One
The crash resonating throughout the house was enough to wake the 15 year old boy up from his sleep. His eyes opened wide, a small soundless gasp escaping his lips before the feeling of utmost dread set in.
“Raven,” he whispered hastily, patting the sheets beside him searching for his sister’s body. Nothing. His heartbeat sped up before he lept out of bed. This was not good. At all.
Another crash came from across the winding staircases of their summer house. The boy winced as his bare feet slapped against the frigid floor beneath him. He threw open the door and sprinted to the third floor.
A huge thud hit the ground somewhere across from him. It was followed by a shrill scream, that of a young girl. The boy felt sickness build up in his stomach. No, this couldn’t be right. They usually never touched Raven. Never.
Still. He had to be sure. Throwing open the door to his father’s bedroom, the boy entered. He skidded to a stop right in front of the foot of the bed. The room was a mess. Alcohol gathered in soupy puddles on the floor. Clothes were strewn everywhere, coated in food stains and something else Erik didn't really want to think about. His balding father lounged on the bedspread, which was soaked in blood. Across from him, in a mess on the floor was Raven, a mess of hair and sweat clinging to her bashed-up forehead. The boy had to choke back bile at the sight of his mother laughing at her daughter, throwing yet another bottle of whiskey at the floor by her feet. Crash.
“Stop!” the boy gasped, arms outstretched in horror, a fleeting attempt at stopping Raven from getting hurt anymore. Little shards of glass pierced his flesh in return, perfect round droplets of blood rising up. His mother laughed before taking another swig from her wine glass and landing a sharp kick to Raven’s side. The girl hissed in pain.
Tears of rage rose in the boy’s eyes before he slowly shuffled to the ground to collect Raven from the ground. As his mother giggled before collapsing in a drunken fit on the bed. The boy was careful in rushing Raven out of the room, pale hands encircling his sister's waist as he dragged her away. His forehead was beaded with sweat and the slick metallic scent of Raven's blood pooling on his neck.
He cradled her bruised head, whispering condolences into her hair. Raven looked up at him through her tears, biting her lip ever so slightly.
“Is that what they did to you Charles?” His eyes widened at her question before he rushed to comfort her.
“No, Raven. I think they were just particularly upset today.” That was a lie. “No need to worry.” That was a lie, too. Charles gave her a watery smile. It seemed to work as she attempted to smile back, except it came out as more of a grimace instead. Charles noticed and frowned.
“We need to get you up to your room. Do you think you can walk?” She nodded. He set her down on the carpet, making a mental note to bleach it the next morning lest his mother see it again. He shuddered. They wouldn't survive a repeat of the last time.
Together, the two stumbled through the dim house, Raven leaning on Charles for support. Once they finally climbed the two flights of stairs it took to get to their attic bedroom, Charles helped Raven climb their shared bed before rushing to retrieve the few bandages and medicine they were allowed to keep. Their parents certainly didn’t want the public to see the truth, or it would ruin their reputation. They usually left their marks where no one could see, but with Raven it was different. Charles supposed he’d have to make up another story for her about her sliding down the banister and falling.
Raven hissed as he plunged a towel in a bowl of cool tap water and pressed it to her forehead.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “I’ve got to clean this up and then wrap it. You should be good after that.” He paused to dab at her hairline, the blood mixing in a watered down scarlet running down her face. “Unless you’re hurt more.”
The statement hung in the air for a second, until Raven sighed and pointed to her shins. Which were mangled horribly with shards of glass and red lines crossing her knees. Charles cursed.
“Bloody hell, Raven. What did you do for him to bring out the knife?” His tone was concerned, worried. Lately his father had not only been using them to take his anger out on, but also to show off to his friends. Charles always hid Raven in the closet whenever the rowdy group visited, but maybe this time he was too late.
“I asked to leave again,” Raven said quietly. Charles paused while wrapping her head to stare.
“You-you asked to leave? Raven, how stupid can you be?” She frowned, looking at the floor. “You know they get off on us being trapped here.” He scowled, before his tone darkened and he resumed cleaning her injuries. “We will never, ever leave this house.”
~~~
The house was big enough. Towering white pillars, large marble staircases, windows taller than any of the heavy wooden doors. Not as big as the house back in England, but prettier than the surrounding buildings. It was a good place to move, Charles Xavier thought, looking up at the building from the winding driveway. The town he had chose to move into was a nice city, probably full of rich snobs who thought they were better just because they owned big houses and big cars. Charles half-smiled, thinking of the miracle that he could afford their dream house.
The deal of the century came when the owners of the house had died in the living room, leading sales of the neighborhood downwards. Someone had finally bought it, putting out an advertisement to share the house. Charles had immediately taken out all of his and Raven’s saved money from the last 12 years, packed up, and moved to America. He was lucky to get a house almost as big as the family mansion in England, and twice as nice.
It was an aging structure, void of any furniture except for the little the previous owners family had left behind. There was a couch in the living room that still had bloodstains on it. Charles took one look at it and decided to throw it out. Boxes of his and Raven’s possessions lay scattered throughout the different rooms, except the ones that their new “roommate” had already claimed.
Charles thought it was strange they still hadn’t met the man yet. Online, he seemed close to Raven’s age, and very, very rich. Hank, he believed he was called. He prayed to God that it wasn’t another stuck up twat looking to get on with Raven. Charles shivered. The one time it had happened, the encounter with the man was both awkward and disgusting.
He brushed the thought aside, choosing instead to think about how he was going to unpack all of their belongings with Raven gone god-knows-where and only a couple days until Hank returned from some family vacation he was on. And since Charles felt the need to be a proper gentleman and make a good first impression, he needed to get everything unpacked. Fast.
Standing in the hallway, hands on his hips, and eyes scanning the house, Charles decided he would start unpacking the kitchen. After all, food was the most important thing to him. Besides Raven. And more exclusively, sex.
Charles peeled the tape off the first box, rolling it into a ball and throwing it as hard as he could to a nearby trashcan. He took a deep breath, braced himself for about five hours of extreme boredom, and began to take out the silverware.
~~~
A brisk knock at the door drew his attention away from the family albums and towards the hallway. Charles looked up, running a gloved hand through his hair and climbed out from the pile of cardboard he had buried himself in.
“Coming,” he yelled, assuming it was probably Raven back from the store or wherever she had gone. Making his way down the hallway, he pushed away the remains of tape and boxes still sticking to the walls. He frowned. Cleaning up might take even longer than unpacking. Before opening the door, his eyes caught the time from the antique clock hanging on the wall across from him. 7:34, it read. Charles furrowed his brow. It hadn’t been four hours already, had it?
He quickly busied himself with unlatching the door and pulling it open. “Raven, love, have you fetched the groceries because we’re running low on mi-” Charles’ voice stuck in his throat. Standing before him was not Raven. In fact, he was quite the opposite. The man standing in front of him was perfect in all aspects. White teeth glistening under a smile that made Charles melt. He was tall, with lean muscles running all the way around his torso and arms. And oh god that tight, tight turtleneck... Charles stopped his ogling for a moment to look at the stranger’s eyes.
Which was a big mistake.
They were a light, yet stormy blue that he couldn’t stop looking at. Charles felt himself slowly dropping his rubber gloves to the ground and putting on his most charming smile. After all, first impressions are always important, especially if he was going to end up screwing the guy. He could only hope.
“Hello,” Charles said warmly, aware of how the stranger’s lips twitched at the sound of his voice. “Can I help you?” Be polite, Charles, don’t be odd, don’t be odd, for the love of God do not act odd.
“Erik Lehnsherr,” the other man said as a reply. His words had the faintest hint of a mixed accent that Charles couldn’t quite place. Maybe German?
“Charles Xavier.” He made sure to flash Erik a polite grin. As they shook hands, Charles felt himself stiffen at the coldness of Erik’s hands. It bled into him slowly. He felt his attention slip until Erik let go and began to speak again.
“I’m your neighbor. I live over there.” Erik pointed to the left of Charles’ house. Charles followed his finger, noticing the slightly-larger Victorian house tucked away behind a cluster of trees beside a small pond. Charles suddenly felt childlike envy for the other man’s clearly more expensive and nicer house. It wasn’t that he didn’t like this house, it was just that Erik had it better. Which was unfair.
Suddenly, Charles didn’t like Erik as much as he did before.
“Anyways,” Erik continued, oblivious to Charles’ jealousy. “I’m just here to offer my assistance in unpacking. It must be terribly boring to do it alone.” His smile was almost blinding. Charles scowled, his face falling.
“What makes you think I’m alone?” He snapped, smugly. Did he look like he was single? Erik just blinked before his smile turned into something like a smirk.
“I’m just smart like that. I was correct, wasn’t I?” Charles scowled even harder, drawing him an amused glance. “But since you don’t seem to need my help, I’ll just go. Have fun unpacking all of this.” Erik paused before departing to pull out a nicely wrapped box seemingly from thin air. “Oh, and one more thing.” He shoved the box at Charles forcefully. Charles took it, surprised by the present. “Welcome to America, Charles.”
Without saying goodbye, Erik left. Charles watched his back as he took his time walking up the hill towards the other house. Charles slammed the door shut, running his hands through his hair once more.
He trailed his fingers across the light blue package in his hands, breathing in sharply when his fingers caught on the neat and precise cursive written on the paper. I promise these aren’t poisoned. Erik Lehnsherr. Charles half smiled before sliding his fingers between the ribbon and tearing the package open.
Brownies.
Erik Lehnsherr had made him brownies.
Charles cursed, setting down the sweets a little too forcefully on a nearby unopened box. It was incredibly nice of him. That was the problem. There was no way that Charles could ever repay him, not with his hands full with the whole unpacking business and his life skills seriously lacking in the cooking department. Erik just had to be so friendly. That bastard.
He sighed and continued to unpack, thoughts of his neighbor swirling in his head.
Maybe Charles would stop by and leave some flowers. Maybe.