'd managed to escape. Going to parties was a little like being in the Host Club. Their 'are-they-or-aren't-they' brotherly love act was just the right edge of hedonistic and mysterious, attracting the Bohemian crowd; though of course they were careful to tone it down and laugh it off with the more conservative set. "Networking is part of the job too, Hikaru."
It was shitty coffee, not enough coffee, and getting so desensitized to coffee that his caffeine intake had to be upped until his hands shook.
"I refuse to give you any more coffee until at least three hours have passed," their mother pronounced.
Hikaru looked longingly at the cup of French roast cradled in their father's hands. "Please... can I have... just a little bit?" he whimpered. Honestly he wanted nothing more than a coffee IV drip (and actually, that wasn't a bad idea, and he started wondering where he could find one...).
"If I find you eating coffee grounds, we are going to have words," their father said, shaking his head. "Strong words."
He turned to his twin, eyes wide and pleading, but not having much hope. His Bambi eyes weren't nearly as effective as Kaoru's in the first place, and they were even worse now that they were bloodshot and drooping. "Kaoru? I promise I'll stop... this'll be the last..."
"No way! I'm not slipping you espresso shots anymore. You make me feel like a drug pusher."
And it was feeling so very fucking alone.
Hikaru hated that most of all, because it made him feel like an emo poser or a sentimental girl, because come on, it was only for a summer; besides, Kaoru was with him.
The others were busy too; their upperclassmen had elected to help out with their own respective family businesses, and Haruhi had managed to land an internship with a prestigious law firm. The first few days, the Host Club had been more than accommodating in contacting them, but after a week or two they'd tapered off to the occasional e-mail—not that he would have time to reply to anything more, anyway. Hikaru guiltily remembered how last summer, he'd been the same in corresponding with Kaoru.
He wasn't sure why, because Kaoru had always, always been enough during their childhood.
"You miss milord," Kaoru informed him.
"Shut up! Do not. Besides, I just talked to him yesterday."
"If by talking you mean you snored into your phone." They'd only talked for about five minutes before Hikaru fell asleep, because it was so late and he was practically running on coffee fumes. And since Tamaki spent most of his time helping out his father and Hikaru's time zones kept changing, it was difficult for them to coordinate calls in the first place anyway.
"You know, you could take a break," Kaoru murmured. "Maybe pass on some of the workload, take a day or two off. You could even go back to Japan for a while if you want. Mom and dad will understand." It wasn't the first time that he'd offered, but Hikaru refused to take the out. He'd heard that Kaoru had borne up well under the workload the first time around, and he seemed to be handling the stress just fine once again. If his twin could do it, so could he. Besides, soon enough they'd have to take over the business and then their whole lives would be like this, not just one summer.
So of course... "What, and let you miss my sunny presence? Never." He grinned and threw a discarded design at his brother.
But it really was hard, and he'd wished he believed them from the start.
It happened somewhere in his fifth week, at three in the morning in Russia.
In his defence, it was three in the morning. And it was Russia, which was unspeakably cold and a complete shock to his system since they'd just come from the Caribbean (lots of floaty materials, and too many blondes in swimming trunks who put him in mind of tanned Tamakis). He'd just finished dealing with some last-minute changes for their show tomorrow, and after that he'd had to start putting something together for their next show in New York. He hadn't had dinner—or lunch, for that matter, and he'd been too out of it that morning to even remember if he'd had breakfast or not—and he was just exhausted and miserable and cursing the chairs in their office, because they were clearly not meant for sitting in for any period of time over five minutes.
"You look like a panda," Kaoru said, looking fascinated and horrified at the same time. He, damn him, looked tired but nowhere near the level of oh-my-god-I'm-dying Hikaru was experiencing. "Seriously, those eyebags don't qualify as carry-ons anymore. They're more like check-in baggage."
"It's chic," Hikaru replied without missing a beat. "You know, sort of 'I stayed up late partying'."
"It's more like 'I just rose from the dead and still smell like a fresh corpse'," Kaoru informed him, stretching and yawning. "I'm done for the night. Are you coming back with me?"
Hikaru scowled enviously at him, watching as his brother pulled on his coat and scarf. Their hotel was just a quick walk away, and it was so tempting to go with him but... "I can't. I've still got stuff to do."
"Oh. I could—"
"Get to bed already," Hikaru said, rolling his eyes. He knew that Kaoru would offer to help, or at least wait for him. He already had the sneaking suspicion that his twin was diverting some of the load away from him. Even though Kaoru always finished first, he seemed to have more to do. He hated the thought of being babied. He raised his voice, knowing that the other people working would hear. "Keep our mattress warm for me, darling, I'll join you in a while."
The two of them snickered as they heard delighted giggles. "No matter where we go, our act is a hit," Kaoru said, grinning.
"Hit... I'd like to hit someone right now."
"If you get too stressed out you can always take it out on the interns." His twin smiled mischievously. Kaoru had made a couple of them cry before, but in general he got along with them. "Just make sure you don't do it before you ask them to get you coffee. They'll spit in it."
"At this point I'd even take spit-infused coffee," he pouted. "You and mom and dad are caffeine Nazis."
"Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you were having full-body tremors yesterday. People thought you were dancing, Hikaru, and it wasn't even a cool dance. If that was a mating dance our whole species would be extinct." Kaoru pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Don't stay up too late, okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, I know you can't sleep without my arms around you," Hikaru said with a laugh, waving him away. "I'll be back soon."
Kaoru winced as he ducked out the door. "Soon? Eventually is enough to ask."
Hikaru would later note that even eventually seemed like too much to ask. Not ten minutes after his twin had left, he was informed that two of the models had just contracted food poisoning and couldn't show up tomorrow (or later that day, anyway, considering it was already in the ungodly hours of the morning), five of their dresses had been misplaced, and there was some kind of problem with the heating. He cursed under his breath—his visible breath, Jesus, just how cold was it?—as he knelt on the floor and rooted through the piles of fabric everywhere, barking out orders to find replacement girls for the runway. Hell, if he got desperate he would force Kaoru to cross-dress with him and they would model themselves. God knew that they were pretty enough for it.
That was where he knew he had gone beyond his limit. He was calling himself pretty of all things.
His phone rang, and he swore. "What?" he snarled, snapping open the phone and cradling it between his shoulder and ear as he continued searching.
"Russian?" He sighed as he heard his boyfriend's voice. "Hi Hikaru. I missed you."
"Yeah, missed you too," he muttered distractedly, switching back to Japanese. "Sorry about that, didn't check who was calling. Where the fuck is the—you, over there. Get me coffee."
"But Hitachiin-sama's orders—"
"I'm about to commit murder," Hikaru said. "Decide whether my mom's orders are worth your life."
"Are you okay?" Tamaki asked. "You sound pretty stressed."
He gritted his teeth. "No, really?" He'd been careful and chipper so far with Tamaki over the phone. Snarky, yes, and he complained about having too much to do, but he'd never liked sounding weak. When he complained it was more in the sense of, 'Don't have as much time to have affairs behind your back' rather than 'I'm running on twenty minutes of sleep and I just want to cry right now'. And Tamaki hadn't pushed beyond what Hikaru told him. "It's... whatever." An intern appeared at his side with a cup of coffee and he took it with a grateful sigh—even if she probably had spit in it, just as Kaoru said.
He took a sip before glaring up at her in outrage. "Decaf?"
"I'm sure you killing me for giving you decaf will be much less painful than what Kaoru-shi would do if he found out I let you have caffeine," she said, unfazed. "His death threats are far more detailed."
Another assistant materialized at his side. "Hikaru-shi, one of the sleeves for your garment came off—"
Tamaki's voice cut in. "Hikaru, I—"
"SHUT UP!"
Utter silence fell. Hikaru closed his eyes, scrubbing at his face.
"Jesus, Tamaki, I'm busy," he said into the phone. "I've got better things to do, and do you know what fucking time it is over here? It's three in the fucking morning. I don't have time for this—I don't have time for you."
For a moment there was only the soft sound of his boyfriend's breathing. Hikaru froze, realizing what he had just said. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Tamaki beat him to it.
"...okay. I love you, Hikaru. Bye."
And then the line cut off.
Hikaru stared at his phone.
"Hikaru-shi?" ventured one of the interns.
He slowly put it down. "I called him Tamaki," he mumbled. "I..." He trailed off, then turned his gaze on the intern. "Fucking get me coffee now."
Of course Kaoru knew what happened, even though Hikaru hadn't told him. The rest of the staff had called and woken Kaoru up, and fifteen minutes later he'd appeared.
He glanced up at the mess around them and allowed himself a small sigh, but otherwise schooled his face into careful blankness.
Hikaru looked at him sulkily. "You didn't need to come back. I know you were already sleeping."
"Go back to the hotel, Hikaru," he said, plucking the coffee from his hand. Hikaru had foregone a cup to drink right out of the pot, and it was already almost empty, but he didn't say a single word of reprimand. He knocked back the last few drops. "Just go to bed. I'll take over. You need at least six hours of sleep tonight."
"I'm not a child, Kaoru," Hikaru snapped.
"I know," Kaoru said soothingly. He gestured at one of the assistants. "Could you ring maintenance, have them bring up a heater? Thanks." He knelt beside his twin and dug around the mess of clothing, easily extracting one of the dresses that they were looking for. "I'm not trying to treat you like a kid. But you haven't slept properly in too long. It's okay. I can handle it."
"And I can't?" Hikaru's cheeks were an angry pink from the cold.
"I didn't say that."
He watched Kaoru unearth yet another one of the missing garments. It seemed so obvious, suddenly, that it had been there all along. Hikaru was pretty sure that he'd even gone through that particular pile. "Sure, you didn't say it. But you're thinking it."
"Could you guys leave us for a moment?" Kaoru asked the other people. "One of you sew back the sleeve on Hikaru's garment for tomorrow, please... the others, set up sleeping and working shifts for the rest of the night." He turned back to Hikaru as everyone else filed out. "Look. No one's supposed to be able to handle it the first time around—"
Except you? Hikaru was abruptly furious. "Look, I may not be able to do things perfectly unlike you, but I had it under control," he bit out. "What is it with your constant need to prove that you're good at something?"
Kaoru blew out a breath, making his bangs flutter. He knew that Hikaru was just tired—and his big-mouthed brother wasn't the most tactful person to begin with. Unfortunately, he was pretty tired himself. "I'm not trying to prove anything. I don't need to."
"Liar," Hikaru snorted. "You're always trying to prove something. You live your whole life bending over backwards and trying to be good enough. That's why you're some kind of perfect robot who doesn't have trouble staying up all hours and getting everything done and not giving a fuck about Kyouya-sempai being thousands of miles away—hell, I don't know. Maybe you guys even have some kind of arrangement where you can dick around behind his back while you're off on work—"
Without warning, his twin slammed him against the wall.
"Don't," he warned him in a low voice completely alien from his usual breathy tenor. "Don't drag Kyouya-sempai into this."
Hikaru let out a sharp laugh. "Did I hit a sore spot, little brother? You haven't been going around seducing boys on our trip with your pretty little pout, have you?" He watched the blood drain out of Kaoru's face, the way he was biting down on his lip, his fingers digging into his palms, the way it always did when Hikaru went too far on something, and realized oh shit, I really did hit a sore spot. "Kaoru, you—"
No way, no fucking way, Kaoru isn't, he couldn't...
Kaoru let go of him, but he felt like he couldn't move at all. Instead he watched as his brother stalked out the door.
Minutes passed before one of the assistants stuck his head in through the doorway. "Sir? Is everything all right? Kaoru-shi left, but we still—"
Hikaru swallowed hard, suddenly not tired at all. "Yeah. I'll handle it."
The next day the show went off as well as could be hoped. All of last night's problems had been resolved without too much trouble, and they received a lot of praise for their work. They'd packed up after the obligatory round of parties and headed off to Barcelona, where Hikaru was at least grateful to be warm.
But.
Kaoru wasn't talking to him.
His brother, in classic Kaoru-style, somehow managed to be nothing less than the epitome of professional and accomplish everything they needed while never speaking a word to him. Hikaru was mildly impressed; considering they shared a room worked together, he was sure that Kaoru would slip up eventually... but he didn't. His twin could be pretty single-minded when he wanted to be.
The staff was much less impressed, though—by Hikaru. Kaoru was their darling; he was the youngest out of all of them, and irresistibly charming besides. They liked Hikaru well enough, but Kaoru was the Hitachiin twin prone to bursts of affection like bringing them all pizza and remembering their birthdays, so it was no surprise that they adored him. They'd also known Kaoru since last year, while Hikaru was more of a newcomer.
"It's not—they're not really doing anything," Hikaru mumbled to his dad after the show. "It's just quiet." The workplace was always eerily silent when he was there, the only noise the insistent clack-clack of the machines or the faint whisper of fabric. They were careful not to do it when Kaoru or their parents were around, though. Their father only knew because he was so good at blending in the shadows.
"It'll pass, trust me. Kaoru's just more familiar, so they're taking their cues from him. And if this has to do with your argument last night, it's a hard subject for Kaoru."
His eyes widened. "You—"
Their father knew about it. If he knew about it there was no doubt that their mother did too. "Kaoru told you guys but not me?" he blurted out. He could understand his twin telling Kyouya things that he didn't tell him—the sophomore had the powers of hell at his disposal, after all, and could easily hypnotize or torture his brother into giving him any information he wanted—but their parents? Their mom and dad were fabulous, but really?
"No, Hikaru, it isn't like that..."
Hikaru gritted his teeth, wondering why people always told you "It's not like that" when obviously it waslikethat. "It's fine. We'll handle it. It's pretty much a given that we'll fight while we're working in the future. So it's even some kind of fucked up learning experience, right?"
"Language," his father said mildly, even though he and Yuzuha were well aware that Hikaru had a terrible potty mouth and considered it a small thing in the face of all his other character quirks (like his fascination with pulling fire alarms). "I'm glad you're thinking of it that way. Your mother and I will stay out of it, then. It's very mature of you."
"Thanks." So mature that Hikaru returned Kaoru's silent treatment instead of apologizing and talking it over like he'd planned. Besides, Kaoru seemed just fine without him, floating around to chat with the staff or having annoyingly long conversations with Kyouya on the phone.
And that just pissed him off harder, because he couldn't talk with Tamaki the same way.
He'd tried calling to apologize, but Tamaki hadn't picked up... and he felt too stupid to just leave a voicemail apologizing. He had to admit though, had he been in Tamaki's place he would've been furious at him. If he'd been spoken to that way, he certainly wouldn't have bothered telling him "I love you" in that sad tone before hanging up.
Tamaki had at least texted him a terse message about being very busy for a while and ceasing contact until his schedule freed up a bit, and he supposed he deserved that too, so he hadn't bothered replying. That was how their fights went: they got pissed off at each other, one ran off, and they made up by getting all hot and bothered. Admittedly he was usually the one running off—and it was pretty awful to be on the other side of it for once—but he could deal with it. Tamaki would forgive him when he was ready.
He just hadn't thought that it would take so damn long.
"Hell, I want him to stop talking to me," he mumbled angrily into his pillow after the fifth night of not talking to his boyfriend. He saw Kaoru sneak a glance at him when he spoke, but his twin resolutely turned his back the moment he realized Hikaru had noticed.
He rolled his eyes, knowing that Kaoru was curious but far too proud to ask him about it—no doubt Kaoru had noticed that he was no longer getting phone calls. Well, he had too many things to deal with anyway. It was all for the best, not having to waste energy on Tamaki for a while. And it wasn't like he wanted to talk about it with Kaoru. Heck, there was nothing to talk about at all.
Sure. Lie to yourself long enough and maybe, just maybe, it'll become reality.
It was at one of their after-parties… in Italy, of course. They called Paris the City of Love, but Hikaru had always felt that there was more old-world romance in Italy, despite the country's particular grittiness and slightly rough-around-the-edges feel; that those things even enhanced its allure. It was one of the things that made him nurse a secret fondness for the place.
(Plus there was the food. Italian was the twins' favourite. There was a little hole-in-the-wall which made the best gelato where they knew him by name and he was friends with the family that ran it, even.)
Kaoru had abandoned him in favour of some dilettante he had met last year. The twins had made sure to circulate a rumour of a 'lover's tiff' so that people wouldn't expect them in a set for once. Most people weren't so crass as to ask outright—not when people still weren't sure of the exact nature of their relationship—but those who did muster up the courage to inquire were met with either soft sighs and fake teary eyes (from Kaoru, naturally) or a flip comment and a mocking smirk (Hikaru).
So he'd wandered off on his own to one of the balconies after a rather spectacular exchange with some outrageous new novelist. At least the conversation hadn't been boring; he was fairly sure they'd set most of the ears in the room on fire, if the shocked looks were anything to judge by. Plus the waiters had kept his glass filled enough so that he was feeling pleasantly buzzed.
"That was quite the performance," he heard as he took a sip of his champagne. English, not Italian, a faint accent curling around the words. Upper-crust British.
"Yeah?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the new arrival who eased beside him, running a critical eye over his tuxedo. "People act like they haven't heard people talk about penguins like that before."
"They generally don't, Mr. Hitachiin," the other man quipped, his tone heavy with amusement.
"Dear God, don't call me that," he groaned.
"Hikaru, then?" The redhead nodded. "All right, Hikaru, as you please. You likely don't remember me."
He squinted. He looked vaguely familiar, but if he'd met him some other time during the tour, it was a lost cause trying to recall, really. "Sorry, are you Lucien from last night or Pierre from this afternoon…? No, no, with that accent you must be Arthur from that lovely romp in the stables I had back in the English countryside. Or maybe you're Erik from that time in Dusseldorf?" He shrugged sloppily, a little of the champagne sloshing over the side of his glass as he gestured. He put on a charming smile. It was hard to get mad at that smile, he knew. "So many beautiful men, so little time."
"Amen to that, and it never hurts to be counted among the beautiful men. It's Charles, by the way, so you weren't too far off in your last guess."
"Charles? In what universe is that close to Erik?"
Charles smirked. "You have watched X-Men: First Class, yes? If Erik isn't close to Charles there, well…"
"Oh. Ohhhhh. Good point." Hikaru snickered. "Is this the part where you tell me I have a groovy mutation?"
"I've heard all the jokes, I can assure you. The first few months after that film's release were bloody torture. No, I'm a designer, just as you are. Not quite of your or your parents' calibre—not yet, anyway." He spoke with easy arrogance, and Hikaru found himself liking it in spite of himself. "That's how we met, you know. But then, you had full-body shakes and you looked like you couldn't tell a dress from a doughnut by then, so I'm not all that surprised you can't recall."
"Wait… in Turkey, right?" Hikaru asked, concentrating. "You were that floppy-haired guy who gave me his coffee after mom introduced us." Turkey, with thick dark brews in cups the size of eggshells; some guy sitting across him in a jewel-box of a coffeehouse as his mother introduced them, and him resting his head against Kaoru's shoulder and trying very hard not to fall asleep as he let his mouth go on autopilot in the conversation. "I think I called you a ponce."
Charles laughed. "Very good. Though I'm not quite sure how to feel about the floppy hair comment, and you did tell me that I was a rakish ponce at the least. It was a shame I was forced to escape very quickly after your mother got upset with me for giving you caffeine. You may also have told me that you would bear my babies in thanks for the coffee."
"Shut up, I did not," Hikaru laughed. "You're a shameless flirt."
"Yes you did—but I don't deny the flirt part. Can you really blame me? You're lovely." He looked delighted as Hikaru flushed all the way to his collarbones.
Normally Hikaru would have socked him one for that last comment, but it was... nice. Recently all he'd been hearing was what a disaster he looked. "I call bullshit," he snorted, draining his glass. "I haven't slept properly since I left Japan and I think I'm bordering horror-movie epic."
Charles didn't deny it. "You're still lovely. That bodes well for you when the zombie apocalypse rolls around—you'll be the fairest of all the walking dead."
Oh fuck, a clever flirt. My weakness, Hikaru whimpered internally. "I don't think my beloved twin would be too happy if I ran off into the sunset with the first Lothario come a-wooing."
He laughed. "Those rumours you two start, honestly. Not that it isn't hot to imagine..."
Hikaru's stomach clenched. "If you're looking for a kinky threesome with me and my brother, it isn't happening."
"How very protective. Your brother is quite sweet, but not really to my tastes." At Hikaru's look of surprise, Charles shrugged. "What? I didn't mean looks-wise. But you two are ridiculously different when people bother to look past the physical." He thumbed at the shadows under Hikaru's eyes, smiling when the younger boy didn't pull away. "I've been where you are now. That soul-sucking start of your career when you're falling apart. This... I found that it makes it bearable."
"What, trying to pick up boys half your age?"
"I'm only twenty-three, so don't use the old fart excuse on me," Charles said, rolling his eyes. Hikaru wasn't all that surprised. It was a young business, a young world—everything moved fast, like champagne bubbles in his bloodstream, like Charles's hand resting lightly on his arm. "And no. It's... the human contact, I suppose. A bit more madness in the midst of all this madness, but at least it's a beautiful kind."
"You're so sly," Hikaru said, staring up at him. "How many people have fallen for those lines?"
"I've had my fair share. But at least I'm honest about it." Charles released him. "You decide how this plays out. We can stay out here and chat, and have a lovely time dissecting all sorts of topics, and get pleasantly drunk on free champagne, and part for the night promising to talk again at a future date. Or I can leave you in peace to do what you wish. Or."
"Or?" Hikaru asked, hating the sudden breathiness of his voice. Jesus Christ, how much had he drunk?
Charles smiled.
A/N: When I was writing this, my mental image of Charles was really James McAvoy. Because X-Men: First Class is amazing.
I have to confess, I'm not really sure where I'm going to go with this fic. It could go anywhere, really, depending on my mood. I'll try to update soon... though December is coming up, which means pressure to write a Christmas fic as usual.