“He's touching me!” Wanda's voice breaks the beautiful moment of absolute silence Erik had been cherishing for the last the five minutes.
Forcing himself not to move his eyes from the road ahead, Erik tunes out the sound of scuffling in the row behind him and tightens his grip on the wheel.
“Pietro, don't bother your sister,” he says, carefully keeping the exhaustion out of his voice. It's only nine in the morning and he already wants to turn the car around, go home, and climb back into bed.
“But I'm not touching her-” Pietro starts. The mischievous glee in his voice blatantly obvious, and Erik can almost see the gigantic grin that must be plastered across his face.
“-He is! He is!” Wanda shrieks, cutting her brother off.
There's movement just out of the corner of Erik's eye, and he flicks his gaze to the rear-view mirror. Wanda has pushed herself as close to the car door as she can possibly get, Pietro is leaning over from his seat on the opposite side of the car to put his hand as close as he can to Wanda's face without actually touching her, and Hank is apparently content to be sandwiched in the middle, his tongue lolling out and panting excitedly.
Definitely not the poster for automobile safety, the parent portion of his brain reminds him.
Erik clears his throat pointedly, and Pietro's gaze darts up to meet his in the mirror. The nine-year old immediately shifts back to his seat, and looks down at his hands, mumbling half-hearted apologies under his breath.
In turn, Wanda picks up Hank, who immediately turns to jelly in her arms, and sets him on her lap. He burrows and squirms around in the frills of her bright red skirt for a moment, and then settles on resting his head on her knees.
Relieved that the twins have settled on not bothering each other for at least the next five minutes, Erik puts his focus on arriving at the apple orchard in one piece.
As they pull into the dusty parking lot, Erik can feel almost feel the twins' excitement rise to a new level as they clamor to look out of the window and see the endless aisles of trees, all painted with similar hues of scarlet and gold with the occasional hint of faded green. It's picturesque, like something pulled straight off of the glossy front of a postcard.
Thankfully, the parking lot is almost completely empty, save for another minivan and a nice looking BMW, and the red-headed kid working the gate assures them that they're one of the first families to arrive.
There's a chorus of high-pitched, ecstatic squealing, accompanied by the overjoyed barking of an overexcited dog, as he releases Wanda, Pietro, and Hank into the rows or apple trees with empty baskets.
“Stay close to me!” Erik calls out after them. He gets no reply (not that he expected one in the first place) and casually follows the sound of excited chatter, taking his time to admire the scenery. The crisp autumn morning air nips at the small bits of exposed skin, and Erik pulls his maroon scarf tighter around his neck.
It's all very pleasant, he reflects as he regards and the rustic, wooden barn rising above the treetops in the distance.
He mostly regrets letting his guard down when he catches up to the kids, though.
Pietro has already managed to climb the largest tree in sight, wicker basket abandoned on the ground below, and is throwing green apples over into the next row for Hank, who struggles valiantly to retrieve the fruit in all his six-toed, stubby-legged, corgi glory. Each time Hank reaches the base of the tree and drops a new apple into the knotted roots, Pietro throws another one, sending him into another fit of doggy hysterics.
Erik catches the next apple, just as Pietro yells, “Fetch, Beast!” at the top of his lungs, and Wanda, primly plucking ripe apples for her own basket in the tree's lower limbs, calls out “His name's Henry.”
Hank, which is what Erik had decided to call him to avoid choosing a side the great Name War, doesn't seem to recognize the fact that the apple he was pursuing is now in Erik's hands and keeps on sprinting, his leash slapping on the ground behind him.
“Henry!” Wanda screams and tries to chase after the dog, but Erik manages to catch her around the waist to stop her. Pietro shuffles to her side, sensing by some miracle that they're both about to get a lecture.
Erik crosses his arms and gives them his best I'm-not-amused-by-your-lack-of-maturity stare down, letting it sink in before speaking.
“I really thought I could trust you to be better behaved today, especially since I took the time to drive you all the way out here,” he announces to them both.
“I didn't do anything!” Wanda insists, frowning and stamping her foot into the dirt, “It was Pietro who was throwing the apples!”
“But who was supposed to be in charge of Hank?” Erik asks sternly, thankful that no one interrupts to correct him about Hank's actual name.
“Me,” she admits reluctantly, scuffing her shoe against the ground, “Sorry.”
Pietro adds in his apology as well, sounding not the least bit half-hearted.
“All right, grab your baskets and we'll go find Hank.” he says, allowing them both to take one of his hands as they follow the distant sound of barking.
***
They find Hank in no time at all in front of the barn's gaping door, in what seemed to be a deep conversation with a stunted, collarless mutt. The dusty, dark grey dog eyes them warily as they approach, but makes no move when Erik picks up the end of Hank's leash and tries to tug him in the direction they had come, much to Hank's discontent. The corgi whines and whimpers pitifully, pulling to go back towards his new friend.
“Aw, come on Dad,” Pietro calls from where Erik had made the twins wait at the edge of the tree-line, “He made a friend! Don't make him leave, yet.”
Hank is now hopelessly attempting to work his way out of his collar, rolling over, creating a cloud of dust, and pushing at it with his comically large paws.
“No Pietro,” Erik sighs, trying to pull the now immovable dog from his spot without hurting him, “It's a stray. We don't know where it's come from or if it's friendly. It could have diseases for all we know.” He's beginning to think he should have just stayed at home today, and spent family day watching TV or playing a board game.
“Oh no, he's perfectly healthy,” adds an easily recognizable voice from the sidelines of the Erik vs. Hank game of tug-of-war, “I see him here every year.”
Oh God, it's Charles. Erik knows it is before he turns around to look at him. It's Charles from down the street. Charles, who Erik always keeps an eye out for at block parties and on weekend walks to the park, with his ridiculous sweaters and floppy hair, who never fails to make Erik bumble and trip over his own words trying to speak to him.
Erik would probably unquestionably pack up his whole life and move to Australia (or anywhere Charles wanted to go) at the mention of it. Hell, Erik, who can barely compose an artistic thought around Charles, wants to write poetry about this man.
Charles stands not even a few feet away, a ray of sunlight on a cold morning from the tips of his shoes to the upturned collar of his jacket, and who is Erik kidding, he knows he's head over heels.
His brain is screaming to get a grip, but all Erik can do is stand there slack-jawed, searching for an appropriate reply.
Hank takes this moment to yank his leash out of Erik's suddenly loose grip and gallop back to the stray. The twins are muffling giggles from their spot. Erik mentally curses the world for allowing everything to go wrong when someone who's opinion might actually matter to him finally rolls around.
“What are you doing here?” His reply probably isn't the greatest, but it at least made the journey from his Charles-addled brain to his mouth in the same order.
The good-humored smile he receives in return is almost worth the embarrassment, “I drive out here every autumn. I'm good friends with the orchard's owner, so I get a discount on the apples, and it's always very nice out here at this time of day.”
Taking a deep breath, Erik nods, pretending to have perfectly processed what had just been said and to have definitely not been drowning in those blue eyes.
“Hello, Mr. Xavier,” Wanda and Pietro chorus, not too much like angels, but as close as they can probably get.
“Hello to you too,” he replies, giving them a small wave.
Even Hank seems pleased to see Charles, running up and sniffing at his shoes, abandoning his other friend for the time being. The other friend in question looks to be as disappointed as a dog can get for being ignored, even if it is only for a moment.
“How's the apple picking going?” Charles asks, leaning over to scratch behind the corgi's alert ears.
Erik attempts to say, “Well,” just as the twins decide on, “Horrible”. He then yet again curses the Earth and every living creature that walks upon it, with the exception of Charles, who to Erik's knowledge has never even swatted a fly without good reason.
“If you'd like, I could show you where the best trees are.” Charles offers, and Erik believes he just might be more excited than Wanda and Pietro at this point.
The twins' punishment for losing Hank is momentarily forgotten in lieu of spending more time with Charles. Erik doesn't even care if the random stray follows directly behind them, apparently choosing to become their guard from rogue apples.
***
Day turns to dusk surprisingly quickly in the dappled shade of the apple trees, and Erik slips into a surprising sense of ease around Charles over the course of the day, which was mostly spent securing ladders, because safety is incredibly important to Erik. He has to remind himself repeatedly that the view of Charles' ass is only an added bonus.
He's learned that they both love the same books, and Charles' favorite kind of tea. He's memorized the color of his eyes and the way the corners of his mouth turn up when he's smiling to himself. These are all things Erik discover he finds fascinating and magnificent.
By the end of the day, it's hardly a surprise that when Charles turns to climb down the ladder a final time, he plants his lips on Erik's own instead of stepping off the bottom rung. Erik's eyes are stuck wide open anyways.
“I wanted to let you know that this has been one of the best days I've ever had, and I would love to see you again sometime,” Charles says, pulling his fingers from Erik's jacket and repositioning them somewhere in his hair. It's heaven.
“That would be lovely. How about tonight?” Erik whispers against the soft, red skin of Charles' mouth. He moans softly as the other deepens the kiss considerably, shutting him up. He worships the tender touch exchanged between them, and wishes he'd taken the chance to do this much sooner.
Charles pulls back suddenly, breaking the connection. “The twins,” he pants.
Erik leans in, chasing the scarlet apple lips. “Not a problem. I can get a babysitter.”
But again, Charles pulls away, grabbing Erik by the shoulders and searching the grove around them with his gorgeous eyes. “No, the twins. They're not here.”
Erik is suddenly very aware of the complete silence that surrounds them both, no noise but the sound of the crackling leaves beneath his feet and the wind picking up in the higher, thinner branches. The orchard around them is completely devoid of laughter or groans of disgust or the barking of confused dogs. The twins' absence finally sinks in.
Needless to say, Erik goes into panic mode immediately. He could have sworn that Wanda and Pietro had been just behind them this entire time, swears that he could have heard them bickering. Thinking back on it, he can't remember actually seeing them. He had been too caught up in Charles to see anything else.
Erik's turning in circles and calling out their names when Charles pulls him back into his right mind with a hand on his arm, an anchor in the storm of confusion. “Where's the last place you remember seeing them?” He asks calmly.
“I don't remember. All these trees look the same to me,” Erik says, his eyes wild.
“I have emergency flashlights in my car. We'll go get them and start looking over by the trees near the barn. They couldn't have gone too far.”
Thankful that one of them seems to have their head in the right place, Erik willingly obeys, trailing behind, but still calling out Wanda and Pietro's names.
Flashlights do help them find their way around the darkening orchard, but there's no response to Charles and Erik's calls, worrying Erik further. The search becomes more frantic as night falls completely and there's still no sign of neither the twins nor the dogs. They even agree to split up to cover more ground.
Alone, Erik sinks into a worse state, cursing his own stupidity. How could he have ignored the twins? He had only turned his back for a second and they were gone. For all he knows, the could be lying at the bottom of a ditch, lonely and cold. The mutt could have turned violent and left them bleeding. They could have been kidnapped, poisoned themselves by accidentally eating rat poison, or fallen out of a tree.
The wind, once a gentle breeze is now a blistering wind. He's haunted by the image of Wanda and Pietro frozen to death in the middle of the orchard.
Erik's on the verge of whipping out his cell phone and calling the police when Charles' voice rings out through the trees in the direction of the barn. “I've found them!”
If he weren't so furious at the twins for wandering off and so exhausted from racing around in the rows, Erik might have actually cried in relief to see Wanda, cuddling Hank to her chest, and Pietro curled up fast asleep in the bales of hay at the entrance to the barn, the stray standing watch patiently.
“Good boy,” Charles coos to the mutt as he strokes its ears, “Such a good boy.” His tired smile is warm in the moonlight. “I think I might just have to keep him after this adventure,” he says, referring to the dirty grey dog, “How does the name Logan sound to you?”
“Amazing,” Erik replies, pushing a hand through the mess his hair has become and praying silently that the 'adventure' ends here.
***
When the twins are strapped into the car, fast asleep and ready to go home, Erik takes a moment just to reflect on how insane his life actually is. He's frazzled and exhausted, and has most definitely lost twenty years on his life span after all the stress he's been through today, but he doesn't regret a single second of it. He certainly doesn't regret Charles.
Their eyes meet in front of the bright white headlights of Erik's car. The light illuminates the right side of Charles' face and casts dark shadows on the other half, but his eyes still noticeably shine on either side. The urge to kiss him again is overwhelming, but Erik settles on just watching in serene silence.
The car is humming a deep lullaby when Charles breaks the quiet. “This has been quite a day.”
“It has been.”
“I did mean what I said earlier. I would like to see you again.”
Erik is shocked that Charles would want to spend time with anyone who managed to create such a disaster of a day, but doesn't ignore the offer. “I would as well.”
“I think that it's only fair that you should come over some time and take a couple apples for yourself, seeing as you didn't get any today after all this trouble.”
Erik cringes at the thought of apples. The experience may have turned him off of the semi-sweet fruit for the rest of his life, but the thought of really getting to know another person again, especially Charles, is a welcome one. “Maybe I will.”
It isn't much, but it's a promise that almost makes up for the hour and a half it takes to pull out every individual piece of hay knotted in Wanda's hair by hand.