day what the fuck - celebrating a birthday
Oh holy crap what's wrong with my brain? I meant to write something super short so I could go to bed early. That...didn't happen.
BACKGROUND NOTES. Remember Work/Life Balance? My surprise hit of secret_mutant? Charles is an actor, Erik is his husband, Alex, Darwin, and Sean are Erik's nosy co-workers, Alex has to help Charles play nursemaid when Erik gets the plague? Sound familiar? Well, that's basically all you need to know if it doesn't. This is backstory for that. It's how Charles and Erik got together in that verse.
ADDITIONAL BACKGROUND NOTES: As I said on Tumblr a few weeks ago, the Wolverine in this story is based on Former Governor General Howlett from X-Treme X-Men. Because I ADORE him. I love a Wolverine! I'm as surprised as you. But I love him SO MUCH and I randomly decided a few weekends ago that he's sort of Charles' mentor in this verse. Ish. "Mentor" is probably a strong word, but yes.
Anyway, here is a million words of crying and kissing.
***
celebrating a birthday (~3000)
***
This was not the way Charles wanted to spend his sixteenth birthday.
Well, it's not technically his birthday yet. He has a few more hours. But it's the night before his birthday, a night, in a perfect world, he'd be spending somewhere quiet with Raven and Erik. But no, there's some industry event that the network wants him at, so he's out on the town, rubbing elbows with other teen pseudo-celebrities, and watching Erik--
He swallows hard and turns away. His throat hurts and he forces down the lump of emotion growing there. He's not going to spend the night before his sixteenth birthday crying over Erik. He's not. It's his birthday. He's going to smile and have a good time. He's going to find Moira, who's sure to have a flask, and he's going to beg her to share and he's going to keep himself together and smile for the cameras until it's time to go home, where he'll allow himself to get smashed and cry all over her because Erik is talking and laughing and having a good time with a very pretty girl.
Erik hates these things. He hates when Charles drags him out here and only came tonight because Charles dangled birthday guilt in front of him.
He doesn't seem to be hating it tonight. He seems quite content.
Charles takes a deep breath and then another, centering himself. He's a great actor. He's won awards. He can make it through the next few hours without looking like his heart is shattering in his chest. He has his smile in place, his posture is loose, he's the picture of bland enjoyment, so long as he doesn't glance over at Erik and the girl.
He makes it halfway across the room before a hand settles on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.
"Hey, kid," James Howlett says, and Charles relaxes just slightly. He likes Howlett. He's worked with him a few times on the show and he's always been kind. Professional to a fault, but willing to offer advice and remarkably flexible when it came to working with a group of teenagers who, while quite mature of their age, could get a bit rowdy at times. They had lunch right the first day they worked together, when Charles was all of thirteen and still trying to figure out what he was doing, and Howlett listened to his concerns and offered his own experiences and told Charles if he ever needed to talk about anything, he should call.
Charles isn't sure this is what he had in mind, but then, there have been rumors about Howlett and Hercule Alcides for years now, so maybe it was.
"Hi, Howlett," Charles says. He musters up a grin. "Isn't this crowd a little young for you? I'm sure you'd rather be somewhere with a bar."
"I would," Howlett agrees. "But I go where they send me, and this is where I am tonight."
Charles nods. "Sorry about that, then," he says. "How are you?"
"A sight better than you," Howlett says. He glances over Charles' shoulder. Charles follows his gaze, catches sight of Erik and the girl, and looks away so quickly he's surprised he doesn't get whiplash. "Why don't we go sit somewhere quiet, eh?"
Charles nods numbly and lets Howlett lead him away by the shoulder, out of the party, around the corner, and into what might be the restaurant's office. It's quiet and there's a desk and a couch. Howlett pushes him down onto the couch.
"I'm fine," Charles insists, before Howlett can say anything. "Really. I'm just tired."
"Tired of watching your boy flirt with strangers?" Howlett asks. He pulls the chair over from the desk and sits across from Charles.
"He's not--" Charles starts to say, but his words betray him. His throat goes slick again and he has to swallow against that stupid swell of emotion. Fuck fuck fuck. He never should have asked Erik to come. This never would have happened if he hadn't asked Erik to come. He would have continued to pine miserably, but he wouldn't have had to see this.
He sniffs. Howlett shakes his head.
"I always hoped you'd shake things out on your own," Howlett says. "I could tell even then, you know. Every story, every single thing you told me started with 'Erik and I...' Thirteen years old, star of your own network show, courted by every major advertiser, people plasterin' your face on billboards and all you wanted to talk about was your best friend and how smart and funny and great he was and all the scrapes you got in together."
Charles' cheeks burn with embarrassment. God, everyone probably knows. Moira guessed, Raven's known all along, everyone else he works with probably laughs about him behind his back and he can't help it. He can't stop. He feels like he'll die if Erik leaves him, if he goes off with someone else and abandons Charels all on his own.
He has to cover his face with his hands because Howlett is tough and respected and doesn't take shit from anyone and probably did not take Charles aside to watch him cry like a child, but the sound welling up in his throat is most definitely a sob.
"It's okay," Howlett says. "It happens to the best of us."
Charles pulls his knees up against his chest and rests his forehead on top of them. The sobs keep hiccoughing out and his face is hot and wet. He's shaking. He hates this. He hates losing control. There's nothing worse, no clearer sign of failure than letting himself break open like this, but god, god, Erik's going to get a girlfriend and then another and another until he marries some woman, probably asking Charles to be his best man. Charles will watch Erik have a family and a life, one without him. And he's not blind, he's not stupid--there will be other boys who want him. But he can't imagine being with someone who's not Erik. He can't fathom it. Even his fantasies revert to Erik, no matter how hard he tries to direct his brain to other faces, other bodies.
He's hopeless. This is the first of many nights he's going to spend watching Erik break his heart.
He sobs harder, curling in on himself. Nothing has ever hurt this much.
"It's okay, boy," Howlett says. Charles hears him move from the chair and sit next to Charles on the couch, his hand stroking Charles' back. "It's okay. Deep breaths."
"I can't do this!" Charles sobs. "How can I do this? How can I watch this? How is this fair?" He's blubbering all over himself, snot and tears and drool, his face a mess, his pants and sleeves damp where he's covered his face. "I love him so much, Howlett. I would be so good to him! I would do anything for him! Why isn't that enough?"
Howlett puts his arm around Charles' shoulders and Charles accepts the comfort, turns and presses his face into Howlett's shoulder.
"You don't know that it's not, not yet," Howlett says. "You're young, yet. It's confusing. It's this confusing for everyone, I promise. It was this confusing for me. Your boy needs to work it out for himself, but give him time. He might choose you yet, but you need to let him make that choice."
"It's my birthday," Charles says between hiccups. "It's my birthday and I have to watch him with--I shouldn't have brought him. I can't stand it. I'll die, Howlett."
"Now, don't say that," Howlett says. "I know it feels like that now, but I promise it won't feel like that forever. You'll meet someone. Hell, boy, if I can meet someone, you can meet someone."
"I don't want someone else," Charles says. "I can't even imagine someone else. He'll go off and get married and I'll spend the rest of my life alone. There's no one else."
He knows he sounds crazy. He knows he sounds like every moony teenager girl in every pathetic teen movie and the type of television show that's padding Charles' bank account, but it's honestly, deeply, entirely what he's feeling. He hurts all over. Every moment he spends with Erik leaves him hollow, but he yearns for them anyway because it's all he can have and still only a sliver of what he wants.
He sobs again. Howlett pats his hair.
"When I was younger--not quite as young as you, but younger than I am now, I fell in love with a boy," Howlett says. "And I felt the way you feel about your boy. It hurt to be around him, tore me up inside. All but killed me when he took up with a girl. I didn't think I'd ever recover."
"Is this--" Charles sniffs. "Is this supposed to make me feel better?"
"Yep," Howlett says. "Because ten years later, I walked into a room and I saw Herc for the first time and everything changed." Howlett squeezes him in a one-armed hug. "Now, maybe things will work out and your boy will be that person for you. Maybe he will go off and get married and you'll meet that person down the road. But someday, you'll find someone who makes you want to push through all the shit and be the best version of yourself. I promise, kid."
Charles takes a shaky breath.
"It's not gonna make you feel any better now," Howlett says. "And I'm sorry about that. But keep it in mind. It'll soothe the sting down the road."
Howlett doesn't say anything else after that. He lets Charles cry for a bit longer, until the sobs have calmed and the tears are slower, even if they won't stop coming. He sits up and rubs at his eyes and nose. Howlett stands and finds some tissues, passing them to Charles to clean his face.
"It's my birthday," Charles says weakly, looking up at Howlett, too shaken to be embarrassed any longer. "I just thought maybe this would be the year I finally got what I wanted."
The expression that flits across Howlett's face is almost painful in its empathy. God, he must think Charles is pathetic. He's just glad that it was Howlett who found him, that it wasn't Raven who had to soak up his tears this time.
"You're a good kid," Howlett says. "Give him time."
Charles goes back to wiping at his eyes, trying to come up with some self-deprecating joke to relieve the tension and let Howlett know he's free to go, when the door swings open.
It's Erik. Of course it is.
"Charles?" he asks. He's not looking at Charles, though, he's glaring at Howlett.
"Sorry," Charles says, and curses the wobble in his voice. "I'm sorry. I needed a break."
"I was just on my way out," Howlett says. "Better call Herc, tell 'im I'll be home early. Have a good night, boys. Happy Birthday, Charles."
"Thanks," Charles says. He hopes Howlett knows it's a blanket thank you, a thank you for the whole night. From the way Howlett nods at him, Charles thinks he does.
Erik glares at Howlett until he leaves the room and then stares after him. It's the sort of stare that used to give Charles hope, the kind of protective menace that made him think that Erik was trying to stake his claim. He knows better, now. It's the same look Erik uses around everyone he considers family. Charles is hardly special.
Now he's on the verge of crying again.
"Charles, what's wrong?" Erik asks. "Did that guy do something?"
"No," Charles says quickly. "No, he was--he works with me. He's...very kind. He saw I was upset and took me away from the party."
Erik doesn't look placated, but he doesn't say anything else. He steps around the coffee table and sits on the couch next to Charles.
"What's wrong?" Erik asks. "Seriously. Don't give me that 'I'm fine,' crap."
"It's...not important," Charles says. "You should--don't let me keep you from the party. You normally hate these things, don't let me take you away if you're having fun."
"I'm talking to people," Erik says. "Since when is that me having fun?" He offers Charles a smile that just makes Charles' lip tremble.
"You were talking to that girl," Charles manages to say evenly. He's proud of himself.
Erik frowns. "So?" he says. "You were off talking to Moira's friends. It was either talk to her or stand around looking sullen, which I know you hate. Seriously, Charles, you're really upset."
If Erik is noticing how upset he is, he's doomed. He covers his eyes with one hand and tries to pull himself in. He needs to center himself. Deep breaths. He's better than this.
Erik's arms settle around him, pulling him close, and it's the worst and best possible thing that could happen in this moment. He rests his head on Erik's shoulder and tries to breathe evenly.
"It's okay," Erik says. "Whatever it is, it's okay. I can take you home. You should have a good birthday. Whatever's upsetting you--" He doesn't end the sentence, just squeezes Charles more tightly. "Give me a clue. Tell me how to help. Tell me what to do."
"It's fine," Charles chokes out. "Honestly, Erik, I'm okay now." He is. It's awful. The moment Erik blew off the girl, a weight was lifted off Charles' whole body. He can breathe again. He feels awful, but that spark of hope is back and sometimes that spark is all he has to get him through the day.
"Are you sure?" Erik asks. He pulls back, but not far. It's just enough to turn Charles' face towards him, to hold Charles' face in his hands and stare at him in a way that makes Charles' face burn and his stomach flip.
He can't look away. Erik's thumbs brush away his tears and he can't look away. His heart is in his throat and Erik looks fragile, all of a sudden. Unsure. Breakable. He very slowly slides his hand upwards to tuck Charles' hair behind his ear. Charles lets out a long breath. He can't let himself hope. He can't fan that spark into a flame, not yet, because this might not mean what he thinks it means, this might not lead where he wants it. This could be anything, this could be Erik expressing casual affection, this could be Erik shaken because he hasn't seen Charles cry in years. It could be absolutely anything and Charles has no reason to think that it's going to be what he wants, right up until Erik haltingly begins to lean forward.
It's slow. It's so slow. Millimeters at a time, Erik's eyes wide and terrified, Charles frightened to move because he might startle Erik, he might stop this, and he can't. He can't have this chance and lose it. Not when there's already a chance he might lose it, a chance Erik might pull away, might decide his curiosity's sated, might only be doing this to make Charles feel better.
It doesn't matter, though, because those millimeters add up and then Erik is kissing him.
It's not the kiss of his dreams or his fantasies. It's very tentative, very chaste, just a brush of lips and then another before Erik pulls back just far enough to speak. Charles opens his eyes. Erik's are still closed.
"Is that okay?" Erik asks. His hands are shaking where they're still cradling Charles' face. His eyes open, piercing and scared and the look makes Charles woozy. "Can I--are you okay with this?"
Charles answers by lifting his own hands to Erik's jaw and pulling him close, kissing him again with more intent. Not as intensely and passionately as he wants to, not yet, but it's more than a brush of lips and Charles' heart soars when Erik kisses back. He kisses back hard, even, pulling Charles closer and opening his mouth, licking at Charles' lips and teeth, making Charles lightheaded in his fervor.
"I don't know why," Erik pants when he pulls away. He darts forward and kisses Charles again. He bites at Charles' lower lip and Charles gasps and fists his hands in Erik's hair. He doesn't let Erik pull back far, even as Erik leans forward and rests his head on Charles' shoulder, breathing hot and damp against Charles' neck. "I don't know why I haven't--I never--I wanted to say something but I didn't know how." He presses his lips to Charles' throat and Charles whimpers.
"You should have," Charles says breathlessly. "Erik, you should have--it's been years. Years and it's hurt every single day because all I could think about was how you'd never--"
Erik raises his head so quickly he almost cracks it on Charles' jaw. He kisses Charles again and Charles wants to think, wants to cheer or cry or figure out what's going on and how it's happening so quickly, but his senses are full of Erik's scent, his taste, the feeling of his hands on Charles' face and body, the warmth from where they're pressed together, the joy that's simmering underneath the disbelief, ready to boil over the moment that he can think further than Erik Erik Erik.
"You're--you should have--Charles." His voice is tremulous when he speaks and it makes something tighten in Charles' chest. "If I had known you wanted--"
"I do," Charles says. He presses his forehead against Erik's. "Erik, you're all I've ever wanted."
"You have the whole world," Erik says. He looks at Charles again, his eyes shaded with something sad. "The whole world loves you, Charles. How could I compete with that? I'm nothing."
Erik is everything, but Charles doesn't know how to say that. He thinks back to Howlett and swallows. He says, "You...you make me want to be the best version of myself."
Erik stares at him, disbelieving. He doesn't have to believe it, though. Charles knows it's true, knows it all the way down to his bones. And he has plenty of time to convince Erik as well.
Plenty of time. Oh god. Erik kissed him, Erik wants him, all this time, all that pain, and Erik is right here with him. For a second, he can't breathe.
"It's my birthday," he says distantly.
It breaks the shock on Erik's face. He smiles and kisses Charles again.
"Not for about another hour," Erik says. "It's only eleven. But happy birthday anyway. I got you a real present too."
"You didn't have to," Charles says. "This was--" He can't articulate what this was.
"Well," Erik admits. "I wasn't planning on doing this tonight. I was planning on doing it tomorrow. But it felt...right." He stares at Charles again and strokes his cheek. Charles is struggling not to curl up into himself and roll around in joy.
"You can do it tomorrow night too," Charles assures him. "And the next night, and the next."
Erik rolls his eyes, but his smile gives him away. He can't stop smiling and neither can Charles. They're staring at each other like loons, still grinning and holding onto each other, curled together on the couch of the office in the back of a network party.
Charles can't think of a better way to spend his sixteenth birthday.
*
the rest of the days:
1. Holding hands
2. Cuddling somewhere
3. Gaming/watching a movie
4. On a date
5. Kissing
6. Wearing each others’ clothes
7. Shopping
8. Hanging out with friends
9. Making out
10. Eating icecream
11. In a different clothing style
12. During their morning ritual(s)
13. Spooning
14. Doing something together
15. In formal wear
16. Dancing
17. Cooking/baking
18. In battle, side-by-side
19. Arguing
20. Making up afterwards
21. Getting married
22. On one of their birthdays
23. Doing something ridiculous
24. Doing something sweet
25. Doing something hot
BACKGROUND NOTES. Remember Work/Life Balance? My surprise hit of secret_mutant? Charles is an actor, Erik is his husband, Alex, Darwin, and Sean are Erik's nosy co-workers, Alex has to help Charles play nursemaid when Erik gets the plague? Sound familiar? Well, that's basically all you need to know if it doesn't. This is backstory for that. It's how Charles and Erik got together in that verse.
ADDITIONAL BACKGROUND NOTES: As I said on Tumblr a few weeks ago, the Wolverine in this story is based on Former Governor General Howlett from X-Treme X-Men. Because I ADORE him. I love a Wolverine! I'm as surprised as you. But I love him SO MUCH and I randomly decided a few weekends ago that he's sort of Charles' mentor in this verse. Ish. "Mentor" is probably a strong word, but yes.
Anyway, here is a million words of crying and kissing.
***
celebrating a birthday (~3000)
***
This was not the way Charles wanted to spend his sixteenth birthday.
Well, it's not technically his birthday yet. He has a few more hours. But it's the night before his birthday, a night, in a perfect world, he'd be spending somewhere quiet with Raven and Erik. But no, there's some industry event that the network wants him at, so he's out on the town, rubbing elbows with other teen pseudo-celebrities, and watching Erik--
He swallows hard and turns away. His throat hurts and he forces down the lump of emotion growing there. He's not going to spend the night before his sixteenth birthday crying over Erik. He's not. It's his birthday. He's going to smile and have a good time. He's going to find Moira, who's sure to have a flask, and he's going to beg her to share and he's going to keep himself together and smile for the cameras until it's time to go home, where he'll allow himself to get smashed and cry all over her because Erik is talking and laughing and having a good time with a very pretty girl.
Erik hates these things. He hates when Charles drags him out here and only came tonight because Charles dangled birthday guilt in front of him.
He doesn't seem to be hating it tonight. He seems quite content.
Charles takes a deep breath and then another, centering himself. He's a great actor. He's won awards. He can make it through the next few hours without looking like his heart is shattering in his chest. He has his smile in place, his posture is loose, he's the picture of bland enjoyment, so long as he doesn't glance over at Erik and the girl.
He makes it halfway across the room before a hand settles on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.
"Hey, kid," James Howlett says, and Charles relaxes just slightly. He likes Howlett. He's worked with him a few times on the show and he's always been kind. Professional to a fault, but willing to offer advice and remarkably flexible when it came to working with a group of teenagers who, while quite mature of their age, could get a bit rowdy at times. They had lunch right the first day they worked together, when Charles was all of thirteen and still trying to figure out what he was doing, and Howlett listened to his concerns and offered his own experiences and told Charles if he ever needed to talk about anything, he should call.
Charles isn't sure this is what he had in mind, but then, there have been rumors about Howlett and Hercule Alcides for years now, so maybe it was.
"Hi, Howlett," Charles says. He musters up a grin. "Isn't this crowd a little young for you? I'm sure you'd rather be somewhere with a bar."
"I would," Howlett agrees. "But I go where they send me, and this is where I am tonight."
Charles nods. "Sorry about that, then," he says. "How are you?"
"A sight better than you," Howlett says. He glances over Charles' shoulder. Charles follows his gaze, catches sight of Erik and the girl, and looks away so quickly he's surprised he doesn't get whiplash. "Why don't we go sit somewhere quiet, eh?"
Charles nods numbly and lets Howlett lead him away by the shoulder, out of the party, around the corner, and into what might be the restaurant's office. It's quiet and there's a desk and a couch. Howlett pushes him down onto the couch.
"I'm fine," Charles insists, before Howlett can say anything. "Really. I'm just tired."
"Tired of watching your boy flirt with strangers?" Howlett asks. He pulls the chair over from the desk and sits across from Charles.
"He's not--" Charles starts to say, but his words betray him. His throat goes slick again and he has to swallow against that stupid swell of emotion. Fuck fuck fuck. He never should have asked Erik to come. This never would have happened if he hadn't asked Erik to come. He would have continued to pine miserably, but he wouldn't have had to see this.
He sniffs. Howlett shakes his head.
"I always hoped you'd shake things out on your own," Howlett says. "I could tell even then, you know. Every story, every single thing you told me started with 'Erik and I...' Thirteen years old, star of your own network show, courted by every major advertiser, people plasterin' your face on billboards and all you wanted to talk about was your best friend and how smart and funny and great he was and all the scrapes you got in together."
Charles' cheeks burn with embarrassment. God, everyone probably knows. Moira guessed, Raven's known all along, everyone else he works with probably laughs about him behind his back and he can't help it. He can't stop. He feels like he'll die if Erik leaves him, if he goes off with someone else and abandons Charels all on his own.
He has to cover his face with his hands because Howlett is tough and respected and doesn't take shit from anyone and probably did not take Charles aside to watch him cry like a child, but the sound welling up in his throat is most definitely a sob.
"It's okay," Howlett says. "It happens to the best of us."
Charles pulls his knees up against his chest and rests his forehead on top of them. The sobs keep hiccoughing out and his face is hot and wet. He's shaking. He hates this. He hates losing control. There's nothing worse, no clearer sign of failure than letting himself break open like this, but god, god, Erik's going to get a girlfriend and then another and another until he marries some woman, probably asking Charles to be his best man. Charles will watch Erik have a family and a life, one without him. And he's not blind, he's not stupid--there will be other boys who want him. But he can't imagine being with someone who's not Erik. He can't fathom it. Even his fantasies revert to Erik, no matter how hard he tries to direct his brain to other faces, other bodies.
He's hopeless. This is the first of many nights he's going to spend watching Erik break his heart.
He sobs harder, curling in on himself. Nothing has ever hurt this much.
"It's okay, boy," Howlett says. Charles hears him move from the chair and sit next to Charles on the couch, his hand stroking Charles' back. "It's okay. Deep breaths."
"I can't do this!" Charles sobs. "How can I do this? How can I watch this? How is this fair?" He's blubbering all over himself, snot and tears and drool, his face a mess, his pants and sleeves damp where he's covered his face. "I love him so much, Howlett. I would be so good to him! I would do anything for him! Why isn't that enough?"
Howlett puts his arm around Charles' shoulders and Charles accepts the comfort, turns and presses his face into Howlett's shoulder.
"You don't know that it's not, not yet," Howlett says. "You're young, yet. It's confusing. It's this confusing for everyone, I promise. It was this confusing for me. Your boy needs to work it out for himself, but give him time. He might choose you yet, but you need to let him make that choice."
"It's my birthday," Charles says between hiccups. "It's my birthday and I have to watch him with--I shouldn't have brought him. I can't stand it. I'll die, Howlett."
"Now, don't say that," Howlett says. "I know it feels like that now, but I promise it won't feel like that forever. You'll meet someone. Hell, boy, if I can meet someone, you can meet someone."
"I don't want someone else," Charles says. "I can't even imagine someone else. He'll go off and get married and I'll spend the rest of my life alone. There's no one else."
He knows he sounds crazy. He knows he sounds like every moony teenager girl in every pathetic teen movie and the type of television show that's padding Charles' bank account, but it's honestly, deeply, entirely what he's feeling. He hurts all over. Every moment he spends with Erik leaves him hollow, but he yearns for them anyway because it's all he can have and still only a sliver of what he wants.
He sobs again. Howlett pats his hair.
"When I was younger--not quite as young as you, but younger than I am now, I fell in love with a boy," Howlett says. "And I felt the way you feel about your boy. It hurt to be around him, tore me up inside. All but killed me when he took up with a girl. I didn't think I'd ever recover."
"Is this--" Charles sniffs. "Is this supposed to make me feel better?"
"Yep," Howlett says. "Because ten years later, I walked into a room and I saw Herc for the first time and everything changed." Howlett squeezes him in a one-armed hug. "Now, maybe things will work out and your boy will be that person for you. Maybe he will go off and get married and you'll meet that person down the road. But someday, you'll find someone who makes you want to push through all the shit and be the best version of yourself. I promise, kid."
Charles takes a shaky breath.
"It's not gonna make you feel any better now," Howlett says. "And I'm sorry about that. But keep it in mind. It'll soothe the sting down the road."
Howlett doesn't say anything else after that. He lets Charles cry for a bit longer, until the sobs have calmed and the tears are slower, even if they won't stop coming. He sits up and rubs at his eyes and nose. Howlett stands and finds some tissues, passing them to Charles to clean his face.
"It's my birthday," Charles says weakly, looking up at Howlett, too shaken to be embarrassed any longer. "I just thought maybe this would be the year I finally got what I wanted."
The expression that flits across Howlett's face is almost painful in its empathy. God, he must think Charles is pathetic. He's just glad that it was Howlett who found him, that it wasn't Raven who had to soak up his tears this time.
"You're a good kid," Howlett says. "Give him time."
Charles goes back to wiping at his eyes, trying to come up with some self-deprecating joke to relieve the tension and let Howlett know he's free to go, when the door swings open.
It's Erik. Of course it is.
"Charles?" he asks. He's not looking at Charles, though, he's glaring at Howlett.
"Sorry," Charles says, and curses the wobble in his voice. "I'm sorry. I needed a break."
"I was just on my way out," Howlett says. "Better call Herc, tell 'im I'll be home early. Have a good night, boys. Happy Birthday, Charles."
"Thanks," Charles says. He hopes Howlett knows it's a blanket thank you, a thank you for the whole night. From the way Howlett nods at him, Charles thinks he does.
Erik glares at Howlett until he leaves the room and then stares after him. It's the sort of stare that used to give Charles hope, the kind of protective menace that made him think that Erik was trying to stake his claim. He knows better, now. It's the same look Erik uses around everyone he considers family. Charles is hardly special.
Now he's on the verge of crying again.
"Charles, what's wrong?" Erik asks. "Did that guy do something?"
"No," Charles says quickly. "No, he was--he works with me. He's...very kind. He saw I was upset and took me away from the party."
Erik doesn't look placated, but he doesn't say anything else. He steps around the coffee table and sits on the couch next to Charles.
"What's wrong?" Erik asks. "Seriously. Don't give me that 'I'm fine,' crap."
"It's...not important," Charles says. "You should--don't let me keep you from the party. You normally hate these things, don't let me take you away if you're having fun."
"I'm talking to people," Erik says. "Since when is that me having fun?" He offers Charles a smile that just makes Charles' lip tremble.
"You were talking to that girl," Charles manages to say evenly. He's proud of himself.
Erik frowns. "So?" he says. "You were off talking to Moira's friends. It was either talk to her or stand around looking sullen, which I know you hate. Seriously, Charles, you're really upset."
If Erik is noticing how upset he is, he's doomed. He covers his eyes with one hand and tries to pull himself in. He needs to center himself. Deep breaths. He's better than this.
Erik's arms settle around him, pulling him close, and it's the worst and best possible thing that could happen in this moment. He rests his head on Erik's shoulder and tries to breathe evenly.
"It's okay," Erik says. "Whatever it is, it's okay. I can take you home. You should have a good birthday. Whatever's upsetting you--" He doesn't end the sentence, just squeezes Charles more tightly. "Give me a clue. Tell me how to help. Tell me what to do."
"It's fine," Charles chokes out. "Honestly, Erik, I'm okay now." He is. It's awful. The moment Erik blew off the girl, a weight was lifted off Charles' whole body. He can breathe again. He feels awful, but that spark of hope is back and sometimes that spark is all he has to get him through the day.
"Are you sure?" Erik asks. He pulls back, but not far. It's just enough to turn Charles' face towards him, to hold Charles' face in his hands and stare at him in a way that makes Charles' face burn and his stomach flip.
He can't look away. Erik's thumbs brush away his tears and he can't look away. His heart is in his throat and Erik looks fragile, all of a sudden. Unsure. Breakable. He very slowly slides his hand upwards to tuck Charles' hair behind his ear. Charles lets out a long breath. He can't let himself hope. He can't fan that spark into a flame, not yet, because this might not mean what he thinks it means, this might not lead where he wants it. This could be anything, this could be Erik expressing casual affection, this could be Erik shaken because he hasn't seen Charles cry in years. It could be absolutely anything and Charles has no reason to think that it's going to be what he wants, right up until Erik haltingly begins to lean forward.
It's slow. It's so slow. Millimeters at a time, Erik's eyes wide and terrified, Charles frightened to move because he might startle Erik, he might stop this, and he can't. He can't have this chance and lose it. Not when there's already a chance he might lose it, a chance Erik might pull away, might decide his curiosity's sated, might only be doing this to make Charles feel better.
It doesn't matter, though, because those millimeters add up and then Erik is kissing him.
It's not the kiss of his dreams or his fantasies. It's very tentative, very chaste, just a brush of lips and then another before Erik pulls back just far enough to speak. Charles opens his eyes. Erik's are still closed.
"Is that okay?" Erik asks. His hands are shaking where they're still cradling Charles' face. His eyes open, piercing and scared and the look makes Charles woozy. "Can I--are you okay with this?"
Charles answers by lifting his own hands to Erik's jaw and pulling him close, kissing him again with more intent. Not as intensely and passionately as he wants to, not yet, but it's more than a brush of lips and Charles' heart soars when Erik kisses back. He kisses back hard, even, pulling Charles closer and opening his mouth, licking at Charles' lips and teeth, making Charles lightheaded in his fervor.
"I don't know why," Erik pants when he pulls away. He darts forward and kisses Charles again. He bites at Charles' lower lip and Charles gasps and fists his hands in Erik's hair. He doesn't let Erik pull back far, even as Erik leans forward and rests his head on Charles' shoulder, breathing hot and damp against Charles' neck. "I don't know why I haven't--I never--I wanted to say something but I didn't know how." He presses his lips to Charles' throat and Charles whimpers.
"You should have," Charles says breathlessly. "Erik, you should have--it's been years. Years and it's hurt every single day because all I could think about was how you'd never--"
Erik raises his head so quickly he almost cracks it on Charles' jaw. He kisses Charles again and Charles wants to think, wants to cheer or cry or figure out what's going on and how it's happening so quickly, but his senses are full of Erik's scent, his taste, the feeling of his hands on Charles' face and body, the warmth from where they're pressed together, the joy that's simmering underneath the disbelief, ready to boil over the moment that he can think further than Erik Erik Erik.
"You're--you should have--Charles." His voice is tremulous when he speaks and it makes something tighten in Charles' chest. "If I had known you wanted--"
"I do," Charles says. He presses his forehead against Erik's. "Erik, you're all I've ever wanted."
"You have the whole world," Erik says. He looks at Charles again, his eyes shaded with something sad. "The whole world loves you, Charles. How could I compete with that? I'm nothing."
Erik is everything, but Charles doesn't know how to say that. He thinks back to Howlett and swallows. He says, "You...you make me want to be the best version of myself."
Erik stares at him, disbelieving. He doesn't have to believe it, though. Charles knows it's true, knows it all the way down to his bones. And he has plenty of time to convince Erik as well.
Plenty of time. Oh god. Erik kissed him, Erik wants him, all this time, all that pain, and Erik is right here with him. For a second, he can't breathe.
"It's my birthday," he says distantly.
It breaks the shock on Erik's face. He smiles and kisses Charles again.
"Not for about another hour," Erik says. "It's only eleven. But happy birthday anyway. I got you a real present too."
"You didn't have to," Charles says. "This was--" He can't articulate what this was.
"Well," Erik admits. "I wasn't planning on doing this tonight. I was planning on doing it tomorrow. But it felt...right." He stares at Charles again and strokes his cheek. Charles is struggling not to curl up into himself and roll around in joy.
"You can do it tomorrow night too," Charles assures him. "And the next night, and the next."
Erik rolls his eyes, but his smile gives him away. He can't stop smiling and neither can Charles. They're staring at each other like loons, still grinning and holding onto each other, curled together on the couch of the office in the back of a network party.
Charles can't think of a better way to spend his sixteenth birthday.
*
the rest of the days:
1. Holding hands
2. Cuddling somewhere
3. Gaming/watching a movie
4. On a date
5. Kissing
6. Wearing each others’ clothes
7. Shopping
8. Hanging out with friends
9. Making out
10. Eating icecream
11. In a different clothing style
12. During their morning ritual(s)
13. Spooning
14. Doing something together
15. In formal wear
16. Dancing
17. Cooking/baking
18. In battle, side-by-side
19. Arguing
20. Making up afterwards
21. Getting married
22. On one of their birthdays
23. Doing something ridiculous
24. Doing something sweet
25. Doing something hot