"Whether, with grim Heraclitus of yore,
To weep, as he did, till his eyes were sore;
Or rather laugh with him, that queer philosopher,
Democritus of Thrace, who used to toss over
The page of life and grin at the dog-ears,
As though he'd say, "Why, who the devil cares?"
- 'O, Tempora! O, Mores!'
Edgar Allan Poe
X X X
Charles loved books.
So, because of this, it was obvious that it would always be this way; his shelves layered down with book upon book upon book, and always more joining the ranks every other day. His mother said he'd be swallowed by them eventually if he didn't do some regular cleaning to dispose of the ones he no longer needed, but even the ones he didn't quite fancy he couldn't let go of.
There was a peace there; a comfort in the soft, quiet sound of a room full of books, and he didn't want to give that up.
Charles loved many types and genres, of course, but classics were always the ones he enjoyed the most. And while the Brothers Grimm's 'Snow White and Rose Red', Hans Christian Anderson's 'The Girl Who Trod on the Loaf', and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's 'Sherlock Holmes' enchanted him, his favorite was forever – unequivocally and irrevocably – Edgar Allan Poe.
Some would find that strange, considering Charles' cheerful countenance, but something about the darkness swirling around the words Poe wrote intrigued him; it lured him in like a moth to a flame, and he could not - no matter how hard he tried - give up the obsession he had with the long-dead writer, poet, and playwright.
He would often read snippets of Poe's works to Raven, his younger sister, on the nights when the Xavier household would get too lonely. With their mother being the only other person there, the long corridors and dark corners of the estate often stretched with shadows their imaginations perceived as horrific, and it was on these nights that Raven would crawl into bed with Charles and beg him to read to her.
This was when he turned to Poe.
One might think that on dark nights, reading something as edgy as Edgar Allan Poe to his sister – rather than fairy tales that might be more to her fancy – was a foolish move. But in reality Poe calmed Raven as much as he calmed Charles.
He was their foundation.
So it was, even much, much later after they'd both reached the latter years of their teenage lives that Charles would still stay up late at night simply to read Raven some of their favorite poems. It had become a sort of tradition of theirs, after all the years of doing it. And it came to them as naturally as breathing.
And so Charles sat in Raven's room; she, cuddled up under the blankets on her bed, and Charles sitting in the chair by her side, reading by the light of the lamp beside him.
"Be silent in that solitude
Which is not loneliness – for then
The spirits of the dead who stood
In life before thee are again
In death around the – and their will
Shall overshadow thee: be still."
"Charles?" Raven murmured.
Charles looked up from the tattered pages of the anthology of Poe's writings that he'd had since he was a kid, his blue eyes wide and inquiring even in the dim light of the room. "Yes?"
"Could you read Hans Pfaall?"
Ah, Charles had been waiting for that. The Unparalleled Adventure of One Hans Pfaall was Raven's favorite story out of all the ones Poe had written. It was intended to be a hoax in its first publication to a local newspaper when Poe wrote it, but it was later recognized as the story that reshaped how the world saw science fiction.
And Raven reveled in it.
"Of course I will." Charles conceded easily, flipping through the pages and finding the story she longed for without having to look at the Table of Contents in the front, for he knew this book like his own hand.
"By late accounts from Rotterdam," Charles began, "That city seems to be in a high state of philosophical excitement. Indeed, phenomena have there occurred of a nature so completely unexpected – so entirely novel – so utterly at variance with preconceived opinions – as to leave no doubt on my mind that long ere this all Europe is in an uproar, all physics in a ferment, all reason and astronomy together by the ears. It appears that on the _ day of _ (I am not positive about the date), a vast crowd of people . . ."
His voice trailed off as he heard Raven's slow, peaceful breathing permeate the silence that had previously surrounded them and he turned to see his sister sound asleep, her chest rising and falling slowly.
Charles smiled and stood, turning off the light as he kissed Raven gently on her forehead, whispered goodnight, and crept off to his own room.
He set Poe down on his bedside table, smiling wistfully at it for a moment before climbing beneath the covers of his own bed and shutting off the light, Poe's words still chasing each other around in his head even as he drifted off to sleep.
Tomorrow I will go to the library. He thought just as sleep overcame him.
X X X
The library, being a building completely full of books, was undoubtedly one of Charles' favorite places. He spent many days there, for when Raven was at school the silence in the Xavier estate became suffocating; its dreary oppressiveness overcast by the sound of his drunken mother rummaging around in the cupboards for something to relieve her of her hangover.
And he just could not handle that.
So he stayed here, in this place he considered a refuge.
There were very few people in the library that day, but Charles didn't mind. It was easier to be alone like this, simply left to his own devices so he could skim through the pages of whatever book fancied him.
Besides classics, Charles also had an affinity for mythology, especially Norse mythology, and he often read their tales. But as he flitted through the library's bookshelves he realized that it had been quite a while since he'd read any, and he did quite miss the tales of Loki and Thor and Odin, of the rainbow bridge Bifrost, and the golden apples that gifted the gods with immortality.
So it was that he decided to pull the familiar copy of Norse tales off the shelf, flipping through it for a few moments, but stopping suddenly on one he knew so well, and the one had always been his favorite.
"Odin raised his spear and his voice over the assembly," Charles whispered to himself, " 'We must find a way out of this contract,' he shouted. 'Who suggested we should strike this bargain? How did we come to risk such an outcome: Freyja married to a brute of a giant? The sky raped of the sun and the moon so that we shall have to grope about, robbed of light and warmth?' Several gods and then every god looked at Loki, and Odin strode across the hall floor towards him . . ."
Charles chuckled and decided to get it, along with some of Jane Austen's classics and a few others in between. He left the library feeling content, and was prepared to begin the short trek home when he paused at the corner of the street, having seen something there he'd never noticed before.
It was an old used bookstore, conveniently sitting squashed between two larger buildings; subtle and unassuming, and yet something about it beckoned Charles to enter. Though whether it was the promise of new books or the prospect of exploration that urged him to go in, he was not sure.
A little bell above the door rang as he stepped inside, but no one called out a greeting, and Charles wondered if the owner had stepped out for a moment. Nonetheless, he doubted that whoever ran the small shop would mind if Charles poked around for a bit, especially when he was interested in buying.
But as he stepped clear of the doorway and glanced around the inside of the store, he realized that it looked quite like heaven to him. Books, of all shapes and sizes, layered themselves upon the many shelves, weighing them down so the wood was bowed beneath their bulk. Old tomes and ancient-looking scrolls lay littered around in piles that may or may not have had some sort of order – for it was impossible to tell, and gigantic stacks of large dictionaries, thesauruses, apparatuses, and the like were piled in every corner.
Charles breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of old books, leather, and wilted rose petals. It was an odor different from what he was used to in bookstores; deep and intoxicating, husky with the esoteric promise of long-forgotten stories and ancient times scarcely remembered or cared about.
It excited him.
More than a little intrigued, he made his way through the shelves and found the front desk, but there was no one there. Frowning, he leaned over the counter a bit to see if he could peer into the door that led to the back of the shop, but no such luck.
"Hello?" He called, "Is anyone here?"
There was a sudden thump from back behind the door, followed by a muffled string of curses. Charles flushed, wondering if he'd been the reason for the racket – it sounded as if something had been knocked over or run into – and pulled away from the counter, worrying at his lower lip.
A man stumbled out a few moments later, his light brown hair mussed and his green eyes narrowed. He wore jeans and a t-shirt, definitely not what Charles had imagined, and yet he was obviously the owner from the way he maneuvered so expertly through the innumerable piles of literature.
"Who are you?" The man asked somewhat gruffly, if Charles was to be honest (which he liked to be).
"I-I'm Charles . . . Xavier." Charles stammered out, feeling a little threatened by the man's calculating gaze.
The man looked as if he couldn't be much older than Charles – who was turning twenty one in a few months – but it was just something about the way he carried himself, even though Charles would guess him to be around twenty five or twenty six.
At the most.
"Erik Lensherr." The man said finally, by way of introduction. "What are you doing here?"
"W-well, I saw that it was a bookstore . . . and so I decided to come in and look around, is that okay?"
Erik stared levelly at him for a moment, and Charles almost believed the man would tell him no and throw him out, but then Erik was nodding.
"Help yourself." He murmured, leaning on the counter with his chin resting in his hand as he watched Charles calmly.
Trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck, Charles turned and began fishing through the books on the shelves, soon after moving to the piles as he flew around the room; jumping from one shelf to the next with all the enthusiasm of a very excitable puppy.
It wasn't entirely obvious how hyper and easily excited Charles really was, however, until he found an old, battered copy of Poe's works, full of old poems and short stories that he and Raven hadn't yet read. And then he grabbed the book and spun around in circles, practically jumping for joy -
- That is, until he tripped over a pile of books and nearly fell.
Strong arms caught him in mid-air, surprising him greatly, for he'd thought for sure he'd hit the floor. But no, instead here he was, cradled in Erik's arms and staring up into his green eyes like some sort of scene from a cheesy romance movie. Charles was still clutching Poe to his chest, and he could not deny the way his cheeks flushed when Erik gave him an amused little grin.
"Be careful." Erik said.
Charles nodded, desperately trying to hold back the flush coloring his cheeks as Erik helped him to his feet. Thanking the older man profusely, Charles quickly paid for the book of Poe's he'd found, then he left – though with the promise to return in his wake.
Of course he'd return. Where books were, Charles went. And were Charles went, there were always books. It was like clockwork.
So, it was with a ridiculously giddy grin on his face that Charles skipped – skipped – back home, greeting Raven cheerfully and ignoring the drunken snore that his mother gave as he walked through the living room. He didn't even mind the image of her sprawled out on the couch, an empty bottle in one hand and a scrapbook of memories in the other, for now he had a secret place he could go to when he wanted to be alone.
He had found his sanctuary. Now nothing could ever break him.
X X X
The following days were warm and peaceful, in the sense of camaraderie and a friendship Charles had longed for since his early years. Erik was charming, to say the least, despite the gruff façade he put on. Charles wondered sometimes why put up such a front, but he figured it wasn't his place to ask.
If it was really that important, Erik would tell him.
In their talks together whenever Charles visited, he found out that Erik liked books just as much as he did which was to be expected, seeing as he owned the bookstore Charles had fallen so in love with and they shared many of the same likes and dislikes when it came to genres and authors.
However, it was with a certain amount of horror that Charles found out Erik had never read Edgar Allan Poe, and it was then that he resolved to get him a copy of Poe's works like the one he had and bring it to him.
Though when Charles brought Erik the book a few days later in a simple paper bag since he had no knowledge of how to properly wrap presents something changed in the older man's eyes. It was just visible for a second, and if Charles hadn't been watching him so closely he wouldn't have seen it. But there it was, clear and plain as day.
Tenderness.
Charles had never seen such a grateful and loving look in anyone's eyes before.
"Erik . . . ?" He ventured warily, a bit taken aback by the other man's reaction.
"Thank you." Erik said softly after a few moments. "I – I can't believe I mean, Charles . . . no one has ever given me something like this before."
Charles felt his heart wrench painfully at the sudden pain in Erik's voice, but he did his best to hide it.
"Well, I . . . I'm glad I could be the first, my friend." He said once he'd gotten himself under control again, though his voice hitched on the words at one point.
"Can we read this together?" Erik asked suddenly.
Charles blinked. "Of course we can, Erik."
Erik smiled suddenly – genuinely – startling Charles, for it rather reminded him of the sun emerging from behind the clouds, and it was as if Erik's entire face lit up with joy.
"Thank you, Charles." Erik murmured, and though he didn't mention it, Charles could sense that there was a weight beneath those words neither of them wanted to face.
And so, that was how their tradition began. Charles would visit the tiny little used bookstore on the corner of the street by the library every other day to talk to Erik, ending the visit with an hour of reading through Poe's works together. They'd take turns; Charles reading one day, and Erik reading another, and together they steadily worked through the book.
Charles loved listening to Erik read, for his voice was thick and husky with a gentleness he hid beneath his gruff façade. And sometimes, if Charles listened hard enough, he could hear the hint of an accent that he couldn't quite place. Though he never bothered to bring it up.
If Erik didn't want to tell him, he would respect that.
" 'Twas noontide of summer,
And mid-time of night,
And stars, in their orbits,
Shone pale, thro' the light
Of the brighter, cold moon,
'Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
Her beam on the waves."
"Wait," Erik interrupted Charles in his reading suddenly, "What is the name of this poem again?"
"Evening Star," Charles replied easily, for it was one of his favorites by Poe.
Erik smiled softly. "I like this one."
Charles swallowed hard, trying to ignore the strange way his heart seemed to be pounding against his chest, and cleared his throat as he continued reading.
In the days after that, though, things between them seemed to take a different turn, and Charles found himself looking so forward to the days he got to spend time at Erik's shop that the days he wasn't there seemed almost bleak.
He was happier, though. Even Raven was noticing it.
But she never said anything, and for that he was glad. He wanted to keep his meetings with Erik secret for just a bit longer, despite it being somewhat a selfish decision, and Raven must've sensed that from him, for she never once mentioned it, and nor did she ask where he went for hours on end every other day.
It was one day, however, when the sun shone warm and bright, that Charles walked the few blocks to Erik's shop to see said man standing right at the entrance, rather than waiting inside like he normally did.
"Erik?" Charles blinked, confused.
Erik smiled. "Hello, Charles."
A moment of silence stretched between them.
"Are we going to go inside?" Charles asked finally.
"No." Erik said. "I have something else planned for today." He held out his hand suddenly, grinning in a way Charles had never seen before. "I'm going to take you to lunch, would you like that?"
Charles felt heat creep into his cheeks. "Erik Lensherr, are you asking me out on a date?" He teased.
"Yes, I am." Erik said boldly, surprising him.
But, nonetheless, Charles could not hide the joy that stretched his lips up into a wide smile. Instead he merely took Erik's hand, grinning like an idiot and blushing to the point that Erik teased him about it as they made their way down the street to a nearby café.
And so began a wonderful relationship.
But, with every step they took hand-in-hand together, Charles mused over the fact that Poe had always seemed to be right there with him throughout his whole life; outlining all of his happiest moments. The irony in that realization was astounding, but he decided that he could look past it this time and merely thank Poe instead.
And, for the first time in a long time, Charles laughed out loud, for all was right with the world in his eyes.