Chapter 4
Erik didn’t follow Charles inside right away, which he thought showed quite a bit of restraint on his part. He downed the rest of his wine in one go, picking the glasses up by their stems. He needed a distraction and washing up was as good as one of any. He couldn’t help going over what Charles had said in his mind. Charles thought Erik was right not to trust him? What the fuck did that mean? Did he mean now, because they were on almost opposite sides, because Erik had destroyed any trust there was between them in Cuba? Except no, that would make Charles sound angry, not the wretched, lonely sound he’d made outside. But then, maybe there was nothing to his words. Charles had just gotten back over a year of memories, Erik supposed it wasn’t fair to expect him to make sense.
Erik heard nearly silent footsteps and gave a short nod, not looking up from here was still debugging the same glass for what was likely the third time that night. Raven just let out a low exhale, walking past him and picking up the bottle of red wine. She took a long swig and then set it back down on the counter, narrowing her gaze at him. “Be careful with him. He’s confused. Terrified.”
“He told you that?” Erik asked with a raised eyebrow, because Charles rarely bothered other people with his problems, Raven especially. Though he supposed this one was unique, and it wasn’t as though he could Hank or Alex.
“He didn’t have to.” Raven said softly, biting her lip as she shot him a concerned look, rocking back and forth on her heels. Oh. That was worse. Much worse. If Charles projected his pain out behind the two of them, if it had gotten to his students — He’d take months to forgive himself. He had for much lesser slip ups. Charles always had so much grace for everyone else, but none for himself, seeing any mistake as one he couldn’t afford. Erik wondered how he survived sometimes, expecting so much from himself.
“Let me know if he projects again.” Erik said with a quick nod, abandoning the glasses in the sink. Raven just nodded wordlessly, taking another sip of her wine, and he didn’t need a telepath to know she was worried for both of them.
She didn’t need to be, Erik could fix this. He needed to talk to Charles. He’d given him plenty of time to calm down, or get more upset, whatever he needed. Erik sauntered his way down the hallway, stopping at Charles’ door, pressing a hand against the wood. He made the doorknob shake in warning, and Charles’ mind brushed against his, a tentative welcome. Then it was gone, Erik feeling oddly bereft.
Erik didn’t know what he expected when he slipped through Charles’ bedroom door, but he found him leaning against the headboard, already changed into his pajamas and with a copy of the Inferno spread out across his lap and a glass of scotch at his side. Charles’ skin was wan and oddly colorless, the only sign of life the red rim around his eyes. Erik suspected he didn’t look much better. Erik met his gaze, the silence slowly becoming overwhelming, neither of them seeming to know what to say. Or Erik knew what he wanted to say, but he didn’t know how to form the words anymore, not when Charles looked at him like that.
So instead he glanced away from Charles and around his new bedroom, mouth pressing into a thin line at what he found there. Nothing about the room belonged to Charles, empty of the warmth and personality he brought to his study and classrooms, to their old room upstairs. The walls were plain, lacking the Rosetti and Waterhouse paintings Charles adored. Hell, not even his family photos with Raven had made their way downstairs. The new vanity and dresser were both modern and a bit ugly, every inch of them shining. It was nothing like the antique dresser and vanity from his old room, both a warm chestnut, their knobs covered with fingerprints because Charles couldn’t be bothered to polish them. The vanity only had a few products and a shaving kit, not covered with half-written papers or rumpled cardigans. Charles had become neat, and somehow that upset Erik just as much as all the other changes.
Erik finally flicked his gaze over to the bed,not able to keep himself from remembering the one he’d shared with Charles, with its ridiculously soft mattress and iron wrought headboard, at the way Charles would sleepily curl his finger into the covers when Erik tried to wake him up. The new bed’s headboard was wooden, and the mattress seemed firm under Charles’ fingertips when he patted the spot next to him. Charles smiled at him weakly, running a hand through his already ruffled hair, a few locks coming loose from behind his ear and falling across his face, and at least that hadn’t changed. “Hello, Erik.”
“Charles.” Erik’s voice was strangled, gasping, like a drowning man who’d just discovered air. It was almost laughable. He’d seen Charles everyday for weeks now, graced with that warm smile and benevolent gaze, even felt that soft mouth press against his like a vow. But all of that was a pittance compared to how Charles looked at him now; quietly devastated, with hints of fury and guilt along the edges, but more than anything, knowing .
Erik slid on the spot where Charles’ hand had just been, keeping his back straight and not quite touching Charles. Charles took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a few seconds, and when he opened them again, the hurt wasn’t gone, but it was dull, more of a rust than the bright red it had been a few seconds ago. Erik bit back a sigh, reaching out so his thumb brushed along the side of Charles’ palm. Charles made a choked off noise and glanced at Erik out of the corner of his eye, smiling wryly. “Now that I remember more, I really wasn’t fair to you that day on the beach. Moira shouldn’t have shot at you. It showed a real lack of camaraderie.”
“Camaraderie is what you’re going for?” Erik asked with a scoff, giving Charles a flat look. Charles laughed, sudden and bright, shaking his head a few times so more of that ruffled hair slipped free from behind his ears. Out of habit, Erik reached over and brushed a few strands of his eyes and back behind his ear. Charles glanced up at him sharply then, with a look of wonder and - oh. Charles must have remembered one of the other times Erik had done that, or maybe several of them all at once. Erik didn’t know how it worked, if Charles would find a new memory every time Erik touched him or when he saw a scar on Erik’s shin or a freckle by his knee. He pushed that aside for now, focusing on his words. Outside of their glibness, Erik thought there might be something like capitulation. “So you don’t think she was right to?”
“I didn’t at the time.” Charles told him with a firmness that seemingly surprised both of them, Charles blinking owlishly for a few seconds. He looked more sure after a second, lips pursed as he pressed his hand over Erik’s own. Erik met his gaze with a steady one of his own, curious but not hopeful. Not yet. “If we were meant to be allies, she should’ve let me handle it.”
“So you don’t blame me for what happened?” Erik asked carefully, not wanting either his disbelief or hope to affect Charles’ answer. Granted, Charles should be able to feel both, but so far he’d been politely circling Erik’s mind, not really touching it so much as brushing against it and pulling away just as quickly, as though he were just making sure it wasn’t going anywhere. It was a relic from their first few days with the CIA, when they weren’t quite lovers and not quite strangers. He felt the brush of his mind now, but no push, and Erik settled for leaning toward Charles and giving him a pleading look, one hand clutching Charles’ comforter.
“Oh no, I still do.” Charles assured him, tone airy and dismissive, a coolness to his smile that made it closer to a sneer, top lip thinning out in a way that bordered on the unattractive. Erik leaned toward Charles, eyes flashing even as he kept the rest of his expression neutral, hands stilling against the sheets. He was prepared to take Charles’ spite, to listen to his acerbic words and bitter rebukes, even for rejection. He wasn’t ready for Charles to close his eyes and reach for his scotch, the fight going out of him more and more with each sip. Erik bristled at the way Charles’ face smoothed out, lips soft and inviting again, gaze almost wistful when he looked over at Erik. “You could’ve jammed the bullets in the muzzle or made them drop, but you had to be dramatic about it.”
“You’re not as angry as I’d thought you’d be.” Erik said as he pressed his mouth into a thin line. He shouldn’t want Charles to be angry at him, but Erik understood the rage, the hurt he knew was there. Even the guilt and the yearning. He didn’t understand how Charles could push them aside, like his emotions were just inconveniences he could ignore and overcome.
“I want to be, but it’s a bit difficult when I erased you from my memory for the better part of a year.” Charles looked almost put out at the thought, and Erik let out a huff of laughter before he could stop himself. How could Erik forget that he was one of those inconveniences?
“I imagine.” Erik murmured dryly, rolling his shoulders a bit as he held Charles’ gaze, and this time he didn’t bother trying to hide the emotion there. Charles took in his grief and his rage just like he had all those months ago, but more than any of that, there was Erik’s love. Charles entwined their hands this time, thumb brushing against Erik’s wrist soothingly. Erik felt Charles’ mind brush against his, soft and warm, anything negative seemingly buried, tears building in the back of Charles’ eyes and smiling with a gentleness Erik had never known before Charles. He’d seen Charles make this expression dozens of times, but every time since he came back it felt mocking, a caricature of the Charles who saw every inch of him and still thought he was good . Now though, it made hope rise in his chest, his free hand coming out to clasp Charles’ wrist. “Do you regret it? forgetting me, or remembering me now?”
“The first more than anything.” Charles’ voice was sure, despite the way he sounded more wretched with each syllable. Erik met Charles’ gaze and he found himself faced with longing and grief, despondency and affection, guilt and simmering hurt, and all of it added up to love. It always did with Charles, who loved too easily and freely for his own good, and ended up covered in thorns because of it. Charles, who closed his eyes at whatever expression Erik made, taking in a few haggard breaths. Slowly the breaths began to even out, his hands stilling against Erik’s own, the tension along his eyelids fading. Back in control of himself and his emotions, composed and compassionate, every emotion except the love gone. Charles grinned at him weakly, pulling a hand away from Erik’s own to reach for his now empty glass. “As to the latter, well, I have regrets right now, but very few of them have to do with you.”
“You wouldn’t let any of your students get away with that.” Erik snapped in a low voice, letting go of his hand and pressing his palm against Charles’ cheek instead, fingers curling beneath his jaw. Charles blinked a few times, lips pursed and gaze flitting across his face curiously. Erik felt Charles’ breath on his cheek, warm and alive, and he suspected they were going about this all wrong, that they shouldn’t be having this conversation in Charles’ new bed, every shift of the stiff white sheets making Erik remember the one they used to share. But then again, maybe this was the only way they were ever going to have it, because it wasn’t like all the polite ones over chess had gotten them anywhere. It didn’t matter right now. What mattered was Charles and the way he leaned in, gaze softer but still hesitant, everything about him unsure in a way Erik couldn’t stand. “You’re still hiding.”
“And what do you think I’m hiding from?” Charles asked with a playful little smile, bringing his own hand up to rest against the one along his cheek pointedly, tapping his index finger along Erik’s knuckles. He looked amused and coy, like he had no cares outside of this moment. If he didn’t know Charles so well, it would almost be convincing, and it would be so easy to let himself be convinced. Charles would blithely talk about his ideals and Erik would push back against the without any real heat, and they’d go on like that until they couldn’t anymore.
Last time that had left them on the beach. This time Erik suspected it ended with him leaving in the morning, and he wasn’t ready for that. Not when there was a chance he never had to go in the first place.
“Everything.” Erik’s words were blunt, his other hand squeezing Charles’ own a bit more tightly than before. Charles let out a sad little sigh at that, the kind of noise better suited to a winding down toy than the most brilliant man Erik had ever met. “What I don’t understand is why.”
“You left. Raven left. I made Moira leave.” Charles listed them off rotely, gaze empty in a way that made the paleness of his skin look lifeless, even the smattering of freckles on his freckles looking dull. Charles’ breath hitched when he got to Moira, and that stung, that it was her name that brought life back to his eyes. But Charles wouldn’t let him pull his hand away from his cheek, pressing his hand against Erik’s and shaking his head minutely. The tears were back in his eyes, but so was the love, the pleading for Erik to listen to what he meant , not what he said. “I had all my beliefs ripped to shreds, I couldn’t walk, and you both abandoned me.”
“I didn’t —“ Erik cut himself off, because arguing over semantics wouldn’t help either of them. Even if he hadn’t meant to abandon Charles, he’d still left him bleeding out on the beach, and he wasn’t sure intentions mattered anymore at that point. All because he was too afraid for Charles to look at him and not see any good left. “I’m sorry, Charles. For everything that happened.”
“Well, that’s suitably vague.” Charles let out a huff of laughter that was bitter and fond at the same time, and after a second Erik couldn’t help grinning too, even as he felt tears sting in the back of his eyes. How could he apologize when there were so many things he’d gone about all wrong, so many choices he could’ve made that would’ve kept Charles safe. And the worst part is that Erik suspected Charles would forgive him for every single one, if he gave him the chance. Charles pulled back, gently unwrapping Erik’s fingers from where they were still pressed against his jaw and pulling his hand away from his face. He didn’t let go. Instead he held Erik’s hand between his own, thumb running across his knuckles and the scars on his palm reverently, like he was making a silent prayer to each one. “I’m sorry too. For being so arrogant and naive. For forgetting you.”
“You don’t have to apologize, Charles. I’m not angry.” Erik whispered against his fingertips, and Charles looked up at him through his eyelashes and shot him a look of disbelief. Erik smirked a bit, tilting his head to the right as he reached his other hand back up to ghost over Charles’ other cheek. He caught Charles’ gaze and shrugged helplessly, because there was no point in lying to a telepath, or Charles in particular. “Well, not that angry.”
Charles shook his head, looking down instead of at Erik. He couldn’t help noticing the way Charles was moving his hands over his scars a bit more quickly than before, his breath a bit shallower. When he glanced up at Erik, there was something wild to those blue eyes, in the way Charles gave up on tracing his freckles and scars in favor of just hanging in the air, and Erik slowly pulled his own away, lying them against his thighs instead. “You should be. I said the worst thing and I didn’t try to stop them before you had to fight with them - I don’t think I would’ve been able to, everyone’s thoughts were so scrambled and mine were even worse and then I was breathing in sand and you were gone -“
Erik pressed his index finger to his lip, his free hand coming up to grip Charles’ shoulder, resisting the urge to shake it. The taste of sand was choking him, the smell of the blood in the air putrid, the smell of smoke and metal thick in the air. Charles’ terror and his guilt, his hurt and yes, his anger, were overwhelming as they wrapped around Charles like a vice. Erik hoped it didn’t go beyond this room. He wasn’t sure Charles would forgive himself for that.
Erik took his hands between his wrists, taking slow, deep breaths and eventually Charles matched his rhythm, awareness coming back to his gaze and the emotions fading into something more bearable. Charles opened his mouth to apologize, but Erik shook his head, because that wasn’t something he needed to apologize for. Erik slowly loosened his grip on Charles’ wrists before letting go entirely, and Charles didn’t reach out for him this time. Erik tried to keep his expression even, though he couldn’t help the hurt that flickered across his gaze, the remorse. “Your mind was fractured and your subconscious decided I was the problem.”
“No. Erik, no. Please just listen.” Charles cried, reaching out to grab his hand again, shaking his head almost violently. He gave him a beseeching look, and Erik gave a short nod. He wasn’t going anywhere. Not until Charles told him to go, at any rate. Charles let out a low exhale, gaze less glassy but no less despondent than they were a minute ago. “You weren’t the problem. I was the problem, but I could hardly forget myself.”
“Charles?” Erik murmured as he held his hands, voice soft and soothing, a bit like Charles was a wild animal. He seemed like one right now, like the wrong word could throw off the careful balance between them and make one of them flee or turn this into the wrong kind of fight. But if they said the right one - but when had either of them ever said the right one?
“I was wrong. I was wrong about everything, and You didn’t love me, because how could you when I was such a fool?” Charles let out a noise that bordered on a sob, his free hand coming up to run through his hair, tugging on the edges a bit too harshly. Erik looked at him sharply, and Charles gave him a watery smile, shaking his head and looking almost rueful. Erik supposed that was better than devastated or terrified, but not by much. “I know you do now, or at least you think you do, and that’s close enough. But I didn’t think you did then, and I couldn’t take losing you on top of everything else. There was only so much I could ruin.”
“You didn’t ruin anything.” Erik hissed as he squeezed his hand, bringing his other hand up to press along the underside of his jaw. Erik tilted his head up so they were eye to eye, because he couldn’t let Charles look away. “And you weren’t wrong. You still aren’t.”
“If you believed that, you would’ve stayed.” Charles murmured, voice cutting and painfully kind at the same time. Erik had no answer for that beyond pressing their foreheads together, brushing his thumb across Charles’ pulse. He didn’t know how to explain to Charles that yes, he was wrong about some things, had too much faith in the wrong people and the wrong institutions. But that he was right about the school and the future, about them being able to do great things together, to give the next generation of mutants a better future than the one they’d been given. Their purposes weren’t at odds; they never had been.
They were complimentary, Erik the sword and shield that fought the wars for their mutant brothers and sisters and Charles the hearth and home that nurtured them. And when it was necessary, Charles could be a weapon far more dangerous than Erik, and Erik could be the one who cared for him and guided him home. Together they were more than either of them were alone.
“You’re exhausted. You should sleep.” Erik settled for saying instead, because it was late and Charles’ eyes were already growing heavy with sleep, the weight of his memories and emotions too much to bear. Erik brushed a chaste kiss to Charles’ lips, and after a moment Charles kissed him back. That was enough for tonight, because it was more than Erik ever hoped to have again.
Charles tried to rest, but every time he closed his eyes he just saw Erik. Erik waking him up by gently kissing his eyelids, one hand pressing under his chin and lifting his head up from his books. Erik leaning over his shoulder so he could read the same page, his laughter vibrating against his skin when he got to a particularly clever part. Erik mocking him for dressing like an old man, tugging on one of the loose threads of Charles’ cardigan. Erik studiously kissing each freckle on his shoulder early in the morning, hands running down his spine, as though he wanted nothing more than to memorize the planes of Charles’ body. Erik telling him that naivety had no place in a war. Erik sneering at his vision of the future, his mind quiet in a way that made Charles shudder, because a mind like Erik’s should never be quiet. Erik, with no mind at all, holding him on the beach and feeling more like a stranger than when Charles couldn’t remember him, and -
Everything was Erik. Every dream Charles had over the past year suddenly had a face, each chiding word in the back of his head a clear voice. The little ache in his chest every time he saw a door handle or a cup shake at the hospital, and the absence of Erik in all of those memories was clear now, an empty space at his bedside for every surgery, no hand reaching for his hand at the end of physical therapy.
That gap, that lack of Erik where he should’ve been was enough to make Charles want to curl up in bed with a bottle of scotch and never come out.
His students had other ideas though, and so he found himself watching Warren and Megan take careful little leaps off of the edge of the deck, shooting him nervous smiles. Their wings flapped back and forth and they floated in the air for a few seconds, before gently gliding back down to the soft grass beneath their feet. It was easy to lose himself in the rhythm of teaching, to give them pointers and cheer on their successes.
It was even easier to let Jean drag him to the kitchen, talking a mile a minute in his mind, her smile wide and showing off the front tooth she’d lost a few days ago. Charle had never shared this part of his life with Erik, no matter how much he’d wanted to. There were no memories to haunt him in mixing batter and stories about unicorns.
And there was the feeling of Erik’s mind, bright and bold, calling to Charles like a siren. He hadn't read it, not since the first moment when Erik took the helmet off and he’d remembered everything. He swallowed a few times at the feel of it, how his mind came closer to the kitchen, how it lingered in the hallways like it belonged there. He’d - oh. Charles hadn’t expected him to be here. Or he had, but he suspected a part of him will always be waiting for Erik to leave him, to choose something else. Something better. Erik came around the corner then as if on cue, tilting his head toward Charles, a hint of a smirk in the shape of his mouth. “Erik, I wasn’t sure you’d still be here.”
“You thought I’d leave?” Erik looked surprised, eyes widening and he crossed the kitchen in a few quick strides, mouth pressed into a thin line. Charles suddenly wished that Jean hadn’t run off with Ororo the moment the scones were done. It was too early for the kind of reckoning Erik always wanted. He hadn’t even had his third cup of tea yet.
“It seemed just as likely as you staying.” Charles admitted with a rather helpless little shrug, tapping one hand along the rim of his wheel. And hadn’t that been the case with Erik from the start, that first morning at the CIA, when Charles’ eyes lit up at the sight of Erik loitering in the doorway. So much and so little had changed since then, because Charles was still waiting, hoping Erik would stay and knowing that eventually he wouldn’t. The only difference was that this time he’d make breakfast. Charles picked up a misshapen scone with far too many blueberries and held it up to Erik. “We made scones.”
Erik stared at him blankly for a few seconds, opening and closing his mouth like his words had gotten stuck in his throat. Then he slid into the chair next to Charles, taking the offered scone and scrunching up his eyebrows. “What?”
“Jean and I. I can’t say either of us are the best cooks, but I think they turned out all right.” Charles huffed a bit at the way Erik broke the scone up into little pieces, glancing at each one in something like awe. He rolled his eyes and snatched one of the pieces out of Erik’s hand, brushing his thumb along the pads of his fingers before he could think better of it. Erik caught his hand instead, tangling their fingers together, both their thumbs pressed against the scone until it broke apart into mere crumbs. Charles shook his head, smiling crookedly and pulling his hand back finger by finger. “Or it would, if you’d behave.”
“I never thought I’d see you so domesticated, Charles.” Erik looked amused and fond, smile growing wider and more genuine as he lifted up the rest of his scone. Charles shook his head, not able to fight off the grin on his own face, the way the hand he’d pulled back found its way back across the table toward Erik.
“Well, I had to make myself useful somehow.” Charles said cheerfully as he reached for his tea, and Erik gave him a strange look Charles couldn’t quite decipher. The way the knobs on his stove all popped off answered the question for him. Charles let out a low sigh, giving Erik a pointed look until he reattached each knob one by one. Charles closed his eyes and reached for his tea. He took a long sip, shaking his head a bit and trying to gain back some of the good humor from before. “I know you don’t find me funny, Erik, but really, you don’t have to take it out on the furniture.”
“Since when does Charles Xavier consider himself useless?” Erik raised an eyebrow, lips pursed, and the knowing bent of his gaze was almost unbearable. Charles didn’t consider himself useless, exactly, but it cut closer to the truth than he’d realized. Charles looked away from that glare, back to where Erik’s hand lay over his own. He didn’t quite remember when he’d started holding it again.
“I thought you wanted me to be less arrogant.” Charles reminded him softly, running his other thumb across the rim of his cup, the tea swirling gently and distorting his face. He could feel himself flush, the shame of who he’d used to be, wide-eyed and so sure he and he specifically could change the world.
Erik made a choked off noise, the frustration in his gaze turning into grief. Charles wondered if he’d projected the thought. But maybe Erik had just read it in his face, because Charles had never been good at lying, and especially not to Erik. Erik who took his hand between both of his now, abandoning his scone to trace the freckles and scars along Charles’ knuckles one by one, relearning the familiar and discovering the new. Erik met Charles’ gaze, and the sorrow there made his breath catch in his throat. “Not like this. Not about everything.”
“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t change in the ways you wanted.” Charles snapped bitterly, the breath in his throat coming out as fire. He let out a sound a bit like a snarl, the hand not still holding Erik’s own jabbing him in the chest. “Maybe I would’ve if you’d been here.”
“So you are angry.“ Erik said conversationally, giving him a dry smile and stealing his cup of tea before Charles can so much as move. He blinked owlishly, his hand sliding down Erik’s chest before finally coming to rest on the table again. Erik reached his free hand over and pressed it against his wrist gently, drawing little circles against his pulse and smiling at him in a way that bordered on kind. Charles swallowed and wondered if Erik had always been so utterly infuriating, and then just as quickly he knew that the answer was yes, and that he wouldn’t have him any other way.
“No.” Charles’ voice was clipped, cool despite the way he was clutching Erik like a lifeline. Erik gave him a flat look, and Charles let out a low exhale, the impish smile from before coming back across his face. “Maybe a little. But hurt more than anything. Disappointed.”
“You knew what I wanted from the start.” Erik let go of his wrist to bring his hand under his own chin, long fingers splayed out underneath. Charles thought that he wasn’t playing fair, but he supposed neither was the way he brushed his fingernails along the inside of Erik’s wrist before he pulled his hand back. Charles steeled himself, because Erik wasn’t wrong. He’d always been honest with Charles about what he wanted for them and the lengths he’d go to make that future happen. Charles was the one who had lied to both of them, time and time again, without even realizing it.
Charles frowned at the thought, eyes shuttering, and Erik’s hand was back on his cheek, touch almost unbearably gentle. He didn’t think Erik had been this kind before, but maybe he had been and Charles had just taken it for granted, because he’d expected it then. Charles took a few shaky breaths and let Erik brush his thumb across his bottom lip, gaze warm and careful, like he thought Charles would shatter if he breathed too deeply. Charles wrinkled his nose up at the idea, because he’d been many things, but fragile had never been one of them. “Stop looking at me like I'm a bird with a broken wing. I don’t need saving.”
“I never thought you did.” Erik shook his head a bit, his gaze certain in that way only Erik’s ever was, genuine and steady, like he’d never doubted anything in his life. Charles shivered at the idea that included him, when he’d doubted himself so many times as of late. “You’ve been battered and bruised by the world, and you insist on making it worse for yourself. But you’re not broken.”
“Maybe not.” Charles admitted with a wide smile, leaning over to press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then he turned and left the room, because he was late for his next class, and he shouldn’t be kissing Erik at all until they talked a little more.
**********
Charles glanced up from his afternoon lesson with Ororo to find Erik watching him with a proud smile, gaze unbearably fond and eerily reminiscent of the one from Charles’ imagination. Ororo promised she’d study how to make her rain clouds smaller with a bright grin and then chased after Scott, making little drops of water splash across his face. Charles let out a warm laugh and turned his chair to face the deck, eventually coming to a stop next to Erik. Charles glanced over at him, took in the neat angles of his jaw and the spark in his eyes. He thought the crinkles around Erik’s eyes when he smiled only made him more handsome, gave his face character. He remembered every line, every mole, and he couldn’t believe he’d let himself forget a single one, except that every so often they came with the taste of sand.
“I am sorry for forgetting you, for what it’s worth.” Charles murmured as he looked over at Erik, lacing their hands together and holding his gaze, even as he felt tears start burning in the back of his eyes. Erik’s gaze was careful but not without hope, squeezing Charles hand desperately, like he might lose him again if he didn’t hold on tightly enough. He’d done this. He’d put that doubt there, and how deeply had hurt Erik by trying to protect himself? Charles shook his head, and let his guilt and regret spread out between them, damning them both. But he also sent his hope and his love, because they were both always there when it came to Erik. Nothing would ever change that. “It’s the worst mistake I’ve ever made. I don’t regret you , Erik.”
“It’s worth plenty.” Erik’s words were short and a bit strangled, almost harsh to the untrained ear. But Charles knew better, and if he hadn’t, the look on Erik’s face would’ve told him as much. Erik looked at him with unshed tears, awed and protective, like Charles was the most precious thing he’d ever known, like he’d turn cities to ash to keep him safe. This time though, there was hope in those eyes too, in the way Erik squeezed his hands and pulled him a bit closer. This was more than forgiveness, this was absolution. Charles let out a shuddering breath and leaned in for a kiss, only for Erik to pull away, shoulders a bit straighter than they were a second ago. Charles watched as the protectiveness turned to horror, the awe to the kind of guilt that choked them both. “I’m sorry too. For not being more careful. For leaving.”
“I told you to.” Charles reminded him softly, pressing a hand against Erik’s cheek before he could think better of it. Charles reached his own mind out and wrapped it around Erik’s, turning his love into a salve, the same way he used to after every nightmare.
“You’d just been shot and were suffering from head trauma, so I shouldn’t have listened.” Erik’s teasing didn’t have any of its usual playfulness, just a ruefulness that made the lines around his mouth deeper, the angles of his face sharper. He swallowed a few times, brushing his hand through Charles’ hair a few times, his fingernails tangling in the strands by his face. Erik met his gaze, and all Charles saw and felt was a bottomless pit of fear and shame, the kind that could destroy a man if it was allowed to fester. Charles cupped Erik’s cheek a little more tightly. He wouldn’t let either of them drown this time either. “I should’ve come back when you were in the hospital, or when the school first opened, or a dozen other times. But I was afraid of facing you, of having to accept that you didn’t love me anymore, that it was my own fault.”
“I never stopped.” Charles murmured as he pressed their foreheads together. Every word was true, even if he hadn’t realized it before now. Whatever he’d done to protect himself was always going to be pointless, because some essential part of him would always belong to Erik. Erik, who stared at him with wide eyes, delighted and furious. “Even when I didn't remember you, I still loved you.”
“Did you mean that to be kind or cruel?” Erik asked roughly, though he didn't stop running his hands through Charles’ hair, gentle in a way that almost hurt. Erik’s gaze was considering, like he wasn’t sure which answer he’d prefer. Charles bit his lip at that, smiling sheepishly as he squeezed Erik’s hand. It seemed he’d somehow said the wrong thing again.
“Neither. I mean it. I dreamt of you almost every night. I couldn’t recognize you then, you were faceless. But every night you were with me, holding me in bed and arguing with me over literature, running a hand through my hair when I fell asleep with my head in your lap.” Charles couldn’t help how the words spilled out of his mouth, or the wistful tone in his voice, even though the real Erik was right in front of him. Everything finally made sense. For months Charles felt like he’d lost a part of himself, and all along it had been Erik and all the ways he made Charles whole, made him better . He hadn’t really been himself again until the day Erik walked back into his life. “And every time I heard your name on the news or saw a grainy photo of you in the papers, I’d have the strangest sensation in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t remember, but I never really forgot you either.”
“You really are a hopeless romantic.” Erik said after a beat, voice dry in a way that contrasted the way his hand gripped his hair more tightly than before, the tears in the back of his eyes finally breaking free. Erik gave him a pleading look, and Charles let go of his cheek so he could wiggle two fingers by his temple instead. Erik looked confused for a second, and then he nodded hurriedly, pulling back just enough to look Charles in the eyes. Then those dreams flicker to life in both their minds, every blank face and empty touch becoming Erik, every whisper suddenly in his voice, until the dreams belong to both of them. Charles blinked a few times, and then they were back in the garden, Charles’ hand clenched in the front of Erik’s sweater. Erik gave him a bemused look, brushing his thumb across Charles’ bottom lip. “You don’t need to ask. I told you that you were welcome in my mind a long time ago.”
Charles shook his head a few times, brushing away the tears with the back of his glove, taking a few deep breaths. That - he hadn't realized how much it hurt, not touching Erik’s mind, not feeling him. Not really, not in the ways that mattered. “But then you put that helmet on and never took it off again.”
“I should have taken it off after you got shot.” Erik said softly, and he finally let go of Charles’ hair to grab his wrists instead, holding him still. Charles hadn’t even realized he’d been shaking. He supposed that was because of how bright Erik’s mind was, how all-consuming. Charles suspected he could get lost in there for hours, maybe even days, if he wasn’t careful. Charles had never encountered one more beautiful, so neat and so bold at the same time, the emotions under those sharp edges shining so much more brightly than most people would ever know. The helmet had taken that away for so long. It struck Charles that Erik was feeling all these emotions, sensing those thoughts even if he didn’t hear them in words, and he flushed, looking up at Erik nervously. The awe was back in his gaze, though Charles couldn’t help noticing that this time it was rather smug. “I only kept it on now because I wanted to see if you remembered me on your own.”
Charles scoffed before he could think better of it, though his voice lacked any real heat. He could see Erik’s mind now, was settling into all the old nooks and crannies he used to take for granted, felt Erik filling the gaps in his own mind. He’d felt his doubts when he first arrived here, even if they no longer lingered in the back of his mind. He gave Erik a playful little smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And to figure certain things out.”
“Things I should’ve known all along.” Erik promised, each word equally weighted with conviction and sorrow. Charles reached a hand out and rested it on his cheek, his mind pressing against Erik’s soothingly. After a second Erik bridged the gap between them, kissing Charles desperately, and Charles found himself wishing he could forget all the reasons Erik left in the first place.