The Spectrum of Affection

"Please, Mr Xavier. Do come inside - you're going to catch a cold if you remain outside any longer. Come inside and tell me on what errand you came here for."

Charles remembered himself as the other spoke, and felt a flash of perturbation as he realized how improper he had acted. A man of his standard, out here alone in the dark - it wasn't right by any means.

Cheeks burning, he spoke to Mr Lehnsherr as he strode up the steps to the porch: "You must think of me a clown, to come like this in the dead of night..."

Mr Lehnsherr offered his bare hand and Charles took it in his gloved one. The briefly exchanged press rippled in Charles' mind like the percussion of a cymbal.

"On the contrary, Mr Xavier, I am pleased to make your acquaintance any hour of the day - it is Doctor Erik Lehnsherr."

"Thank you, Doctor."

Mr Lehnsherr invited them inside into a sparsely furnished hall. Charles had been so accustomed to his old mansion for so long, that at first the scent of the fresh wood panelling the walls and floors overwhelmed him. There were chandeliers installed in the ceilings, with electric lights in the stead of candles, glowing brighter than a thousand suns.

"May I take your coat?"

As he gave his consent, Charles felt Mr Lehnsherr appear at his side and the thick coat was gently eased off of his shoulders by hands not aristocratically soft and plump, but calloused and tan. Mr Lehnsherr himself was peculiar in this fashion - unshaved, his fair hair unkempt and his clothes worn and torn by the toils of construction.

"Please, let us sit down, have a glass of two of brandy to warm your soul," Mr Lehnsherr proposed, and there was nothing uncouth about his mannerisms, nothing rough about the tenored flow of his voice. He led the way to the dining area, and Charles followed, sorely tempted to delve further into the mind of the other.

Many a day in summers past, Charles had stood at the  edge of a great lake and let his mind sense the temperature of the water rather than wading in. It was less intrusive to the beings lurking in the depths, they would continue to sing in unison and he could listen to their harmonized music without disruption. So it was now - he would let Mr Lehnsherr, his aura and his words speak for him and Charles would simply listen.

Though there were electric torches in the room Charles was led into, Mr Lehnsherr instead lit an oil lamp by the window and opened up his liquor cabinet as Charles took a seat in an old rococo armchair. Mr Lehnsherr soon returned with two glasses filled generously with amber brandy and sat down in the chair opposite of his nouveau ami.

They both sat in silence, then, and swirled the drink in their hands. The house creaked and groaned, as old houses are wont to do, while outside snow began to fall from a sky gone black as the night headed toward the witching hour.

"I was merely curious as to your identity," Charles began, feeling the time for words had again returned. "I do not always follow my urges like so... but I saw your lights. Electric, fascinating..."

Mr Lehnsherr raised his glass in salutation. "It is my pleasure to invite you into my home. Do you not have electric lights in your... in your mansion, is it? Did you say you were a Count?"

Charles was embarrassed to be the privileged aristocrat in this moment when faced with a man of such apparent calibre as Erik Lehnsherr. "It is merely a title, I am inclined to disclose to you." He tried a smile and was rewarded one by Mr Lehnsherr in return. "You must know how things are nowadays - businessmen are kings and merchants are dukes. The feudal system of old, and monarchy at that, is an outdated concept, I am afraid."

"You do not seem outdated to me."

Charles cast his eyes down in humility and observed the vortex of the brandy in its glass. Mr Lehnsherr's compliments were endearing and his company pleasant with a touch of the familiarity which accompanies kindred spirits.

"I do not have electric lights in my house, unfortunately. But tell me, my friend, what brings you to these parts?"

A braver man would have broached the subject of the mutation, but Charles was anxious to enrage the man and thus end the connection that had begun to blossom between them.

It was the turn of Mr Lehnsherr to look away. Charles did not have to telepathize to know that the way Mr Lehnsherr's fingers curled tighter around the glass of brandy spoke of a kernel of darkness in his demeanour.

"Forgive me," he spoke hastily, the will within him to reach out and comfort through physical contact almost violent in its intensity. "I never meant to cause you discomfort - you have my most sincere apologies."

The wrinkles that had appeared on Mr Lehnsherr's forehead were smoothed over, his eyebrows raised and he smiled once more, leaving Charles irrationally yet immensely relieved.

"You have a good heart, Count Xavier, truly. Do not worry about me, however. I have come to this country to begin anew and I aim to make good of my plans."

Mr Lehnsherr leaned forward in his chair and his face basked in the illumination of the lamp, enriching the hue of his skin. His eyes glinted mischievously as if he were about to confide in Charles a secret.

"You are the first to come and visit me, Mr Xavier. The other landowners in this corner of the world feel nothing but disdain for me. In the realm of wealth, labour is not worth as much as it is out there, in the real world. Even the labour of a doctor."

Charles' voice was quiet as he spoke, keen as he was not to break the spell that had settled over the room and two of them within it: "I do not feel disdain, Mr Lehnsherr. I - I am respectful of you."

Mr Lehnsherr considered him, and Charles sensed the stirrings of disbelief in his aura. Someone had disappointed him into doubting himself. Charles longed to placate him in the manner he had Raven, who had been - were still - fighting to accept herself during the course of her whole life.

Alas, the only issue was how to go about it without upsetting the fragile balance of caution and concern. At the cost of a budding friendship, Charles could not afford to be hasty.

"My friend, do you play chess?"

Mr Lehnsherr inclined his head and smiled. It was not easy to determine whether he was a hard man, the dimmed light softening harsh lines if there ever were any. Rather than intact, his soul was a display of kintsugi and all the more valuable for it.

"It has been quite some time since my last game," Mr Lehnsherr spoke as he walked over to the bookshelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling. Charles saw a lot of prose and little academic reading. "You will have to forgive me if I'm a little rusty, Mr Xavier, caught up as I have been with the reconstruction of this house."

Charles perched higher on the chair as Mr Lehnsherr brought over a dust-coated board to the table between them.

"Oh, will you look at that."

The pieces were made of steel, not marble or bone, yet smoother than either. The metal sang in Charles' hold as he picked up the Queen and yet it did not sing for him.

"I am more than happy to re-familiarize you with chess," Charles promised and observed how Mr Lehnsherr's gaze fell to the piece in his hand.

Slowly, slowly, the gangly gentlemen lowered himself into his seat. They both started as the oil spat and spluttered in its lamp, yet it did not succeed in keeping their attention away from eachother.

"What is it with you, Mr Xavier? Why does a Count show up at the doorstep of a simpleton? I cannot possibly think of anything I might have done to warrant your attention."

The chessboard lay untouched between them. There was no rush though, nothing to make them force their move. Soon morning would have broken, and in a few months spring would melt frost and heather sway in the summer breeze and there was no necessity to hasten the process.

"To answer your query, Mr Lehnsherr, may I ask you whether you find beauty in a harvest moon? If you appreciate the aesthetic of an old house panelled with fresh wood?"

Mr Lehnsherr was confunded. "Why, naturally!"

"Thus," Charles spoke, with a gentle smile, "you are evidently capable of recognizing the ethereally beautiful when you are faced with it. Yet you fail to grasp the beauty in the image of a mirror. Do you see what I am trying to convey to you?"

The reply of Mr Lehnsherr was one long mono-syllabic: "Oh."

"Whoever spoke otherwise in the past, Mr Lehnsherr, is wrong in the assumption that you are a simpleton. We have only just met - but if you hold any regard for my intellect, you will know what I say to be true."

There was a rumble in Mr Lehnsherr's mood like the electrification of cloud before the onset of thunder and lightning. The rumble reached its climax as the gaze of Mr Lehnsherr moved from Charles' eyes to his lips to his hands still hovering in the void between his knees. It peaked and settled then, ebbed out in a flow of affection.

Charles was aware of a heat over his face. He cleared his throat, "Should we begin a game?"

Mr Lehnsherr replied not by means of speech but with anticipation blooming in the noise of his being. Thus Charles commenced the set-up of the pieces.