Prompt Post: ROUND SEVEN

[oakenshields13]

ROUND SEVEN IS CLOSED

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FILL: Handle With Care, 3/5

[yellow_pomelo]

“All done; good as new,” Charles says, standing up and quickly packing his supplies away. “Just be careful not to pull your stitches.”

Erik glances down to see his arm neatly wrapped with bandages and he wonders if Charles had at any point frozen his mind.

“Charles,” Erik says warningly, but Charles only quickens the speed of his clean up and blithely ignores him.

Then Charles starts to babble about chores and the future of dishwashing machines as a common household appliance, and that maybe Hank should design one for the mansion as it would be handy and undoubtedly more reliable than the clunky first generation monstrosity Charles regrets installing, because it’s really a terrible fixture that’s shattered more dinnerware than its cleaned and Charles needs to start controlling his impulse to purchase every new technological wonder that-

Erik is not a patient man, and when he repeats Charles’ name and only hears more about Charles’ marvellous kitchen gadgets, he reaches out to the metal of Charles’ wristwatch and belt buckle and forces him back into his chair.

“Who hurt you?” Erik asks without preamble, his hand shooting out to seize Charles’ wrist when the other man moves to stand again.

“Whatever do you mean, my friend?”

“Suturing a wound isn’t as simple as sewing; it takes practice to do well. And this,” Erik gestures at his bandaged arm, “was done well.”

Erik stares Charles down, daring him to lie when Charles’ powers had denied Erik the luxury of hiding his own past.

Charles meets Erik’s eyes steadily, his reluctance to speak clear in the twist of his lips, and somehow Erik knows that, were he anyone else, Charles would have remained unmoved and silent. But they are who they are and Charles coaxes Erik’s hand to loosen from his wrist before finally taking a breath to speak.

“There were a few incidents when I was a child - honestly, just a few.”

“Incidents?” Erik echoes, observing the shadows cast by Charles’ lashes, his eyes hooded as he rubs at the red marks left by Erik’s grip on his wrist.

“My stepfather was a harsh man, and I was far from best friends with his son,” Charles shrugs, looking strangely young in his cardigan - the one with the hole in the cuff that’s just a size too large. “My mother had enough of her own troubles and there was no need to bother her when I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

Charles stops talking then, and he’s only used three sentences in his explanation, but it’s more than enough. Erik is no telepath, but he doesn’t need to be. He reads body language and he sees weariness in the set of Charles’ shoulders and acceptance in the hands held loosely in his lap, like the pain he’d been dealt - wounds he needed to stitch up by himself - were as mundane in his boyhood as spelling tests and ballgames.

Erik knows what it means to suffer - has seen and felt the worst - and there’s no way Charles endured anything near his levels, but it’s not a contest of who had it worse. Erik had mocked Charles when he’d first seen the mansion, but now, looking at the first aid kit which is so much like his own, Erik wishes he hadn’t said a thing.

Charles must have caught Erik’s gaze lingering on the biscuit tin because he grins at Erik, “I assembled it myself. It’s nothing fancy but it’s served me well.” Charles pats the top of his first aid kit like one would a prized pet, “It came in quite handy this one time Raven fell out of a tree. I did warn her about the old oak’s rotted branches, but she’s always been such a spirited girl.”