Archive of Our Own

"Erik, would you like to play chess with me tonight?"

"No."

Charles looked up, over his heavy-handed pour into Erik's glass, over his book and stared at the other side of the sofa. Erik was sitting across from him, his own book in his hand, but now it was closed. His heavy, deep red sweater was rolled up now, halfway up his arms. His jaw was clenched, hands tapping nervously on his book, and Charles squinted at him. The red flush to his face was unusual, and he hadn't had nearly enough to drink for it to make any kind of sense.

"Are you alright?" Charles asked, blinking at him. It was rare that Erik ever turn down a game, and even rarer that he do so with so little elaboration.

"Fine," Erik said, squinting. "I have to go."

"You have to go?" He asked, sitting up and staring at him. Erik scowled, leaning back. "Erik, what's going on with you? I've never seen you say no to chess in my entire life."

"Well, first time for everything," Erik said, standing up. Charles watched him carefully, his lanky body moving carefully, a little stiff and a little too fast.

"Darling, are you mad at me or something?" Charles asked. "You seem just… I don't know."

"I will see you tomorrow, Charles," Erik said curtly, turning his face a little bit away from him.

"What?" Charles asked, moving his chair a little bit, out of pure shock. "Are you going somewhere?"

"I have work to do tonight," Erik said, staring. He rarely stayed up all night; if anything, he lectured Charles on having his full mind sharp and attuned to his surroundings, citing sleep as absolutely crucial for it, so Charles swallowed, but let him leave.

Charles also wasn't ashamed to admit that the reason he was comfortable letting him leave was because he was already checking in on Erik's mind. What he found there was more than he'd bargained for. And by more, he really meant less. He was overwhelmed with the simmering dread behind the intense stone wall.

Beyond that, Erik had nothing for him. No clear thoughts, but distant panic and a disoriented, deja vu type feeling. Charles tried again to reach for anything that might explain the conflicting mix in his mind, but he couldn't seem to find an explanation for the combined mix of thoughts. There wasn't, as far as Charles could tell, any root memory or core issue that was readily waiting him, so he just let Erik walk off, hurt as he might be

Besides, it gave him a good excuse to check on… whatever was happening downstairs.

Scott had a beer in his hand, which was never a good thing, as he sat on the bar, pouting like a child, his arms crossed and head turned, and Storm and Jean were sitting at the kitchen table with Colossus and Logan, all of them looking quite pleased with themselves. Charles wheeled in, raised his eyebrows, and tried not to sigh too hard.

"What's going on here?" Charles asked, looking at them all with vague disappointment.

"Scott's being a baby," Logan said.

"Am not," Scott countered quickly, scowling over his shoulder.

"Are too," Logan said, screwing up his face a little childishly.

"We were playing a drinking game," Storm said, looking over at them with a heavy eye roll. "And someone took it too personally."

"You said that if I had to remind you of any Avenger, it would be Bruce Banner. He isn't even an Avenger," Scott grumbled. "What happened to Tony Stark- or really any of the others."

"Scott, I am sure they didn't mean it as an offense," Charles said. "I've worked with Bruce a number of times, he's absolutely brilliant. Anyone would be flattered to be compared-"

"I meant it as an insult," Logan said quickly.

"Right then," Charles said, blinking slowly. "Well, maybe let's not insult everyone, and Scott, if you can't behave when you're playing-"

Charles cut himself off this time, his hand flying to his head as his vision went white. A huge disarray of noises crashed over him, and despite the hold he normally has on his powers, his hand had to come up to his hair, pulling hard to anchor himself to the present moment. He quickly did everything in his power to reinforce the mental walls, even as blinding pain rippled through his body, and when he came back to himself, he saw several people staring at him.

"Are you okay?" Jean asked, perking up.

"What happened?" Colossus asked, his brow furrowing. "You seem… distressed."

"Oh, perfectly fine," Charles said, blinking as he reoriented himself. "I think someone's just having a nightmare, is all. Can I trust you lot to behave yourselves, if I go off for a moment?"

"No," Scott said poutingly. Charles gave him a long-suffering glance, and Scott sighed, shrugging. "Fine."

"Thank you," Charles said, quickly excusing himself. "Be good."

He moved hurriedly, pulling himself into another room, and letting his mental walls down just enough to try to pinpoint the exact location of the sensory overload. He didn't find it, however, his mind once again flooded with white hot pain and a confusing kind of overwhelm he wasn't at all familiar with. He tried to steady himself, but it proved useless, and he pulled back out with a gasp before he was able to get a direct read.

He had a solid guess, however.

Charles was fast, pulling his chair into the elevator and ascending to the top floor. One level above the students, between the teachers' rooms and the dorms, the offices were held. Erik's was a large corner one, on the other side of the school from Charles's, in effort to keep his thoughts private. Charles hadn't had the willingness to break to him what exactly a psychic link was, and how it worked. The fact that, now, he felt so strongly its absence, gave him enough indication as to who was assaulting his mind. Rolling up to the door, he tried for a knock, but quickly found he was given no response.

"Erik?" Charles called, knocking again. "Darling, are you alright?"

The continued silence moved from frustrating to annoying in Charles's mind, and he tried the handle, relieved to find it, for once, unlocked. However, it was no sooner that he entered the room than a swift impact knocked the breath out of him, and a cold slam to the floor robbed him of his chair. Whipping around in confusion, he quickly saw why.

His chair was been, for lack of a better word, mangled, and was lying in a crumpled heap, rotated on it's side, and sliding around the room. It was joined, seemingly, by all metal with a five-yard perimeter, all items contorting and rippling as they moved from one side to the other, their motions unpredictable and spasmodic.

"Erik," Charles called, more urgently this time.

And then he saw it.

Erik wasn't fully in view, but Charles could easily see one of his legs, propped on the floor, half bent at an awkward angle. Charles moved quickly, trying to not let the electromagnetic storm occurring in the air disway him, even as a rising cloud of paper clips and pens and metal filing cabinets all swirled and spasmed and contorted around each other, perotically slamming into the walls, leaving holes in the old, polished wood that would surely need patching later.

Charles dug his arms into the floor, shaking a little with the effort to push his body up, gripping onto the side of the heavy wood desk and pulling himself up and towards the shaking limb. It took too long, Charles's breath coming in pained heaving pants by the time he made it even halfway. It was impossible, in that moment, to not resent the physical handicap. But he very quickly realized there was something greater going on than he realized, and he dug into whatever strength he held in his upper body, pulling himself into a basic sitting position and moving to Erik's side.

"Erik, can you hear me?" Charles asked, propping himself up on the side of the wooden desk, until he was within reach of Erik.

Now that he was in full view of Charles, he felt his heart twist; the imagery of the man in front of him nothing short of visceral and, frankly, terrifying. Erik was half stretched out on the floor, one hand oddly tucked up against his chest, head thrown back, and back uncomfortably arched against the hardwood. His body was shaking, and seemingly every muscle in his body was tight, rock hard, and contorting him into odd, uncomfortable-looking shakes.

"Shit," Charles muttered, his eyes moving quickly.

Around them the metal continued to spiral, moving in it's disjointed way, and he had to keep his head behind the desk to keep it safe from the whirring items. It was only once a pencil cup smashed into his face, leaving a long jagged cut over his cheek, that he broke, pulling hard on Erik and dragging him towards the cover of the wooden desk.

"Erik, can you hear me?" Charles called out, struggling to contain Erik's spastic movements enough to keep his grip on him. Erik, it appeared, could not, and as Charles pulled him more fully under the cover of the wooden desk, he saw his face.

A deep red mark, undoubtedly about to bloom into a bruise, darkened near his eye. His hair, which very recently was neatly combed and gelled, was mussed and stuck out, and most alarmingly, as his pale blue eyes darted around the room, he saw blood and foam collecting in his mouth, falling down the side of his jaw.

"Okay, you're okay," Charles said, unsure of what else to say. He kept his head down, reaching toward a large, potted plant, which apparently had no metal in it, and pulled it in front of the two of them, essentially walling them off under the desk. "Erik, can you breath? What's going on?"

Unsurprisingly, Erik was in no state to answer.

Charles had no idea how long they were under there; it felt like it could not have been shorter than fifteen minutes, but in reality, it was likely closer to 90 seconds. Erik's body continued to thrash and contort and seize, while Charles held him firmly, eventually pulling his sweater off with one hand and pushing it under Erik's head, in hopes of preventing any further injury to it.

When his body did finally start to slow, his eyes lulled shut, and Charles sat up in alarm, his hand coming to rest on his chest, feeling desperately for his breaths and heartbeats. He grabbed one of Erik's curled hands, still not fully released by his body's grip, and helped unfurl the man slowly, stretching his limbs out so he wasn't so tightly curled in on himself.

"There you are," Charles said quietly, listening distantly for the metal in the room. Erik wasn't fully done shaking, it seemed, although it had slowed down much, and all the metal around them copied the rythem, still moving without rythem or any predicting variable, but not at the speed or intensity of before.

"Keep breathing," Charles urged finally, looking down at Erik, pulling him more onto his side. It was only a half beat of hesitation before Charles's hand found the back of his hair, brushing over it carefully, pushing it away from his sticky upper brow. He used the sleeve of the sweater he'd ripped off, wiping away the blood and spit from his cheek. "Well done, are you coming back to me now?"

It was too long, with Erik lying entirely motionless, before he slowly licked his lips, croaking out a simple "Charles?"

Erik's voice was hoarse and shaky, but when his eyes cracked lazily, he moved, sitting upright even as each movement seemed leaden and slow, and scooted back from Charles, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" Charles asked, slowly lowering his mental walls, relieved to feel his normal connection with Erik returning. "What happened?"

"I could ask… you the same thing," Erik's aid, trailing off briefly as he glanced around the room. "Shit."

"Yeah, shit," Charles said, feeling something a little frantic bubble in his chest. "Erik, are you alright? You look… you were-"

"I'm fine, Charles," Erik said stiffly, moving like he was going to get up. It was impossible to say if he tried and failed, or if he just realized his body wouldn't support him, but he didn't make it more than halfway up. "Where is your chair?"

"You kidnapped it, along with half the room," Charles said, waving his hands a little to the chaos around them.

Erik looked up, seeing the chair, along with most of the items in the room, hovering in the air, frozen wherever they had been when Erik came back to himself. He made a wince, lowering the items with a heavy wave of his hands.

"Sorry," Erik said, his tone half angry, half genuinely apologetic.

"Where are we?" Charles asked, setting his jaw a little, scooting the plant away from him a little bit and staring at him.

"Excuse me?" Erik asked, scowling.

"Where are we?" Charles repeated, punctuating every word. Erik glared, moving again like he might get up, but his body wasn't on his side, so he just sort of slid up the wall a little and settled back down.

"At the school," Erik said, huddling a little against himself.

"Where at the school?" Charles asked. Erik rolled his eyes, before closing them, leaning his head forward on his hands, laced on top of his propped-up knees.

"Charles…"

"Where in the school, Erik?" Charles said, doubling down. Erik's eyes flickered around the room for a moment before landing on the desk Charles was still half under, and cleared his throat.

"Office," Erik said. His eyes flickered, almost without Charles noticing, to the walls, seemingly noticing something about the shelves, and cleared his raspy voice again. "My office."

"Good, do you know what day it is?" Charles asked. Erik bristled immediately, leaning away from him.

"I know the day, Charles," Erik said. "Why are you acting like this?"

"I-" Charles bit off his impulse to argue back, leaning into their telepathic link a little, and allowing Erik's emotional state to briefly wash over him. There was anger, and irritability, of course there was, but underneath it, some deep, unsettled kind of disorganization that Charles hadn't felt before.

Erik, when Charles looked past the prickly appearance, was exhausted. His posture was half collapsed, half propped up, and pain lined his face in a all to familiar way. Charles reached out his hand, watching Erik carefully, softening himself as best he could. Calling on experience with terrified, defensive children, he stayed steady, watching Erik's suspicious expression.

"I'm not sure what exactly happened," Charles said truthfully. "But I came in here because I got very alarming… not thoughts, but some kind of flash, and I thought it was from you. When I came in, you were unconscious and shaking; it looked like a seizure. Have you had those before?"

"No," Erik said, scowling.

"Do you know what a seizure is?" Charles asked, suddenly recognizing that, if Erik had actually been as isolated as he seemed this whole time, he may genuinely not have the terminology for it. Erik soured further at that implication, turning his face a bit childishly. "Erik?"

"Yes," Erik said, squinting angrily. Charles waited a beat, and Erik watched him for a minute before seemingly softening. "No."

"Okay," Charles said slowly. "It's a neurological event, it happens due to weird electric activity in your brain… I think. It makes all the muscles in your body contort and shake for a few minutes, and it can be very dangerous if it's not treated."

"I don't need treatment," Erik said, shifting further away from him.

"Darling," Charles said slowly, staring at him. "Please, I am not trying to trick you into anything, can you come over here so we can talk, please?"

"Why?" Erik asked.

"Because you look like you're about to fall over," Charles said.

Erik blinked at him, unmoving, and Charles sighed, resigning himself to somewhat humiliatingly scooting his body over towards the wall that Erik was against, moving close enough to him he could reach out and help if needed. The side eye from Erik almost made him hesitate, but he didn't, and when his arm brushed against Erik's, he didn't lean away.

"How do you feel?" Charles asked, searching Erik's face. Erik just shrugged. "Bad? I would guess?"

"Somewhat," Erik said with a slow blink. Charles, slowly, put his hand on Erik's knee, and Erik allowed him to. "I'm fine."

"You're not," Charles challenged.

"How do you know that?" Erik asked.

"Because, although I may not have my legs, I do have my eyes," Charles said quietly. "And I have a baseline knowledge of biology."

"Yes, you've not been shy in sharing about your education," Erik grumbled.

"Which means, I am aware that no amount of masculine insecurity disguised as… whatever emotion you're hoping to convey, can make the physical toll go away," Charles said. Erik just watched him, his eyes cloudy and a little distant. "Give me your hand."

"Why?" Erik asked. Charles narrowed his eyes.

"Just do it," Charles said. Erik lifted his hand, and Charles grabbed it, putting his hand over top Erik's and threading his fingers in over top, squeezing it very gently.

"What are you doing?"

"Holding it," Charles said. He could feel exhaustion and confusion coming off Erik in waves, now that the initial distrust was mostly sorted, and Charles knew he was close to giving in. "We can talk about it later, are you tired?"

"No," Erik lied. Charles just looked at him, and Erik broke eye contact, glancing at the contorted room. "Slightly."

"Can you bring my chair over?" Charles asked carefully. Erik did, and the taxing motion came with a wince that didn't escape Charles. He quickly transferred up, or as quickly as he could ever do that, and reached back out for Erik's hand. "Can you stand?"

"Obviously," Erik said. Charles gave him a look.

"Would you, then?" Charles asked. Erik did take Charles's hand, very cautiously, standing with gritted teeth, his muscles clearly still tense and painful. Charles rubbed his thumb over the side of Erik's hand, moving to wheel with his other, and waiting for Erik to catch up.

They made it up to their room slowly. Erik waved him off quickly enough, but he could barely walk, and Charles wasn't ashamed to admit he hovered. But the slow shuffle was proud and slow, and Charles kept his hovering hand near Erik, not letting him fall, should he trip. Thankfully, they didn't have to deal with that, nor anyone else, and they did eventually arrive to the bedroom.

"Lie down," Charles said quickly, gesturing. Erik scowled, and Charles just shook his head at him. "Erik, it's late, you're in pain. Lie down."

And Erik did.

Charles couldn't have been gone for more than five minutes, but when he came back in with a wet rag to clean the blood and dried foam off of his face, he found Erik curled on his side, dead to the world. He wheeled over, trying to be quiet, and peered at Erik's sleeping form, trying to manage the combined waves of fondness and frustration at the man in front of him. He did reach out and clean off his cheek, for Erik's pride if nothing else.

They could talk later.

━━━━༻❁༺━━━━

The main thing Erik knew when he woke up was that he hurt.

Every muscle in his body felt somehow untangled with his bones, the overwhelming feeling of burning, sore, tight muscles threaded its way up to his temples and behind his eyes. When he tried to open them he made a deep, groaning noise of pain, letting his head fall back down again. He was a little surprised, although he shouldn't have been, to hear Charles's soft voice pipe up.

"Erik?" Charles called out. "Darling, are you awake?"

"No," Erik grumbled, pulling on the blanket and shoving his head further under the pillow. He heard a little chuckle, and a very hesitant hand came to brush against his back, and Erik turned his head, glancing over at Charles.

"Hi," Charles said, his hand coming up to his hair and brushing it back. "How do you feel?"

"Fantastic," Erik sighed, dropping his head back down and looking at Charles's hesitant face. After a moment of weighing his pride against his relationship, he pushed himself up, moving up the bed and over towards Charles, laying his head back down on Charles's chest.

"You look it," Charles said, his hand not leaving Erik's hair as he continued the loop of threading through it, making the short strands stick straight up. "You gave me quite the scare you know."

"Sorry about that," Erik said, throwing a arm over him. Charles leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Don't be sorry love," Charles said, his hand moving down lower towards the base of his neck, rubbing over the tense muscles there. A pang ran through his neck, electric bolts of protest at the sore muscle being prodded, and Charles winced in sympathy. "Has this happened before?"

"A few times," Erik said, finally deciding he wasn't going to try to save face anymore. Charles couldn't hide the contortion of his face quickly enough, and Erik had to actively remind himself to not bristle. "Not too much."

"More or less than once a month?" Charles asked, peering at him. Erik ignored it, closing his eyes and drinking in the feeling of lying on Charles, listening to his heart.

"Less," Erik said. "A few times a year. It started when I got my powers, I think the magnetic fields do… something to it. When I overuse my powers it's more common but it just… happens."

"Okay," Charles said, his slow movement over Erik's neck stuttering for a second, before continuing. "I know you don't like doctors, I won't ask you to go, but we do need to find a way to get you something to try to help prevent them, do you think we can figure out what to do about that later?"

"Maybe later," Erik said, despite his resounding no, ringing in his head. He was sure Charles heard it, but he did Erik the favor of ignoring it anyway.

"Can I see your face?" Charles asked, nudging Erik's chin up with his free hand. Erik obliged him, but when his eyes lifted up to Charles, he sat up a little.

"What happened here?" Erik asked, tucking one of his legs up so he could sit up, turning Charles's face. A long, shallow mark, framed by a slightly green bruise dusted around the scratch ran across Charles's cheekbone, into his hair.

"What?" Charles asked. Erik ran his thumb over the mark, noting the dried smudge of blood under it. Charles clearly hadn't cleaned it.

"What was that?" Erik asked again, his eyes searching Charles's face, his own pain pushed to the back burner for the time being. Charles scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"I think that was a pencil cup," Charles said. "I barely felt it."

"Why didn't you mention it earlier?" Erik asked. Charles just stared, looking annoyed for a second, before grey gently pulling on Erik, bringing him back down.

"More pressing matters," Charles said. "You need to get some ice on your eye, for that matter, it's bruising pretty bad."

"It's fine, doesn't hurt," Erik assured. "Was it one of the things in the room? That hit your face?"

"Bloody hell Erik, it's not a big deal," Charles said, his nails scratching dully at Erik's back. "I don't really remember."

"Because you got hit too hard or-"

"Erik," Charles said, shaking his head. "It's fine. Not the biggest issue. These injuries are not compatible."

Erik huffed a noise of frustration. It may well not be a major injury, but there was something visceral about seeing a wound on Charles's face, no matter how superficial. Charles wasn't someone that should have scratches and cuts across his features; that was Erik's arena. But Charles just chuckled under him, kissing the top of Erik's head.

"You're very sweet," Charles said, most likely from having overheard his thoughts. Erik made a grumbling noise, pressing his face into Charles and ignoring the throbbing that followed. "You're not going to avoid this conversation by pretending the minor scratch on my face is life threatening."

"That cup could have taken your eye out," Erik said, half above a whine.

"You scared me," Charles said, his voice not wavering as he made the statement. Erik didn't look up, and Charles didn't stop moving his hand over Erik's back, but he did keep talking. "When it happened, I couldn't reach you. Any time I tried it was just…white. And like static. I didn't know what was happening."

Erik had nothing to say to that, so he didn't even try, ignoring the conversation in favor of pulling the blanket up over his bruised-feeling body. It may actually have been bruised, knowing how these things usually go for him.

"And now you're hiding from the conversation under a blanket," Charles observed. Erik lifted his head, glaring, but mostly for show.

"Have you considered your conversation is interrupting my under-the-blanket time?" Erik asked, glancing up briefly. Charles sighed, before shimmying down the bed a little, ducking underneath the covers with him. "Hello?"

"I don't mean to interrupt, so I thought I would join," Charles said, matter-of-factly. "It's nice under here. Warm."

"It is," Erik agreed, leaning into Charles a little. He practically melted into the space, letting his head fall to Charles's collarbone and rest there for a moment. Charles kissed Erik's cheek, just a hair too close to the bruise forming there, so the touch, no matter how gentle, ached a little. After a moment, he looked back up at Charles, kissing him properly.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Erik said, his eyes searching Charles's face in the artificial darkness they had created. "I always get a bit… rude… after those."

"You don't need to apologize," Charles said quickly, his hand rubbing up and down Erik's arm. "You really don't, it's quite alright."

"It's not," Erik said. "I can… I suppose… if I try very hard to imagine, see how I might be concerned if the roles were reversed."

It was more than an understatement. He had, honestly, no idea what a seizure might look like, despite the fact that he was fairly sure he had seen them before; people tended to do all kinds of things while being murdered, and he had certainty seen death. If it was anything like what Charles described to him, with blood in his mouth and his body convulsing, he was fairly sure he wouldn't survive seeing Charles in such a state.

Not to mention Erik's… choice behavior once it had subsided.

"There's no need for all of that dear," Charles said, his hand coming up to Erik's head and brushing over his hair. "None at all, you don't have to be sorry. Things like that, they mess up your brain. I didn't for a moment take it personally."

"You are… someone I care about very deeply," Erik said, taking a breath. "One might even say love."

"One might," Charles said, with a little half-sigh, half-laugh.

"I don't want to hurt you, no matter how much it may seem I do," Erik said.

his brow drew as he tried to figure out a way to put to spoken word the swirl of emotions he felt. He was fairly sure regret wouldn't cover it, there was something unspoken settled hard over his chest. Instead, he decided to settle on a much more eloquent line.

"I cannot get enough air."

Charles laughed again, looking down at Erik with more fondness than he felt he was entitled to, and threw the cover off of them, pulling it tightly around their shoulders, and letting the cool-by-comparison air hit their faces, while Erik took a few long, slow breaths. He never liked warm, crowded spaces.

"Erik?" Charles asked, brushing a hand over Erik's face. Erik looked up at him, feeling a little exposed in the daylight. "Why didn't you tell me that something was wrong. Earlier, I assume you left because you could feel it coming on?"

"…yes," Erik said. It was more than that, the mounting dread, the horrible feeling that he had lived that exact moment dozens of times and the tin taste in his mouth. He knew they always preceded the episodes, and he knew he wanted to be alone. Or, that he thought he wanted that. "I would say that's true."

"So why not tell me?" Charles asked, a little bit of actual hurt bleeding into his tone.

"I didn't want you to see me like that," Erik said. At least that admission was easy. "I don't know how it looks on the outside, but I know I wake up sore, and everything metal around me gets wrecked, and sometimes there's blood on my face, or the floor. I mean, you saw what I did to your chair."

"But it could have been so dangerous for you, alone," Charles said, his eyes actually tearing at the thought. Erik sighed a little, shaking his head.

"Not my first rodeo, Charles," Erik said with more self-assurance than he felt. "Trust me, I knew I would be fine."

"One day, Erik," Charles said, blinking at him very deliberately. "One day, you won't be fine. And I won't know. What if… I don't know, Erik. I want you to be okay."

"I am okay," Erik said, shaking his head. "I promise, Charles, I am perfectly fine. I have dealt with this for a long time."

"There are ways to treat this," Charles said, holding his hands stiffly. "Medications. Please, would you just look into it for me?"

"For you?" Erik asked, glancing at him. Charles nodded, not waiting even a beat, and Erik sighed. "I will. But you owe me."

"I am trying to save you- oh never mind," Charles said, rolling his eyes. "Come here."

Which was all the warning Erik got before being tugged gently down and closer, Charles moving himself manually, with the help of Erik as a handle, and curled himself around Erik, until they were tucked into each other, limbs tangled, hair messy, breaths mingling over the crisp white sheets.

"I love you," Erik said, tipping his chin forward just enough to capture Charles's lips. "I'm sorry I scared you."

"You're being quite emotionally mature," Charles observed, kissing him back. "Not that I am complaining, to be clear. Also I love you too."

"I don't want to lose you," Erik said, not even pausing to think. "I need to make sure everything is alright between us."

"Why are you even worried about that?" Charles asked, "Of course it is. You have given much smaller apologies for much greater crimes, Erik. And I do use the word crime in a very literal sense here."

"Those are crimes I chose to commit," Erik said, shaking his head. "Subjecting you to my behavior when I am out of control is a different story entirely."

"Well," Charles said, stretching a little. "I think that it's a reach to say that you were in control during any of those numerous events. Let me up for a moment?"

Erik rolled off of him, watching as Charles moved out of the bed, to his chair, in a slow, lazy way. He always had to resist the impulse to reach out and help when he saw Charles transfer, even in times like these where he objectively was in a worse state than Charles was. He had to learn after a very long time that there was just no graceful way to move a half-immobile body from bed to chair.

Charles shook his bed head out a little, only worsening the situation, and ran a hand through the tangled mess. He turned the chair, pivoting onto one wheel to avoid one of the many stray items on Charles's side of the room; Erik's unsurprisingly was entirely clear.

"What are you doing?" Erik asked, his eyebrow quirking up.

"Helping," Charles said simply, turning his chair around and wheeling away before Erik could say anything more.

"You do not have a great history with helping," Erik called after him. But Charles was already gone, rolling away from him quickly and into the bathroom without a second glance.

Not much longer, Charles returned to the room, waving Erik over towards the edge of the bed. Charles watched him carefully, before pulling him over by his arm, letting him come over to the very edge. Erik obliged, allowing himself to be moved, and Charles propped him up against the headboard. He opened his hand up, showing him two pills in his hands.

"I'm not taking that," Erik said, immideatly recognizing the pills.

"It's fine," Charles said. "You need it way more than I ever do."

"That's not true," Erik said.

In Charles's hand were the two OxyContin. Pills reserved for the absolute worst of Charles's pain days. The days when he couldn't move out of the bed, Charles writhing in pain, whimpering apologies, where Erik had to absolutely beg him to take anything to prevent him from sitting in the agony for an extended time. He would sit with Charles, watching the fight and pain drain from his body, allowing Charles to hold his hand as his body forced him into sleep.

"My friend, you desperately need some kind of pain relief," Charles said, watching him. "Although I appreciate the sentiment in your mind, don't focus on that right now. I have more than enough."

"You lose the title of 'friend' when we have both been inside of each other, Charles," Erik said, forcing an amused tone into his voice, even as his body trembled.

"Erik," Charles said, giving him a look. "I know how bad the aftermath of something that traumatic can be."

"Are you?" Erik asked, narrowing his eyes at him. Charles seemed to sour slightly at the implication, before softening again. The ever-present flicker of emotions on his face settling into something kind and a big generous.

"Erik, my darling," Charles said. "I am sorry to say, but I have felt your pain. I feel your pain. If you are not willing to take anything for your own physical benefit, think about the mental ramifications for me seeing you in pain, right?"

Erik hated that he did not have a response to that. Other, of course, than to take the pills.

"Pain medication is useless," Erik grumbled, pinching his face in protest, even as he swallowed. Charles just rolled his eyes, handing over a cup of water.

"Yes, yes, you have a undying need to prove that you were put on this earth to suffer, drink more water," Charles said dismissively, tipping the bottom of the cup up so Erik had to sit up a little too quickly to keep it form spilling all over the bed. he lowered it again, shooting Charles a glare that he knew would do little to upset the man.

"You're certainly chipper," Erik said, resisting the urge to grind his teeth.

"You're certainly not," Charles countered. "Stay there."

"What are you doing?" Erik asked, watching Charles with narrowed eyes.

"So much suspicion, and always for innocuous things," Charles responded. Not a moment later, he returned to Erik's view, and Erik couldn't help but smile a little. "Care for a game?"

"Do I?" Erik asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I do believe that was the question," Charles said.

"I could be amenable," Erik replied after a moment. Charles smiled cheesily at him, his face breaking out into something a little brighter than Erik fully expected, and it made him grin back wider than before. "You're ridicules."

"Am I?" Charles asked, laughing a little as he dragged the side table over, Erik waving his hand to help a bit.

"You look ridiculous," Erik said.

"Maybe I just like you, is that such a crime?" Charles asked him.

"Legally speaking, it might be," Erik said. "You would think after all this time that you would stop smiling like such a schoolgirl, Charles."

"All this time?" Charles asked. "My friend, we have barely scratched the surface of our lives. I am sure this will, someday, be seen as the very beginning."

"If there has been this much turmoil at the beginning, I would hate to see the dark night of the soul," Erik said, rolling his eyes as Charles muttered to himself, counting the pawns. "All your pawns are there."

"I know," Charles said. "But there is something off about this one, do you see that?"

"It looks perfectly fine," Erik said.

"This one isn't supposed to be on this square," Charles said, scowling a little at the board.

"It's a white pawn, it's on the white side of the board," Erik said, blinking at him. He could feel the pills beginning to take effect, the harsh lines of his pain softening just a bit, and he let his body relax against the headrest of the bed as he watched Charles watch the board. "What are you doing?"

"Aha," Charles said happily, plucking a pawn from the very far edge of his board, examining it, and then placing it back on a new square. "Right, now we can start."

"…what?"

"Well, you see, this pawn lives on this square," Charles said, tapping the pawn. "It has a little line on the side that sort of looks like it could connect to the marbling in the board itself so I always like to have it… you're laughing at me."

"You make it easy to."

Charles huffed at that, crossing his arms a bit, but he quickly forgot he was being pouty when Erik attempted scholars mate on him, and he quickly got his head in the game.

They played for two games before Erik felt the full effect of the medication, and another half of a game before Charles stopped sparing Erik's dignity and sent him back to bed. Erik didn't know, at the time, where Charles went while he slept, but he would wake up to a very chipper Charles, who was now two books wiser on epileptic seizures and harbored several theories as to the ways Erik's mutation may be playing a part. He would also quickly be pushed into the lab, where Hank and Charles would stare at him and debate things under their breath, and in Charles's mind, without giving him any real context.

Another few weeks after that, Charles would present him with a small bottle of pills, informing him that Hank had made some alterations to a traditional drug, and urging him to try it. Three days after that, Erik caved and actually began taking the medicine. He would never admit it helped, because in his day-to-day life, no discernible change had been made.

But he didn't find himself having another seizure for a long time. And he would learn, eventually, that they grew shorter, less extreme, and he recovered faster in time.

Erik didn't know any of this, of course, all he knew in this moment was that he was drifting between a place of sleep and consciousness, and that he really needed to make Charles take these specific meds more often, because the pain had melted out of his body, and a lazy smile he didn't quite understand curled on his face.