Tags/Warnings: mentions of domestic violence, forced marriage, parental death
Charles walked along the hill above Logan's inn. The cottage was still visible from this incline despite the trees surrounding it, but it allowed one to stretch their legs without trampling through the dense forestry that secluded the inn from the rest of the village. Young Anya walked at Charles' side picking wildflowers and more impressive blooms. Charles smiled at his newest companion as the wind ruffled her auburn locks. Indulging in such leisure activity had become a sizeable facet of his existence. He spent most of his time at or around the inn. Charles was having a hard time gaining employment in the village. Not many high-standing places wanted to hire an unbonded omega. It posed security risks if he went into heat in a place like a pub or a brothel. Few parents wanted him around their children despite the fact the scent of the divorce had faded. He was not trusted. He chose to let it run off his back. Getting angry felt like it was giving the Markos too much power over him.
In lieu of employment in the village, he cleaned the inn for Logan, mucked out his stables, and cared for the horses. Logan claimed his efforts weren't needed, especially given his ribs had not fully healed yet, but Charles insisted. He wasn't used to menial tasks, having grown up with servants, but this was what his life was fated to be. He had better make an effort to get used to it. Besides, he hated the idea of living entirely off the generosity of his friends. Tony hadn't let him lift a finger or pay for anything when he was in York. It had grated at his pride to be so helpless and burdensome. He didn't want a repeat.
Beyond that, he spent time with Logan when he was home but mostly with David or Anya. The drugs Kurt kept him on robbed him of the first two years of his son's life. He made up for it now: playing with him, teaching him, caring for him, connecting with him. David had no qualms being separated from Cain, not that Charles was surprised. His son had been raised by maids and servants. Children usually had a closer connection to their omega or beta parent at a young age anyway, but alphas weren't expected to be absent from the childrearing process. Cain never showed David middling interest. There was nothing for David to miss in Westchester.
As for Anya Eisenhardt, she was a happy surprise for him. The little girl had been wary of him at first, but soon took to him after she found him reading one of her books and they began a rather long-winded discussion on the merits of romance literature. Mr. Eisenhardt didn't appear to have an issue with it. He proved to be something of an enigma to Charles. He had been at the inn for a week now and Mr. Eisenhardt had not seen fit to speak very much to him, nor truly acknowledge his presence. Charles was initially nervous, but it turned out that he needed not to worry because Mr. Eisenhardt avoided him as if he were diseased. Charles would see the man in the mornings when they broke their fast and then only in glimpses thereafter. Sometimes when Charles walked into the common room, the other man would get up and walk out, not at all subtle in his standoffishness. Charles could only conclude that the unspoken truths about him made the man give him a wide berth. In truth, it was all the better. Charles needed to focus on getting his life in order, not on a stranger, no matter how alluring he was. If they had met any other time...
Mr. Eisenhardt's daughter was the opposite of her father. She proved a happy and willing conversationalist, engaging Charles about all sorts of things, from literature to astronomy to botany to music and poetry. She was a very learned girl for being a blacksmith's daughter, but Charles did not know how the hierarchy worked in this new, strange land or what the educational system was like. He didn't even know the king's name. Living in Salem, a landlocked city in Westchester, it was not prudent for him to learn about Genosha. Other cities traded with the island nation and brought their wares to the marketplace of Salem. If Genosha was a place where a blacksmith's child had the opportunity to an education commonfolk in Charles' homeland could only dream of, then he found the kingdom a pleasant place to find refuge. At least he knew he could find education for David despite the backward slide in social status. That was a future problem. Employment was the first hurdle to jump, elsewise he had only saved his son from a gilded cage to thrust him into poverty.
"You're thinking very deeply about something," Anya observed, snapping him from his musings.
"What's troubling you?"
Charles waved a dismissive hand.
"Adult worries. Nothing for you to bother yourself with."
She shot him a glare.
"I don't appreciate being patronized."
A short laugh escaped his pursed lips at her words.
"No, that would never do. All the same, my tales of woe are personal and nothing for me to dump at your doorstep."
"There are tales of woe then."
Anya had been trying to pry his life story out of him from the moment he met her. She was too clever by half and found meanings in the things he didn't say just as much as what he did. If he didn't know better, he'd think her to have spent time at a royal court of some sort or even a noble's court, but she was too young to have been presented to the realm.
"Your father would hardly be pleased for a stranger to tell his 8-year-old his intimate business, I'd expect."
"My father doesn't always know what's best," she replied with a surety that made Charles curious.
After a moment, his silence caused her to revert to the behavior of a child her own age, a rare enough occurrence.
"Why must you be so secretive?" She whined in displeasure.
"Why must you know every intricate detail of my life?" He countered.
"I'm curious."
"Hardly worth the curiosity."
"The way you guard this secret says otherwise. You are obviously of some breeding, and you're not from Genosha. That alone makes me curious."
"If you rather astutely figured that out, then you must've also concluded that it is a sad tale better left unsaid."
Anya bit her lip thoughtfully before answering him.
"Is it a matter of life and death?"
Charles looked down at her after the tentative question. He wondered if he should respond truthfully and bandied about ideas before answering.
"Yes. I feel quite secure in saying the situation is that dire."
"Oh. I understand such matters better than you'd expect," Anya muttered, playing with her metal bracelet.
Charles assumed she was thinking of her deceased mother. He noticed that lost, forlorn look in the mirror when he thought of his father. He hoped that was all she meant. It'd be a crying shame for a young girl as bright as Anya to be forced to grow up too quickly due to grief's cruel pall, although it seemed she was determined to be an adult before her time.
"I don't want any harm to befall you or David. I've not known you long, but I would never wish you harm."
Charles gave her a fond side glance.
"You must stay in Genosha if your life is in danger," she continued.
"Must I? I hadn't decided yet. David and I may sail to Latveria or Akkaba or even Wakanda if we're willing to press our luck. I hear they are accommodating to Gifted individuals looking to escape persecution."
"Oh, but you must remain here. Genosha will have you happily. If you stay, I'll have my father look over you. He can appear unfriendly sometimes, but that's only if you don't know him. He is very protective of those who he claims as his own. In truth, he is the strongest and most worthy alpha in the whole kingdom, nay, the world. You will be safe here, I promise."
Charles graced her with a smile for her zealous proclamation.
"Your vote of confidence means the world."
Charles and Anya turned, both startled to see Mr. Eisenhardt climbing up the hill to meet them. Anya's eyes lit up as she ran towards her father, seemingly forgetting their conversation. He knew she would begin pressing him for details of his past again eventually. He watched the father and daughter embrace, Mr. Eisenhardt swinging the giggling girl in a circle before clutching her to his chest. Anya presented him with the flowers she'd picked, and he accepted with a kiss to her forehead. Charles tried to keep out of people's minds as a rule, but it was impossible to ignore the love and happiness the two exuded when near one another, a stark contrast to the stoicism Mr. Eisenhardt displayed otherwise.
He felt a sharp stab of envy and heartbreak. He took a moment to let his old melancholy wash over him. Charles was a being who felt deeply, telepaths usually were, and the first person he could remember loving fiercely and truly was his father. His childhood until ten years old was filled with memories of picnics, walks, games, and adventures spent by Brian's side. His father would read to him at night and tuck him in with a kiss. They would ride horses together, play chess, observe nature, and conduct experiments. When Charles manifested at six years old, where Sharon became distant and looked at him as evidence of her failures, Brian saw him as extraordinary and perfect the way he was. He went as far as adopting an orphaned Gifted child, Raven, so Charles would not feel alone.
He often wondered what life would've been like if his father had lived, but there was nothing for it now. Brian Xavier had died fourteen years prior, leaving his two children to fend for themselves amid a household beset by a neglectful alcoholic mother and an abusive stepfamily. Worst still was Charles' fate to settle as an omega. He shivered as he remembered strong unwanted hands on his body, medicine shoved down his throat and fists colliding with his skin.
"Cold, are you?"
Charles looked over at Mr. Eisenhardt as he addressed him, his expression unreadable.
"I'm sorry?"
"You're shivering."
Charles was confused before realizing he was allowing himself to wear his emotions on his sleeve.
"Not cold, per se. It is a bit breezy up here," he answered, trying to keep his voice steady and not let on how embarrassed he was to appear so weak before this alpha who seemed carved from stone, immovable and impassive.
Mr. Eisenhardt assessed him critically before he, surprisingly, made to remove his overcoat.
"Oh no, it's quite alright. I'm not half so waifish."
"You look as if a stiff breeze would bowl you over."
Mr. Eisenhardt did not say so mockingly, but Charles could not help but be affronted by the statement.
"Perhaps I'm not physically robust or tall as most, but I'm hardly a wastrel."
Mr. Eisenhardt stopped his actions. He stood up straighter and looked at Charles in a manner that he interpreted as imperious at best, so the man's next words were unexpected.
"I meant no offense. I just made an observation that you appeared chilled. My coat could remedy that. I tend to run hot, so it is no skin off my back to lose it. I apologize if you took umbrage with my assumption."
Charles deflated, feeling foolish for having been upset at all. It was a perfectly reasonable assumption to make to think a coatless shivering person was chilly. Besides which, he had lost substantial weight during his five-year marriage and even though the infection from the divorce cleared up, he was still pale and probably appeared sickly.
"No offense was given in truth. My tone did not reflect my true regard towards the request. The offer is appreciated," he replied in a softer tone.
The man approached him and Charles felt his heart pick up as the alpha placed his coat across his shoulders. He was enveloped in Mr. Eisenhardt's scent, the smell of iron and smoke with fainter tones of sandalwood and petrichor. His omega instinct told him to luxuriate in the scent, to go to the alpha and submit himself, but he had gotten good at controlling such urges. Besides, it would be horribly unseemly to lose himself in front of a child. He glanced over at Anya as Mr. Eisenhardt stepped away. Her eyes were narrowed as she looked between the two men before coming to some unknown conclusion.
"That was very nice of you, Father. I was just saying to Charles that he must stay in Genosha with David. I was telling him—"
"That you would expound even more upon the many beauties and attractions of the country," Charles interrupted before she said something that embarrassed him even more.
She shot him a knowing look but didn't comment. Mr. Eisenhardt rose an unimpressed eyebrow. Charles looked away, his cheeks burning.
"I was going to tell Charles about the pink sand beaches on the far east of the island, but you could describe it better than me, Father."
Charles rose an interested eyebrow and looked at the older man curiously. Mr. Eisenhardt seemed reluctant, but with barely a moment's notice, he dived into a detailed description of the island's geography. The academic in Charles ate it all up. It had been too long since his curiosity had been sated in any meaningful way. He used to meet up with fellow scholars before his marriage. They would debate and trade information for hours on end. Sharon never did much for Charles, but she had allowed him his education and made sure he completed his courses when he got into university early. Then again, perhaps she'd only done it to flaunt her son's virtuosity to her friends. The reason didn't matter in the end.
Charles was so enraptured by all Mr. Eisenhardt's descriptions that he hardly noticed the passage of time, or Anya's absence, until the dying sun beamed in his eye.
"Goodness, where did the time go?" Charles wondered aloud.
Mr. Eisenhardt appeared just as surprised as him.
"I couldn't say."
"I supposed time flies when you're enjoying yourself. You have quite the way with words, I must say."
"You'd be the first to compliment me on loquaciousness if not eloquence."
"You could be a poet, I'm convinced."
Mr. Eisenhardt snorted in amusement. Charles was pleased to have made him utter such a sound.
"Now I know you are being sarcastic. Only someone who does not know me well would say such a thing."
"Picturesque snow-capped mountains to the north, caves filled with gems of every color under the sun, pink sand beaches, a temple made of glass and crystal, valleys of flowers found nowhere else on Earth. It all sounds fantastically poetic. I'd expect such scenes described only in the pages of a novel. The way you speak of Genosha would make anyone eager to call it home. I find myself anxious to explore the attractions and natural beauties you described."
A fond smile curved Mr. Eisenhardt's lip, not the first smile he'd ever seen the man give, but there was a difference between this smile and the one he gave his children. He projected contentment and adoration. It was a pleasing sight.
"Genosha is as much a part of me as I am of it. It always has been and it always will be."
Charles stared a moment longer and then averted his gaze, realizing that that must be what it felt like to belong to a place, to have somewhere that was home, that was synonymous with yourself.
"I'm sure Westchester must have been that way for you," Mr. Eisenhardt concluded.
He could not hold in the bitter laugh that escaped his lips in response. Sharon would've been mortified at his lack of propriety. That thought gave him even less incentive to affect a façade.
"No, I can't say that it was. Once perhaps, a long time ago."
Before my father died, he left unsaid. Grief had built rooms and opened doors inside him, let him explore hallways of dark thoughts and hard truths about himself and life. Once learned, he could never make himself fit into Westchesterian society again. He was born and bred for the life of gentility and gentry but could no longer stand the hollowness he found in every facet of life in his homeland. Mr. Eisenhardt leveled him with a scrutinizing gaze, but Charles offered no further explanation. Divulging too much of his past was ill-advised.
"Well, maybe my daughter was right. Genosha has no qualms against opening her arms to anybody who would wish to call her home."
Charles glanced up at him, not mentioning the other half of Anya's declaration, that Mr. Eisenhardt could offer him protection and safety if he claimed Charles as his own. He didn't know if he wanted to be claimed after spending so long with Cain. Freedom was a shiny, new bauble that he had not grown bored with just yet. It was moot to think of in terms of Mr. Eisenhardt. Charles could hardly see the man wanting him in that way. He could scarcely be in a room with him. One day, eventually, would Charles want to be bonded or married again? Would he have a choice? He needed to find a way to get income. If that meant getting married to someone he didn't know or love, he would do it for David.
The two men walked back to the cottage in silence, but the quiet was comfortable after hours of talking. Mr. Eisenhardt held the door open for him when they returned and then walked off into the cottage without another word. Charles stared after him, curious and unsure about this interaction, but decided not to push it.
He joined the others for dinner that night and read a book in the common room. Mr. Eisenhardt did not immediately vacate the room when Charles walked in, but they did not talk. He even offered Charles the chair closest to the fire as it was unseasonably chilly. Charles was perplexed about the sudden shift after one conversation but never asked.
He went to bed that night but found he could not sleep. For some reason, his worries chose that night to haunt him. He wondered what was happening in Salem. Cain and Kurt knew he was gone. Cain was probably still doing what he always did: sleeping with everything he could find, drinking, wasting the Xavier fortune on frivolous expenses, having his ass kissed by fair-weather friends. Kurt, though a brute, was calculating, cunning, and resourceful. He would not rest until he found Charles again. Perhaps he would simply kill him, or he would take him back to Salem and torture him. Maybe he'd give him to one of his unsavory friends, like Lord Creed. Charles felt a shiver of disgust go down his spine as he thought of the animalistic alpha, even more of a licentious beast than Cain.
They don't know where I am. They will never find me, he reassured himself.
He had tried to cover his bases as much as possible when he escaped. He left no loose ends that he could remember. Lord and Lady Stark would not give him up to the Markos, nor would Logan. That did not mean he didn't make an error somewhere. If Cain found him, if he found David… Cain never had any care for him, he could not be sure he wouldn't harm their son.
No, my son. He is mine and mine alone, he reassured himself once again.
He jolted as a stab of displeasure made itself known on the periphery of his telepathic reach. He immediately recognized David from their bond. He kept the link between them closed for the most part. He wanted David to develop his powers and awareness on his own. At two years old, David manifested early. The Gifted usually developed their capabilities after turning seven, but it wasn't unheard of for Gifts to present as early as birth. Charles thanked every deity that David was an outlier, otherwise they would probably still be trapped.
He pushed himself out of the narrow bed as David let another tendril of his displeasure reach him. He walked towards the room designated as the nursery. It was the warmest room in the inn and probably one of the largest as well. There were three cribs inside, each holding a child. David was to the right side of the chamber and Mr. Eisenhardt's two youngest were to the left side.
He approached David's crib. His son was asleep but fussing around, a look of irritation on his face. Charles curiously peeked into his mind. He caught flashes of what looked to be a battle.
The payload from siege weapons flew overhead, people were screaming in the distance with the sounds of cannon fire resounding periodically. He felt fear and panic seeping into him as he took in the scene before he was jostled. He turned to the person holding him to see Mr. Eisenhardt.
"It'll be alright, Wanda. Everything will be okay."
Charles pulled away from the nightmare and glanced back at the girl in the crib behind him. He cautiously peeked and sure enough, she was having the same dream. David must've unwittingly latched on to it. Charles gently severed the connection and watched David's face gradually smooth out. He turned back to the young girl, only a year older than David, and was thinking what to do when her cry suddenly broke the silence of the night.
Charles' heart broke for the child as she began to sob.
"Oh, it's alright," he cooed as he approached the crib.
Wanda looked up at him, awash with fear and dread. He sent out a small wave of reassurance as he continued to approach her. She relaxed her tense body but continued to look at him anxiously.
"Did you have a bad dream, darling?"
Wanda nodded in reply, fat tears rolling down her face.
"You mustn't cry. It was just a dream. You're safe here. There's no battle."
The toddler gave him a pitiful look before holding her arms out to him. He hesitated. Mr. Eisenhardt didn't seem to hate him, and they had a pleasant conversation earlier, but he previously didn't look favorably upon Charles. He could only imagine what the man thought. Here Charles was, an omega reeking of the afterscent of a biological divorce, traveling with a child so he could go live with an alpha he was not bonded to. He was a walking taboo. Then again, Mr. Eisenhardt must not look so unfavorably upon the taboo if he kept company with Logan. Beyond that, he didn't object to Charles' companionship with Anya… not that Charles thought the girl would listen to her father. She was quite precocious. It seemed to him if she were of a mind to do something, she would.
Charles decided to throw caution to the wind and closed the distance, picking up the crying child. She settled her body against his chest, clutching on to his nightshirt and stuffing her nose into his neck. He moved to sit in the rocking chair near the window, adjusting the girl so she was not pressed against his tender ribs, and began rubbing a hand up and down her back.
He mumbled reassurances and comforting words to her as her tears dried. Not knowing what else to do, he began telling her a story. He thought up fairy princesses and beautiful maidens on the fly, a true bonded pair who fell in love at first sight and fought against the forces trying to separate them. Eventually, Wanda steadily went limp in his arms. He stayed there even after her breathing evened out, not quite falling asleep but drifting on the edges of consciousness. He was not sure how much longer it was before he was startled awake by the feeling of a person pulling Wanda away. He jerked and held her tighter in response.
"Shh, it's alright."
Charles relaxed when he realized it was merely Mr. Eisenhardt.
"My apologies, I must've dozed off," Charles said, relinquishing the child to her father.
Charles watched him lay her down in the crib and cover her adequately before pressing a kiss to her forehead. He motioned Charles to follow him out of the room.
The two men walked towards the kitchen silently, neither entirely sure why. Mr. Eisenhardt went about making two cups of tea. They unobtrusively sipped it for a few minutes, both comfortable with the hush in the otherwise quiet house before Charles felt compelled to speak.
"I hope I didn't overstep."
Mr. Eisenhardt rose an eyebrow in response.
"Your daughter. She was having a nightmare and wished for comfort. I hope I didn't overstep my bounds."
Mr. Eisenhardt waved a dismissive hand.
"It's perfectly understandable. Wanda has been plagued with nightmares of late. I had gone to check on her since I did not hear her crying tonight."
"It seemed like a horrible dream. There was a battle…"
Charles let the unspoken question hang. Mr. Eisenhardt stiffened minutely.
"I'm sure there was. Thank you for putting her back to sleep."
Charles took the implied refusal for what it was. It wasn't his place to know anyway.
"My scent probably did that more than any particular skill did," he replied to Mr. Eisenhardt's misplaced gratitude before blushing.
The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to his scent with this alpha who he was, undeniably and inconveniently, attracted to.
"Surely you have some tricks of the trade from your time with David by now," Mr. Eisenhardt commented instead of addressing Charles' embarrassing slip-of-the-tongue.
That was a marginally better subject than his scent but not by much. Charles could not explain to this stranger that his parenting was limited to the last few months, whereas previously he was too drugged up to remember his child even existed.
"No, no tricks just yet. I mostly just rely on my telepathy."
The other man frowned.
"Telepathy?"
"Yes, I'm Gifted. Is that… is that a problem for you?" Charles asked as he noticed a shadow cross the man's face.
"No. I'm Gifted as well."
Charles watched the two teaspoons they used float effortlessly into the air, do a few spins before his eyes, then return to the table. He smiled brightly at the display.
"That's brilliant. Is it telekinesis?"
"Metals."
"Simply amazing."
Mr. Eisenhardt snorted to himself.
"It was just some spoons. Hardly an impressive showcase of my skills."
"Well, I was suitably impressed."
"I'd ask for a demonstration of your abilities, but I prefer to keep my thoughts private."
Charles recognized the request in his words.
"Of course. I do my best to stay out of people's heads if I can help it. Naturally, there is only so much I can block out. Some thoughts are too loud or feel as if they are projected to me, but I do my utmost to maintain privacy between myself and others. My father instilled those values in me when I manifested, and my sister made sure I upheld them."
Mr. Eisenhardt sat up straighter.
"You have a sister?"
"I do."
"Are you close?"
"We were. She was adopted, but the lack of blood relation never made us any less close."
"You said you were? Is she…?"
It took Charles a moment to understand.
"She isn't dead, just married. It's been a long time since I've seen her following the wedding," Charles explained, leaving the matter there.
It was too much to explain that Kurt had forced Raven to marry someone, just like he had Charles, and like Charles, Raven eventually ran. He did not know where in the world she was. It saddened him, but he hoped she was happy and safe.
"Do you have siblings, Mr. Eisenhardt?"
"A sister, and Max is fine. I've no last name for you at any rate, so it seems bad form not to extend the same courtesy your omission has afforded me."
Charles hadn't realized he'd left his last name out, but he refused to be referred to as a Marko and biological divorce or not, he could no longer call himself a Xavier as per the laws of Westchester, so he was without a family name now. He'd rather be a nobody than a Marko any day.
"I prefer people call me Charles in truth. Are you and your sister close then?"
"We were. I practically raised her after my mother died. She is no longer living, I'm sad to say."
Mr. Eisenhardt, Max, kept his face carefully blank, but the moonlight revealed the pain in his eyes. Beyond that, Charles could no more ignore the wall of emotion coming from the man as he could the teacup in his hands. There was undoubtedly grief, love, and pain, but so much rage behind it that it surprised Charles. He didn't know that depth of anger was possible. It felt like a punch to the gut. He had to grip his mug, so he didn't drop it.
"I am so sorry for your loss. Family is a terrible thing to lose," he eventually managed to say.
"I appreciate your condolences. It's a recent loss, my sister, you'll understand if I don't wish to expound on the subject."
"Of course. I wouldn't dream of prying, my friend."
"Friend?"
"Sorry?"
"Am I your friend already?"
Charles blushed again, averting his gaze. How many times was Max going to reduce him to this undignified blushing mess? Charles had never been so bashful, not even as a teen. There was no unforgettable first love back then, no innocuous love affairs, no demure coquetries. Anything he did was torrid and strictly carnal in nature, meant for the single purpose of debasing himself and his virtue in hopes of Kurt rescinding his betrothal. He had certainly met alphas and betas who were attractive and even good conversationalists, but they could never make him act so timorous as this.
"Oh, it's just a… thing I say sometimes. I'd like to think we could be friends. I don't see why not, do you?"
Charles could feel Max staring at him, but he did not look his way. After a few moments, the other man spoke.
"No, no, I suppose not."
Charles kept his gaze away, the two reverting to quietly sipping their tea before he felt moved to break the silence once more.
"Since we are friends now—"
"Looking to beg favors of me already?" Max asked, his tone hedging on teasing.
Charles let a small smile free.
"Not a favor, just a question."
Max nodded his assent.
"When I first arrived, you seemed rather… displeased with my presence. Why?"
Max stayed silent so long Charles thought he wasn't going to answer him but eventually, he spoke.
"You did nothing. I just… I'm not a very sociable person. I haven't been ever since my sister. I've always been quieter, less prone to friendly conversation. Ruth was the one who picked up the slack, made my ofttimes unapproachable demeanor appear not so aggressive. I don't all the time realize that I'm being unfriendly. I'll make an effort to be more affable in future."
"You need not switch your personality for me."
"But I do."
Charles felt heat rise to his cheeks again.
"I haven't been accommodating at all. I am as much a guest in Logan's home as you are, I should be courteous towards you. I've behaved in a manner most unbecoming and I apologize."
Charles bit his lip as the other man's words sunk in. They sounded sincere.
"There is nothing to forgive, but if you must hear it, I forgive you."
Max nodded in reply. Charles could still feel the man's smoldering eyes on him. It felt heavy and tantalizing. He wanted to meet his gaze but wasn't sure what he would find. He wasn't sure he was ready to know. He took a deep breath before standing.
"I'd better get to bed. David is an early bird. I need the rest before he wakes me."
"Of course. I'll wash the mugs, you can leave."
Charles attempted to protest but Max waved him off.
"It's just a mug. I can handle it."
"If you're sure."
"I am."
"Alright then."
Charles walked to the doorway of the kitchen and paused to say good night before continuing on.
He was entirely unsure of these recent developments with Max. He didn't know if it was a good thing or bad. Still, it was better to make as many friends as he could.
We will be friends and that is all, Charles promised himself.