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As Charles watches Erik entering the stage, waving at the small crowd already gathered in the club, he can’t stop himself from smiling fondly.
Years have passed since the day he first heard Erik sing, since the day he made him promise to practice and take lessons because he had a gift for it, but Charles is still as amazed as he was the first time. Erik truly has something, and he deserves to be here tonight.
Years of encouragement that had led Charles to the difficult task of being Erik’s agent, doing everything he could to book him in small events, to sing as the night was still young and the crowd still fresh, waiting for the main show.
Erik deserves so much better, in Charles’ opinion, but Charles’ full time job as a university professor doesn’t give him an awful lot of free time, especially now in the middle of the finals.
Still, Charles always did his best and tonight comes as a reward. Watching Erik walk around the stage as if he owned it, surrounded by soft blue light, interacting with the public and his musicians without missing a single note, more alive than ever, makes his heart flutter in happiness. Charles would do anything in his power and even more to keep this wide smile on his best friend’s lips.
But as always, as soon as the highest joy fills him, it is crushed by the cold, harsh reality. Erik is his best friend, and nothing more.
Despite his best efforts, Erik has never shown any interest in him.
He has, in fact, never shown any interest in anyone. They’ve known each other since middle school, when Erik had moved to New-York from Germany, and seeing the number of girls and even boys he had to comfort after Erik had told them off, Charles never dared to admit to Erik that he was more than his friend. So much more.
Instead, Charles made himself a promise, back then. He would be anything and everything Erik would ever need from him, nothing more, nothing less. Finding people to have some fun with from time to time wouldn’t hurt anybody, right?
Charles claps with the crowd when Erik puts an end to his last song. As Erik comes his way, still waving at the few people at the front of the stage, Charles raises his hands at head level for Erik to high-five. The aurora surrounding him turns into a deeper blue as he comes closer to Charles, peaking when they finally touch, and disappears when their hands part. Charles already mourns the beautiful display of Erik’s powers, the easiness with which he plays with the magnetic fields surrounding him, creating those small solar flares that take the colour of his feelings.
“It was great, more than great!” Charles starts as he opens Erik’s metal water bottle while Erik dries his forehead with a towel. “You definitely rocked it!”
Erik just grins at him before gulping down long sips of the liquid, emptying the bottle in one go before he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“That’s thanks to you, Charles,” Erik chuckles. “You and your persuasion.” He winks at him as they start walking down the corridor leading to the lodges.
“You know I never use my telepathy for that kind of thing!” Charles counters, playfully offended at his best friend’s insinuation.
“I wasn’t talking about that,” Erik says with a small, almost melancholy smile as he stops in front of a door. “I’ll take a quick shower and I get back to you afterwards, alright?”
Charles doesn’t have time to open his mouth to ask what Erik was thinking, the man has already disappeared behind the door, leaving him alone with his questions.
Sometimes, he would love to take a peak in Erik’s mind, to feel his organised mind unravel in front of him once again, showing him emotions and feelings more easily than what his face would display. But Charles has a strong moral code: he won’t use his powers to influence others or to get answers they wouldn’t give him willingly. He knows it could be much more easier and take much less time to book Erik for more warm ups if he could persuade venue directors like that, but Charles is not sure he could live with the guilt and the feeling of being a fraud afterwards. Actually, he couldn’t live with that, even if Erik deserves so much more.
Sighing, he leaves the backstages to find the headliner’s manager, wanting to have a few more words with her before he leaves with Erik.
oOo
Adrenaline is still pumping hard in his veins after his quick and efficient shower, and Erik is ready to find Charles before they have to go back home. He would have liked to stay for a bit; he actually kind of likes the band he’s been warming up for, even if their singer, Sean, is an obvious and oblivious pothead. But he has noticed the rings under Charles’ eyes getting darker and deeper those past few days. He knows Charles will never complain about it, but it’s a week night and he should really grab some scant hours of sleep before he has to go back to his students. Erik is glad for all the extra work Charles does to get him to play live, especially tonight, in the biggest venue he has ever sung in so far. The rest would be much needed for him too, anyway. He feels the tiredness right through his bones, right through his brain.
The crowd has swollen since he left the stage, and his path to the bar is constantly slowed down by people asking for a selfie or an autograph. It’s not actually the first time someone asks for it, but it’s still so odd to Erik; he has gained a bit of a reputation, and it’s a good thing in a sense. It might ease Charles’ work, or so he hopes. Still, his smile is awkward and his signature, illegible.
He thinks he’s finished with the last one when he hears his name as someone throws their arm around his shoulders. Erik immediately tenses up, a shiver runs down his spine, ready to remove the unwanted limb quickly. Physical proximity has never been something he’s at ease with, except when he knows the person well enough. Rolling his shoulders, he finds out that the grip on his arm is unrelenting.
“Erik, my boy!” the man says, and Erik turns to him, trying to recognise him in the dull light.
The man lets him go when they end up face to face, and Erik has never seen him in his life, he’s sure of that. The stranger is slightly smaller and clearly older than him, judging by the wrinkles on his face, but Erik immediately feels a surge of unease to be that close to the guy, as if something was off, but he can’t for the life of him tell what. The man comes closer again, covering the ambient noise by talking to Erik’s ear, causing a shudder Erik struggles to keep unseen.
“Finally we meet, my dear Erik. I wanted to talk to you about your shows, if you have a few minutes.” The man pulls him with his hand still on Erik’s shoulders, making him walk through the crowd once again. “I’m Sebastian Shaw, the executive director of Shaw Industries, you surely have heard of that label? We own all the biggest bands. Anyway, I think you have some talent, even if it’s rotting here in those small… provincial parties.” Shaw grimaces as he talks, his distaste clear on his face. “I can offer you much, much more if you agree to let me be your agent. What do you think?”
Erik thinks that he’d rather stay with Charles, even if it means losing an opportunity to become famous.
“Thank you,” Erik tries to say cordially anyway. “But I already have an agent.”
As he starts to leave, Shaw snickers, “Oh, let me guess. That small creature? Please, he’s incompetent . You’re wasting your time here. But fine, go away now. We’ll talk about it later, I’ll be waiting for you anyway.”
And Erik does just that, even if it feels like obeying Shaw.
Erik finally spots Charles a few meters away, his back turned on him. He’s going to hail him but freezes abruptly. Charles is not alone.
Charles is not alone, and definitely not lonely, as Erik can see - he’s talking animatedly to a gorgeous blonde woman, their heads inclined toward each other as they lean on the bar facing each other, a drink in hand.
Well, Charles hasn’t waited that long to find someone, it seems, and that’s totally what Erik needs tonight - going home on his own as his best friend finds another one night stand.
And then, just like that, it’s too much. Erik can’t bear it anymore. He’s too tired to deal with that pain once again. If this is not that important for Charles, why bother with Erik? Charles has always praised Erik’s singing and worked hard for Erik to be able to perform, but is it only to please him and to find suitable nightly distractions? Is Erik worth only a fraction of that amazing mind? Does Charles forget he is supposed to go home with Erik as soon as someone of his liking crosses his path? Erik just… wishes his heart muscle would stop cramping right now. It’s okay, really. He’s okay. Finally discovering that his friendship with Charles is less important than sex with strangers kind of hurts, but it also sets a new, cold resolution in Erik. He’s been selfishly taking too much of Charles’ time, it seems. But that’s fine; a professional has offered to take Charles’ place, someone who will be able to focus on Erik a great deal more as it is his damn daily job. Maybe it’s time to let Charles have his life back.
One last look in Charles’ direction tells him his supposedly best friend is still deep into conversation. So Erik turns, hoping that that Shaw creep is still around.
Erik spots him close to the exit, his cream suit standing out in the shadows. The man is leaning against the wall, shoulders rigid and arms crossed in an attitude that oozes confidence. Erik strides in his direction, stops only when they are close enough for him to challenge Shaw with a look.
“I’ll do it,” Erik says without preamble.
Shaw only smirks at first, then rises to his whole height, looks Erik from face to toes and then back up again. Erik’s insides tighten unpleasantly at the quite unabashed leer.
“You will have to know…” Shaw drawls, making Erik’s skin cover in goosebumps. “That if you want me to get you famous, I will require of you to change a few things.” Shaw’s fingers come to tug at Erik’s left shoulder strap, releasing it so that it slaps back in place. “Your attire. Your hair. We’ll have to work on new songs, too. Those ones aren’t… catchy ,” he says, snapping his fingers in a semblance of rhythm. “I’ll make you a real star. You just have to do as I say. We have a deal, boy?”
Erik shakes his hand, taming the urge to put an end to the contact as soon as he touches the clammy palm.
“We have a deal.”
“Good. You can get in touch with my secretary. Tell her I personally gave you my card.” With one last creepy pat on the shoulder, Shaw leaves the venue.
oOo
Charles can’t wait to find Erik again. He thought he had felt him earlier, coming his way, but when Charles turned, he was nowhere in sight. Maybe Erik is still caught with fans?
Charles walks back to the dressing room, thinking that maybe Erik wanted to rest for a bit. His hands are almost trembling, giddy and impatient. He has really great news for them and is eager to share them, almost throwing himself on the door.
Erik is indeed inside, standing in the middle of a completely wrecked room. Charles’ giddiness goes down as soon as his smile does.
“Erik?” he says slowly, hesitantly.
Erik’s chest is heaving, his hair sticking in every direction and his eyes burn wild. He doesn’t seem to register Charles’ presence.
“Erik?” Charles tries again as he walks inside the room, glass cracking under his soles. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
Charles places a careful hand on Erik’s biceps, trying to get his attention, and Erik seems to snap out of his reverie. The storm Charles can feel in Erik’s head suddenly disappears, as if a massive door had been shut between Erik and him. Charles recognizes the walls Erik has erected for what they are, but he doesn’t have the time to process any of it. Erik backs off, cutting Charles’ small attempt at physical contact. His gaze is as impenetrable as his mind, sending chills down Charles’ spine, causing his stomach to contract painfully. Charles has never seen Erik like this, and worry ties his throat into impossible knots, letting his mouth trying to formulate words without any success.
Erik’s gaze doesn’t waver when he finally speaks, hopefully putting an end to Charles’ agony.
“Good, you’re here,” Erik says flatly. “You no longer have to manage for me.”
“Wh-” Charles tries to utter, heart tumbling over itself.
“I don’t need you anymore. You can go back to your grades and papers.”
Is the whole room falling apart, or just Charles’ world?
“I don’t understand,” is all he manages to get out of his dry throat.
A small tremor at the corner of Erik’s mouth is the only thing that changes, his face still as if carved in stone.
“I don’t want you to be my manager anymore, Charles. Please respect that.”
Without waiting any longer, Erik walks out of the room, shoulder barely brushing Charles’, walks away from him, from his crumbling heart. Charles’ pulse is beating so fast and the glass of alcohol he got earlier is suddenly making him feel nauseous, his stomach contracting violently as his head spins and his skin covers with cold sweat.
One, two, three strides and Charles is retching in the toilet bowl.
...
“Professor!”
Charles turns to the voice and sees Hank, his TA, running to him through the University gardens. Hank stops by him and tries to get his breath back into control, and Charles chuckles to see him like that.
“Since when do you dare cutting through the grass? You’re not afraid of the Dean anymore?”
Hank is still heaving when he lets a small laugh escape. “Well, the news were too important - I wouldn’t have caught you if I had taken the path!”
Hank, usually so shy, beams at Charles.
“We’re published! Our article has been accepted in the International Journal of Biological Sciences!”
Hank’s giddiness immediately submerges Charles, and he soon holds Hank’s forearms in his hands, squeezing as they almost jump on the spot, ignoring the odd looks they get from students passing by.
“I can’t believe it's been two years,” Hank finally says.
“Two years?”
“Since we started working on this project, yeah.”
Charles’ smile trembles. Two years. It has been two years since Erik disappeared from his life and Charles drowned himself into research. As the thought stabs his heart, he slaps Hank’s shoulder playfully.
“Come on. We deserve a treat, my treat.”
As Charles gets home later in the evening, blood silently buzzing with alcohol, his thoughts go back to a place he swore he would never set a foot in ever again.
Erik.
His heart squeezes painfully at the sheer emptiness where Erik used to be - always next to him with his bright smile and warm laugh that he kept a secret from the rest of the world, with his dedication and his quiet happiness. Charles really misses the contended slap on his shoulder after a show and the simple, easy proximity they used to have.
It has taken Charles months to stop frantically opening his Youtube app as soon as a new song came out or to cancel his alerts on Erik’s name, partly to stop reopening the wound, but also because Erik has changed so much.
Charles can’t actually recognise the man who used to be his best friend. Sure, it hadn’t taken long for him to achieve fame after he signed his contract with Shaw Industries, Erik quickly rising from opening small shows to get his own in much bigger venues, but Charles had seen him change so much for that that he didn’t see him through his screen anymore. None of the songs Erik composed are played anymore, the new ones are bland, the aurorae that made the whole thing so passionate, gone. None of his songs have any appeal to Charles, except for the fact that they were Erik’s, but even that had lost its shine with time.
Erik isn’t a part of his world anymore, and Charles’ peers have congratulated him on many occasions those past two years, telling him how proud they were to see him so focused on his work and not those futilities anymore, so maybe it’s for the best anyway.
Or so Charles tries to convince himself of.
oOo
It’s Erik’s fifth day of recording that new song, and despite his best efforts, he doesn’t seem to be able to do it correctly. The lyrics just seem to meddle in his head, and he never manages to get the right note at some point or another that even the sound technician is caught yawning the whole afternoon. Erik is pissed, and so is everyone else.
It’s not even a surprise when Shaw comes barreling in the studio, his eyes throwing daggers at everyone and mostly Erik.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Lehnsherr?” Shaw spits directly at his face, and Erik barely manages not to wipe his skin in disdain.
“I don’t know,” Erik sneers, straightening his spine and crossing his arms on his torso. “What does it look like to you, knitting?”
Erik witnesses the fluttering moment where Shaw sees red and contemplates hitting him in the face. He keeps his gaze level, silently defying him to do that. As if Erik would let him.
But Shaw finally deflates just an inch, reining his murderous vibes in, and they’re back to sharing a look of pure animosity.
“I’m warning you, Lehnsherr. I won’t pay for a single day more of that comedy. Either you buckle up and do it , or you don’t do it at all. I don’t fucking care, at that point.” Shaw points a single long, crooked finger at Erik’s chest, and starts jabbing Erik with his nail at each sentence. “If you want to screw your career all on your own, be my guest. But remember, I can make people forget about you as fast as I made them know you. You’re nothing. You’re no one without me. Don’t you forget that.”
Erik just glares at him, glares at everything this madman represents. Anger flares inside of him, consuming his organs and his self-control. His grip tightens around his biceps, and he has to consciously loosen his jaw before he breaks a tooth from gritting them.
“One day. Not a second more. Now get back to work.”
With a last look at every crew members, Shaw turns on his heels and stomps out of the room.
As someone seems to draw a long awaited breath behind him, Erik grabs his leather jacket and leaves.
...
Erik pushes the door and gets briskly inside the bar. He’s hit by a warm puff of air and acrid cigarette smoke, but most importantly by saturated guitar riffs, blaring drums and a growling voice. And this is exactly what Erik needs right now.
He walks straight to the bartender and orders a pint before turning to the scene of controlled chaos a few feet away - people mostly clad in black - jumping in synch in front of the stage as the guitarist continues his howling in the microphone. Erik knows that guy, the Wolverine . Well - he doesn’t know him personally, but he’s kind of famous in the music industry. His unapologetic metal music and his general I-don’t-give-a-fuck-what-you’re-thinking persona makes it really easy for people to discuss him in label companies. Erik has heard the guy composes and produces his songs on his own, but with a quality that would pass them as studio-recorded. Most think he’s just batshit crazy and consider extreme music as nothing but noise. Erik grudgingly admits the guy’s got balls . He stays away from the crowd and sips his drink until the show finishes and the patrons start pouring outside in a giant wave of hair and leather, gathering in packs for a smoke or heading home. Erik turns back to the bartender and orders another drink, decided on taming the flames in his veins by drowning them in cheap beer.
He’s half through it when he hears a gruff voice asking for a dry whisky on his left and the sound of a stool being moved. Soon, a hairy arm settles on the counter and a zippo lighter sets a cigar tip aflame, releasing a thick, smelly smoke. The bartender sets a tumbler and an ashtray down in front of the guy, who inhales a long drag of his cigar before raising his glass in acknowledgment. When Erik finally turns his head in his direction, he immediately recognises the Wolverine singer. He’s smaller than what Erik thought, but the thickness of his arms isn’t just a visual trick from his skin-tight shirt. The sideburns aren’t fake either, to Erik’s utter dismay.
His scrutiny must have been noticed, because the guy turns his weird mop of hair in Erik’s direction, eyebrows frowning.
“It was quite a show,” Erik says before the man thinks he’s trying to get into his leather pants or something by staring at him.
The guy squints at him, rolling his cigar between his thumb and forefinger before pointing it at Erik.
“I know you, right? I know I’ve seen your face somewhere,” he starts, dragging another lungful of smoke in and puffing it out on the side. “You’re that fuckin’ idol, right? Wouldn’t have thought you had any taste in music, with all that commercial shit you’re vomiting.”
“What can I say,” Erik shrugs, “at least you’ve heard of me.”
Hairy guy snorts in his drink. “How’s slavery?”
Erik doesn’t let anything show on his face as he answers the jab. “Oh, you know. Same as ever, but at least now people pretend it’s a paid job.”
Another chuckle. “You can’t say you’re not earning some big bucks, at least it’s something.”
Erik nurses his drink for a while, craving that freedom the Wolverine has and that he has abandoned two years ago in favour of golden shackles. Eyes still at the bottom of his glass, he asks, “and what am I supposed to do about that?”
“You could start by composing some shit again, I guess,” comes the other voice, the man shrugging. “And stop dressing like Elton fucking John.”
Erik smirks, bottoms his glass up and turns fully to the guy.
“You know what, maybe I can do something about that. I’ve always wanted to try some good old hard rock. Wanna do a featuring?”
Hairy guy raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re aware your boss ain’t gonna like that?”
“Yup.”
“Invite me to your funeral, then.” he says, finishing his drink in a grimace and settling it back on the counter. Addressing the bartender, he asks for two more drinks for both of them. “Logan,” he says in Erik’s direction, raising his hand between them.
“Erik,” he answers, shaking it.
…
He lets the keys tumble in the bowl at the entry, toes his shoes off and shrugs his jacket off his shoulders, feeling his way in the dark of his empty, soulless apartment.
Once inside the small bathroom, he finally turns the spots on. The blinding light above his head does nothing to appease the tiredness of his traits, deepening the dark blue under his eyes and the paleness of his skin, set taught over his cheekbones. His grey eyes seem to have sunken into his skull, and Erik wonders when exactly all those small changes happened. Threading his nails through his three-days stubble, he thinks about the face Shaw will immediately make if he doesn’t shave really soon, because Erik has to keep his body in perfect shape to keep selling albums, as his boss loves telling him almost every day.
But right now, Erik feels...kind of empty. The discussion with Logan has brought some much awaited novelty, and he can’t wait to get to it, but also an emptiness that drains him thoroughly. He wonders when he has started feeling like this, like the pale shadow of the man he once was. Singing has always been his pleasure, the thing he wanted to do most in his life, and he has always done it with all his heart. Except… now. Except for… the past few years. Since he started working with Shaw and bending to the man’s will. Maybe even since… Since that night he severed all ties with Charles.
For a while, it had felt like the right thing to do, and Shaw only agreed with him on this. His anger had felt legitimate, right, and it had made him refuse every single call and leave every single text unanswered, struggling to push that stab of pain away each time. And then the calls had finally stopped. His phone had never played that special song ever again; Charles had certainly grown tired of Erik’s silence and moved on, and Erik had never felt relieved as he thought he would. He still couldn’t stop himself from googling Charles’ name once in a while, seeing that Charles managed his life way better now that he wasn’t a part of it anymore. Resentment had slowly drowned his heart’s sorrow, comforted by Shaw’s words about what a poor job Charles had done before him. But still, in all this slow-burning anger and deception, he can’t stop thinking about Charles, the friendship they had and the absolute joy he felt every time Charles smiled at him.
His left hand lands on the mirror as his whole body folds inwards, the right one clutching his shirt so tightly the fabric wrinkles. Erik feels like his throat is trying to suffocate him on its own volition, so he tries to breathe a bit more evenly before the panic can seize him. This is when Erik takes a good look at his knuckles under the harsh light. There’s something missing, something important. Something he hasn’t seen for so long he’s not even sure he can conjure it again. It seems that when he left his old life behind him, the aurorae left him too. It seems that when he left Charles behind, the aurorae disappeared.
Taking a deep breathe, Erik hums the chorus of the first song he ever wrote, eyes intent on his hands, searching for the smallest change in the magnetic fields surrounding him. No such luck.
The anger has never been directed at Charles. No. It was directed at himself . And Erik has been so blind all along, letting his tired, adrenaline-addled brain take what may be the worst decision in his life.
But what can he do about it, now?
…
The new song is a great success, and it immediately gets thousands of views on YouTube, getting Shaw a bit off his back for a while. Erik had thought the manager would blow a vessel when he had told him he was going to feature in one of the Wolverine’s songs the day after their confrontation in the studio. He had finally managed to get a reluctant okay when he had told Shaw that he won’t have to pay for anything and that the one Erik was recording was finished, but Shaw had warned him; if that song failed and Erik lost audience, it was his own loss. Shaw would be gone.
Instead of that, Erik has a new tour coming in a couple of months, tickets for huge venues selling so fast they have to set a second date. His social medias are booming with comments about that thing he has done that no one expected him to, not always nice or kind, but never insulting. One of them, though, immediately gets his attention when it appears under the video.
Glad to see you’re not a pink painted vegetable anymore , a certain Mystique says.
Erik immediately knows who it is.
Opening Instagram, Erik starts searching for that pseudonym that follows him and opens a private conversation.
Hello, Raven , he starts typing. I’m glad to see you like that song (I suppose it’s the way to take your comment, but correct me if I’m wrong). It’s been so long. How are you?
Erik hesitates, then adds, How’s Charles? and hits send before he can second-guess himself.
He waits only a few minutes for the message to be read; just a few more seconds for the three dots of a typing answer to appear. Erik’s heart rate quickens, but he forces himself to breathe deeply. He hasn’t spoken to Charles’ sister for two years, and she probably hates him for the way he left, even if they were quite good friends beforehands, or so Erik likes to think.
To know that you’d have to come and see the commoners of your hometown, sure isn’t like Madison Square Garden but one can dream, right?
Erik doesn’t know what to answer to that, so he leaves the conversation like that and leaves his apartment with a purpose.
…
For once, he’s the one barging into Shaw’s pristine office.
He sees his manager quickly shuffling his computer’s mouse and clicking a few times, hiding things Erik doesn’t want to hear about. But it doesn’t matter. Erik doesn’t care , right now, for what mess it is.
Erik stands tall in front of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest, ready for a fight.
“I want to add another date on the tour. I want to play in at the Tarrytown Music Hall.”
Shaw stops his mock shuffling through papers scattered over his desk to look at him over his reading glasses, then sighs so dramatically that Erik could give him an Oscar right away. He then removes his glasses and takes the bridge of his nose between two fingers.
“Erik, Erik, Erik…” he says like he’s talking to a child. “What are you thinking? You’re playing in stadiums now, not some...remote filthy rat hole in something that you can’t barely call a city. You can’t possibly want to do that.”
Erik feels the flare of anger spark inside his gut but tries not to let it consume him fully. He has to use Shaw’s own arguments to make him see .
“I actually want to.”
“Do I have to remind you that I’m the one making decisions here? I’m the one who has to deal with your image -”
“The song with the Wolverine was a success.” Erik cuts in, “The tour is a success already; it takes barely an hour to get a sold-out, because they saw another part of me. Don’t you think playing in my hometown, where I began, could be a strong message? Erik Lehnsherr is still a human being. He hasn’t forgotten where he came from.”
Shaw’s voice is pensive when he answers next, as if he were still lost in his thoughts. “Hmm… It could be seen like that… But the acoustic there isn’t made for that kind of music, though…”
“Nothing that we can’t work on,” Erik interjects. “It was not so bad when you came there. Imagine what we could do now. We also could do something a bit special for the occasion.”
And maybe Erik is a bit too eager, because Shaw is looking straight at him now, eyes, squinted doubtfully. Erik’s breath catches in his throat and he swallows, trying to keep his emotions in check.
“Would you care to tell me why you suddenly want to come back there?” Shaw asks.
“Some early fans reach out on social medias,” Erik starts, and it’s not even a lie. He sees the comments everytime a tour is announced. “I thought it could be a good idea, a way to please them and give them a feeling of intimacy. The ones who started to listen to my stuff two years ago are reluctant to go to bigger venues and mingle with newer fans, and I understand where they come from.”
“Hmm… Yeah, that could work, I guess. I’ll see what I can do,” Shaw finally says before waving in the door’s direction. “I have a lot of work to do, and you’re adding some more. Leave me alone.”
And so Erik complies.
oOo
Charles raises his eyes from the heavy book on his desk when the door creaks open. It’s late, the darkness of the winter spreading its shadows everywhere, and all students have left as soon as he dismissed them for the weekend. He’s tired, and he had thought he was alone, and hadn’t bothered to check.
But it’s Raven who slips past the door and settles artfully on one of the chairs facing him, back and knees on the armrests.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence here? I didn’t know you knew where my office is,” Charles teases her immediately. She has actually never set a foot back in the University after the tour he gave her when he became a professor, and it’s been a few years. He could have had moved his office to another wing for all she would have cared.
“I’m here to get your ass out of your dusty room, grandpa,” she retaliates immediately. “You’re coming with me.”
Charles chuckles. His sister has always been that bossy, even if she’s the youngest. Maybe that’s what Hank likes - even if there’s everything to love in Raven, because she’s perfect.
“They clean everyday in here, you know?”
But Raven doesn’t answer to that. Actually, her face is way more serious than it was just a few seconds ago. It seems like she’s pondering on telling something or not.
“Erik is in town.”
And it feels like a bomb has dropped in Charles’ stomach, its weight pending to explode and reduce him to nothing but dust. His throat tightens. He knows. He knows Erik is here, playing a damn back to the roots acoustic special gig tonight. He has seen the ads everywhere on social medias and on the streets, taunting him every time, rubbing more salt into the festered wound that replaced his heart. Charles swallows twice around the lump in his throat, blinks back the traitorous moisture that threatens to roll free from his eyes.
“And?” he asks, defiant.
He can’t believe Erik could do that. Come back here, in the same venue he broke all of Charles’ hopes in thousands of pieces, more than two years later, with all of his fame and success. As if to rub it in Charles’ face.
As if Charles needed the reminder.
“It might be my fault,” Raven says, and she’s looking at her hands, crossed on her lap. I commented on his hard-rock song, and when he sent me a message, I just told him to come back here if he wanted some news. Here,” she says as she fishes her phone out from her jean pocket. “Read that.”
She hands the phone over the desk to Charles, an instagram private message open. And here it is, Erik asking about Charles -
His heartbeat picks up so fast he feels dizzy for an instant. But he refuses. He refuses to spiral back into that.
“What do you want me to do about that?” he asks as he hands her phone back.
“Come with me. To see him.”
Charles snorts. “How do you plan to do that, exactly? His concerts are sold out mere seconds after the tickets get online.”
“Well…” and Charles doesn’t like that, and why is it so hot in his room, or is it because he’s panicking.
And Raven reaches for the inside pocket of her coat, this time, and fishes out two slips of fat, brilliant paper. “I’ve got two of them. 9PM at Tarrytown Music Hall.”
“No.” Charles stands up, turns his back to her. “No. Take Hank. Take whoever the fuck you want. I’m not going.”
He hears her sharp intake of breath and tries to calm down. He shouldn’t swear at her. He shouldn’t swear, at all. He pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers, closes his eyes for a second. “Raven, I’m sorry.” He faces her once again, opens his heart and his face, for once. “But I can’t. It hurts too much.” And if his voice wavers or cracks, she doesn’t acknowledge it.
“He’s come to see us, Charles,” she says, standing too. She rounds the desk, comes to lace her arms around his waist. “He’s come to see you . And I’ll be there, with you, and I won’t leave your side, and if it’s too much, we’ll leave. Maybe, this way, you’ll get some closure. You deserve it. I’ve seen you in pain for way too long, and yes, you are like an open book to me, even if you try to hide.”
Charles doesn’t know what to say, can’t even speak over the tightness in his throat. He hugs her back lands his cheek on the side of her head, tries to breathe without shattering.
“Come with me, Charles.”
…
He’s in front of the door and he still doesn’t know what he’s doing here. It might be the worst mistake in his life, to see him again, when he’s tried so hard to forget . His body is stuck there, stuck in an indecision between fight and flight. He feels like a small rabbit caught in massive headlights. People are brushing past him, eager to get out of the cold and close to the stage, their minds buzzing so hard it gives him a headache, and he still can’t make a decision. He wants to see him. He doesn’t . His heart beats too fast in anticipation and too hard against his ribs in fear.
And then Raven’s hand lands on his shoulder, jerks him out of his weird trance.
“Jeez, I should have taken some clothes for you, you truly look like a grandpa with your button-down and sleeveless jumper! At least you don’t have your gloves on!” She exclaims, rolling her eyes in mock disgust.
And her playfulness washes over him, laps at his panic, and all she has to do is to take his hand for him to follow her inside. He can do it. He won’t shatter, and when he’s done saying farewell, he will leave, with or without Raven. He can do it.
He doesn’t release her hand, and maybe his grip is too tight, but Raven, bless her, doesn’t show anything, lets him anchor himself through her. They grab a drink and settle in seats at the far end, near the exit.
His pulse skyrockets as time passes and the show gets closer. The crowd is loud, ecstatic, pushing against his mental walls. He can’t do it - he can’t -
And the lights go out, plunging them into darkness, and everything is white noise except his own uncontrollable breathing.
Erik enters the stage.
Charles stops functioning.
oOo
Erik hasn’t felt like that since… Forever. Sure, he got used to get in front of thousands of people expecting him to be a perfectly performing humanoïd robot for a while now. But he has never done what he’s going to do right now, and nothing was ever so much at stake as it is now. But it’s time to shine now, maybe for the last time. He doesn’t even know if -
Erik takes a last deep breath, grabs his guitar and walks slowly to the stage.
Funny how he forgot the pleasure to be that close to his public, but he soon falls into step with them, carrying them through the melodies of his first songs, an ode to times that had come and gone, simply him and them, almost as one as they sing along ballads he had written himself.
Soon, he notices the bright smile spreading his own lips, and he can’t stop from spreading it until his jaws hurt and - and he hopes Charles can see him, and he would kill to see Charles right there, right now. He can’t stop a look on the side, to the backstage area, where Charles used to stand, face full of emotions and eyes more brilliant than ever.
And for once, it’s not sadness that fulfills him. It’s a deep feeling of pure joy and love, spreading from his core to his fingers and toes, and he can feel them again -
Colours start surrounding his fingers, deep blues and greens and almost pink tracing the lines of his arms, spreading to his guitar, to his shoulders, engulfing him in peace and quiet as the song ends and the crowd explodes.
It’s time for him to get out of the stage for a few seconds before the encore.
His whole body is thrumming with delight, and it’s with a lightness in his steps that he goes back into the lion’s den, thrilled and eager and almost flying.
He takes a sit behind the piano brought for the encore, adjusts the microphone to his height.
It’s time.
“I have a surprise for you guys,” he starts, and the sound coming back from the crowd is deafening. “It’s a new song - not even recorded yet. It’s a song about someone important for me -”
oOo
“The most important person in my life, truly, that I stupidly drove away from me. I’ve said horrible things to them and shun them totally when I could only see my own pain. I lost him because I was blinded by the possible upturn of my career, and believe me, nothing is more important than love. The only thing I hope is that they’ll forgive me, one day, for everything I’ve done and for the blindness with which I treated them. Acknowledging feelings isn’t an easy thing, you know. But it’s important to tell people that count for you that you love them. I’m counting on you all, here tonight, to tell your family, friends and lovers how you feel. Spread love, please.”
Charles refuses to process what Erik is saying in front of the whole crowd, refuses to understand the meaning - he can’t believe what’s happening now but -
But Erik starts playing, and soon his voice rises in front of a muted, captivated crowd. The aurora shines more brightly than ever, spreads around him and above the crowd.
There goes my heart beating
Cause you are the reason
I'm losing my sleep
Please come back now
Charles’ mouth goes dry, and his eyes fill with fat tears that don’t take long to roll over his cheeks, and he quickly swipes them off, because he’s not sure -
There goes my mind racing
And you are the reason
That I'm still breathing
I'm hopeless now
And Raven gasps next to him when the aurora surrounds Charles, colours mangling until he spreads his fingers to welcome them in his grasp. He refuses to let them go, and he hears the people surrounding them starting to whisper, but he fears the colours might disappear if he just looks at something else -
I'd climb every mountain
And swim every ocean
Just to be with you
And fix what I've broken
Oh, ‘cause I need you to see
That you are the reason
And Charles finally looks at the stage, at Erik . And he can’t resist the magnetic pull of those grey eyes he missed so much, so he stands, starts walking down the aisle, slowly putting a foot in front of the other, hands still cradling the manifestation of Erik’s power, his essence, the most precious part of his mind.
There goes my hands shaking
Cause you are the reason
My heart keeps bleeding
And I need you now
And slowly, Charles’ telepathy unfurls, solely focused on the bright mind he knows so well, tentatively reaching for it. Erik welcomes him, opens fully for him, and Charles is immediately drawn in by memories of himself seen through Erik’s eyes, bright with bliss that’s growing as Charles is getting closer and closer to the stage.
If I could turn back the clock
I'd make sure the light defeated the dark
I'd spend every hour, of every day
Keeping you safe
It is surreal, and nothing around them makes sense anymore. They are alone, and Charles climbs the stage as Erik keeps playing. He stops in front of him, watches as Erik stands and takes the microphone in his hand, coming closer for a last refrain. Erik’s free hand comes to Charles’ cheek, fingers tentatively brushing his tear-streaked skin before his palm cups Charles’ jaw.
I'd climb every mountain
And swim every ocean
Just to be with you
And fix what I've broken
Oh, ‘cause I need you to see
That you are the reason
You are the reason...
And it is the only thing Charles needs to throw his arms around Erik’s neck and capture his lips in a kiss.
oOo
Erik doesn’t register anything else afterwards. The only thing that matters is that Charles is in his arms, and he’s kissing him, and it feels so right . He doesn’t notice the huge roar that comes from the audience, the catcalls and the whistles. He focuses on the softness of the mouth on his and the heat radiating from the body pressing against his own and how his world feels like it’s back on its axis.
But the have to stop, eventually, so Erik grabs Charles’ hand, faces the crowd, waves at them with a huge grin splitting his face, and then drags Charles out of the spotlight, out of sight, and to his dressing room.
He barely takes the time to close the door before he’s got his hands cradling Charles’ face as gently as his trembling fingers would allow him, and he kisses him again, on his lips, on his cheeks, on his nose and brow, a litany of I’m sorry please forgive me rolling out of his mouth in a constant stream.
Charles looks up at him, and there’s hope in his disbelief, melting the blue of his eyes, and his palms curl around Erik’s wrists, his mouth opening to say something -
But the door behind Erik crashes against the wall and he turns abruptly, instinctively pushing Charles behind him.
Shaw is at the threshold, and Erik has never seen him so furious.
“What the fuck was that, Lehnsherr?!” Shaw spits, “Who do you think you are? I have told you already, I am the one in charge of your life, and you have to get through me for every public announcement! This is unacceptable! This is how you ruin a career, you fucking idiot ! And all of that for a man ! Do you realise what I will have to deal with?!”
“I don’t care,” Erik interrupts. “I don’t care about what they will think, or what it will do to my career. I don’t want you to manage my private life. It’s mine to control.”
Shaw looks at him down his nose, crossing his arms, dripping barely contained anger. “This is how it is in the business. Take it or leave it, but stop playing the poor sad little diva.”
“Then I don’t want it.” Erik feels Charles’ hands tightening around fistfuls of his shirt behind him, and it only serves to strengthen his resolve. “I’ve given too much for it, and I’m tired to always do as you please. I’m not a marionette, and I won’t let you treat me like one anymore.”
“Then you’re as good as dead , because no one will want to manage you if you keep acting like a spoilt child. I thought I had made you better than that.”
“Wanting to be myself has nothing to do with being spoilt, believe me. Now that it’s settled, get the fuck out!”
“Oh, it seems that I’ve missed the party,” comes another voice from behind Shaw, and he nearly jumps out of his skin, turning abruptly to the voice.
A gorgeous blonde woman dressed in tight, all white clothes stands there, head cocked slightly to the side as she taps a finger on her opposite elbow. It takes a few seconds for Erik to remember where and when he’s seen her before. And it was here, with Charles. It was the woman at the bar that Erik thought Charles was seducing.
“Emma!” Charles exclaims behind Erik.
“Well, if you’re done here, Sebastian , I’d like to speak with Mr. Lehnsherr about a new management contract.” Then she turns to Erik, stepping aside Shaw to give her hand to shake.
“Ms. Frost. Charles has told me so much about you, last time. As I understand, you are free from any previous engagement, now? Perfect.”
And Erik sees Shaw raising his hands to the sky and leave the lodge, still hissing.
Frost doesn’t talk that much, after that, only settling an appointment with Erik the next day. As she leaves, Raven takes her place for a while, but Erik’s mind is still spinning so fast he acts on autopilot until she leaves too.
oOo
“Can I… walk you back home?” Erik asks tentatively, when they’ve finally caught their breath back.
“Yeah, sure, why not?” Charles answers. He doesn’t dare touch Erik now that the frenesy has gone with Shaw and Emma and Raven, so he throws his fists into his trousers’ front pockets and refuses to remove them. He’s truly, deeply exhausted. His emotions are all over the board and he feels so exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster he could sleep for days and not feel rested yet. But he knows it’s not finished. There’s too much left unsaid between Erik and he, and he can’t do anything without clearing that first.
But Erik stays silent as he walks next to him, and yet his mind is boiling, semblances of sentences and unsaid truths. Charles’ old anger resurfaces without preamble, and he has to stop in his stride and wait for Erik to face him in the middle of the street.
“Don’t you have anything to say?” he asks, but his voice is more pained than seething, trembling with the need to know and the fear to be turned down once again.
“I…” Erik starts, and Charles still can’t believe he’s standing right in front of him, can’t believed they kissed ; but it seems so far away right now. “I guess I never found the strength to tell you how I felt, back then. I saw you flirting with a lot of people and thought you weren’t interested in me more than in friendship. And that night, I… I was on the verge of stopping everything to settle in a desk job or something, to share a life with you, or as much as I could get, but I saw you with Frost and… And I guess I lost it. Shaw had talked to me just before that, and I told him I already had an agent - that’s you, by the way, in case you were wondering - but then I was blinded by my stupid rage and acted like a dick and I believed, truly believed I was freeing you from the deadweight I was…”
Charles takes the time to let that sink in, eyes to the pavement as he starts walking again, slightly turning his head to make sure Erik is following.
“I’ve always been in love with you, Erik,” he starts slowly. “I can’t believe you never saw that.” He actually starts chuckling, letting some of the tension leave his body, shuddering from the pent-up muscles finally relaxing. “I can’t believe I never saw anything, either. And, that night… I was just so eager to tell you Emma had liked your show and had agreed to let you sing for the full Banshee tour as a start and -”
Charles has to swallow.
“And you crushed me, and I felt like I could never breathe again and would suffocate, and when I finally got a grip and tried to reach for you, you never gave me another sign of life.”
He stops in front of his door, shuffles his keys out of his pocket, weighs them in his hand.
“There’s still so much to tell,” he muses, and Erik stays silent beside him. “About us, about the last few years. About the years yet to come. But are you ready for it?”
Erik’s eyes are burning through his soul, bare and beautiful and so serious. He just nods.
Charles’ cheeks turn slightly pink, blissfully hidden by the darkness, when he asks one last question.
“Do you want to come up?”
All Erik has to say is “yes, sure,” and they’ll finally be fine.