Chapter 8
After finding out the baby was a boy, Charles wasted no time in starting the nursery. He chose a simple color scheme of light blue and gray—nothing too extravagant, just warm and comforting. With the help of the older students, the nursery came together quickly, each piece falling into place with surprising ease. In no time, the room was fully set up, ready for their son’s arrival.
The only thing left to decide was the baby’s name. However, anytime Charles or one of the students suggested one, Erik dismissed it without hesitation. Nothing felt quite right. Too common, too odd, too soft, too harsh—he always had a reason, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was waiting for.
During the nursery’s setup, Erik had met quite a few of the students. At first, he felt out of place among them, unsure of how to interact, but that didn’t seem to bother them. If anything, they took an immediate interest in him. Some would linger in the room under the guise of helping, but really, they just wanted to talk. They’d ask him questions—some serious, some ridiculous—or tell him stories about life at the mansion, their powers, and whatever nonsense was on their minds.
To his own surprise, Erik found himself listening. Even answering, when he felt like it.
It was strange, this feeling of being included. Of being part of something. He wasn’t sure what to do with it just yet.
One evening, Erik and Charles sat in the study playing chess when the topic of names came up again.
“The baby is due next month, and we still haven’t picked a name,” Charles said.
Erik moved one of his pieces before replying, “Well, if you hadn’t been suggesting horrible names, we would have one by now.”
Charles rolled his eyes. “How about Philip?”
Erik stared at him in pure disgust. “Absolutely not.”
Charles sighed dramatically, moving his own piece across the board. “You’re impossible. Alright, what about Henry?”
Erik scoffed. “I’m not naming my son after Hank.”
Charles smirked. “It’s a perfectly respectable name.”
Erik arched a brow. “Then you name your next son Henry.”
Charles chuckled, shaking his head. “Fine, fine. What do you suggest, then? Since you seem to have such refined taste?”
Erik was silent for a moment, his fingers hovering over the chess piece he was about to move. Dismissing names had been easy, but actually choosing one—one that felt right—was something he hadn’t given much thought to.
Then, before he could second-guess himself, he said, “David.”
Charles blinked, clearly caught off guard. “David?”
Erik nodded, his gaze still fixed on the board. “It… feels right.”
Charles was quiet for a moment, letting the name settle between them. Then, a soft smile spread across his face. “David,” he repeated, as if testing the weight of it. “I like it.”
Erik finally looked up, meeting Charles’s gaze. “Good.”
Charles reached across the board, gently brushing his fingers over Erik’s hand. “David it is, then.”
Being with Charles felt strange—but not in a bad way. Well, not exactly. They weren’t together right now, not officially. They had agreed to take things slow, to not rush into anything. But that didn’t stop Charles from offering gentle touches—a hand on his shoulder, a brush of fingers against his own—and it didn’t stop Erik from constantly seeking out Charles’s presence.
At this moment, Erik was glad he had come back. And, for the first time, he realized he never wanted to leave again.
Just as the game was nearing its end, Erik felt a presence in his mind—but it wasn’t Charles. It was David, his unborn son.
A gentle, almost tentative touch wrapped around his mind, warm and delicate. The sheer love radiating from it left Erik breathless. This child—this baby who hadn’t even been born yet, who had never seen him, never heard his voice—was already reaching for him with nothing but pure, unconditional love.
It was overwhelming. It was terrifying.
And it was the most heartwarming thing Erik had ever felt.
Charles studied the chessboard, completely unaware of what Erik was experiencing.
Charles had made no move to enter Erik’s mind without permission, and Erik had grown used to that restraint. But now—for the first time in a long time—he wanted Charles there again.
Before he could second-guess himself, he spoke softly, “David is in my mind right now.”
Charles looked up, his expression shifting from concentration to curiosity.
“Would you like to feel him?”
Charles’s eyes widened slightly. “I would love to, but I thought—”
Erik cut him off, his voice quieter now, more uncertain. “I’ve changed my mind. I... I want you in my head.”
Charles took a moment to fully process Erik’s words before rolling himself closer, positioning himself beside Erik. He searched Erik’s eyes, silently asking for confirmation, and Erik answered with a small, reassuring smile.
Without hesitation, Charles reached out with his mind—and in an instant, Erik felt him there. Oh god, he had missed this. The warmth, the familiarity, the sheer rightness of Charles in his head.
Charles closed his eyes, concentrating as he reached deeper, searching for the presence of their son. A quiet stillness settled between them, broken only by the faint crackling of the fireplace. Then, after a moment, Charles’s eyes fluttered open, and the brightest, most genuine smile Erik had ever seen spread across his face.
“I feel him…” Charles breathed, wonder and awe lacing his voice. He looked up at Erik, his eyes shining. “I can’t wait to meet him.”