[ The weather is freezing, snow flurries around his feet and cloak when he pads across the dark front lawn, the familiar pathway up the the house that he used to tread back and forth to the lake, or to the field-- his boots crunch in the snow. The house is the same as it always was-- tall against the navy blue of the cloudy early morning sky, and lit from within, only a few lights on-- the hall light, seen glowing through the outer library window, Raven's old bedroom light-- and Charles'. He can see from where he stands that the front door has opened, emitting a host of children-- none that he knows except for Alex and Sean, who bound just as enthusiastically over the threshold and onto the now white front terrace garden.
Giving the mansion a wide berth, Erik travels to the back of it-- and to Charles' far window that looks out onto the paddock field behind the house. It's still too dark for him to be seen properly; the sun rising late on these midwinter days. He removes the helmet, below the telepath's window, holding it in both his hands then tucking it into the crook of his elbow, the snow beneath his feet crackling crisply when he shifts from one to the other. A huff of misty breath leaves him, and he looks up. ]
[ He could sit here and read for the evening, or so he told himself, the chill of the evening almost making him feel more alive in the confines of his house. He could feel it numbing his fingertips, drawing the blood to his cheeks, nose and ears. A little puff of breath, visible and spiraling into nothingness. He could spend the evening caught in the cold and his texts and allow himself to be lost in the moment; not thinking of the future... or the past.
Or so he had thought.
The moment he felt the familiar weight at the back of his mind, the additional hum amongst the dozens of thoughts that teased his brain, he dropped his book. He leaned forward in the chair, arms strengthened from use, pulling him out of it just slightly when he gripped the windows edge. ] Erik!
Charles. [ The quiet acknowledgment meets that mental exclamation from Charles-- spoken in a breath of warm air, and Erik looks up, visible now in the light from the open window; the warm lamplight shining on his face for a moment when his eyes meet the other man's; something like weariness in them-- but also that same old tenderness; absolutely clear across his features. ] Is this a bad time?
[ He focuses on the familiar blue-- not that he can quite pick out the color in the pale light; but the memory of it is enough for him to know that it's there-- reflecting a similar scattering of emotions as are in his own. It had become impossible to avoid returning; even if he's Magneto, now-- the helmet and the cause may be a part of him now; but there's a deeper hook in him-- far more potent and profoundly magnetic. Charles has always, and will always draw him back. His next projection is almost a whisper-- more a confession than anything else. ] I had to see you.
No, no of course not. [ He stared down for a few seconds, eyes squinting a bit to accommodate for the sudden lack of light, letting his eyes focus in on him. Erik. Magneto. He's finally breathing again, the sudden awareness of that long missed mind. He leans out of view for a moment, mostly so he could lock the breaks on his chair to keep it from rolling backwards with the way he was leaning out of the window. ]
I'm glad you did. [ And he means it, he really does. The small smile on his lips a surprise to even him-- he supposes he should be angry; to tell him to leave, but he can't. Not now anyway, he's too delighted to be seeing him again-- later would be the time for whatever other emotions that decided to come up. ] You can... come up if you want. [ It's almost hesitant, unsure of how long he even desired to remain. ]
[ It takes a single smooth movement for Erik to suddenly be standing on the ledge below the window, a hand against the outside of the frame; and his hair is flecked with the snow-- warm light on his face. ]
Charles. [ He breathes the name out, and climbs into the window to stand next to the other man-- posture coiled tensely-- it's exactly two years since the beach; and while he may not have been entirely able to return to the telepath as often as he'd have liked-- he's done the best he can, with the circumstances they've been landed with. ] It's good to see you. [ The tension abruptly slackens, and Erik sinks down to curl in Charles' sweater. ]
[ As Erik moves Charles leans back, resting into his chair again to allow him some space. He's as handsome as Charles could ever remember; and Charles is a bit abashed at himself for even thinking it. Still, at any moment he was able he liked to memorize the lines of his face, recall the differences-- if there were any. He wishes he had expected a visit, he would have adorned something other than an well worn blue sweater that, while very soft, was a tad old looking. Of course this is forgotten, for the most part, when Erik lowers against him and he can feel his heart skip a beat.
Arms ease upward and gingerly make their way around him, as if afraid anything too much will make him leave. He's never sure of himself with Erik like he used to be; but he also used to believe that he would never leave and he had been so blindly wrong about that. A gentle squeeze as he turns his head just enough so that he could speak quietly to Erik, ] I've missed you. [ No pretense to be had, he was never sure how long he could keep him-- and he would hate to waste what little time they had. ]
[ His cheekbone digs a little into the other man's stomach, and he's been so long without this connection that they have-- the most basic of it; the physical contact that had once become such a second nature reaction to the two of them; he's found himself actively missing the quiet familiarity that they had-- Charles' hand on his arm, or shoulder. Fingers knotting in the wool of the sweater, Erik breathes in the musty, bookish smell of him-- faintly of soap and of washing powder. ] And I've missed you too. [ There's a pause-- and honestly, if they ever had time for sentimentality, it was now. ] Constantly.
[ Arms winding around the other man's waist, Erik exhales slowly. ] If I could, I'd come back more often. [ But there's never enough time, not for them-- he doesn't believe that there ever will be either. ]
[ He tenses his jaw to keep back whatever noise tried to break free at the admission, instead turning his head just a tad more to press a light kiss near his hairline. ] I understand. [ He wishes, in some respects, he didn't-- but in the end he wouldn't trade it for anything. ]
I know. [ It's soft and soothing, meant to be some sort of reassurance that he didn't doubt Erik's feelings, at least. His hand eases up from his arm to rest at the back of his neck, fingers curling and brushing against the skin soothingly. ] I'm just glad for when you do come.
You do. [ Of course-- they're both so trapped in this doomed codependent state of affairs; Erik cannot function for losing Charles permanently, and he imagines that the other is in a similar predicament; he's always welcomed back, at least-- and after all this time that does say something. The tips of his fingers draw circles against Charles' back-- carefully positioned above that swathe that the bullet cut, above the line that marks the beginning of the damage. ]
There still isn't much that I can do to change this, or to give us more time. [ His head tilts up, pulling back just barely enough to meet the other man's eyes, but not to disrupt that hand on the nape of his neck. Erik leans into it. ] How have you been? [ And the look on his face-- the line between his eyebrows-- is enough to show he's been concerned. ]
I'm not asking you to do anything, Erik. [ His words are hinged with an inner longing, he wanted so much more for the both of them but he knew that to ask that-- of either of them, would be cruel. He would never push Erik to change, perhaps in the misguided hope that Erik would come back of his own volition. However, at this point, even he knew how childish it was to think such things. It pained him to acknowledge how awry he had let his dreams go; he couldn't blame Erik because he blamed himself. ]
I've been... alright. [ He sweeps his hand through the soft, familiar strands of hair. The smell of having him so close making his heart thud a bit harder in his chest. ] The children have been keeping me as busy as they can mange. [ Lonely, longing, but busy-- busier than he had ever been because it was so much easier to throw himself into his work. ] And, how have you been?
You're not asking me, no--[ He trails off, because the underlying thread between them and the entire meeting is a dangerous one for him; while Charles may not have asked him to come back-- not directly, it's still there; the hope, more-so than the expectation.]
[ Erik cants his head to the side, leaning further into the touch-- the one corner of his mouth tilting upwards and breaking the solemnly miserable expression he'd been sporting since he'd set foot inside the Westchester House's gates with Azazel earlier that evening. The small pause between Charles' words catch his attention, but he honestly does not need to voice the recognition of it; he knows their shared difficulty, all too well. ] Much the same. Busy, too-- we've acquired several new recruits lately; and there are socials to attend in order to keep up appearances at the club, of course. [ Removing his hands from around Charles, he pulls away-- getting to his feet, and giving the telepath that same old searching look-- snow flurries into the room from the open window, which shuts abruptly by itself. ] We should sit by the fire, it's cold in here.
How eventful, [ Is the simple response, devoid of anything deeper because he doesn't know how to feel about Erik's words. He wants to be happy for him, happy for anything he can do or accomplish, but he can't help the hollow feeling that comes with it-- the distance it creates. Each success for the Hellfire Club doesn't feel like a step closer together, not to Charles, as much as he wished it would. He keeps these things, these thoughts, like many others to himself. Instead he gives a soft nod and lowers his hands to the sides of the chair, dislodging the small lever of a break and gripping the wheels. ] I suppose your right.
[ Truth be told he had welcomed the cold, letting it sting the places he could still feel it-- but there's no fight, no resistance, he wanted to go wherever they would both be most comfortable. ] Snow is no fun to clean from the floors anyhow. [ A delicate attempt at humor, but his heart really isn't in it, not now. He pushes down on the wheels with a bit of effort and maneuvers himself around a table expecting Erik to follow. ]
Hmm. [ Part agreement and part dismissal-- he's not here to talk about Shaw's legacy; and all he's done to accelerate that legacy into another creature entirely. ]
It would do you well not to make yourself ill. [ As he walks past the other man, and into the small space around the fire; a well worn armchair and sofa angled towards it-- when he passes, and it's either a genuine slip up, or a conscious bid at bridging an element of the distance, the back of Erik's fingers brush against the telepath's neck. He says nothing, and sits on the couch-- unsure if Charles will join him; the other man tended to be a touch uncomfortable with the disability-- even after two years passing. Erik stretches a foot out towards the fire. ] I have-- longer than usual this time, you know. Away from the Brotherhood. The weekend.
[ He halts, if only for a moment, at the touch feeling the light sensation cause an ache down to his bones. He recovers quickly, and smiles just a tad when he feels the warmth of the fire tickling his face. Heating it and letting some of the color return to his skin-- he hadn't realized how cold he had let himself get till he was warming back up. ] Cold doesn't make you ill, at least not usually, just germs. [ He murmurs in an absent habit of correcting the children; not condescending just... mechanical. He angles the chair near an open space on the couch and seems to be consciously debating on joining him. It was always a little awkward, to have someone watch you strain and struggle to move what was once so easy-- but he was as stubborn as ever. He wasn't going to sit in his cold, metal chair and enviously eye Erik on the couch like some sort of puppy too short to hop on the cushions. Instead he lodges the break into place like he had before and using far better practiced-- if still not effortless-- movements to transfer himself from one seat to the other. A small, self-satisfied smile coming after when he leans into the cushion. ]
Are you going to stay? [ Charles hoped, but refused to let himself assume, that Erik would-- he had let his hopes get far too ahead of him once, and as if the tips of his fingers had been burned he refused to extend them that far again. ]
[ He does not move to help Charles from the chair onto the couch-- instead watching his progress with a steady gaze; a mixture of responsibility and guilt warring on his features. He'll never quite be used to the idea that Charles cannot simply stand from the chair and walk over to him-- the image is too ingratiated into his mind; too familiar; and for it to be contradicted here is still uncomfortable to him. Once the telepath is settled, he chances closer-- arm resting on the back of the couch, brushing against the collar of Charles' sweater-- even the fabric itself has picked up the chill from the wind outside. ] If you'll have me-- I'll stay. [ Fingertips settle against the telepath's neck, consciously this time-- and it's a tender gesture; more like the way they used to be, than what they had now. Both a touch bitter, possibly. ]
[ Erik shifts even closer-- still not enough to encroach on Charles' space, but it's no longer a platonic distance; there's always been a certain lack of ambiguity in Erik's gestures; though subtle, they are unmistakably laced with genuine attachment. At the touch of the other's skin, his hand settles against Charles' neck entirely--] You're cold, [ He murmurs-- swallowing the hoarse edge in his voice. ]
Of course I'll have you. [ His tone makes it sound as if that should be the most obvious thing in the world to Erik. And perhaps, in some ways, he thinks it should be. Charles had never turned him away before; he hadn't a clue why the man might think he would now. He turns his head, and some of his torso, mostly so he can get a good look at him-- or as much as the light of the fire would allow. He's changed so much and yet so very little, it's almost surreal in its complexity.
Erik's fingertips burn at the back of his neck, warm skin contrasting cold; like the fire it's almost too hot, and yet he doesn't move away, he welcomes the contact. He doesn't get much of it, not anymore, besides the occasional hand on his shoulder-- everyone's so afraid he's going to break; but if anything Charles just finds it resentful. He was wounded not ruined. He has to draw his thoughts in, because now was not the time nor the place to allow himself to become embittered; he wanted to enjoy the small gift of time. ] I left the window open far too long, got lost in my thoughts-- I'm sure you understand.
Giving the mansion a wide berth, Erik travels to the back of it-- and to Charles' far window that looks out onto the paddock field behind the house. It's still too dark for him to be seen properly; the sun rising late on these midwinter days. He removes the helmet, below the telepath's window, holding it in both his hands then tucking it into the crook of his elbow, the snow beneath his feet crackling crisply when he shifts from one to the other. A huff of misty breath leaves him, and he looks up. ]
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Or so he had thought.
The moment he felt the familiar weight at the back of his mind, the additional hum amongst the dozens of thoughts that teased his brain, he dropped his book. He leaned forward in the chair, arms strengthened from use, pulling him out of it just slightly when he gripped the windows edge. ] Erik!
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[ He focuses on the familiar blue-- not that he can quite pick out the color in the pale light; but the memory of it is enough for him to know that it's there-- reflecting a similar scattering of emotions as are in his own. It had become impossible to avoid returning; even if he's Magneto, now-- the helmet and the cause may be a part of him now; but there's a deeper hook in him-- far more potent and profoundly magnetic. Charles has always, and will always draw him back. His next projection is almost a whisper-- more a confession than anything else. ] I had to see you.
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I'm glad you did. [ And he means it, he really does. The small smile on his lips a surprise to even him-- he supposes he should be angry; to tell him to leave, but he can't. Not now anyway, he's too delighted to be seeing him again-- later would be the time for whatever other emotions that decided to come up. ] You can... come up if you want. [ It's almost hesitant, unsure of how long he even desired to remain. ]
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Charles. [ He breathes the name out, and climbs into the window to stand next to the other man-- posture coiled tensely-- it's exactly two years since the beach; and while he may not have been entirely able to return to the telepath as often as he'd have liked-- he's done the best he can, with the circumstances they've been landed with. ] It's good to see you. [ The tension abruptly slackens, and Erik sinks down to curl in Charles' sweater. ]
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Arms ease upward and gingerly make their way around him, as if afraid anything too much will make him leave. He's never sure of himself with Erik like he used to be; but he also used to believe that he would never leave and he had been so blindly wrong about that. A gentle squeeze as he turns his head just enough so that he could speak quietly to Erik, ] I've missed you. [ No pretense to be had, he was never sure how long he could keep him-- and he would hate to waste what little time they had. ]
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[ Arms winding around the other man's waist, Erik exhales slowly. ] If I could, I'd come back more often. [ But there's never enough time, not for them-- he doesn't believe that there ever will be either. ]
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I know. [ It's soft and soothing, meant to be some sort of reassurance that he didn't doubt Erik's feelings, at least. His hand eases up from his arm to rest at the back of his neck, fingers curling and brushing against the skin soothingly. ] I'm just glad for when you do come.
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There still isn't much that I can do to change this, or to give us more time. [ His head tilts up, pulling back just barely enough to meet the other man's eyes, but not to disrupt that hand on the nape of his neck. Erik leans into it. ] How have you been? [ And the look on his face-- the line between his eyebrows-- is enough to show he's been concerned. ]
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I've been... alright. [ He sweeps his hand through the soft, familiar strands of hair. The smell of having him so close making his heart thud a bit harder in his chest. ] The children have been keeping me as busy as they can mange. [ Lonely, longing, but busy-- busier than he had ever been because it was so much easier to throw himself into his work. ] And, how have you been?
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[ Erik cants his head to the side, leaning further into the touch-- the one corner of his mouth tilting upwards and breaking the solemnly miserable expression he'd been sporting since he'd set foot inside the Westchester House's gates with Azazel earlier that evening. The small pause between Charles' words catch his attention, but he honestly does not need to voice the recognition of it; he knows their shared difficulty, all too well. ] Much the same. Busy, too-- we've acquired several new recruits lately; and there are socials to attend in order to keep up appearances at the club, of course. [ Removing his hands from around Charles, he pulls away-- getting to his feet, and giving the telepath that same old searching look-- snow flurries into the room from the open window, which shuts abruptly by itself. ] We should sit by the fire, it's cold in here.
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[ Truth be told he had welcomed the cold, letting it sting the places he could still feel it-- but there's no fight, no resistance, he wanted to go wherever they would both be most comfortable. ] Snow is no fun to clean from the floors anyhow. [ A delicate attempt at humor, but his heart really isn't in it, not now. He pushes down on the wheels with a bit of effort and maneuvers himself around a table expecting Erik to follow. ]
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It would do you well not to make yourself ill. [ As he walks past the other man, and into the small space around the fire; a well worn armchair and sofa angled towards it-- when he passes, and it's either a genuine slip up, or a conscious bid at bridging an element of the distance, the back of Erik's fingers brush against the telepath's neck. He says nothing, and sits on the couch-- unsure if Charles will join him; the other man tended to be a touch uncomfortable with the disability-- even after two years passing. Erik stretches a foot out towards the fire. ] I have-- longer than usual this time, you know. Away from the Brotherhood. The weekend.
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Are you going to stay? [ Charles hoped, but refused to let himself assume, that Erik would-- he had let his hopes get far too ahead of him once, and as if the tips of his fingers had been burned he refused to extend them that far again. ]
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[ Erik shifts even closer-- still not enough to encroach on Charles' space, but it's no longer a platonic distance; there's always been a certain lack of ambiguity in Erik's gestures; though subtle, they are unmistakably laced with genuine attachment. At the touch of the other's skin, his hand settles against Charles' neck entirely--] You're cold, [ He murmurs-- swallowing the hoarse edge in his voice. ]
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Erik's fingertips burn at the back of his neck, warm skin contrasting cold; like the fire it's almost too hot, and yet he doesn't move away, he welcomes the contact. He doesn't get much of it, not anymore, besides the occasional hand on his shoulder-- everyone's so afraid he's going to break; but if anything Charles just finds it resentful. He was wounded not ruined. He has to draw his thoughts in, because now was not the time nor the place to allow himself to become embittered; he wanted to enjoy the small gift of time. ] I left the window open far too long, got lost in my thoughts-- I'm sure you understand.
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