Prompt Post: ROUND TWO

[oakenshields13]

ROUND TWO IS CLOSED

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ROUND TWO: Updates Post (WIPs only)

ROUND TWO: Fills Post (completed Fills only)

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[Fill] Roses in December (2/?)

[anonymous]

Frowning, Erik stepped into the room, shutting the door behind his with a click. “Then what’s the matter?” he asked seriously, unable to forget Charles’ tears regardless of how brightly Charles tried to smile.

“Nothing…I just-”

“What?” The question came out harsher than Erik had intended and Charles recoiled, pulling his knees closer to his chest, a wounded look on his face.

Erik was stuck then by just how young Charles looked, how fragile the telepath was. Charles always shone so brightly, marching forward like an unstoppable whirlwind. But tonight Charles was not his fellow leader of the burgeoning Mutant race, no, tonight his friend had been reduced to nothing more than a lost little boy.

In that moment Erik wanted nothing more than to run from the person before him, to leave this strange facsimile of his friend and hope that in the morning Charles would have returned from wherever he had gone. He couldn’t deal with this, with him. He couldn’t. He would probably only make it worse.

Hell, he was already making it worse.

But despite all the wonderful arguments his mind could form, his feet remained planted to the ground.

“I’m-” he began abortively, but Charles interrupted him.

“I was just remembering, that’s all,” Charles said, a wistful smile on his face.

“Remembering what?” Erik asked, unconsciously modulating his voice to something less intimidating.

Charles studiously examined the carpeting at the base of the window seat. “I…” Charles hesitated and glanced surreptitiously at Erik before returning his gaze to the floor. Then, looking inexplicably like a child expecting to be chastised he said, “Your memory, the one you showed me today. The brightest spot. I was just…remembering that.”

Of all the possible responses Erik might have been expecting, that was not one of them.

And the only thing Erik could think to say was “Why?”

Charles ducked his, burying his face in between his knees.

Erik’s mind spun desperately trying to make sense of Charles’ behavior. He did not like the conclusions he was drawing. “Were you feeling sorry for me?” he growled, shocked that Charles would demean him like that, but unable to think of another reason why dear, proper, want-for-nothing Charles would sit in a corner crying over Erik's single happy memory. “Were you pitying me?” he practically snarled.

Charles was on his feet in moments, at Erik’s side, hand on his arm, looking horrified.

“No, not at all,” Charles said quickly, his blue eyes wide and pained. “My friend, you endured horrible things but that memory you shared with me is not something I could ever pity you for.”

The anger that had gathered inside of him so quickly did not fade, not immediately. He stared silently down at Charles, waiting.