Archive of Our Own

ENSHROUD

.
.

surround completely and hide from view

✹  

to make something difficult to know or understand .
.

✦✹✧  

Erik soon woke up shivering, but it was neither the cold nor his constant anguish of being alive that had caused it.

He can’t seem to shake off the dream that overtook his antique collection of nightmares even long after he had awoken. If he focused too much on it, he could still feel someone else’s weight against his chest. And that weight was unmistakably Charles Xavier; only that the phantom he encountered in the dream wasn’t the same man he met the other night but rather just a boy. Frail-looking with blue eyes that shone like crystals, this young Charles in the dream read to himself a bedtime story that Erik never heard of before.

The anger he felt towards said man after witnessing his lack of tact by disclosing the identity of another mutant (someone far too young to be participating in a secret government facility, regardless of his high IQ) was drained from Erik in that moment.

He felt at peace instead. Charles made him feel like he utterly belonged just by reading him a story. Was it a trick of the mind? He’s a telepath after all, and the second one he met on the same night too.

“You’re not alone,” Charles had half-shouted as they were caught among the violent tidal waves. Erik did hear but didn’t believe him then. He believed him less and less the more the geneticist reacted to everything with such cheerful acceptance; from the discovery of mutant genes and down to the destructive evil that was Sebastian Shaw.

It was one thing if he was only being polite. Such an upper crust upbringing was only too familiar to Erik, who navigated the social channels of the elite back in Europe where he hunted as many Nazis as he could.  Simply put, Charles’s overall disposition just didn’t sit well with him, for it reminded him far too much of how Shaw—Dr. Schmidt then—behaved and acted around his fellow younger mutant.

Erik stared at the ceiling above as he laid shirtless against the sheets for another minute or two. He couldn’t stop thinking about the first impression he made regarding Charles Xavier, which now directly contrasted the boy he saw in the dream.

It also caused him to look back on their heated confrontation earlier tonight. That damn woman from the yacht attacked him with her mind-bending powers before. It was so shrill for just the mildest graze of telepathic contact, like uncut diamond being scraped against metal. Charles’s own power had been different from that.

When he pushed back against Erik, he was enveloped in a mist-like release. It didn’t suffocate or poison him as far as a mental projection went. He knew then that Charles didn’t have it in him to hurt another person, or perhaps he merely held back on purpose.

Erik remembered looking right into his eyes then—those wretchedly blue, blue eyes—and saw an emotion he didn’t quite recognize until he heard Charles speak: “You are wrong about me.”

There was a twinge of pain like a heartburn that bloomed in his chest afterwards. He suspected that that must have been Charles projecting too (perhaps by accident?). In that moment, he sensed something deep in the telepath break—burst—and overflow. Such a strong emotion should have made the other man lash out at Erik next but instead he told him to take care. Take care?!

It was a kindness he immediately mistrusted yet cannot help but feel guilty about as well.

After all, Charles could have done more damage with his telepathy. How did he find it in him to walk away like that? Most bafflingly at all, how could he beseech Erik hours later so he could ask him to be a part of something greater than the two of them combined?

Ironically—or maybe symbolically—Charles had deemed it a ‘dream’.

 “What the fuck are you?” Erik murmured to himself, barely moving an inch from the mattress as he tried to solve his way out of this enigma.

He could still see Charles’s face as his words threatened to shift a whole continent inside Erik. The earnest hope on the telepath’s face was almost heartbreaking, for he had seen it a countless times on the faces of those who still prayed to God even after He abandoned them. He saw it on Magda’s when she told him she was pregnant as if everything will never hurt again. For ten years, she’d been right.

He lost his entire family back in Auschwitz then his daughter a decade later to the same evil. God burned and buried her under the collapsed foundations of their home. And still—still—this ugly world moved on.

But Charles wanted him to forgive all that?

「 Let us tell a story, you and I—one governed by dreams not fear, while their hearts are still willing to hear us out. 」

What’s worse was that Erik was actually beginning to consider such audacity upon waking. So he truly must ask: what the fuck is Charles Xavier, and how could he do these things to him? Make him question where he stood in the desolate lands where he’d been alienated to, all by bringing him a promise of an oasis?

Erik forced himself to harden inside. He cannot abide these new feelings; feelings he knew he must not have for anyone ever again. He was better off chasing after men more monstrous than himself. The last thing he needed was to be entrapped in a dream by sad little boys in pajamas, huddled over a children’s book. He must resist the strange pull of those eyes, for they were worse than the seas he would have drowned in a night ago.

Whatever the fuck Charles Xavier is, Erik will not submit to it.

That was the agenda today and for many days to come probably, because he was also shocked to learn that he wanted to stay.

Was he truly that willing to give peace a chance, just for the sake of solving the frustrating mystery that was his so-called new ‘friend.’?

Stranger things have happened…

✦✹✧  

He walked in on Charles later on discussing a few tangent points with Agent Simmons inside the latter’s office.

Erik turned down coffee and breakfast after Agent MacTaggert offered them half an hour ago. Instead he showered and dressed in a modest yet figure-fitting black turtleneck sweater and dark jeans, then sauntered off to look for Charles.

The man just made him reevaluate everything in his life all of sudden in the span of the last forty-eight hours. That certainly warranted further investigation, didn’t it?

“As I was saying, Professor,” Agent Simmons looked rather pleased with himself, evidenced by the twinkle in his eye, “Hank turned that radar installation into a transmitter. It's designed to amplify brainwaves so it could enhance your telepathic powers, help us find other mutants for our division.”

A dozen of instinctual thoughts fleeted past through Erik’s mind the moment he heard that. He tried to bury deep any sort of concern he might have felt about Charles, however, and instead focused on the most salient point to make. He appeared by the doorway where both men could see him while he plainly retorted:

“What if they don't want to be found by you?”

“Erik,” Charles angled his body towards him as he sat by the chair facing the agent. He was already bright-eyed so early in the morning, which became even more pronounced when he smiled, alight.

“You decided to stay,” he remarked and made it sound like a miracle, which it probably was, if Erik was being more honest.

He looked at the telepath for another moment before he cast a sideway glance towards the CIA agent in the room. Agent Simmons had been accommodating, true, but also a little too eager to meet more mutants, as far as Erik was concerned. And now he wanted to gather more of their kind into this quaint division of his. How comforting.

Last night, when he broke into one of their guarded storages, Erik learned almost next to nothing about Division X. All he could discern was that it was the kind of spook operation which the American government had no explicit ties to in a legal sense and therefore meant that those in higher positions have plausible deniability.

It’s not the most surprising discovery, and besides Erik had every intention to leave this all behind as soon as he got hold of incriminating files about something called the Hellfire’s Club. In the light reading he accomplished in those tense few minutes, he learned that said club was controlled by Schmidt. Or Shaw, the most sought after weapons dealer in the last decade, as he fancied himself nowadays. The man was nothing if not heinously prolific.

But this morning Erik was in Agent Simmons’s office instead of fleeing to the next continent where Shaw might be. He was standing by the door, trying not to stare too intently at Charles, all while keeping check of his telekinetic powers. The metal in the room hummed as if calling to him; from the tiniest echoes reverberating in the agent’s cufflinks and Charles’s teeth fillings; right down to the electronic devices that were scattered about, especially those he deemed must be spyware hidden in plain sight.

The most enticing of them all, however, was the gun inside one of the drawers. Erik may have had an aversion towards those deadly contraptions, yet he still cannot help the desire to curl the magnetic tips of his power across the barrel before they’re soon teasing around the small curve of the trigger.

(There was a time it had scared him to hold one. Now he never has to. He could simply caress the damn thing with the rage in his blood and ever so slightly twist the weapon towards anyone who would dare hurt him—especially someone he loves.)

“If a new species is being discovered,” he spoke with a measured tone, sounding confident somehow even though he still wouldn’t trust the process, “…it should be by its own kind.”

(“What cause?” Erik had asked last night.

“Our hope to build a kinder world for humans and mutants alike.”

He protested then, “You really need to stop including me into your baseless—”

“Quixotic dreams?” Charles just regarded him with patience as deep as the blue waters in those eyes. It was as if he didn’t accuse the man of manipulation hours before, or maybe Charles was just so quick to forgive even the most tremendous slight to his character.)

He leveled gazes with said telepath next, surprising even himself with the sincerity that coated his tone. “I think Charles and I should find the mutants. No suits. No interference from spooks.”

A fluttering tension happened between the two men then in which neither could look away. Charles seemed more serious in expression, too, than Erik has ever seen him. Was he trying to figure out if he was bullshitting? Erik wondered if he should put up the same mental barriers he only recently learned after that blonde woman’s vicious attack at the yacht. Charles, however, only stared. There was not even the mildest intrusion into his head as he’s come to expect.

Still, it didn’t make the sensation of their eyes meeting any less intrusive. To Erik, Charles always seemed to look at him with pointed interest albeit the warmth behind it. That warmth was probably the most concerning of all, really.

(“My friend,” he called him Erik so last night, still insisting on friendship no matter how disagreeable their conversations had become. He then told Erik, “Without our dreams then we might as well stay confined in a nightmare.”)

Agent Simmons interrupted, completely unaware of what’s been brewing between the pair, as he said, “First of all, that's my machine out there. Second of all, and much more importantly, this is Charles's decision. Charles is fine with the CIA being involved. Isn't that right?”

Said man only sucked in his breath for a few seconds before he glanced back at the agent. His smiling courtesies were as intact as ever when he replied, “No. I'm sorry, but I'm with Erik. We'll find them alone. It’s not an unreasonable request, is it?”

As if to humor them, the agent leaned back on his reclining chair and went, “What if I say no?”

“Then good luck using your installation without me,” was Charles’s breezy reply.

Agent Simmons chuckled. He didn’t seem the slightest bit offended, which could either be his personality, or it’s otherwise a mask (Erik would have thought so).

“You sure do drive a hard bargain, Professor. As it happens, I’m quite lenient towards nice educated boys like you. It’s why I’ve always had a soft spot for Henry, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Oh, you flatter. But yes, I did note that your relationship with our young scientist was coming from a place of affection too.”

Without breaking eye contact and all while matching the telepath’s smile, the man then pulled out something from his drawer. Erik tried not to react visibly as he felt the agent’s wristwatch brush against the barrel of the gun he had stashed there. Instead he stayed quiet as he watched their interaction unfold.

“Henry McCoy is special long before it was disclosed by you that he has a mutation,” Agent Simmons went on as he handed Charles a plain white card with a black ‘X’ embossed on one side. Erik immediately sensed that it was made of a magnetic thin sheet.

“He and I discussed it in length before bed last night, actually. I don’t want to speak too much on his behalf, but I hope that you can talk to him again later when I send you to the lab, Charles—since you have to sample his invention after all. I think that will be the best time to do it. You know, just to clear the air.”

Erik turned his focus solely now on the telepath. He also noticed that Charles seemed to chew on his lower lip when nervous. It’s a subtle tick that was only obvious because he also glanced sideways as if he can’t look at the agent until he has gathered some courage again.

“Thank you for the suggestion,” the telepath managed to say. “And yes, I think it’s only fair I talk to him about my indiscretion last night. Rest assured I’ll do what I can to rectify my clumsy mistake. Apologies.”

“I know you didn’t mean anything by it, Professor,” Agent Simmons retorted as he leaned back. “I personally would have been just as excited too if I can read people’s thoughts all the time. I mean, it’s admirable, really; your restraint on such matters.”

“What set off your mutation, if you don’t mind me asking about this now?” The man squinted through his thick-framed glasses, “I’m still caught up in the middle of reading your research, especially after that incident with Shaw. And as riveting as your paper is on the subject, I’d rather hear you discuss it with me face-to-face like this.”

He looked at Erik next, adding. “Feel free to jump in, Mr. Lehnsherr.”

Erik had been standing by the doorway in the last few minutes, preferring still to lean against the frame since the angle gave him the perfect view to observe both men from. So he shook his head, “I’m fine where I am. Thanks.”

Agent Simmons didn’t particularly care though Charles looked miffed.

“What exactly did you want to know again?”

“Your mutation, Professor. You mentioned that there usually is a trigger to set it off for mutants. Now I won’t disclose what Henry said, but the boy did tell me what his was. So, if it’s not too delicate, I’d love to learn more about yours.”

Charles’s demeanor remained as perfectly polite as ever. He smiled graciously even though a few hints in his body language revealed to Erik that this was indeed a touchy subject. Still, he cannot help but also get curious. Charles was the second telepath he encountered since the other night. His power was mysterious as much as it could prove to be rather easy to exploit.

“I was a wee boy when it first manifested itself,” Charles spoke in that same pleasant tone he always used, one that’s filled with lightness, as if he’s never felt anything heavy crush his spirit before.

Combine that with his sophisticated enunciation, Charles Xavier would be easy enough to dismiss as nothing more but a charming yet ultimately superficial man. That’s how Erik perceived him the second he started trying to win him over. But when he remembered how the very same man jumped without any hesitation into the freezing waters just to save his life—the utter selflessness of it all, if not personal neglect—Erik was beginning to understand that he was mistaken.

(“You are wrong about me.”

Charles had looked back at him with such despair that he almost didn’t recognize who he was for a moment.)

“How young were you? That must have been so frightening when you sensed your powers of mind reading develop.”

“It wasn’t that I could already read thoughts of others,” Charles revealed further, “It was more like…well, at that age, the cacophony of visual impressions and tactile sensations have been alarming to me. I was overwhelmed. I had no idea how to best deal with them, especially because…”

His smile was forced this time, as much as he pushed himself to finish what he’s about to say, “…I felt him die, my dad. Brian Xavier. Um…what can I say about…well, people lauded him as a brilliant and accomplished man in his chosen field as a scientist. And I also knew that my mother loved him very, very much. However, one night, there was—”

“Yes, yes, I did know about this,” Agent Simmons helpfully interjected, “So that was how your mutation was triggered? Oh, Profe—Charles, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up so brazenly like this.”

“I appreciate the sentiment. I’m alright, though. It’s been almost three decades since. Thank you for the concern.”

That’s when Charles looked over at Erik before he could even curtail his expression. He hoped he didn’t look too shocked or worse, sympathetic. The truth of the matter was that Erik had always struggled being comfortable in his display of softer emotions. The many times he felt vulnerable in his life have all been some of the worst experiences he’s ever had. Since then he would never show a weakness, not even in the face of someone he could care about.

Still, as soon as he met the telepath’s eyes, he managed a curt, “I think that’s enough of that, Simmons. We’re leaving.”

The agent blinked in mild surprise, and so did Charles. However, Erik already turned his body to the side so he can walk out of there, but not before he called out to his new friend. “Let’s go, Professor.”

“Right, yes. See you later, agent.”

Charles looked like he was in a daze as he followed Erik out of the office. He caught up to him soon, yet a pensive silence lasted between them for a full minute as they strode the hallway together. Eventually, Charles spoke up, “Erik, that was much unexpected of you.”

“What do you mean?” Erik, for his part, stared straight ahead.

“I mean,” Charles sounded bashful all of a sudden. “I appreciate you for being so protective of me. I find it rather touching, actually.”

Erik halted his steps and slowly faced the other man.

“Is that what you think that was?” he narrowed his eyes. “It was only mere courtesy, you know. There’s no need to read too much into it.”

But Charles was grinning. “Nevertheless, thank you, my friend.”

A snarl threatened to escape from his lips then, but Erik ended up furiously looking away instead. “Yeah, sure. You’re welcome.”

Charles stood there for a few more seconds, just appraising him, which caused Erik to defensively turn, saying, “You’re not trying to get inside my head again, are you?”

“Oh, there’s no need for that. Whatever you seem to be mulling over is written all over your face, Erik.”

Unable to help himself, Erik cut him off. “Bullshit. My face is not doing anything.”

And Charles laughed. His eyes twinkled as he did.

What the fuck are you?

“Okay, we’re done here,” Erik resumed sauntering off. “Let’s not dally and just meet Dr. McCoy, alright? Simmons gave you some sort of key card, didn’t he? Maybe it’s access to the lab.”

“Yes, I believe so.”

There’s a pause before Charles went, “Look, what do you think I should say to Hank when we see him?”

Erik said nothing for several seconds, focusing more in finding their destination. Why was Charles even asking him about this? He was one of the most eloquent speakers he’d ever come across so, in a practical sense, the man shouldn’t have any problem expressing himself. That was until it occurred to Erik that perhaps Charles was seeking some form of guidance from him given his strong (almost violent) reaction last night in defense of the young scientist in question.

It’s also possible this was Charles’s way of mending fences with him too. That was just ridiculous. Erik can clearly acknowledge now that he blew things out of proportion. But would he let the telepath know that?

He slowed down his steps until he and Charles were walking side by side. Afterwards he glanced sideways at him and said, “You don’t look like you’ve ever had trouble speaking from the heart. I’m sure that as long as you mean what you say and you prove that with your actions from here on, that Dr. McCoy will be appeased.”

Charles chewed on his bottom lip again while eyeing his shoes.

“I’m honestly rubbish at this,” he answered. “Philosophizing and discussing literature in front of an audience for a scholarly paper is easier. You have no idea how often I say things to my own sister that would get her very mad at me. And with Hank—well, he’s a stranger whom I hoped to get better acquainted with in the foreseeable future. I just want him to know that my own lack of tact should never be a deterrent for a possible friendship.”

Erik scoffed under his breath. “Must you always aim to please people and be their friend?”

When Charles didn’t respond, he looked over his shoulder. He only noticed then that the other man stopped walking altogether.

He now stared through Erik with a lost expression, saying, “You have no idea how everyone in the world is so lonely. There are places inside a person when left untouched by compassion could soon curdle and spoil. And so I try to be careful when dealing with such fragility. Lives can be lost more easily in hopelessness than in death, I find.”

Erik waited for a moment before he retorted:

“Death comes for us all, even to those who dream of a kinder end.”

“Yes, it does,” Charles countered, smiling. “And it’s the moments in between before such end that should matter, Erik. People deserve hope. It nourishes, and more so for anyone who has lost their path.”

「 Even you 」

Visibly, Erik winced at Charles’s voice whispering in his head.

“Don’t do that.”

“Apologies,” the telepath brushed his fingers through the brown locks of his hair. “It’s my primary mode of communication, you see. I often don’t notice when I do it. Nevertheless, I always make sure I don’t step on any personal boundaries. This incident with Hank, no matter how innocent it had been on my end, still demonstrated that I could compromise someone without knowing. So I’m sorry.”

Erik stared at Charles for a bit, realizing that now more than ever he has a crucial choice to make about the man.

(He recalled drowning. He recalled arms around him and the bittersweet remembrance of his father’s words ringing true even after all these harsh years of non-living.)

‘ Strong as iron ’.

Minutes ago, Charles had revealed a frightening truth.

‘…the cacophony of visual impressions and tactile sensations have been alarming to me. I was overwhelmed. I had no idea how to best deal with them.’

Slowly, he approached the other man, his demeanor measured yet self-assured, as he gazed into Charles’s eyes next.

‘ I felt him die, my dad. ’

When he opened his mouth, Erik tried to speak more softly than he was often prone to, so used he was to casual callousness. But for Charles right now, he could try some gentility.

“Everyone makes mistakes. I knew I’ve been too hard on you last night, but the fact that you want to make amends now makes it already better than most men I know would have done.”

The telepath was just staring up at him, given the slight height difference. He didn’t interrupt at all so Erik went on, “Besides, just because you have this supernatural ability, it doesn’t mean you will always know the right thing to do. I’m not going to hold you to some ridiculous standard of virtue, Charles. We barely know each other. And people are so flawed to begin with. Even the best of them—”

Uncle Hermann flashed before his eyes all of sudden, but he shook it off before the memory could color his tone. But it was too late. Guilty shame filled his chest, and his voice almost cracked when he added:

“…can fall short.”

Perhaps the intensity of that intrusive thought reached the telepath somehow, because in the next moment he had grasped Erik’s elbow. It surprised them both, and soon enough Charles cleared his throat and withdrew said hand.

“I suppose after our initial misunderstanding,” He remarked, “We can hopefully progress this acquaintance into something that’s more mutual for the both of us, Erik. And I thank you for your thoughtful words. I know that they come so rarely from a man like you.”

“There you go again with your big assumptions. And you wonder why people misunderstand your intentions.”

Still, there was no animosity in Erik’s tone. He almost wanted to smile at the other man. He was beginning to grow grimly amused by the infectious naivety—especially since he can discern it concealed something else.

(A bed undisturbed by sleep. A boy by the windowsill, illuminated by the silver moon as he read to himself, for there was no other comfort to be had in his own home.)

“I guess you’re right,” Charles stared into his eyes with such searing serendipity next. “But you see, Erik; I always knew that there was so much more to you.”

He raised the same hand that held him seconds ago by the elbow, the fingers curling. Erik wondered what that gesture was supposed to entail up until the point Charles was brushing his cheek with those digits. The warmth in a touch so forbidden—in those damnable blue eyes—was incomprehensible. However, it’s not entirely unwanted.

“I feel it…” Charles whispered like it was a secret.

I felt him die, my dad.

I’ve felt your agony.

Please, Erik. You’ll drown.

You are wrong about me.

I won’t stop you leaving.

I could—but I won’t.

Erik ended up grabbing Charles’s wrist with some force, leaving the other man to wince from the contact. Still, he didn’t pull away. It was Erik who had to push off the hand that dared cradle his face with such tenderness he stopped believing he still deserved.

For one fatal moment, he almost, almost regretted brushing off Charles like that. But why should he be? They were still strangers in the most practical sense, in spite of the shared dream, and the other man’s ability to dig deep into barren wasteland that was Erik’s mind.

He decided to stay for now, and that was on him, but perhaps there’s a way that he can solve the mystery that was Charles Xavier without getting too close and risk yet another red mark in his ledger.

“What do you know about me?”

“E v e r y t h i n g.”

No further words were exchanged between them next just as they heard someone from behind clear his throat. It was no other than the young scientist himself, Dr. McCoy.

“Um,” Hank blinked at the pair of men since he sensed that he must have stumbled upon something rather private. “Hi there. Did Agent Simmons send you? Good timing then! I was wondering if you’d check something out for me, Professor.”

“Yes!” Charles exclaimed a little too loudly and corrected himself a second later, “I mean, yes, quite right. We’re here for that. Also…can I talk to you first, Hank? There’s something I’ve been meaning to say.”

The younger man glanced at Erik once and then nodded at Charles.

Erik turned around to inspect the laboratory doors in feigned interest to allow the other two some much needed privacy. It was also the most effective way to calm down his nerves. He couldn’t deny that his pulse began racing the second Charles had dared touch him like that…

Really, what the fuck is he and why does he keep daring to get close?

Soon enough, Hank informed them that his invention wasn’t necessarily in the laboratory but was installed instead in another location. His demeanor was a mixture of elation and anxiety as he explained everything as curtly as he could manage. The scattered way he spoke only worsened as soon as Raven came along herself, much to Charles’s amusement, apparently.

She appeared just as the men were stepping onto grass to reach what seemed to be a small tower behind the main facility. Eagerly, she interlaced her arm with her brother’s and then winked at Hank. The poor scientist was still in the middle of telling Charles about the invention when he ended up stuttering and flushing.

Erik shot the wily blonde a discerning stare the entire time. He’s never been told what she could do as a mutant, and he can’t deny that his curiosity was piqued. There was a rough gracefulness in the way she behaved that was a contrast to Charles. She didn’t have his accent or his manners either. He suspected that they may not be exactly biologically related. Perhaps step-siblings?

“I call it ‘Cerebro’.”

“As in the Spanish for ‘brain’?”

A pregnant pause followed by a soft, “Yes.”

His musings were interrupted momentarily once they’re climbing up a staircase. The steel and concrete blended so well together in its construction that Erik allowed his powers to move up and down the railing, causing a magnetic echo that only he could feel in his gums. There were countless times back in the camps when he became mesmerized with what he could do—up until the point he remembered it was the only reason he survived, for he presented an irreplaceable utility to one despicable man.

“So this Cerebro thing is supposed to, what? Serve as some kind of an upgraded antenna or something?” Raven remarked dryly and with a rather cheeky smile, “’cause you make it sound like Charles is a telly. Mind you, given the gibberish he often spouts out, it’s not exactly a far-fetched comparison.”

“Hey!” Charles elbowed Raven but snickered at the comment nonetheless. “It’s not always gibberish that comes out of my mouth! You simply tune out half the things I say!”

As if proving her brother’s point, the bubbly blonde strode first into the spacious room where the so-called ‘Cerebro’ was installed. She didn’t banter with Charles anymore and instead sharply turned to where Erik had been standing just two feet away from her.

“How about you, Mr. Broody? Is there an off-switch to your metalokinesis?”

Erik arched an eyebrow. “Metalokinesis?”

Grinning, Raven retorted, “I think I may have coined that term myself. What do you think, Hank?”

“Well,” The young scientist was still blushing, “It’s certainly better than ‘Cerebro’, I can tell you that much, Miss Darkholme.”

Erik took note that even their surnames were different as said woman amicably patted Hank by the shoulder, saying, “Oh, god, you make me sound so old with that ‘miss’! Just call me by my first name.”

Meanwhile, Charles was already fixated with the complex machinery before them. The thin yet sturdy strips of several assorted wires made of fiber and traces of alloy caught Erik’s attention as well. Even though electricity has yet to flow through these conduits, the eventual rush of their energies was enough to make the ‘metalokinetic’ smirk in small appreciation. He may detest having these powers on some level, but he can’t deny how alive it seems to sing to him—this heightened sense. Dead things in his soul were reanimated each time there’s steel that he can shape and bend; to be wielded as a weapon of choice.

As he stared at Charles for a few seconds, he wondered how deep of an affinity the telepath has for his powers. What he shared with Agent Simmons about how his mutation was triggered—Erik can’t seem to shake it off, just as much as he can’t forget how Charles looked at him last night when he accused him of being a manipulative bastard, or how he looked at him only moments ago as they stood together by the laboratory…

(…and the stolen touch of his fingers grazing Erik’s cheek.)

“Okay, so, the electrodes connect Charles to the transmitter on the roof. When he picks up a mutant, his brain sends a signal through a relay and then the co-ordinates of their location are printed out here.”

Hank McCoy explained while fiddling with a few levers. The hum of the machine coming to life was enough to bring Erik out of his private thoughts and back to present. He kept his distance from the other three the entire time, however. It’s been a force of habit.

“You designed this?” Charles looked absolutely impressed as he managed to step onto a platform that the younger scientist gestured for him to stand on. “It’s brilliant, Hank! No wonder you’re working for a top-secret agency, thanks to the massive prowess of that brains of yours. I do believe that you can make a real difference with your gifts.”

“Yeah. I guess so…thanks, Professor,” McCoy was a modest man, but Erik could see he was also easily flattered. His youth was refreshing to watch, as much as Raven’s vibrant own would often pull Erik’s attention back to her. She didn’t seem concerned about the technicalities of this machine Hank showcased. Instead she amused herself by teasing her brother or cracking a few jokes whenever she would find an opening in which she could playfully embarrass McCoy.

As for Erik, he can’t help but jump in all of a sudden as soon as the telepath gingerly placed this wired helmet atop his head. He still didn’t trust any of this gadgetry but he nonetheless found the sight of the other man rather amusing himself.

“What an adorable lab rat you make, Charles.”

Said man let out a patient sigh, “Don't spoil this for me, Erik.”

“I've been a lab rat,” Erik allowed a small though rather grim smile to form on his lips. “I know one when I see one.”

He sensed Raven looked as if she wanted to say something, but McCoy stepped into view to examine how Charles was doing, blocking her from Erik’s peripheral somehow, as the younger man remarked:

“Okay, great. Everything seems like they’re in order. Um, Professor…are you sure we can't shave your head?”

Raven snorted a laugh while her brother, in a warning tone, declared:

“Don't touch my hair.”

Erik didn’t take his eyes off Charles. The telepath breathed slowly, which was accompanied by the way his eyes were also drooping. It may seem as if he’s falling asleep, but the way he gripped the ledge on either side of him testified that he was very much alert, if not somewhat anxious. Erik himself was beginning to feel the same way the more he watched, stuck as a captive audience next to the man’s sister.

“Let me adjust the setting to something more moderate in acceleration, alright, Professor? Just keep your mind open. The connection between your powers and the device should meet halfway.”

“Just call me Charles, Hank. And yes, sure. Sure, I’m ready…”

“What’s going to happen?” Raven sounded restrained enough, but the way her eyes darted between Charles and Hank revealed she’s just as concerned. “It’s not going to electrocute him, is it?”

Just as she declared that, Charles suddenly gasped aloud and gripped the ledges even more tightly. It was if the air was knocked out of him, and only his sheer will kept him stationary and upright. Raven looked like she’s going to ask Hank to stop whatever the machine was doing when her brother broke into the brightest smile Erik has ever seen him display.

“My god…” the telepath chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I could feel the…I’ve never been everywhere so instantly like…my god…”

McCoy kept his eyes on the dozens of scales scattered in the motherboard where the data was being measured in real time. Every now and then he wrote down something on a leather notebook and then inquired if Charles was okay, and if he can handle the electrodes coursing right into his skull. The telepath seemed elated; it’s hard to tell for Erik, however, if he was merely ignoring the pain in order to chase whatever high he seemed to be getting flooded with.

He swallowed, pacing himself as best as he could as he looked past at nothing, his blue eyes almost becoming foggy, “I can see and feel everything, Hank. There are…oh dear, I was right all along. Raven—God, Erik, look! Look at that! I mean…there are so many of us out there…I was right all along, my god!”

His sister moved closer and patted his knuckles that were already turning white. “Breathe, Charles. Jesus, it’s like I’m watching you take a large swig of whiskey again from Sharon’s cabinet. Remember?”

“Do you have to bring that up right now?”

But the telepath was only laughing it off. When Raven enveloped her hand around his, he understood that perhaps she was the one who was worried, so he squeezed hers back.

“Talk us through it, Profe—Charles,” McCoy cleared his throat, “What impressions can you sense during this level of acceleration? You mentioned that there are many mutants out there too. Is that figurative or…?”

But the telepath didn’t answer just yet. Instead his other hand that was previously closed into a fist unfurled so that his palm was on display. Erik’s eyes trailed downwards to look at the blue veins on the surface of his wrist before it occurred to him that…was Charles asking to hold his hand? No, that can’t be it. But why would Erik even consider such a ludicrous possibility though?

“I don’t know how many exactly,” Charles at last expounded. “It’s more like—an intuition. The second my mind expanded its channel…I could glean somehow that among the populous—scattered across cities near us—are people like us…” he glanced sideways at Raven, “…who knew they were different so they hide it from the world.”

Afterwards his expression softened even more so as he turned his eyes now on Erik, whispering:

“...who have gifts they never asked for and learned to view them as punishment.”

Erik didn’t look away, but he could feel the hard edges blistering in his heart once more, all while his stare sharpened considerably. Charles only held his gaze for a few breathless seconds, his smile reflective.

“So how many are there?” McCoy interjected, “Generally speaking?”

“I don’t know how to quantify that,” Charles explained, “But let’s just say the ratio is definitely one to four between mutants and humans in a populated area. Everyone’s separated from each other, rarely in clusters. Oh, in fact! Several of them live in the same neighborhood and don’t even know it.”

While the telepath spoke, Erik can’t help but notice the glee that’s been made apparent on the dynamic expressions of the man’s face. It reminded him of Schmidt for a second or two, but when he blinked again and focused more on Charles before him, Erik realized that the telepath was indeed truly different from the Nazi doctor who abused him. The spark of intelligence in his eyes hinted instead to a mind generous in its depths of problem-solving and perception; Charles was not in these situations simply to observe and learn how things work but also, perhaps, to leave the world better than he had found it.

“This is good, really good…” Meanwhile, McCoy kept his focus on his machine. Rather absentmindedly, he also began chewing the cap of his pen. “During the building stage, I was operating under the theoretical limits that telepathy could possibly have. I have no idea that the scope could go so much deeper. Professor—Charles, I mean—”

And he looked at the older man, “…aside from the fact that you’re the very first test subject, you’re also the only telepath I’ve ever met. I never would have dreamed that you will be so much greater than what I predicted.”

Whether the young scientist meant it strictly on the academic sense concerning Charles Xavier’s mutation, or just the idea of who he was as a person beyond his extraordinary abilities, Erik can’t help but chuckle low to himself. He looked to the side just in time as Raven met his gaze. She narrowed hers and said:

“Something you want to share in class, Broody?”

“Only a small food for thought,” Erik was quick to respond, returning her unamused half-glare with an unexpected flash of teeth that’s almost a smile. “But since you’re curious, I suppose I can say it.”

He glanced back at Charles, whose eyes have now closed. Edging towards Raven next, Erik kept his gaze latched onto said man the entire time. “I get the impression that your brother has been holding back on us. You heard Henry. He said he’s so much greater. And I wonder how much that truly is and—”

“At what cost?” Insightfully, Raven’s tone softened to a degree Erik only heard of until now. It caused him to slide his attention on her person now, awaiting further response.

For a short yet intense moment, the blonde bore her gaze into him. She might have acted wily and carefree in the previous interactions, but those seemed only colored by Charles’s presence and their relationship. Now that it’s just the two of them speaking in hushed voices, Erik could glimpse a mature, more cynical young woman; one who did not have the same privilege as the man she called family and, who probably saw the world for the way Erik did too, no matter how that kind of brutal honesty could break through bone.

“You tell me,” he replied, almost challengingly.

Raven then mirrored his wry smile. “It’ll blow your mind if I did.”

There’s humor in how she phrased it, but Erik saw the unmistakable look in her eye. How she and Charles got close must have had its share of growing pains after all. Erik tried to imagine what it would have been like growing up with someone who can easily violate your private thoughts—even control and command you.

His eyes shifted to the telepath and was surprised to see that Charles was looking at him again. However, Erik this time did not allow his gaze to linger. Instead he walked towards the dials that McCoy was still preoccupied examining while posing questions at Charles here and there.

For his part, Erik was determined that the growing affinity he had begun to feel for Charles was still also met with some resistance. A chasm must continue to lay between their beating hearts, because he’s not quite sure he wanted such measure to close up anytime soon.

✦✹✧  

Fretfully, the young boy looks around the room in search for anything to preoccupy himself with while he waits, yet again, for Kurt to come.

This modest room is probably the least spacious of the living quarters inside the Xavier mansion. Since Charles grew up here and doesn’t know anything anywhere else, his basis of measurement lays solely upon what he has access to. The room where he’s been installed in for his ‘lessons’, however, surprisingly feels most comfortable.

He hates all the rooms in the mansion except for this one. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that it doesn’t feel nearly as empty when vacant, given how narrow the walls are and sparse the furniture. Every point of a corner intersected more visibly, so that Charles always knows where everything ends within the space.

In here he wouldn’t have to feel like he’s lost and very alone. In here, he can build even smaller barriers that could separate him and the yearning he harbored for Sharon, who stressed she could only be addressed as ‘Mother’, and that all these exercises his stepfather had put him through are for the betterment of his well-being.

That’s how she put it, but Charles doesn’t need to be a telepath to read the harsher implication between the lines.

He runs a palm down his perfectly ironed polo shirt for the umpteenth time, even though he knows that his appearance is always well-kempt. It’s been almost a year since he stopped going to prep school and was instead engaged in ‘home-based learning’. Sharon deemed it fit that if and when he should reenter society, it must be under conditions that will not bring shame to the family name.

How Kurt Marko qualified as a private tutor, however, is left for debate, for the man isn’t a good educator in the most academic sense, although it’s not as if their lessons together are conventional either.

Lately, the lessons have been growing more…well, Charles wants to say ‘single-minded’ or ‘pedantic’. The simplified term, however, would have to be ‘concerning’.

The young boy has always been voracious reader and frequently consults the thesaurus for new words to add to his growing vernacular. It’s one of the small preoccupations he has to amuse himself and feel less trapped in his own home. Right now there’s a new stifling sensation he’s doing his best not to fixate on, and it’s while he’s scratching the hem of the leather couch out of growing impatience when Kurt at last shows his face.

Standing six-feet-three, Kurt Marko has a wiry built yet is still physically intimidating nonetheless. Charles will never believe that such an ill-tempered man could charm Sharon to begin with, but he’s begun to suspect that it’s not love that fuels their marriage. At eleven years old, Charles became accustomed to secondhand feelings of those around him, regardless how fleeting the contact of minds is established. It’s horrifying therefore to accidentally stumble upon the explosive ‘chemistry’ his mother shares with Kurt. Many a nights since then, the boy buries himself so deep within mental barriers just so he doesn’t accidentally ‘hear’ or ‘feel’ in his head (again) the couple’s rather rigorous nocturnal activities. The Xavier mansion seemed smaller each time Sharon and Kurt indulged in each other.

“Good afternoon, squirt.”

His stepfather grins. The smile may seem warm on the surface, especially when accompanied by that seemingly fond nickname, but Charles knows better. He always does.

“You’ve had your lunch, right? Because I was planning on spending some quality time together for the rest of the day. Tell me, Chuckie, have you made some progress from your assignment two days ago?”

Charles keeps his posture poised even as he sits without support on his backbone. Sharon hates slouching little boys after all.

“Yes, Father.”

“Good, good! And how goes the progress?”

“Quite well, Father,” Charles’s voice is gentle, as if he’s having the most pleasant conversation with a friend, “She doesn’t suspect anything, just like what you wanted.”

The man nods, smiling and rubbing his palms together. “That’s good.”

Charles dares to speak again, asking, “What would you have me do this time, Father?”

Kurt eyes him for a few seconds, bidding his time, mostly to gauge whether or not his stepson would try to do something using his telepathy. Usually, Charles is hardly subtle about the act; Kurt can always feel a prickle of something between his eyes.

Boys back at school described the same thing happened to them when they were interviewed by the headmaster after an incident. They all swore Charles tried to harm them after classes. Whispers of the boy engaging in black magic spread in the hallways soon after, reaching the ears of stern parents who respected the old money of the Xaviers enough that they’re willing to discuss a compromise between their children and Sharon’s abnormal own.

The decision is finalized just before summer break. Afterwards Charles is forced into a sabbatical. Not like he would particularly miss his classmates; the same boys who accused him of being a bully are the ones who bullied him, but there’s strength in numbers, and no one believed the quiet boy who kept to himself like a freak.

‘Private tutoring,’ the headmaster stressed, ‘…should curtail his rebellious streak. He’s an Xavier of Westchester after all. Perhaps being around a strict paternal figure at home can help, madam.’

The insinuation made Charles chest ache yet he only stared at his shoes. It’s politely spoken, but he knows that it’s an open criticism of Sharon’s parenting (or lack thereof).

Icy yet still gracious, his mother had been feigned apologetic compliance, but by the time they got back to the mansion, she dug her nails into his wrist as she dragged him unceremoniously towards the smallest, unfurnished room of the attic. She had locked her son inside that dark place for the rest of the night.

‘Think about what you’ve done, Francis,’ she whispered harshly into the door, ignoring Charles’s muffled cries. ‘What would your father say if he were only alive and saw what a disappointment you’ve become?’

In the morning after, she instructed the maids to feed Charles sparingly. She reasoned that a week or two fasting is the best disciplinary act she can reinforce, up until Kurt volunteered to take over, in accordance to the headmaster’s instruction.

The man in question walks around the only window in the attic and stares outside for a contemplative moment. Charles remains where he is, already so attuned to his stepfather’s seemingly calm surface that conceals a bad temper. He doesn’t want to say anything that could provoke the man to another violent outburst. There were a few occasions that he got so frustrated with Sharon’s drinking and sharp tongue that if he doesn’t immediately take it out on her, he takes it out on Charles during their sessions.

He once had Charles strip naked and blindfolded, all while submerged in water, claiming that sensory deprivation can enhance his telepathy. At some point he would have drowned the boy by holding him underwater for too long. He even had Cain come in and do it too.

“What would I have you do today, hmmm, Charles?” Kurt almost purrs as his back remains turned away from his stepson. His tone is dripping in malice and excitement, a combination that the young telepath can’t help but dread the most.

He steels himself, however, and manages a soft-spoken, “We have the rest of the day, as you said. But, um, Father? May I ask a question?”

Charles takes Kurt’s non-response as permission enough, so he goes, “Why have you taken an interest in Miss Peterson, Father? Are you investigating her about something?”

The truth is the young boy knows what was happening even if he can’t precisely articulate it to himself. He knows—even keenly felt since this obsession started—the thoughts and feelings that Kurt Marko harbors towards the woman named Sara Peterson. He also knows that his intentions are not good, and yet his fear towards the man cautions him not to protest. In fact, voicing out his concern like this has already left Charles shaken.

“Yes, sure,” comes Kurt’s unbothered response. “That’s what I’m doing. She coming today, right, squirt?”

“Well, yes, sir,” the boy answers with some trepidation, “It’s…it’s what you’ve asked me to do. I implanted the suggestion, just as you instructed. It’s just that…I wanted to know why—”

“Such a clever little boy,” His stepfather’s voice is quiet, too quiet, “Always asking questions even if he won’t like the answers.”

He stares and stares into Charles’s eyes this time, almost as if he’s daring the boy to disobey or use his powers on him. But the young boy wouldn’t dare, and Kurt knows this. The fear he had struck in Charles’s heart was far more potent than the telepathy itself.

It’s why Charles can hardly feel his face as he breaks eye contact first to glance sideways at nothing in the room. His neck and clavicle, covered enough by the collar, still bears the dark bruising from when Kurt held him down the water last week. Charles had not been afraid of death; he did, however, get choked up in the aftermath not just because of the water that filled his lungs in those several fatal seconds. He cried because he also realized that no one will probably miss him if he did die then. Especially not Sharon.

She would have felt unburdened. That knowledge soon made the boy even more sorrowfully complacent, which is why he doesn’t voice out his question at all and sits there with his hands primly resting on his lap. As if to reward his docility, Kurt walks forward and pats his head.

“Keep learning my ways of the world, and soon you’ll feel less of a freak and won’t stand out as much either. I’m only doing this for your own good. Would you rather mommy dearest starve you out again? No, of course not. See, I’m the only one who appreciates these powers. I don’t want you to stop using them. In fact, you should be able to so long as you keep them under control. That’s what this homeschooling has been about. I want you to be the best you can be—but on responsible terms. With adult supervision. Do you understand?”

Charles nods. “Yes, Father.”

A pregnant pause reverberates across the attic before Kurt grins, adding, “You and I are going to do great things together, Chuckie.”

✦✹✧  

Neither Erik nor Raven left Charles alone with Cerebro. The entire exercise took two hours with a few small breaks in between so that McCoy can adjust settings, and the telepath could also rest. Judging by Charles’s demeanor, however, it would seem that repose was the last thing he wanted. He kept looking at Cerebro longingly here and there as he and his sister ate lunch together.

Raven nudged him with her elbow the second time, citing, “I swear if you don’t finish that sandwich I made for you, I’ll kick your ass.”

“I’m eating it! I’m eating it!” The telepath laughed, smiling as he chewed on said food as enthusiastically as he can display.

Erik lingered by McCoy’s side. He held the sandwich Raven had playfully shoved into his hand earlier and tore scraps from it before popping them into his mouth. The blonde gave him the stinky eye that soon became an eye roll, but she said nothing about that odd way of eating. McCoy was also eating his share at the moment, but one hand was jotting down coded writings on his leather notebook. He was unfazed that Erik was looking over his shoulder while he did this, possibly confident that the older man won’t be able to decipher the code anyway. He was right.

“When did you invent that prototype of yours?” Erik nodded at Cerebro.

“Oh, well, just two years ago, really,” the young scientist barely looked up from his scribbling, “But the plans of making one has been percolating as early as senior high. I have also learned about my mutation around the same time, so I started to study possible other mutations that weren’t just physically manifested in the human body. Telepathy and telekinesis were the obvious ones since recorded history has had several accounts concerning people who were said to have the means to control others simply through the power of suggestion or even move objects using only their mind. A lot of them were charlatans, of course. However, I speculated that if genetic mutation has been a part of the human DNA for a thousand years—if not more—then perhaps a few of these individuals in the past were simply undiscovered mutants, possibly the progenitors of contemporary mutants like you and me, and the Professor and Miss Darkholme.”

Erik’s jaw tensed when he added, “And Sebastian Shaw.”

If McCoy noticed, he was polite enough not to comment upon it and simply said, “Yes. I must say that it’s actually exciting to learn that there are dozens more living and breathing near where you and I stand. If Charles was meant to find and bring them into our fold, I think it would make a lot of difference, a lot of good in this world.”

“Is that right?” Erik sternly locked gazes with the young scientist, but his tone remained unreadable. “You think you do good work here?”

Surprisingly, McCoy puffed out his chest, all while pushing his glasses to the bridge of his nose. “Of course I am. Sciences are fields of study that must prioritize the betterment of lives and the ecosystems in which we all depend on and thrive from. Mutants are still humans; we were just ahead of the evolution curve, is all. And as a mutant human, I feel even more responsible about how best to serve this world with my intelligence and skill set.”

“And what about your other gift?” Erik raised a brow. “How can your feet serve humanity best?”

McCoy then lost a bit of bravado as he visibly deflated from the older man’s very intense discerning stare. “W-Well, that, uh, remains to be seen. My expertise is what I’m more focused on. Hence Cerebro.”

Erik said nothing for a while. He just popped another piece of the bread and ham torn from the sandwich. Afterwards he went, “You weren’t obligated to tell anyone about your mutation let alone justify it to begin with. What Charles did yesterday was very wrong, but in any case, if you both resolved it, then things should be a smoother transition now. Right?”

“Yeah,” McCoy then beamed at Erik. “The Professor told me…before we came here—he said you stood up for me. Thank you, Mr. Lehnsherr. And Charles and I are…we’re going to be okay. I respect the man and his revolutionary study on genetics far too much to ever bear a grudge due to a small misunderstanding. I accepted his apology. That’s that.”

Humming once, Erik stared at his sandwich blankly next. He can sense McCoy growing anxious next to him especially when said young man added, “I’m fine, really. I guess I was hoping to tell Agent Simmons myself first because…well, we’re close, closer than just a superior and subordinate. I know that sounds…foolish. But I like him, and he showed more than once that I’m not just another employee to him.”

“That’s nice.”

(He suspected the spook only expressed concern over the boy here and there because McCoy was useful to the operation. It made sense.)

Something in Erik’s tone must have betrayed how little that information mattered to him because McCoy scoffed under his breath.

“Yeah, sure. You’re not a very friendly sort of person are you, Mr. Lehnsherr?”

“Yes, and I’d prefer you never call me by first name at some point. You can save that for blondie and her brother.”

“Got ya.”

Erik glanced towards the spot where Charles and Raven were chatting. He then asked the young scientist beside him, “You don’t happen to have a copy of his published paper, do you?”

“As a matter a fact, I do!” McCoy beamed, seemingly willing to accept the natural coldness Erik simply emanated. “A few of them are in scientific journals I personally collect. Why? Are you interested?”

“Yes,” Erik only stopped staring at that spot when he felt Charles also glance towards him. “Perhaps a perusal is in order.”

“Do you mind if I ask…” McCoy flushed a little, “…if you have any background in sciences, Mr. Lehnsherr.”

And Erik stood up, “I have what you can call a rudimentary knowledge as well as practical application from a few scientific fields.”

He cast a long, dark look at McCoy.

“Anyone who makes it out of Auschwitz learns a lot more about himself and the world than what he originally came with—and often not by choice.”

✦✹✧  

Sara Peterson arrives to the Xavier estate just as the day transitions to dusk. She has parked her car just outside its looming gate, resting under the shade of a Wisteria.

In his mind’s eye, Charles could see her walking the stretch of gravel pathway whose sides burst with colors from several flowers in full bloom.

Their long-suffering butler Higgins has always maintained the aesthetic quality of the mansion, especially the gardens scattered about. There were a few times Charles would have run away from home already but instead ended up curled among the flowerbeds and fast asleep, concealed by the taller bushes. He often exhausted himself crying the night before. Without a word Higgins would then just escort the young Xavier back to his room.

Never once has he notified Sharon about these infrequent occurrences, possibly as a courtesy—or most likely out of pity. He was not unkind to say the least and merely knew it was not his place to interfere in the madam’s personal affairs.

Charles pushes back those melancholic memories in favor of focusing his mind on the woman in question. She’s petite and brunette, with the kind of demeanor that beckons only praise. Dressed modestly in a white blouse and black pencil skirt with stockings, she approaches the mansion without an ounce of hesitation in her step.

How could she not? The young boy ensured that she came here on her volition. For a month he has whispered suggestions into that fragile connection he established between their minds; guiding her thoughts—shaping the motivation behind actions she will soon commit—all of which were as instructed by Kurt. Even if Charles isn’t comfortable about any of this, he knows the wrath he would only incur if he disobeyed. Kurt has also provided him a means to explore his powers, and the young telepath is afraid that the man would cease helping him do so. Without these exercises in the past month, Charles would still stay confined in the darkest place Sharon could afford stashing him away to. So no, he won’t go against his stepfather.

Kurt is the only family he has who actually cares about Charles’s uniqueness and what it can do.

”Sara, dear!” Said man greets their guest as soon as she’s inside the mansion. “So glad you can make it! Come, come, I want you to meet my stepson, Charles. My sweet Cain is staying over at his friend’s place at the moment, so maybe some other time you can come again and introduce yourself then. Shall we?”

Higgins takes her fur coat and retires inconspicuously in the background, leaving Kurt to escort Sara up the grand staircase. She doesn’t say a word even as the man cups the small of her back.

By the time they reach the main parlor, Charles would already be on his seat, as prim and proper as he could ever be. He didn’t have to leave the chair earlier to look over the window. He and Sara have been connected for a while now so that he can always peer through her eyes to see what she sees. The flow of her thoughts is a low frequency at the back of his mind and vice-versa. However, Charles has gotten better guarding what he’s thinking (and subsequently project), thanks to a series of activities his stepfather devised a while back. That, of course, came with corporal punishment and reinforcement. The methods are harsh, but the boy is loathed to say they actually worked.

“Go ahead and sit over there while I prepare the tea.”

Charles meets his stepfather’s eyes on cue, and he smiles at their guest as he stands up. “How do you do, miss? I’m Charles. Pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”

(She may not be aware of it, but they’ve met before already; an encounter in the soft places where time refused to be defined, and feelings could ricochet, like echoes in a cave.)

When he offers his smaller hand to shake, Sara takes it gingerly. She still looks half-dazed but returns the courtesy regardless with a matching smile of her own.

“Nice to meet you,” she squeezes the boy’s hand. “I’m Sara. I, uh…I’m not really sure what I’m…but yes, it’s nice to be here. Thank you. I would…” she looks to where Kurt is, “I would like some tea, yes.”

The man hands it to her, and she takes both cup and saucer in her hands with only the slightest tremor in the movement. Both stepfather and son watch her keenly yet for different reasons behind it.

After ten more minutes in the parlor, the teacups are at last set aside whilst their idle chat about work and the weather shifts towards a more terse direction. Kurt is soon leading Sara upstairs and into the attic that served as Charles’s classroom for the summer. He closes the door and waits ever so patiently until both woman and child are settled. Charles decides to sit on the only leather couch in the room, quiet and polite like an Xavier heir should be.

“Why don’t we have our guest perch on something more comfortable?” He looks at the boy suggestively, and Charles understands easily enough. He doesn’t have to read the man’s mind for that.

“You may sit on my bed, Miss Sara.”

Said young lady beams at Charles, “Of course. If you wouldn’t mind.”

And she sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the boy.

Kurt moves closer himself to take the spot next to Sara. She doesn’t flinch, let alone acknowledge his presence. She’s just smiling at Charles, because she knows that she could trust him with anything. She has sensed that truth as soon as their hands touched earlier. As for the young boy himself, he tries to keep staring into her eyes, for it’s also the only way he can ignore how close Kurt is inching towards Sara’s cheek. His discomfort worsens, however, once Kurt presses his lips mildly on her skin and murmurs something inaudible under his breath. He and Sara are still connected after all. Every graze from the man was like a pinprick on his own skin.

“Father,” Charles gulps, voice shaky, as the hands underneath him curl into loose fists. “I don’t think…”

Kurt barely looks back at his stepson since he’s too busy kissing along the woman’s jawline. Sara is still staring ahead—right at Charles—and with that same hazy smile locked in place. His restraint doesn’t last too long. Soon enough he’s unbuttoning her blouse before casually sweeping his digits on the creamy mound of her breast through the brassier.

That’s when Charles’s entire body shoots up in protest. He’s breathing and blinking hard, all while he struggles to get the words out.

“P-Please! No more! Don’t hurt her, Father!”

“What the hell?” Kurt snarls, displeased that his attention is pulled away momentarily from his object of interest just so he can snap at the foolish boy before him. “Are you trying to get a rise out of me again? Sit down!”

Charles whimpers as he does as he’s told, but his torn expression must have alarmed Kurt somewhat, so the man curtails his temper and reaches to rub the boy’s shoulder consolingly.

“Listen, shhh, listen…” he reassures his stepson. “I have you call Sara here not to hurt her. That’s the last thing I want. I intend to make her feel good. Do you understand?”

“But…” Charles stares wild-eyed at the man and then towards their unwitting guest, “You’re not supposed to do that to her. You’re married to my mum. Isn’t that something you must only do with a spouse?”

Kurt’s face darkens, but he keeps his tone calm. “And why do you know such things already, Chuckie? Have you been spying on me and your mother all this time?”

“No!” The boy unconvincingly shakes his head as he tries to pull away from Kurt. But his stepfather is quicker and tugs him by the elbow so he can bring the boy close enough while he glowers.

“You’re such a naughty little troublemaker, aren’t you, Charles Xavier? Like mother, like son, I suppose. I mean, you are almost a teenager, so it’s only normal you’re curious about sex.”

He grabs both his shoulders and gives Charles a rough shake, “Tell me something: did you get off watching me pound Mum all over the room and then some, huh? I wouldn’t be surprised you if got yourself a complex with the way that cold old bat treats you.”

Tears prickled the boy’s eyes, turning his nose instantly runny, but he says nothing. He knows better than to give his stepfather a reason to do something both of them might regret; only Kurt is not one to feel remorse about anything towards anyone at all.

“Enough of this shit!” He shoves the boy away, not minding that Charles ends up colliding on the edge of the leather couch and falls. The man then glances at Sara by the bed who’s still only watching the event unfold without a change in her demeanor. No panic or concern; it’s as if she’s in another world altogether. That suits Kurt just fine.

He stands to face their guest. From the angle where Charles is still laying prone, he could tell that his stepfather is unbuckling his belt. Was he going to use that on Charles? He’s done it once before…

But the man is still facing Sara. Before he could lean closer, he turns his head one last time towards Charles to command, “You better keep her under your spell until I’m done.”

Kurt resumes removing Sara’s blouse while muttering, “I’ve wanted to do things to this selfish bitch since she walked into my line of sight. Fuck, she’s so hot. My cock is already aching to break her in.”

Eyes widening, Charles sits up in numb understanding of what’s about to occur; it’s the very thing he has tried his darndest never to acknowledge, even if it’s to the detriment of his sanity and now Sara’s safety. He has to help her!

But if he snaps her out of the trance he’s unwittingly enshrouded her in, she would have to live with the knowledge that some stranger laid his hands on her body as if she ever belonged to him—to the filthy, evil man that was his stepfather. It will hurt her worse than any physical wound. Charles knows this better than anyone. Bruises on the mind, or deep knife cuts carved in the heart, last longer.

“Stop.”

He wills himself to rise to his feet just as Kurt pushes Sara to hold her down against the sheets.

Charles summons every bit of strength he doesn’t think he still has (or ever did) and forces it all out by uttering that same syllable again, though this time with authority.

“STOP.”

Kurt hesitates for a moment, as if sensing that something was amiss, but doesn’t seem deterred. He resumes pressing his weight on top of the woman whose body doesn’t even reject his advances.

Inhaling sharply, Charles takes a step forward. He doesn’t say anything anymore. Instead he just grabs hold of his stepfather’s mind the way he would have simply thrust a hand into soil and dig it up.

Kurt ceases moving for the first few seconds. Only the way his jaw clenches while grinding down his teeth signals that he’s still mobile on that one part of his body. The sensation, or the loss of it, must be exactly how Charles felt during the unceremonious ice-cold baths his stepfather would give him under the guise of yet another educational lesson.

The telepath may have made sure of that. In fact, come to think of it, there are more ways he could make this filthy man suffer, not just for the assault he was about to commit on Sara Peterson, but also for the occasions he pretended to even care about the boy when all he ever wanted is this—

This ugliness, the bile-inducing lust in his loins that propelled him to take a woman against her will, her own agency be damned. He’d ‘break her in’ as he phrased it, if it meant he could fill whatever hole he had in his life whilst he invaded hers.

Charles will never be able to wash himself off that secondhand perversion ever again. It tainted the way he saw men for the first time; he’s always known that boys his age can be cruel, true, but the malevolence a greed-driven man like Kurt Marko showcased today is one for the books. Even in his frightened state, all that his stepfather could think about is the pulsating need in his groin.

“Well then,” Charles whispers as he stays where he is, rooted on the ground where for the first time he was finally in control. “We can’t have any of that now, can we? Best your blood travels somewhere less southwards…”

The mind is where knowledge and power reside. It’s Charles’s domain, now and forever, and today he’s about to unlock something in himself that can never be shut away again.

He doesn’t understand fully what he’s even doing to Kurt. All he knows is that he has the means and right motivation to make it come true—he’s always been more capable than he wanted to admit before, ashamed to own his gifts, concerned that in doing so would further injure his mother’s feelings and the reputation she wants to keep for the appearance’s sake.

Today, however, there’s none of that.

It’s only the boy and the innocent woman he should have protected from this monster to begin with. It’s only the boy and the monster who thought he could ever subdue what was always meant to stay free.

「 Gods, no. Not this again. 」

But the boy can’t see anything past his need to avenge. He couldn’t see the man he will become after it, once so tormented and guilty of this singular harsh act that every good deed he’d ever do from that moment forward was all so he could atone for this life he snuffed out.

✦✹✧  

Something was wrong.

Erik wasn’t certain what clued him in: the short burst of electricity in the machine that caused a few cables on the side to spark, or the heavy force of lead that hit him from where he stood. It’s so immediate that he could only squeeze his eyes shut and groan low.

It’s like a migraine, but ten times worse. It also only lasted for a second or two. The impression it left, however, was horrifying.

At first he wasn’t sure what he was seeing, but the feeling was unmistakable. For a man who lived a life in darker hues, steeped in anguished rage, Erik could easily recognize it on someone else, for anger like that was as unforgettable as his mother’s last embrace.

But this wasn’t rage at all. It’s mercy.

Erik saw the shard of that memory unwittingly. He felt the peace in the way the young Charles Xavier ended the life of that sorry piece of shit.

Why did Charles project that to him? Was it an accident? Were they more connected mentally now after the dream from last night?

That simply didn’t sit well with Erik; the idea that another person can have access to his private thoughts so quickly and vice-versa. He would never covet the powers the telepath possessed either, for they came with unique burdens, and Erik was already weighed down by his own baggage to ever worry about someone else’s in tow.

However, he can’t help rushing towards Charles just as the other man almost toppled over from the platform, in spite of his grip on the ledges. Good thing Erik was near enough to catch him by the elbows and help him straighten up. Raven, too, assisted. She grabbed her brother by the shoulders, going, “Hey now! What the hell happened? Please tell me you’re okay, Charles!”

But the telepath said nothing. His eyesight seemed unfocused as well right before they fluttered shut. He muttered something under his breath, forcing Erik to lend him his ear. “Charles? What is it?”

He heard the faint sorrow in the other man’s voice when he asked via telepathy:

「 Did you see? 」

Erik didn’t want to get used to this way of communicating, but for now he’ll allow it whilst meeting Charles’s eyes.

「 You did, didn’t you? Erik…I’m sorry. I wish this isn’t happening. 」

He can’t tell whether Charles was remorseful over the fact that their mental spaces have become inexplicably tangled together somehow, or the fact that Erik just witnessed a painful memory unfold without permission. Or perhaps both.

“Let’s give him some air,” Erik looked over to Raven, stressing. “I’ll handle it.”

“And why would you do that?” she shot back though not unkindly. However, Erik can read between the lines. She actually meant, ‘And why would I let you?’

Before he could come up with an excuse, McCoy stepped into the situation and delicately removed the contraption placed around Charles’s skull. Raven and Erik disentangled briefly to give the scientist room. Otherwise they’re on Charles again, with each of them holding him as steady until the telepath can manage again.

He was calm the entire time, but there’s a hint of anxiety on McCoy’s features as well as he explained, “I don’t know what happened, but I believe the professor reacted to something untapped in his consciousness and almost overwhelmed the circuitry in consequence. I actually speculated that it could be a possibility.”

“And you didn’t even care enough to share that with us earlier, Henry?” Raven sounded crossed. The warmth she emanated during their interactions seemed to drain in an instant, replaced with a kind of hardened attitude that made both men blink at her in surprise. Of course, McCoy was apologetic.

“I should have said something. Yes, you’re right. I’m very sorry, Miss Darkholme.”

“No need to fall back on formality again just because of a small fuck-up,” Raven softened her tone in spite of the words, “We’re all supposed to be friends here.”

“In that case, Raven,” McCoy straightened his posture and looked her squarely in the eye, “I understand you’re upset, but rest assured it’s not that I didn’t care enough to let you know the risks beforehand. I do care. Immensely. About this project, my invention, and especially where it concerns the professor. He is someone I look up to, and I hope you will accept my sincerest apologies. I’ll do what I can now to reevaluate the machine and correct the defects, if any.”

Raven was dumbfounded, and this earned a small smirk from Erik. Well, it looked as if Henry McCoy was not so mild-mannered and polite when he must stand up for himself—even to a woman he so obviously was crushing on.

“I knew the risks,” Charles spoke up just in time as he wiggled a little from his sister’s grasp, only so he can kiss her left temple. “It’s okay, love, I’m right as rain again. No need to panic.”

And Raven punched him on the side of his arm, causing the man to make a sour face before chuckling. “You only scared me a little, you ass! What happened anyway? Did you see something?”

Charles brushed the tangled locks of his hair in an absentminded fashion. Erik knew he was stalling, however.

“I don’t know. I couldn’t tell you if I can remember. You know the dark places my mind can often go. And I suppose Cerebro’s scope can’t help bringing me to those abandoned pathways. It’s…disconcerting, to say the least. But like I said, I knew the risks. And Hank?”

The young scientist has already walked away to the side to look through his notes while the helmet in question rested on the vacant table. Erik himself eyed it with suspicion. He didn’t know if it was only because of his general distrust towards most things—or perhaps it was influenced by the need to safeguard Charles from experiencing harm under its control again.

(How foolish. He knew that Charles didn’t need protection, and that the device is a harmless thing compared to what the telepath can do.)

“It’s okay,” Charles reassured McCoy, “Experiments as intricate as this one, especially a terrain of knowledge still unexplored, could get dangerous. I don’t mind. I volunteered for this, and I’m willing to see it all the way through.”

He glanced briefly at the telepath, muttering, “I’ll do whatever I must to fix it. And it would help me a great deal too if I can talk to you later, Charles. We can pinpoint what went wrong together. Would that be alright?”

“Most certainly,” the older man smiled warmly. “I’m not especially an expert in mechanical engineering, but I’ll be able to keep up, surely.”

There’s a look of understanding that passed between the two academics afterwards. Erik surmised that they both know that whatever McCoy wanted to consult Charles about has less to do with the engineering itself but more on the inexplicable range that his telepathy can achieve—and how best Cerebro can adapt to it.

In any case, Charles excused himself soon afterwards, but not before Raven can further inquire about how he’s feeling.

“You can tell me anything, you know that, right?”

She may goad and playfully insult him about inane things, but there was no mistaking that Charles’s sister truly hold him in such high regard and with true affection. (As Erik watched them together, he tried not to think about the twins or Gerhard. Their ghosts have become so commonplace in his imagination that banishing spectral manifestations of them was almost as easy as holding his breath. Almost.)

“I’m fine,” Charles paused thoughtfully before adding, “I’m going to be fine. It’s just a little bit of a shock, that’s all. It’s bound to happen when one’s using an experimental device.”

“Maybe you should delay this search for other mutants,” Raven suggested as she glanced briefly towards Erik. “That Shaw guy was enough trouble as it is. I mean, we’re volunteers. It’s not like this is paid work or we signed anything legally-binding.”

She narrowed her eyes at her brother. “Or did you? You were talking to Simmons for a long time back at his office. Did you two finally strike a more formal arrangement?”

“Not at all. But I’m not saying we won’t cross that bridge eventually if we pursue our work here at Division X. And besides, we aren’t doing any of this for lucrative reasons, Raven. Money has never been issue for either of us.”

“I don’t give a shit about that. I just meant…” she lowered her tone, “Look, this feels bigger than anything we’ve ever tackled before. The trips we made out of country for missionary work and all that…those were things we did for ourselves, to help those in need, and we didn’t have to answer to a higher power like the fucking US government, Charles. So…this?” she gestured at the room they’re in, but she noticeably didn’t look at Cerebro.  “God, I don’t know. I don’t trust it.”

Erik can’t help but interject since the conversation wasn’t exactly that private. “And you should listen to your gut more, Raven. It’s the instinct of a survivor.”

She stared blankly at him, saying nothing. After another few seconds, she addressed her brother again.

“Broody hot stuff has got it all figured out, hasn’t he? I’m not saying he’s wrong, but he’s far from being right too. Like you. Maybe we should just take a step back and look at the details more clearly and with an informed state of mind. It’s not exactly advisable to jump head-first into something as serious as this.”

Charles laughed though humorlessly. “My, my, look at you—all grown up and worried about adult things.”

“Can you not patronize me right now?” Raven slapped him lightly on the cheek before that very same hand encircled around his wrist, squeezing it out of concern. She looked right into his eyes and asked again, “Don’t spare me the gory details, okay? If you’re not fine, just tell me. I know you better than you know yourself, Charles. And right now…what you’re doing can get overwhelming. Right?”

“I appreciate you, Raven, I do…” Charles learned forward to kiss the top of her head before he pulled back so he can gaze into her eyes again. “But I am okay. Truly. I would, however, take up Erik’s offer about that fresh air.”

He turned to said man. “Shall we, my friend?”

Neither had to say anything more. Erik himself knew why Charles wanted to be alone with him. It’s funny how they’re growing more accustomed to each other since last night. It’s still tense, something that could snap unless it learns, gradually, how to bend. This combination of strife and sympathy was a delicate balance, like a seesaw where one or the other’s weight hangs precariously in the air, right before gravity would eventually pull one of them down as the other waits its turn.

The men walked around the fenced property for a full minute of silence as the tower loomed behind. Charles looked wistfully around, his eyebrows knitted together. The only reason Erik wasn’t speaking yet was because he understood if the telepath has no wish to relieve what Erik witnessed in his memories. Still, can Charles actually explain to him how and why their respective conscious thoughts bled into each other’s minds? Was it because Charles had been in his nightmare before? Or was this an unrelated incident? Another accidental projection?

Telepathy was something that worried Erik deeply, yet it also intrigued him to no end.

It was only when they neared a bolted set of doors that was on another building that Charles, at last, broke the silence when he said, “I hope you don’t take things out of context in regards to what you think you saw.”

Erik was quiet for several seconds as he leaned on the wall across where the other man appraised him with what struck him as a rather apologetic expression—as if he deserved some pity when that was the last thing Erik felt at the moment.

“I know what I saw,” the somber man answered with a modulated tone of voice. “I don’t judge you for it, if that’s what you’re so concerned about.”

“I’m not concerned. I mean…well, yes, I am, but nothing like—” Charles exhaled audibly as his eyes fluttered shut a bit before opening again. “I never meant for you to learn about that singular event in my childhood that scarred me very much, let alone through such an unconventional means of conversation.”

“And is that what we’re having right now? A conversation?” Erik retorted. “Because conversations go both ways, and if you want to talk about it some more, then you don’t need to hold back out of propriety’s sake. You and I have clearly seen terrible things—done terrible things growing up—and we don’t have to pretend otherwise.”

With a shake of his head, Charles countered, “I wasn’t pretending. I have always been an open book to you.”

“That’s rich.”

“Erik, please,” the man said, “I’ve been trying. I don’t know how many olive branches I can extend to you that can convince—”

“We’re okay,” Erik interjected, uncrossing his arms as he did, “We are going to be okay. You were right about one thing after all: I’ve decided to stay, and I can’t tell you exactly why, but I’m here now. I’ll also help look for more mutants, but not for Simmons or any of the spooks. I’m doing it because…well, maybe I owe it to myself and another mutant out there who might still be coming to grips with what they’re capable of…and is lost.”

“Yes,” Charles smiled, but it wasn’t like his usually bright ones. There’s an edge to the way his mouth mimicked a smile, as if for the first time his cheery disposition was finally showing some cracks. “Indeed, yes. We should shepherd and gather them into a flock, make them feel safe and accepted. Make them feel that they’re not any less normal because of their mutation.”

“Normal only really means socially acceptable,” Erik replied with a scoff, “And what society finds acceptable, in many ways, violates all kinds of freedoms for people who don’t fit easily into the arbitrarily set roles that greedy men in positions of power place upon. And if to give up personal agency will be what it takes to be regarded as ‘normal’, then we’re all better off being abnormal, Charles—especially mutants.”

If the telepath wanted to disagree, he decided to graciously let it go, at least for now. He instead leaned against the opposite wall and chewed on his bottom lip.

Erik gave another half-minute of heavy silence before he said:

“It’s not your fault, you know. You did what you had to do so you can save an innocent woman’s life.”

But Charles snapped his eyes at Erik all of a sudden and spoke in a stern tone the other man has only ever heard him use once—back when he claimed that Erik had been wrong about him all along.

And yet he’s never been more sure about Charles Xavier than he was now…

“I killed him,” said man emphasized in a hushed whisper, “And I regret it every day hence.”

Clearing his throat, he despaired next: “Gods, you must think me such a hypocrite; preaching for you not to pursue vengeance on Shaw when I had dabbled on it myself long ago.”

Undeterred, Erik just went, “You were a child. And you’ve been maltreated by those who should have taken care of you. Of course you’d lash out. More importantly, your stepfather was a bad man who deserved nothing but a bad end.”

“Things are not so simple. People are not so simple!” One of Charles’s hands curled into a fist underneath him. Erik raised an eyebrow, almost amused by this display.

“If we don’t draw a line somewhere,” the telepath countered, “then how are we different from the people who have hurt and abused us, Erik? I felt only shame and guilt after what I did to Kurt.”

“Only shame and guilt? I was there in the memory. You felt vindicated too. Didn’t you?”

Charles glared at him, which simply earned a sardonic chuckle from Erik.

“People are always simple at the end of the day. You honestly want to give second chances to a bigoted a lot of them? You might as well draw a line in the sand. It’ll be washed away soon enough.”

“You can’t possibly believe that. People evolve; that is the whole point of mutation itself. If we feed into the narrative that the only way to deal with extremists is to fight them with the same fire that they burn us with, then how can we ever have peace?”

Erik smiled then. It was gloomy yet sincere nonetheless. “Peace is never an option.”

Charles just watched him, his blue eyes alight with the kind of fire that could make anyone else think twice about underestimating him just because he seemed pampered on the surface. The man was filled with tougher stuff than mere charm and grace, and Erik wanted to keep unraveling those layers someday, hoping that he’ll recognize a shard of himself in the other man. Hasn’t it been the same for Charles? Wasn’t that why he insisted for Erik to stay?

Finally, the telepath acquiesced a little in his tone though his words certainly didn’t: “You’re wrong, Erik, just like you were wrong about me before. There’s more to life than surviving the worst that it could throw at us. Every nightmare ends.”

“So do dreams.”

“Only if we don’t nurture them, my friend.”

Erik didn’t want to argue anymore. It’s been made very obvious to him from the start that neither of them will ever concede to the other’s point of view regarding humanity. Besides, what’s bothering him more wasn’t their mere difference in ideology but rather…

“He’s hurt you.”

His tone was soft, surprising even himself, especially when he edged closer to the telepath. Charles only appraised him openly, never once breaking eye contact as he tilted his chin.

“I’m all better now,” he replied as his voice crackled a little.

“Are you?”

After all of this was over, Erik wouldn’t be able to explain later on as to why he raised his hand to graze his fingertips against Charles’s cheek, mirroring the other man’s earlier gesture. He also couldn’t explain why the way the telepath’s breath had hitched caused him excitement.

But the most puzzling phenomena of it all was when he noticed how Charles lowered his gaze and pressed himself closer until their faces were only centimeters apart. All Erik could see were the curl of his eyelashes and smell the whiff of coffee under the other man’s breath.

“I’m touched you were worried about me,” he murmured. “I didn’t think I’d ever warrant such concern from you…”

“You’re misinterpreting things again,” Erik retorted, matching the other man’s tone, all while ignoring the way Charles sighed against his cheek, “I wasn’t worried. I was relieved.”

“Relieved?”

“That for all your quixotic notions of a better world, you’re still just as messed up as the rest of us, my friend.”

And the telepath chuckled. He sounded almost absolved by what Erik told him. It was infectious enough that Erik himself can’t help but smile with some warmth this time.

(Or maybe it’s the fact that Erik at last acknowledged him a ‘friend’. His friend.)

He only knew resistance since he met Charles Xavier; something in his nature, in the paranoid flare of his instincts honed by years of hardship resisted anyone who would try to lure him. He was a creature of the wild, suspicious of other predators—untamed.

And here was Charles all of a sudden, kissing him like it was all his lips were ever made to do, and Erik’s trembling own mold against them in response. Everything that was unknowable in either of them for so long was sealed along into their kiss, never to come undone.

Warily, Erik tried to pull back. His shoulders tensed up. He’s not supposed to be kissing another man. He never thought about kissing men before. But a damning trail of thoughts protested in his mind: Does it matter? This is Charles, and you can’t seem to shake him off.

He cupped the telepath’s cheeks now and delved deeper, pushing past the seam of the other man’s lips until Charles tilted his head to the side and welcomed him in.

You saw what his family did to him. You felt his agony.

You and he were the same though not quite too.

Erik remembered the cold sweeping him further down the sea’s abyss, and then a stranger’s arms—his father’s voice—the not alone. And Charles made good on that promise; he’s always close when Erik didn’t want him to be until he can’t imagine a version otherwise that he wasn’t tasting dreams on Charles’s mouth, while their tongues memorized one another amidst the clamor of pressure and control.

Eventually, they broke apart, but not before Charles pressed his lips lightly against his for an encore. His palms were resting on Erik’s chest, causing his heartbeat to race again.

With their respective breathing still punctuated by shock and denial, the men could only stare at one another for several intense seconds before it was Charles who said, “Now then…there’s no way to misinterpret any of that now, is there?”

Erik didn’t reply. Instead he seized his own arms from where they locked around the other man. At some point he had ruffled Charles’s hair and even run his nails down his spine. The other man didn’t seem to mind. He’s smiling at Erik, and the smile was of nervous elation.

However, Erik didn’t mirror it back. He just slowly backed away.

The more his feet retreated, the less Charles’s smile became bright.

“I didn’t mean to…” Erik almost stuttered.

Did Charles compel him to do that? How else could this even occur? There has never been a situation in his life that he regarded another man in the same way he would a woman. So what was this terrible yearning trapped in his lungs and suffocating him? A piece of hot coal seemed to have lodged in his airway so that he can’t help but scratch at the garter of his black turtleneck.

(Somehow he knew now that Charles would never control his mind, and that Erik kissed back because he wanted to. That realization was more stressful than the alternative…)

He swore he could almost taste ash…or maybe it was just the coffee sweetened by Charles’s breath—and the scary possibility of something else, something more, and the not-alone.  

What the fuck are you?

Erik didn’t glance back as soon as he left the telepath by himself—alone.