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You really hate your roommate. Honestly.
He wears far too many fuzzy cardigans, drinks far too much earthy tea in mugs that are far too dorky with idiotic sayings on them like “Are you a double helix, because I want to climb you like a ladder.” He talks too much, hands flailing everywhere for emphasis, his too-bright blue eyes boring into you like he can read your mind, it’s unnerving and deeply flattering in turns that his attention can be so absolutely focused on you when you talk. He sleeps the damn day away like a lazy cat and when he finally does emerge from the fort of blankets that is his bed, his hair resembles a bird’s nest and he rubs at his eyes like a child with curled hands and isn’t truly awake until he has consumed the previously mentioned terrible tea. Despite that he will always smile that crooked smile and say “Good morning, my friend,” like it’s the best thing ever that you’re the first thing he sees in the morning.
When you play chess over drinks in the evening, almost every night, you discover he is a lush-a flirty one at that; he seems to grow eight arms and legs and can never stop touching you, though not in a way that can be construed as intentionally seductive. He’s can be arrogant and conceited beyond belief when he talks about his classes and how he has the highest marks in recent history at the university; but then he’s also unbearably naïve in a way that will continually come back to bite him in his admittedly very attractive ass, but it doesn’t seem to slow him down, simply renew his faith that the world needs cuddling and its boo-boos kissed.
He hates foreign films and anything that comes with subtitles, exclaiming he came to watch not read every time he happens upon you watching one of your favorite films, but he sits down- close, so close- and watches the rest of it with you anyway. He never washes his dishes or picks up his dirty laundry and he is probably the only person on Earth who can manage to have mold grow on soap, that’s just how slovenly he is. Secretly you don’t mind taking care of him, bringing him food when he bogs himself down with research and forgets to eat or sleep or “take a damn shower you reek, for god’s sake!”
He apologizes too often for things that aren’t his fault and he laughs like he will never get the chance again. He bites his lips until they so red they’re the envy of women the world over. (You’re still not certain it’s not cosmetics, because it cannot be natural for lips to be that tempting.) He always forgets his keys, and his jacket, and his fucking phone so you’re always bringing them to the university lab for him, because you’re a good friend and he would do it for you. When his sister comes over you resist the urge to throttle her when she touches your stuff and rearranges your carefully arranged flat to make herself comfortable. You don’t refrain from knocking her feet off of the coffee table or smacking her hand when she reaches to touch the remote if you’re already watching something. Despite this, and the fact she wears too much makeup, you find her tolerable and quite keen when she chooses to be. You’re still not sorry to see the back of her when her visit ends, and the apartment belongs to you two alone once more.
He puts up with the fact you apparently smile like a shark, and scare everyone off when he has social gatherings at their place. He beams at you when you growl and grumble at his poor housekeeping, and will apologize until he’s blue in the face, though he never changes. He laughs at you when you beat him at chess because he’s already so far gone down the bottle that he goes cross-eyed trying to focus on the board, and ignores when you shake off his wandering hand- clasped on a shoulder or trying to muss up your hair- and giggles with secrets in his luminous eyes. He doesn’t seem to mind hearing your alarm clock at five AM every morning and simply shouts a lazy “have a good run” through the thin walls before rolling over and going back to sleep. He complains about the fact that you hog the couch after dinner and instead of sitting somewhere else decides to sit on your lap until you get uncomfortable enough to make room for him. (You don’t mind this as much as you like to pretend.)
Sometimes you will get into rows over everything and nothing and the fights will linger in the atmosphere for days until he crawls into your bed one night and slips his hand into yours, or you do the same to him early in the morning after your run one day, and it’s never an apology, not really. You never regret what you fight about only the way you fight- too much vitriol, underhanded insults and barbs flung about in frustration. You continue to try and compromise and when it gets ugly, usually concede on agreeing to disagree. These fights bring about respect between you, a sense of understanding grows until one day your fights have become stale and you have found ways to get around them and everyone is satisfied. Though you both still love to bicker over what is essentially nonsense.
And.
You’ll never say it out loud (too painful, too sharp the inevitable rejection), but maybe you’re a little bit in love with him; okay- yeah a lot.
After all Erik’s only human and just like the rest of the world, is constantly stunned by the sassy yet sweet bubble of innocence that is Charles Xavier and his too-bright blue eyes, and his bitten red lips and his foolish, foolish big heart that Erik wants to hold in his hands and call mine.