ficlet february 2: five minutes away
So, I was going to do a cute established relationship AU today, but I couldn't come up with anything, so you get this nonsense instead. Sorry?
Ficlet February 2: "five minutes away"
There's a precipice between sleeping and waking where Charles can forget everything except his exact circumstances. He doesn't think about the school or work or politics or his increasingly long to-do list. He doesn't linger on embarrassing mis-steps of his past or even his hope for the future. He doesn't acknowledge the wider world. His world, in those moments, is merely the bubble around him.
This is Charles' world:
- a very soft bed
- blankets to ward off the chill
- the hissing of the radiator
- Erik's arm draped over his waist, pulling him close
- Erik's breath tickling the back of his neck
- the scent of sex and of Erik's cologne hanging in the room
- Erik's mind calmly at ease, enveloped by sleep
- Erik
- Erik
- Erik
He thinks, if he opens his eyes, he'll see the grey shadows on the walls he fell asleep to, brighter than usual, the light reflecting off of the snow and into the room. He knows, if he opens his eyes, he'll see Erik's face, slack with sleep, older but still beloved.
He also know that if he opens his eyes, he'll slide right out of this space and into reality. He'll wake up fully; the world will edge back in. If he opens his eyes, he loses this peace.
Erik has spent the last few decades on crusade after crusade, but the one he's settled into most recently is a mutant utopia, a land that mutants can turn to in order to escape persecution. The persecution is less, these days, than it ever has been before, but Charles thinks if Erik doesn't have a cause he'll find himself at a loose end, and this is really the most toothless of causes. He doesn't bother to list all the ways it's futile, all the ways utopias crumble, all the holes in and questions left by his plan. There are others to do that, now, mutant rights activists lined up to debate the great Magneto. Charles is old and tired and he'd rather spend their time this way than any other.
If he was to speak, though, he'd say this: utopia isn't a place that can be created, and Erik needs to stop looking for it that way. Instead, it's in moments like this--quiet, warm, safe, together, mostly asleep with the rest of the world on mute. It's a fragile thing, a single perfect snowflake like the ones falling quietly outside. Finite and destined to evaporate, but bringing so much joy in its limited time.
He doesn't speak. To speak would be to wake. Speaking would break the spell, the silence, the gauzy cocoon of this perfect world around them, this momentary peace. It will end soon, Charles is aware of that much, but there's no need to speed it up. He can stay this way for a little longer.
Five minutes more. That's all. Five minutes before he lets the rest of the world back in.
He listens to Erik's heartbeat, Erik's breathing. He listens to the hum of the radiator and the wind outside. He falls seamlessly back to sleep.
***
ficlet february!
Get some sleep
Five minutes away
Faint recognition
Half an hour before sunrise
Useless, but beautiful
Something’s broken
Surprise celebration
There were signs and signals
Rituals
Write about a postcard
What are you looking for?
You remind me of someone
A meeting, a beginning
Lasting impression
Long drive
Behind closed doors
Ask questions later
Six impossible things
Day off
Lost in a city
A door key
A late night phone call
Someone else’s mortification
Something from music
Something from a picture
Ficlet February 2: "five minutes away"
There's a precipice between sleeping and waking where Charles can forget everything except his exact circumstances. He doesn't think about the school or work or politics or his increasingly long to-do list. He doesn't linger on embarrassing mis-steps of his past or even his hope for the future. He doesn't acknowledge the wider world. His world, in those moments, is merely the bubble around him.
This is Charles' world:
- a very soft bed
- blankets to ward off the chill
- the hissing of the radiator
- Erik's arm draped over his waist, pulling him close
- Erik's breath tickling the back of his neck
- the scent of sex and of Erik's cologne hanging in the room
- Erik's mind calmly at ease, enveloped by sleep
- Erik
- Erik
- Erik
He thinks, if he opens his eyes, he'll see the grey shadows on the walls he fell asleep to, brighter than usual, the light reflecting off of the snow and into the room. He knows, if he opens his eyes, he'll see Erik's face, slack with sleep, older but still beloved.
He also know that if he opens his eyes, he'll slide right out of this space and into reality. He'll wake up fully; the world will edge back in. If he opens his eyes, he loses this peace.
Erik has spent the last few decades on crusade after crusade, but the one he's settled into most recently is a mutant utopia, a land that mutants can turn to in order to escape persecution. The persecution is less, these days, than it ever has been before, but Charles thinks if Erik doesn't have a cause he'll find himself at a loose end, and this is really the most toothless of causes. He doesn't bother to list all the ways it's futile, all the ways utopias crumble, all the holes in and questions left by his plan. There are others to do that, now, mutant rights activists lined up to debate the great Magneto. Charles is old and tired and he'd rather spend their time this way than any other.
If he was to speak, though, he'd say this: utopia isn't a place that can be created, and Erik needs to stop looking for it that way. Instead, it's in moments like this--quiet, warm, safe, together, mostly asleep with the rest of the world on mute. It's a fragile thing, a single perfect snowflake like the ones falling quietly outside. Finite and destined to evaporate, but bringing so much joy in its limited time.
He doesn't speak. To speak would be to wake. Speaking would break the spell, the silence, the gauzy cocoon of this perfect world around them, this momentary peace. It will end soon, Charles is aware of that much, but there's no need to speed it up. He can stay this way for a little longer.
Five minutes more. That's all. Five minutes before he lets the rest of the world back in.
He listens to Erik's heartbeat, Erik's breathing. He listens to the hum of the radiator and the wind outside. He falls seamlessly back to sleep.
***
ficlet february!
Get some sleep
Five minutes away
Faint recognition
Half an hour before sunrise
Useless, but beautiful
Something’s broken
Surprise celebration
There were signs and signals
Rituals
Write about a postcard
What are you looking for?
You remind me of someone
A meeting, a beginning
Lasting impression
Long drive
Behind closed doors
Ask questions later
Six impossible things
Day off
Lost in a city
A door key
A late night phone call
Someone else’s mortification
Something from music
Something from a picture