Thump. Thump-thump.
The deep sound of Charles’ fist against Erik’s door reverberated harshly through the empty hall. He didn’t think to soften the noise, especially as Hank would be deep asleep by now. Drink in hand, he knocked again rapidly at the door, knowing full well that there was nobody inside.
There hadn’t been for years.
Charles had refused to let anybody inside, even after the school fell to pieces. Every piece of clothing, picture frame, every softly whispered word frozen in time inside, coated with dust and melancholia.
He rested his hand against the metal door handle, and closed his eyes, once again testing if he could feel Erik inside. Even if he was there, Charles wouldn’t be able to sense him anyways. Silencing all the voices screaming inside his head came with a price - also silencing Erik’s. Even when he wore that stupid helmet, he could always feel where he was, what he was doing.
He lightly pushed down and felt the lock give way, creaking as it did so. His attempt to open the door created a lot of rustling, and Charles paused, wondering what was on the floor. He looked around, checking down the hall to make sure Hank wasn’t lingering behind him, and walked inside.
The slightly musty smell of the room took him off guard, and he felt suddenly dizzy, glancing around at the room that he had spent so much time in, and noticing how strangely empty it felt, without Erik’s heavenly presence to grace it. A half-finished game of chess sat lonely on the table, pieces straying across the floor, only two moves from checkmate.
Charles took a step and again heard rustling, looking down to see countless pieces of paper and envelopes sitting at his feet.
Ah.
In Charles’ heartache and isolation after the… incident in Cuba, he had turned to incessantly writing down every thought he thought and voice he heard, to try and rid them from his head as he slowly spiraled, many of which he had discreetly slipped under Erik’s door, hoping that one day he might return and read them. He shuffled through them, reading the same opening line over and over:
Erik, I don’t know what to do without you.
He still hadn’t figured it out.
The sudden shattering of glass against the wooden floor awoke Charles from his head, and he glanced down to see his glass and the remnants of the alcohol inside splashed across the floor. He gradually became aware of his hyperventilating breaths echoing across the soundless room. Not bothering to remember any of the useless ‘mindfulness’ tricks Hank had taught him, he quickly shut the door, leaving the ghostly pain inside. He couldn’t bare to be around that place anymore, one that once had brought him so much life, but now only reminded him of a half-dead graveyard.
Maybe it was better that Erik’s voice was gone from his head.
Charles took one last glance at the door and retreated to his own room, swiping a tear from his cheek, and hoping that he might be able to sleep tonight.
~~
The next morning was sunny, a sharp contrast to the desolate grey clouds that normally covered the sky.
Hank was gone, somewhere that Charles didn’t care to ask, and he was alone in the house for the first time in weeks. His hair desperately needed washing, his face urgently needed shaving, but Charles ignored it for another day and opened his drawer, removing the last vial… or the last two? Of serum that he had left. He would need Hank to make him some more.
Charles, legs slightly shaky, wandered over to the dresser and grabbed his last needle, letting relief flow into his veins and clarity return to his mind. The sliver of sunlight peeking through the curtains alerted him to the reality of the day, and as he sauntered down the stairs, he decided to go for a walk outside.
Even the delicate sunlight burned at his eyes, and no doubt highlighted his gaunt cheeks. As he wandered around the unkept gardens, his mind was attacked with vicious glimpses of Erik, Raven, Alex… a life he once had. Though he had spent most of his life living in this house, now it only reminded him of the brief period of happiness he had with them, his team, his friends… Erik.
The trees suddenly seemed daunting, and the soft shadows curled and twisted into sharp thorns. The overgrown fountain suddenly reminded him of the school, and how he had wished to genuinely help people, help children have the life he and Raven wanted so badly as kids. The sudden realisation of his failure, and betrayal of his lifelong dream, stabbed him in the stomach, and he looked around slightly panicked at the grounds, once so full of life.
~~
Once safely back in his room, Charles fixed himself another drink, and downed it in one go. The bottles in his liquor cupboard were dwindling dangerously low and his hand gravitated towards the German whiskey in the top corner.
Erik’s favourite.
Charles hoped that Hank didn’t return soon. He didn’t want to endure another conversation about unhealthy addictions. He had tried his best - he had stopped a psychopath, for gods sake! And he had tried his best to help Raven, and Erik, and even Hank himself, and he had tried his best to make his dreams of a school for mutants a reality, but they all failed. Even when he had been the best he could be, he had failed.
Charles laid down on his bed, and stared up at the ceiling, eyes blank. Erik's room had never seemed so alluring. He wanted to lie in his bed, yearning for the softness and comfort he once found in it. But he knew that he couldn't. That room was strictly off limits.
But… wasn't he the one that kept it off limits? And now that all the students were gone, who was he even keeping it off limits to if not just himself? Hank had no interest in going inside anyways.
God, how many vials did he take this morning?
Maybe just one small look, one glance, one peek inside the door. And then a nap. He just needed to know that Erik definitely wasn't there and then he could sleep off whatever this was. Right.
Before Charles could even definitively decide, he found himself standing at the door, hand on the familiar squeaky handle and pushing it open. He stepped inside, the second day in a row after years of never even considering it.
His legs felt shaky. He needed to sit down. He… how long had it been since his last dose?
He grasped desperately onto the cupboard, the dresser, the table, as he stalked around the room, searching for something he couldn't quite remember.
He checked his watch again for the fourth? Fifth? Time, and steadied himself against the wall as everything started to spin. It was too much, too fast, too…
Charles.
What? Who was that… Hank was still gone, right? And that voice… accent peeking out from behind it, the confidence and strength yet kindness lacing it definitely came from someone else, someone…
“Erik?” Charles called, taken aback by his own voice.
Charles, look behind you.
It couldn't be. Erik was gone. He was gone. And he wasn't coming back. But there he was, gazing at Charles with the same softness in his eyes as before. Charles tried to leap into his arms, but his own limbs slowed him down and he barely managed to take a step forward.
“Are you… is this real?”
It could be. If you thought hard enough.
Charles took that as a yes, a rare smile cracking on his face.
“I missed you more than anything, love.” He said slowly, eyes drifting upwards to meet Erik(?)s. “Erik, I'm so sorry… I tried so hard at everything, but I still… failed…” he managed to stutter out, his voice failing him and his eyelids dragging closed.
“I love… you…” he whispered. “Please stay…”
You know I can't, darling. I'm sorry.
Charles could almost feel Erik's soft hand on his arm, guiding him down as he collapsed on his bed. But it faded away as quickly as it was there.
Was it? There?
~~
Charles awoke the next morning and he couldn't feel his legs. At all. A quiet sob escaped his lips as he heard all the voices slowly drifting in, whispering unwanted thoughts and snippets of loud conversations to him.
As much as he searched for Erik's voice, or presence, he could not find him.
Reality had finally come back, but Charles wasn't done with the fiction he had created, slowly passing by. One where he wasn't alone in this bed, and Erik was still next to him, arms wrapped sleepily around his waist and lips pressed gently against his neck, urging him to wake up. One where Cuba had never happened, and everyone had stayed in that short period of time when it was all okay. One where he was happy.
Charles had bathed in Erik's sunlight momentarily, and now, even years afterwards, he couldn't stand to be where he couldn't see him.