Chapter 4
Charles was in the middle of class when a wave of nausea hit him. But it wasn’t his own, nor did it come from anyone in the room—or even from Hank’s class down the hall. No, it came from a mind he knew all too well, one he had forged a link with years ago. A link he no longer dared to touch, for Erik’s sake.
But he couldn’t stop the worry from creeping in. Erik must be in serious trouble for Charles to feel it this strongly. Was he hurt? Sick? He had no way of knowing—and he didn’t dare reach out to find out.
A voice pulled him from his thoughts.
“Professor?”
Charles blinked, shaking his head as he forced himself back to the present. “Sorry. Now, where were we?”
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Erik lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. There wasn’t much else to do, anyway.
His body ached in ways that made him grit his teeth, and nausea churned relentlessly in his stomach, leaving him weak and miserable. The exhaustion was worse—deep, bone-weary fatigue that made even the thought of moving unbearable. He hated it. Hated feeling this drained, this trapped in his own body.
Frustration simmered beneath his skin, coiling tighter with every passing second. He was not made for this—this helplessness, this forced stillness. He wanted to be up, to be moving, to be doing something, anything other than lying here, waiting for his body to decide when it would let him function again.
Scowling, he pressed a hand to his stomach, fingers splayed over the barely-there curve. It still felt strange, foreign. A part of him wanted to resent it—resent this—but he couldn’t quite bring himself to.
He exhaled sharply and turned onto his side, glaring at the wall as if it were to blame for his misery. Maybe he could try to sleep. Maybe, for once, his body would grant him that mercy.
But he doubts it would.
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Charles wheeled himself into his study, the quiet of the mansion settling heavily around him. Outside, he could hear the distant laughter of the children as Hank led them through their P.E. exercises, their voices carrying through the open windows. Normally, he found comfort in it, in the life and energy that filled these halls. But today, it barely registered.
There was an urge—a persistent, gnawing thing—to reach out to Erik, to see if he was alright.
He knew he shouldn’t. He had promised himself he wouldn’t. Erik had made his stance clear long ago, and Charles had no right to intrude, no right to press against the fragile remnants of the link they had once shared.
And yet… the thought wouldn’t leave him.
He drummed his fingers against the arm of his wheelchair, his jaw tightening. The nausea that had struck him earlier still lingered, a ghost of discomfort that wasn’t his own. It had to mean something.
Reaching out would be so easy. A mere thought, a flicker of focus, and he could know—he could see—if Erik was hurt, if he needed help.
Charles closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.
He shouldn’t.
But the thought kept pushing him.
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Just as Erik’s eyes drifted shut, he felt it—him.
A presence slipped into his mind, familiar and unshakable, like a ghost pressing against the edges of his thoughts.
His blood ran cold.
Erik bolted upright, his breath hitching as Charles’s voice echoed through his mind. “Erik.”
Panic flared in his chest. Instinctively, he threw up mental barriers, forcing them into place as fast as his fraying nerves would allow. He could not let Charles see.
"Charles?" His own voice sounded too tight, too sharp.
"Erik, are you okay? I truly don’t mean to intrude, but… you seemed to have accidentally opened up."
Erik’s pulse pounded in his ears, his hands clenching into the sheets. He hadn't realized his walls had slipped, hadn’t noticed how vulnerable he’d left himself.
Too close. Too close.
"I’m fine, Charles."
It took effort to steady his voice, to smooth out the cracks. A half-truth, wrapped neatly in steel.
"Please, Erik, don’t lie to me." Charles’s voice was gentle, threaded with quiet insistence. "I know we’ve had our share of arguments, but you must know—I am always here whenever you need me."
Erik’s throat tightened. He clenched his jaw, forcing steel into his words. "I said I’m fine. Leave, Charles. You’re not welcome in my mind."
Silence. A long, heavy pause stretched between them. Then, a soft sigh, resigned and aching.
"Okay… but remember, if you need me, I’ll be here."
And just like that, Charles was gone, slipping from his mind like a breath of warmth in the cold.
Erik was alone again.
The absence was immediate, sharp in a way that left him hollow. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed Charles’s voice until it was gone.
His shoulders sagged, exhaustion pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake. Slowly, he lay back down, staring at the ceiling, blinking hard—don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t—
A tear slipped down his temple. Then another.
And suddenly, they wouldn’t stop. His chest heaved with silent, shaking breaths, hot tears spilling freely despite his best efforts.
Curse this pregnancy. Curse these hormones.
But deep down, he knew the tears weren’t just from that.