Prompt: Can you maybe write a one shot where they open up to each other about their past as children? I know Charles had an insight to Erik's past in First Class when he accessed Erik's memory system but I was hoping to read something more in depth and I love your style. Xx
They sat in silence for what seemed like eternities – their fingers intertwined, their shoulders brushing, just staring up at the sky, listening to their own breath and their beating hearts. Nothing else mattered.
Finally, Erik rolled onto his side. "Charles?" he murmured, watching him. The blue of his eyes matched almost perfectly with the sky.
"Mmm?" Charles didn't move; his eyes stayed glued to the clouds.
"I've been thinking. I know when we first met…I asked you never to go into my mind. But…there are some things I can't tell you – some things I just can't put into words. And I want you to know everything. I want you to know me."
Charles adjusted his head so they were nose-to-nose. "Are you asking me to look into your mind? Erik, are you sure?"
Erik's eyes searched Charles' for a split second. Then he nodded. "I'm positive." Charles closed his eyes, but Erik quickly grabbed his hand. "Wait. You should know…it's not all happy, Charles. It's not…I'm not…I'm not who you think I am."
Charles didn't open his eyes. Instead, he squeezed Erik's hand. "I know. It's okay." And he delved into Erik's mind. Years rushed by. Years of happiness, immediately followed by years of sorrow, years of anguish, years of pain.
First, there was happiness. A father and son running at each other with open arms, laughing. A mother holding her crying child, kissing him softly as she murmured to him. A sister running after her older brother, giggling and squealing. Erik's family.
Next, sorrow. Images of the Star of David, of grey work clothes, of stone smeared with blood. A burning pain as a series of numbers was seared into a young boy's arm. The picture of a younger sister sitting in the back of a truck packed with girls and women, crying softly, too scared to scream.
A mother being ripped from her son, the world going red, the metal gates moving as Erik reached his hand out for the last of his family.
When Charles heard the shot, saw Erik's mother crumple to the floor, he realized he was crying. His face was soaked. But he never opened his eyes. Instead, he gripped Erik's hand tighter and forged through the rest of the memories.
After that, the memories were splattered with blood. They rotated between anger and carelessness. Charles watched through Erik's eyes as Erik's own hands tore at skin, broke bones.
When he opened his eyes, Erik was staring at the sky, his face blank and his jaw set. Charles removed his hand from Erik's and wiped away his tears. He opened his mouth to say something – anything. I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to live that life. But he couldn't. He knew nothing he could say would help. Nothing would balance out a lifetime of pain.
So instead, he placed a finger on Erik's chin and slowly turned it so Erik was facing him. "Thank you," he whispered. Then he brought his hands to Erik's temples, closed his eyes, and gave his own life to Erik.
Erik watched as the young British boy grew up in a huge, empty house. He watched as Charles tried to speak up for himself and was punished by his mother – a mother who was always either absent or upset. He watched as his mother screamed, as the jar shattered against his chest, as blood slipped out of the cut. And as Charles walked away, back to his books and a life away from his own.
When it was done, Charles removed his hands. They lay in silence for a moment. Then Erik rolled over and pressed his mouth against Charles', tasting the salt of his tears. When he pulled back, he looked into Charles' eyes and said the words that had been burning in his mind for days, the words that Charles could have easily seen if he had broken his promise and gone into Erik's mind. "I love you."