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Fic: Axis On A Tilt (2/5)

[anonymous]

Charles was one of those few people who remained ever optimistic, who believed that he really was able to make a difference with articles on Eastern European human trafficking and the Darfur situation, and Erik sometimes wanted to smack him over the head for his naivety. They had had many spirited discussions about this over the years, Erik believing humanity was already in a one-way handbasket to hell while Charles sincerely believed every single person was capable of making a difference. Strangely enough, their clash in opinions and differing ideology had never affected their close friendship, and secretly, Erik was glad for Charles's optimism and idealism, balancing out some of his hardened cynicism. And he liked to think that he grounded Charles with his pragmatism and practicality, which was a good balance. So no, their differences had allowed their friendship to thrive for four years, at least until Erik moved to the other side of the country.

What had driven them apart, causing Erik to take up the job offer on the west coast, had been something else entirely.

"I'm sorry I'm late!" Lilandra was slightly out of breath, grinning sheepishly as she slid into the booth on Charles's side. "But my friend thought she saw Conan and I had to stop her from molesting him."

Charles laughed, kissing her on the cheek. "Did you manage to stop her?"

"Seeing how we've both not been arrested, yes," Lilandra said, winking at Erik. "Really, these tourists! Am I right, Erik?"

Erik only smiled back before gulping down the rest of his beer.

---

"You still keep this?" The delight was obvious in Charles's voice as he stepped into the storage unit, a hand brushing over the bike-shaped tarp. "I thought you sold it when you moved!"

"I wanted to," Erik admitted as he pulled down the shutter again. "But I couldn't bear to sell her, you know I bought her with my first paycheck."

"Of course I know, I was there," Charles said, whipping off the tarp. They both stared at the black Kawasaki Ninja, and without fail a mixture of pride and nostalgia welled in Erik's chest, remembering the numerous times he and Charles had ridden out of the city, the wind in their hair and faces, Charles clutching onto him and yelling, "You ready for this?" and Erik yelling back, "Let's find out," and they had both shrieked with laughter as Erik had kicked up the speed and the bike had roared forth with absolutely no regard for the speed limit.

Now, Erik trailed his fingers over her chassis. "Maybe I should sell her," he said, and Charles shot him a sharp, considering look. "She's just rusting here, anyway."

"I would buy her, but Lily..." Charles trailed off, and Erik didn't need him to finish the sentence. They both knew she hated motorcycles.

"I'll probably sell her," Erik said, meaning it more this time, and Charles didn't look up, his lips pursed in a displeased knot. "Don't worry, I'll find her a good home."

"It's not that." Charles still didn't meet his gaze. "If you sell her, I....I don't know, I guess it's just a reminder that you've really moved away, my friend. I guess...I was hoping."

They both fell silent, because Erik knew that there was no conceivable way he was moving back to New York. He had left it all behind a year ago, and by all rights he should be happy in San Fran, because he had a great job there and friends and he loved the climate and the culture, but the pull of one person kept him weighted down to New York like an anchor (or a deadweight, he hadn't decided yet) and he thought about how those two things can be the same thing, and how love could very well be a reflection of pain.