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Those numbers were burned into Erik's memory the same way they were carved into his skin. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't escape them.

At one point they had served as reminders. Reminders for why he gave up on trying to live a normal life, why he barely slept at night, why he read through hundreds of documents and searched relentlessly to find those that put the number on his arm and so many other arms. But finally, he was done. Shaw was dead. He accomplished his mission. For some time that filled him with contentment, but the feeling didn't last for long. Instead, he became restless, but he had no purpose to channel this restlessness into. He devoted his life to revenge, and now that it was done he didn't know what he wanted or needed.

The numbers seemed to taunt him. They were still reminders, but no longer helpful ones that drove him forward, more like a painful injury that was supposed to have healed a long time ago, but instead festered and ached.

He was at one of those bars that night, where men who liked other men's company went, desperate to be around other humans, to be touched, to feel wanted. The place wasn't his usual scene, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Suddenly a man sat down next to him at the bar, jolting him out of his sulking. The stranger was handsome, with brown curls and bright blue eyes. As he reached for the drink he ordered Erik noticed the tattoos on his arm, a fine contrast to his angelic face. The man must have noticed he was looking because he smiled at him and extended his hand.

"I'm Charles."

"Erik."

The stranger – Charles – had a strong grip.

Erik noticed even more tattoos on the hand shaking his.

"Like something you see?" Charles asked in a teasing tone.

"Definitely. Can I buy you a drink once you finish this one?"

"Sure. So tell me something about you, Erik. Anything."

It was easy, chatting with Charles. He could almost forget about the dark memories hiding at the back of his mind. After a few more drinks and an hour of conversation, they found themselves in Erik's apartment, kissing each other like two starved men. Between kisses, Erik managed to only rip half of the buttons on Charles' shirt as he hurridly tore it off him. Once he tore himself away from the man's lips to get his own shirt off he got a better look at his naked chest and he stopped. Charles's whole body – his arms, his shoulders, his chest – was art. His skin was covered with tattoos. Roses blossomed over his heart, their torn riddled branches growing over to his shoulders, up his neck. Sparrows were flying free on the other side of his chest, while ivy leaves covered his whole right arm. Before Erik could get a hold of himself he voiced his thoughts out loud.

"Beautiful."

Charles' smile lit up the dim room, and his cheeks reddened.

"Well, thank you. Now, what about you lose your shirt too, and we find a bed so you can view my other tattoos too?

Erik woke up to the sun shining brightly through his window. He rubbed his eyes and rolled over in his bed when remembered Charles and everything that had happened last night. He opened his eyes, but the bed was empty. He quickly put some trousers on and went to the kitchen. He didn't know what he was hoping for if he wanted Charles to be still there or not, yet his heart sank with disappointment when he saw the note on the kitchen counter.

"Thanks for the night.

XX Charles"

Under the words, he drew a swallow, similar to the ones Erik admired on his chest.

The week passed as usual. He worked, with no real enthusiasm, just so he could pay for rent and food. He went out to drink with Azazel and Angel on the weekend. He survived with no real goal ahead of him.

Yet he couldn't get Charles out of his mind. Throughout his days memories would spark up about the beautiful man. The way he smelled, how his skin felt against Erik's, his voice, his laughter, his taste. And of course, his tattoos. Those beautiful drawings that almost came alive on his skin, drawings Erik admired and worshipped all night long. They weren't just drawings on Charles' skin, they were part of Charles, the way his hair or his eyes were part of him.

Before this encounter when Erik had thought of tattoos, he thought of numbers, of the humiliation and pain of being branded. A mark, left on you to separate you from the ones who were normal. Something to be ashamed of, something to hate.

But now he saw that tattoos could be also beautiful, an ornament on your body, an art form. And that knowledge made him hate the numbers on his arm even more. He realized that they were no longer pushing him towards a goal, all they were were painful reminders, holding him back from leaving his past behind. He didn't want to see them anymore, and Charles' tattoos gave him an idea: what if he covered them up with another tattoo?

He asked around and ended up going to a little tattoo shop called Cerebra. As he walked in he felt a bit uneasy, but he did his best to appear confident. He explained to the receptionist that he wanted a cover-up on his arm and she pointed him towards the back of the tattoo shop, where a brown-haired man was sitting, his back facing Erik.

"Xavier is really good at cover-ups, you should talk to him."

Then she shouted at the tattoo artist.

"Hey Xavier, you've got a client!"

The man turned around, a welcoming smile on his face, and than he froze when his eyes landed on Erik. Erik was also startled, seeing his one-night stand in front of him, and for a moment he considered turning around and finding another tattoo shop, but then he chastized himself for being such a flustered idiot. He walked up to Charles and held out his hand.

"Pleasure to see you again."

"You too. So, you're here for a tattoo? Can't say I'm surprised. You must have been inspired by something," he said, winking at Erik.

He tried very hard not to blush as he answered the question.

"Yes. I want to cover up an old one."

"Okay, let me see it, then we can discuss what to tattoo over it."

Erik hesitated for a moment before rolling up his sleeve. He saw the recognition in Charles' eyes as he took a closer look at the numbers, and he was grateful he didn't say he was sorry. Erik didn't need anyone's pity.

"It's rather faded, so it shouldn't be hard to fully cover it up with another tattoo. Do you have any ideas on what you want over it?"

"To be honest, I haven't really thought that part out. I just want it gone."

"I can give you my flashbook, and you can pick something you like. Or I can draw up something for you."

Erik flipped through the book. Each drawing was beautiful, similar to Charles' own tattoos in style, yet he didn't feel drawn to any of them. Charles must have sensed it because he took the book from Erik.

"What makes you happy?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Something that you look at and it instantly brings you joy. Something you know you'll love forever. Think of a person, an event, an object, anything."

That question wasn't an easy one. Erik had so few good memories.

"You know, I have a cover-up tattoo too. The original one was for someone I deeply cared about, but they hurt me. After that every time I looked at the tattoo I was reminded of that, and it was so painful."

"What did you tattoo over it?"

"A bluebird. There was this children's tale my mother used to read me before…, when I was little. It was about a king who turned into a bluebird. I adored that story. And bluebirds represent happiness and luck. So I thought what better image to replace it with? And now I love my little bluebird, even knowing what's under it."

Charles looked at Erik with sympathy in his eyes.

"I imagine your tattoo evokes far worse memories than mine. So you should choose something you really love to make that disappear."

Erik closed his eyes and thought hard, searching for the few happy images his mind held. Birthday cakes, baked by his mom. The old pine tree across the street. His favorite hiding place. Finally, he settled on one image: the menora, the seven-branched candle holder. Hanukkah used to be his favorite holiday. He remembered lighting the candles as his parents watched him, smiling. He remembered being excited. Happy. Loved.

"A menora," He said out loud "I want a menora."

Charles smiled at him.

"A fine decision. Give me a few minutes to draw it up."

When Charles showed the sketch to Erik he gasped. It was exactly how he remembered it.

"Do you like it? I can change it."

"No. It's perfect."

"Are you sure? You won't hurt my feelings if you want it redrawn."

"I'm sure."

"Okay. Let me draw it on your arm then."

Charles touching his arm was a welcome feeling. Erik watched those delicate fingers draw on his arm and he shivered. Charles stopped and looked at him.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes. Go on."

He tried to control himself, but he couldn't take his eyes off Charles. He pretended it was solely an interest in his drawing skills.

"And I'm done. Still like it?"

Erik nodded.

"Okay, then I'll start tattooing. It shouldn't hurt too bad on this part of your arm, but there'll be some pain."

The buzzing of the tattoo gun and the pain were a welcome distraction. So was Charles' voice, as he talked to him while tattooing. He told Erik about all sorts of things, what his favorite flower was, where he grew up when he had started drawing seriously. He also told him about how he became a tattoo artist after his stepfather stole his inheritance and he couldn't afford university anymore. He wanted to study Genetics, but once that plan failed he started selling his drawings, and a friend of his suggested he should start tattooing, and now, years later here he was. Time passed quickly and before he knew it, Erik's tattoo was done. Charles wiped it down one more time.

"And we're done. Hope I didn't bore you."

"Not at all. I would love to hear more, actually."

Charles looked at Erik, his eyes uncertain, and then he spoke up.

"My shift ends in an hour. Do you want me to..give you some tips on healing it? Or maybe some more inspiration for new ones?"

"I couldn't possibly accept free advice. Let me buy you lunch, and then we can discuss further inspiration."

"I like your ideas, Erik. See you in an hour.'"