There's a moment of tense, awkward silence, during which Erik doesn't know what he's supposed to say and this, Charles, who's blinking up at him owlishly, like he knows precisely what's happening but refuses to impart a few choice words of wisdom to Erik.
It's an awfully clichéd moment, when Erik thinks about it in an abstract sort of way. This is not how he wants to find certain things out. Like the fact that his imaginary narrative wasn't really imagination, more like plagiarism.
That something that was his could quite possibly have already been Xavier's from the start, never Erik's.
Xavier.
The kid Erik's been trying to figure out, who's instead sitting here reading Pride and Prejudice to a twelve-year-old who could hardly care. Maybe there's something he should say, the arbitrary series of rules one tends to follow for the sake of politeness, but Erik's mind has plunged into shock and a hint of worry. Maybe he's going mad.
He doesn't know what the fuck is going on.
The blonde breaks the silence.
'Charles,' she begins. Erik is uncomfortably aware of how close she is, practically plastered to his back. Summers has most likely already begun rumours of a ménage à trois. 'Charles, look who I found. Can you believe it? And you thought I was crazy. I told you I'd seen him around.' She starts to laugh, though it sounds more like a cackle befitting the Three Witches. 'He's a legend around the hospital, you know,' she adds as an afterthought.
Erik looks at the blonde first. 'Do I know you?' he asks suspiciously.
She frowns. 'Oh, well no, not really. I mean, you wouldn't recognise us.' She bites her lip, adds in hesitantly, 'But I remember you. My brother definitely remembers you,' she says smugly.
And then Xavier decides to speak at last. 'I'm sorry, I think there's been a mistake.' He quickly rises from his seat. 'You must excuse my sister,' he adds in hastily.
There's something buzzing in the back of Erik's mind, low and hard. Erik can tell when he's being fed bullshit.
'Hold on a minute, I know you,' he says, pointing a finger at Xavier, because he'd know that voice anywhere, he's certain of it. 'I must do, I can recognise your voice,' he explains, and then realises what he's said.
Well.
Xavier probably thinks he's mad now. The blonde lets out a giddy little sound. 'I mean, you sound familiar,' he corrects quickly.
'See, see,' Blondie says. 'I'm not wrong.' Her body seems to radiate excitement, like she's found her favourite toy, or something equally sinister. Erik's not a fucking toy.
That's when Erik hears Angel's familiar voice of from the corridor. 'He's a real stunner alright, that Charles Xavier.' Erik notes how Xavier turns a delicate shade of red; the blonde smirks at Erik, like she knows what he's thinking.
Angel freezes when she spots them all, realising the object of her affections has just overheard her. It's a blur after that, with Angel flushing and mumbling something, Xavier dragging his sister out of the room by the cuff of her sleeve before Erik even realises what the hell is going on.
'Why didn't you tell me he was here?' Angel demands, her pen jabbing him in the chest.
He ignores her and whips out into the corridor, only to see Xavier's sister pause at the desk while her brother's back is turned to her. She writes something at a furious speed and then scrunches it into a ball, throwing it in Erik's direction. Erik catches it as it sails over Hank's head; she gives him two thumbs up and runs off after her brother.
'Who the hell is she?' Angel asks.
Erik flattens the piece of paper out. There's a series of numbers, and what he assumes to be her name –Raven.
What catches his attention is the last sentence at the bottom, hastily scrawled out with a heart next to it.
we used to read to you :D
See, the thing is, Erik's life exists in a perpetual state of order.
He rolls out of bed at six in the morning, depending on when his shift starts. Then he goes about getting his daily coffee fix. While that's getting ready, he goes out in his boxers to check the mail where he'll, during most unfortunate days, get thwacked on the forehead by the paper boy - Erik's damn fucking sure the little asshole's got a vendetta against him, probably egged on by Logan, their mail man. Sometimes the bastard misses if Erik manages to duck in time.
Every small victory counts at this point.
After that he's off to the hospital. Occasionally Mama might call, asking him to attend something or another one of their relatives is having. It never fails to amaze Erik how they always find something to celebrate nearly every other fucking day. On such days he'll make sure to work extra late at the hospital, or go out with Emma instead. He can't handle all the when are you getting married questions, and old women trying to knit him socks and measure him inappropriately. Mama always has a sinister smile during these visits.
He spends much of his time torturing Summers and Cassidy at every turn. Trades a few pick-up lines with Angel along the way; oh, and he saves a few lives. That's how his days go.
Neat, orderly and consistent. He's in control of it, and if there's any need to change, he knows where the schedule will need to be altered.
This, Xavier, however, he thinks with a hint of distaste, puts a wrench in his plans.
Mama picks up on the fifth ring.
'Erik,' she says.
He looks at the phone suspiciously. 'How'd you know it was me?'
'Caller ID, Erik. Modernise yourself a little, for goodness' sake. Now, what do you want?' she asks.
Erik pulls out a Fong's take-out menu, the note from Raven still suck to it. 'Can't I just call for a chat?' he asks, perhaps a little too sulkily.
She sighs. 'No, you can't. You're my son, I know you. So what is it? I'm watching a Brideshead Revisited marathon here. It better be important.'
Nice to know what her priorities are.
Erik can hear a funny crunching sound in the background and a tragic tune. 'Well,' he begins hesitantly. She doesn't like talking about the time when he was in the hospital. 'Do you remember when I was, you know, at the hospital?'
It's quiet on the other end. He hopes she doesn't burst into tears, he doesn't think he could handle that. It's enough having to deal with it through every damn re-run of The Sound of Music and her sobbing when Captain von Trapp declares his engagement – oh, poor Maria. Good God, he'll die if she's starts the waterworks over the phone.
'Yes,' she says after a while.
Erik's not sure how to approach the next part. It's odd and it doesn't make sense to him, so how would it to her? She'll probably think he's going nuts at last, like she always predicted. 'Was there somebody who used to read to me?' He sounds nonchalant, like the answer isn't important.
She's silent again. It could either be the thoughtful kind, or the one where she's thinking dodgy things about him.
Erik's preparing himself to just hang up, when she finally speak up. 'Oh, well, yes, of course, I remember that. He was some young boy, used to read to you when I wasn't there.' She lets out a thoughtful sound, unaware that Erik's whole body has stilled. He's amazed he's still got the phone in his hand. 'I think he used to read Pride and Prejudice a lot. Yes, definitely that.' There's another crunch, and he realises that she's eating something. 'Now that I think about it, he had lovely blue eyes, very handsome if I do say so myself.' She sighs a little. 'Why'd you ask? Didn't I tell you?'
No, he thinks, a little nastily, you most certainly didn't.
Three days pass and Erik conveniently ignores the startling revelation he's just had about his life. He taunts Summers more than strictly necessary, but the passion has gone out of his jibes. They're not as mocking as they should be; instead, they fall into the pathetic category.
Summers must realise this as he only shakes his head, pats him on the shoulder, and gives him a slice of his sandwich.
'Even the great must fall,' he says with mock solemnity.
Another two days go by.
Erik does not see Xavier.
He can't say if this pleases him or not.
'It can't be a tumour. Her CT's clean,' Erik explains. They're in the children's ward; a nine-year-old kid stares back at them from his bed as they puzzle over his predicament.
Emma gives Erik a quizzical look. 'Are you going to tell me what's bothering you?' she asks as she flips through a chart beside him.
He ignores her. 'Is it an infection?'
'No it's not, I've checked. What's wrong with you?'
'There's nothing wrong with me. I'm perfectly fine.'
She rolls her eyes. 'You're a lousy liar when it really matters.'
'Has he got a fever?' he says instead.
'No, Erik. He hasn't got a fever and it's not an infection.' It's silent for a while. He thinks maybe she's decided to give it a rest, but then she has to go and ruin it. 'Just tell me,' she says, and if it was anyone else, it would sound like a whine.
Emma's practically his closest friend. If he's to be blunt about it, she's his only friend. He gives her a long, hard look. 'If I tell you, you can't say anything, or laugh, or, you know, do what I do.'
'You mean 'be a dick'? I'll try my best.'
Erik looks up at the ceiling and talks to it, rather than her. 'You remember when I told you I was in a coma once when I was younger?' He gives her a quick glance, catches her nod and frown. 'Well, it turns out somebody used to read to me while I was there. Some kid,' he mumbles.
'Oh. That's nice, I guess.' It sounds uncertain, more like a question.
He sakes his head. 'I didn't know, though, not until a couple of days ago, when I saw him here.'
'He told you it was him?'
'No, uh, no,' he coughs, feels the back of his neck start to heat up. 'That's not how it went. I recognised him by his voice.' He decides to stop staring at the ceiling and looks at her, prepared for whatever she might say.
Instead, she asks, 'What did he read to you?'
Oh fuck, of course she'd ask the one thing he didn't consider. Reluctantly he tells her. 'Pride and Prejudice.'
Her lips twitch, and he gives her a warning look. There's a quiet hum of silence between them. Comfortable he supposes. He's grateful for it.
'Who was the boy?' she asks at last.
He takes a deep breath. 'Xavier.'
She gives him a look of disbelief, then her lips start twitching again, and she bursts into laughter. The stupid hussy.
'Oh my God,' she manages to say, a ominous look in her eyes. 'You know what this means don't you? This makes you Elizabeth Bennet.'
Oh fuck.
It's on the weekend that it happens. He's at the library arguing with Azazel, the librarian on the second floor, to check the fucking reservations list again, when he feels someone tap him on the shoulder.
He turns around, ready to snarl at them.
It's the blonde.
'You didn't call me,' she tells him, hands on her hips.
Erik tries to remember her name. 'Look, uh, Raven, this isn't the time for this. I've got a book to collect.'
She cocks her head to the side. 'That's fascinating, Erik, but you've been avoiding me.'
'I don't know you,' he tells her, sounding a little helpless.
She gives him an assessing look. 'Let's look for this book of yours.'
Erik follows her reluctantly, feeling like he's walking to the gallows, and she's going to start pelting tomatoes at him.
They're on the third floor, in the Classics section, perusing the books, when she finally speaks.
'You wouldn't recognise us, I mean, I'm nobody to you and that's fine, I guess.' Erik avoids looking at her. 'It's just, I remember you. You were sort of my favourite person, which is understandable, I was only nine.' She laughs a little. 'We used to read to you every day for weeks. I loved it, and so did Charles, though it's hard to tell with the way he's been avoiding the hospital like he'll catch Chlamydia if he breathes the same air as you.' Her voice rises a notch, angry.
Erik can't say much, he hasn't exactly bothered, either.
'But we were…. lonely, you could say, and it was our favourite thing. Charles loves Austen. He used to read her novels to you a lot.' She takes a book off the shelf, stares at the cover. 'You're not under some sort of obligation.' She glances at him, a solemn look on her face. 'But it would be nice to get to know you. We used to worry about you. But then you disappeared, and we never heard of you since then. Charles worried a lot,' she says quietly, like it's a secret she isn't even supposed to know.
She thrusts the book in Erik's direction. 'Here, take this, Charles is right over there, three bookshelves away. What have you got to lose?' she asks, before turning around and moving to the other side.
Erik hasn't got much to lose, he thinks, as he walks over and spots Xavier in his stuffy blue cardigan and floppy hair, flushed pink as he reaches up for a book that's too high. Silently, standing behind him, Erik snags the book from above his head and Xavier quickly turns around to find himself face-to-face with Erik.
Erik's forced himself to be high-functioning in the face of disaster. It's how he manages to ignore Xavier's disgustingly blue eyes. They're too bright, more distracting than his previous assessment days ago.
'Here's your book.' Erik thrusts it into Xavier's direction, though it's futile, Xavier's arms hang limply by his side. It's as if Erik's presence will continue to render him into silence, wide in the eyes and fearful in the mouth, skin suddenly pallid.
Erik doesn't like it.
'Your book,' Erik repeats, and this seems to rouse Xavier as he moves forward, hesitancy seeping into his actions, before he takes the book into both hands. Erik absently notes how close they are, the heat of Xavier's body a mini-inferno.
He smiles at Erik. It's blurred and not sharp the way it could be. 'Thank you.'
Xavier looks him in the eye, a sharp contradiction to the way his body moves.
Erik shrugs. 'You're Xavier, then.' He doesn't really know how else to go about this; the awkwardness is stifling, though he's not sure what it is that makes him feel uncomfortable. 'You're a bit of a celebrity at the hospital,' he tells him and Xavier blushes bright red. He mumbles something while staring at his feet, and Erik decides he prefers Xavier like this. He seems a little more like himself.
'So, what are you reading?' he asks, before pulling another book off the shelf from above Xavier's head. It's a copy of Persuasion.
There's a subtle shift in Xavier's body. Through sheer luck Erik catches it, the way he cants his body forward, nods his head a little too eagerly like an over excited puppy.
'It's Austen.' He waves the book in front of them, showing Erik the cover. 'I thought I'd try Emma. I still haven't read that yet.'
Erik shakes his head. 'I never really liked it,' he informs him, before yanking another copy down. He sees how Xavier presses his back against the shelf every time Erik does this. It's slightly unnerving.
'Have you read Wuthering Heights?'
Xavier clutches the books tight to his chest, the blue cardigan clashing hideously with the cover. 'I didn't really like Heathcliff. I like Jane Eyre, Mr Rochester was a fascinating character.'
Erik just stares at him.
Xavier smiles in return; it's different, more distinct. 'Come on, I'll show you,' he says, walking along the aisle to the other end, while he runs his hands over hundreds of book spines as he blathers on about Mr Rochester. Erik follows silently, watching every book Charles marks with his fingertips.
Erik spends two hours at the library, listening to the soft cadence of Xavier's voice as it stumbles over words, stringing together a thousand meanings in a heartbeat. He watches the way he tilts his head when he finds something interesting, the way his bitten-red lips purse in annoyance. How his fingers are smattered with ink and dust as he constantly pushes his floppy hair aside when he gets too excited.
The awkward issue of their past is forgotten in those moments.
Mostly, he listens to his voice.
Erik comes to the realisation that his memory didn't do it any justice.
When he steps out the library, a pile of books in hand, there's a smattering of orange and dark shades of pink across the sky, the sun close to setting.
Xavier follows closely behind, a pile of books pressed to his chest, too.
Xavier's looking at the floor, Raven waving at him from down the street, before she enters a black car. Erik rolls his eyes and decides to take matters into his own hands.
'I'll see you at the hospital then,' he tells Xavier, less a question and more a statement, and the kid smiles at him, nodding in affirmation, floppy hair obscuring his eyes. And before Erik knows what he's doing, he shifts his books and reaches out, brushing Xavier's hair to the side.
Xavier freezes, and Erik is fucking mortified.
'Great,' Erik says hastily before leaving as fast as he can. As he passes the black car, Raven, the cheeky idiot, sticks her head out the window and gives him two thumbs-up and a wink.
Jesus fuckin' Christ.
It's as if Charles has been given permission, because he's everywhere.
This little fact doesn't dawn on Erik until five days have passed by. He's in the lift with Shaw – the bastard's been Chief of Surgery for so long, Erik doesn't think he'll ever get his hands on the position - and he mentions it.
'And here comes my favourite doctor,' Shaw says in greeting.
'Shaw.' Erik's hand twitches around his stethoscope, itching to grab onto something.
'Xavier's here, be polite,' Shaw tells him after a moment of silence, perusing thorough a backdated issue of Gardener's World.
The lift pings, and Shaw heads to the nurses' station, magazine tucked under his arm, a smirk in place and aimed towards Emma.
For the first time Erik registers the kid's presence. Erik'd known Charles would be here, it's having it confirmed by another that makes the knowledge sink deep, unrelenting and waiting for acknowledgement. Because Erik knew, he just didn't know precisely how often Charles was here. At the end of the day, hearing Angel drone on and on about him, Erik comes to the bitter conclusion that Charles has been at the hospital every fucking day this past week.
Every time Erik's in the children's ward, Charles is lurking - actually, no, he's pretty obvious in his presence - in a corner, reading something to the children, and although at first his smiles are hesitant, after the sixth time Erik spots him he's beaming, no longer self-conscious and looking awfully pleased with himself. Erik's aware of how he wants Charles here, for some unknown unexplainable reason. It's facing the issue that's hard to digest.
And where Charles is, there's always a Raven following right behind.
Erik can't say what's worse, the flushed face and plush-red lips, or lewd winks and notes thrown into the on-call room with hearts doodled in the corner.
He should have known it would complicate things.
They're getting ready for a discectomy and Summers is the first to say it. 'Xavier's girlfriend is smoking hot.'
Erik gives him a droll look. 'That's his sister, you childish moron.'
'Uh, no, the sister's blonde, this one's a brunette.' Erik's head snaps up, eyes narrowed. He hasn't heard this before. 'Sean's got a huge crush on her,' Alex continues on, unaware. 'They look good together. I mean, they were checking out some books-'
'They were reading together?' Erik cuts in, unsettled.
Summers looks thoughtful, thinking it through. 'I dunno. There were a lot of books, though.'
Erik doesn't know why it bothers him, but it does, and Erik is silently fuming.
'What's her name?'
'Oh, hmm, I don't know. Moira, I think, but I'm not sure,'
It doesn't matter. This is all Erik needs.
Sometimes, when there's time to wonder, which equals to practically every waking moment when it comes to Charles, Erik will spend sleepless nights thinking about how Charles is here constantly. Doesn't he have better things to be doing, essays to work on, a dissertation to hand in?
One day, on the way out, Charles silently hands him a copy of The Unbearable Lightness of Being, unsure yet determined, 'It's new, I haven't read it yet,' and Erik realises - Charles is lonely, just like Erik.
And what a pair they make.
Erik's not one to initiate conversation, so it's justifiable for Charles to nearly jump out of his seat when Erik says, 'So, this must be Moira,' in a neutral tone to the brunette sitting next to Charles.
Charles flushes - he always seems to be doing this every time Erik speaks - and the she-devil quirks an eyebrow.
'I'm sorry, do I know you?' she asks politely, and Erik thinks, do not kill her, not now, anyway.
'This is Erik,' Charles says quickly. 'He's, um, well, we've known each other for a while.' Erik wants to say, no, we've known each other for nearly half of our lives, and alright, maybe he's only recently met him, but Erik's more intimately acquainted with Charles' voice than anyone on this fucking planet. He dares anyone to say they have more than what Erik has.
'Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Erik,' she says politely.
He smiles at her, briefly. 'Charles, I need to see you for a minute,' he grunts out.
This could be wrong in all sorts of ways, except he's not overly concerned with that right now. What Erik wants is Charles away from this woman, who's leaning into him a little too close for comfort, who's sharing things with him that Erik wants to keep between the two of them.
Charles frowns, confused. 'Sure,' he says, getting up, putting some book down - he's probably been serenading her with lines from Mr Darcy, cheating cheater that he is - and follows Erik, who's leading them to a room that's hopefully empty. Except there isn't one, so Erik yanks him by the hand behind the vending machine at the end of the corridor.
'Who is she?' Erik asks, well, demands actually.
'Moira, you just said her name.'
'No I mean,' he begins, frustrated, 'who is she?'
'She's at university with me,' he says, arching an eyebrow. The pause stretches out long enough to get uncomfortable. Erik starts fidgeting. 'We're not together or anything,' Charles remarks. There's an uncanny way in which he says this, his startling blue eyes focused on Erik as if he knows this is what's gnawing its way into Erik's skin.
Bitterly, Erik can't help but think, why?Charles could have anyone he wanted. Yet here he is, spending hours reading to children and getting dragged behind vending machines like it's worth it, as if any of this matters, and yet. Erik shouldn't technically care about this.
Charles' voice lurches him out of his thoughts. 'Is that what you wanted to know, because I need to go. It's getting late and Moira needs a lift,' he explains, like Erik deserves an actual explanation.
'Right, sorry,' he mutters.
'Bye, Erik,' he says quietly.
It's only when Charles pulls away that Erik realises he'd been holding Charles' hand all this time. He presses his forehead against the metal of the machine, wondering what the hell's wrong with him.
If a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavour to conceal it, he must find it out - it's still Charles' voice, even after all this time, despite how he can finally put a face to the voice. It's still just as reliable at night when he can't sleep as it was before.
Two hours later, as he stares at his surroundings, he realises there are new books here, dog-eared and bent, most of which don't belong to him.
Charles' property has somehow migrated its way into Erik's bedroom.
Their conversations go something like this: have you read Jane Eyre yet, she deserves more, Mr Wickham is an utter prick, there are so many motifs spread out through this-sometimes in the middle of the library-I don't think anyone could love a person as passionately as Heathcliff, he's finally falling for her-or right outside the hospital as he hails a cab-there's a new adaption of Jane Eyre coming out, Raven likes the guy who's playing Rochester.
When Charles, standing next to him in the library, appearing unexpectedly out of thin air, says, 'Why doesn't Darcy see that she wants him just as much,' with a solemn look and wide eyes that make the blue look wicked, Erik quits playing around and admits defeat.
OK.
Well.
Yeah.
Fine.
Fucking fine.
He's in love with Charles.
Erik wakes up in the middle of the night, because his toes are freezing cold.
'Fucking hell,' he says, the words coming out in a plume of mist.
It's frigid, the bitter clawing-its-way-into-your-body-and-refusing-to-let-go kind of cold. Dry and clingy. He's tempted to yank the covers over his head and to hibernate for the next three months like a bear, or something like that, because it's too cold to venture out.
He has to, eventually. It's a struggle, wrestling through the covers, and the cold is like a smack in his face. He gets to the window and sees the foot of snow outside; and it's continuing on, determined to make it to three feet in a few more hours. There isn't even a road, it's just a blanket of white.
God. He's going to have to get through that in the morning.
He's debating with himself whether he should check why the heating's not working, or if he should crawl back into bed, when the doorbell goes off like a shotgun in the dark.
He yanks the door open to find Raven staring back at him.
She gives him an apologetic smile. 'Sorry about this, but I need your help.'
He's is momentarily stunned into silence. It's a first for Erik. What the hell is she doing here? And then, of course, he remembers - if she's here, then that means-
Charles is at the bottom of the driveway, struggling through the snow, his height making it difficult. He'd find it amusing if there weren't pressing matters to deal with.
'How do you know where I live?' he asks.
'Hank told me.'
'Hank doesn't know.' Erik shakes his head.
She snorts at this. 'Of course he does, everyone does.'
She must be up to something. He refuses to believe this.
'What are you doing here?' he asks suspiciously.
'Oh right,' she shakes her head, snow falling off her hat. 'We're stuck. We had to drop Moira off.' Ah of course, he thinks scathingly, Moira. 'But the snow wasn't so bad, so we went ahead, except that's pretty much the exact moment it got worse. I mean, the highway's stuck at the same pace for the past hour, and then our car broke down,' she says, helplessly. 'Charles thought we could make it, but, well, he's an optimistic idiot.'
Charles finally makes his way to them, covered in more snow than possible.
'Hello, Erik,' he says.
And Erik can't help but think, this is probably the most flushed he's ever seen Charles.
Raven's looking beseechingly at him.
Yeah, like he has a choice. As he's ever had a choice in any of this.
He's never been more grateful that Mama made him buy a house with more than one bedroom.
Raven tells Charles he'll be taking the couch; she'll be in the spare bedroom. Erik has to scour the house for extra blankets and pillows. Jesus, he's never had this many people over, it's not his fault. Charles is persistent in his need to help, which Erik tries to deflect, but when it comes to blankets Charles is determined.
'Sorry about this,' Charles says as Erik is hunting through a closet. He left Raven downstairs trying to figure out if he's got any hot chocolate, while she's humming 'silver white winters that melt into springs, these are a few of my favorite things', and it's even more sad that he recognised that.
'It's fine.'
'No. Really, it's not fine,' Charles protests.
'I'm sure I'll manage.' Erik grabs something white and fluffy-looking. There are many things that aren't fine - the constant reminder of what he can't have, of a boy who read to him in his childish youth, ruining him for all others. These are the things that remain at the top of his list.
Vanity was the beginning and the end of Sir Walter- There's a knock on his door. For a moment, Erik is certain this must be a dream, an intricate puzzle his brain has warped him into like the ones he used to do as a kid. Until the weight of the truth comes rushing in, and he realises exactly where he is.
There's a rush of two more knocks, and Erik briefly deliberates with himself if he should ignore it. Perhaps the person will just disappear; but then he realises he left his bedroom door open. He snaps the book shut, looks up to find Charles awkwardly standing in the doorway, knuckles still resting against the polished wood, a blanket clutched in the other hand.
He wants to squint, to make sure it really is him. Miraculously, he resists.
'I didn't wake you up, did I?' Charles asks nervously, voice still filled with sleep. The silence that stretches is perhaps a little uncomfortable, because Charles doesn't wait for his response, lets the rest come flooding out in the way water rushes over a fall, hot and fast - dying for escape. 'It's just I can't sleep. I tried waiting and,' he shuffles his feet nervously, drags his toes along the floorboards, 'I didn't want to bother you, but there's something wrong with your couch, and well, I couldn't sleep,' he repeats, looking at his toes instead of Erik.
'I'm sorry, I'll just-'
'No,' Erik says sharply. 'It's fine.' Charles looks up, surprised before frowning. 'It's fine, don't be sorry,' Erik reassures him.
The room is suddenly filled with uncomfortable silence, viscously awkward and smothering them. Erik's sick and tired of it, to be honest. He decides it's best to get this shit over with.
'Do you want something to read?' It's all Erik can offer him, the only way they know how to say what they want without actually saying it.
Charles' head snaps up, body alert. 'What?'
Erik watches him carefully. 'You know, do you want to read a book or something?'
Charles makes a jerky movement. Erik assumes it to indicate agreement. He rises from the edge of his bed, pushing the covers aside and moving to the pile of books scattered around, making the place look like a war zone. He grabs his old copy of Pride and Prejudice that Mama gave him years back, which started his little obsession, and hands it to Charles. He assumes it must be his favourite, considering how much he talks about it.
'Here, you can read this.'
Charles looks pale all of a sudden. He blinks a few times, mouth forming a silent oh, before snapping it shut again.
'What?' Erik asks.
He clears his throat, licks his lips. Erik pointedly ignores this.
'Nothing.'
'Right,' Erik says doubtfully.
He must have fallen asleep, because he jerks awake to find Charles has passed out next to him.
Mind groggy, he hesitantly touches Charles' arm to check if this isn't just a dream; these kinds of things tend to happen sometimes. When he feels soft flesh underneath his fingertips, he concludes that, yes, Charles is here in his bed, dead to the world with the book half-open on his chest, and mouth half-open, too.
Erik picks the books up and places it on the side, before rolling over and going back to sleep, as if there's nothing wrong with the situation.
The next time Erik wakes up it's to Charles spooning him.
His arm is wrapped around Erik's waist, one leg thrown over Erik's egs and the other jammed right between Erik's thighs. Charles' breath is coming out in burning hot bursts against the back of his neck, soft and moist. It takes a moment for him to conclude that there isn't an inch of space left between their bodies, considering the way Charles is pressed up right against him.
He wants to bury himself under layers and layers of doubt and denial, because his body is thrumming and humming in a way it hasn't before, and the desire to fall breathlessly into the false reality of his dreams is potent. Erik concludes that this is the most mortifying thing that could happen to him. He needs to get the fuck out of here. The task, however, is harder than anticipated, because with every move Erik makes to free himself, Charles seems reluctant to let go, murmuring occasionally and clinging as close as he can, and at one point he actually sniffles.
God, Erik wants to die.
He gives up in the end. As much as he wants to escape, moving will mean waking Charles up, and he knows that'll make the situation even more humiliating for both of them.
Erik wills himself to sleep, trying to ignore the burn of Charles' body.
He wakes up again to the sight of Charles rousing from his sleep. He blinks a few times, and Erik can't help but notice how vividly blue his eyes are under the light of the morning sun. Charles says 'oh,'in that way of his that always annoys Erik, clearly having realised exactly where he is before the fear creeps onto his face.
Fuck it.
Erik leans forward, grabs him by the hair and crushes their mouths together.
AN:
Oh FF, why are you being so funny, why won't you let me login in peace? GUYS GUYS DUDES YOU ARE THE BEST! I have the most awesomesauce reviewers ever.
Art for the bit in the library where Erik listens to Charles read: fassyfaceavoythere(.)tumblr(.)com/post/9105040145/erik-spends-two-hours-at-the-library-listening
You know the drill, leave a review. It makes the world go round and it makes me work faster. :DD