Chapter Text
Erik has always been different.
For one, he is a mutant. He controls metal and not many people like that about him. He’s been called a freak all his life, an epithet he despises almost as much as he despises the man who killed his mother. He’s also Jewish, an ethnicity he inherited from his mother and that he treasures dearly. That has also gotten him in trouble, in more ways than he would expect. Erik—were he an optimist—would have thought that anti-Semitism was a thing of the past, but he has more than enough evidence to prove otherwise. His childhood consisted of feeling like an outsider, a pariah, and utterly, hopelessly alone.
To a lesser extent, Erik’s decision to shelve his engineering degree and open a coffee shop named after a shark also has made him different. But it was always his mother’s dream to open a café, so Erik pledged to fulfill it. Any ambitions of his own were set aside when his mother was shot and futilely hospitalized. He tries not to think too much about the dreams he’s lost, these days.
Erik also dislikes people as a general rule, which begs the question as to why he works in a service profession. He prefers his coffee black as his soul, he wears turtlenecks during every season, and he exclusively works with other mutants. His penchant for lemon skittles, it goes without saying, is clearly the nail in the coffin of his abnormality.
Despite this lack of affinity for people, Erik still seems to attract quite the motley crew of characters. Emma can only be described as an ice queen with a deeply buried heart of gold. Angel is equal parts mischief and beauty. Alex has a hot temper and a fierce sense of loyalty. Even though Erik will deny it, he really does love the group of employees that help run his coffee shop.
His shop is located near the local college, thus causing it to attract a wide variety of endlessly irritating students that Emma insists are “good for business.” Erik puts up with them and their inane chattering to the best of his ability, though the obnoxious and constant questions about the name of Erik’s shop try his patience immensely.
Erik’s shop is named after his favorite type of shark, the sign above the door declaring it to be The Mako Café. Not many of the students—despite their apparently quality education—seem to understand that it is a type of shark. Those who do, however, only end up puzzled—loudly questioning who thought that would make a good name for a coffee shop. Sometimes, the employees have to hold Erik back from snapping at them that it is a perfectly good name, thank you very much.
The real reason that Erik named the café after a mako shark is a painful matter that Erik avoids talking about to anyone. Erik is an intensely private person and asking will not reveal the answer. Only Emma, his closest friend, knows the story: how his last day with his mother before she was shot was a trip to the aquarium when he was 15. He had protested in the gift shop, but his mother had insisted that no, he was not too old to have a stuffed mako shark. Erik had capitulated grudgingly. If Erik had known that to be the last he would see of his mother healthy and whole, he would have gladly accepted a thousand stuffed sharks if only to show her how much he loved her.
As it was, she ended up in a bad part of town the next day. There, a man had shot her mercilessly, leaving her to bleed out in an alleyway. Erik will never forget the horror of searching for her when she didn’t return from work, only to find her unconscious and lying in a pool of her own blood. The red gleaming on the ground lingers in Erik’s memory, a permanent stain that refuses to wash out.
After a week in the hospital, fighting a losing battle for her life, Erik’s mother had slipped away in the night—leaving him to endure the hell of the foster care system for the next three years. Finally free of that, Erik had applied to college while he worked to support himself working odd jobs around the city. The week he spent as a florist’s assistant remains one of the most embarrassing times in Erik’s life; Erik is a man, and men don’t do flowers (even if they do smell nice).
How he came to own a coffee shop, Erik will never truly understand. As it is, the days stretch on, peaceful and calm: bickering between his employees and running the business occupy his time. Yet each day lacks a certain satisfaction and fullness. Even surrounded by people who care so much for him that Erik can hardly believe it, a fog of loneliness lingers still.
*
The first day the blue-eyed man with the ratty scarf steps into the shop, Erik nearly spills coffee all over the counter.
As it is, he does manage to fuck up about a third of the orders that he handles that day. Enough of them have gone wrong that Angel asks him if he’s doing okay. When he fails to answer and just gapes blankly, Angel steers him into the back room, calling to Alex to take over at the counter. Erik protests weakly, eyes still fixed on the man, and mutters some incoherent nonsense including words like “blue” and many “no”s. Once she’s cornered him in the supply closet, she begins her interrogation:
“What the hell is wrong with you, Lehnsherr? You’ve been spacing out since 11 and you never space out. You’re Captain On-top-of-it, normally,” Angel demands, gesturing with an accusing finger pointed at Erik’s chest. “Come on, out with it!”
“This guy—he’s—he walked in and—scarf looks stupid, but—his eyes,” Erik stammers, head swimming. What the fuck is wrong with him?! He hasn’t even talked to this guy yet, and he’s already losing it. Realization dawns on Angel’s face, a mischievous grin spreading on her lips.
“Lehnsherr, did you just fall in love at first sight? Ohmygod, wait until Emma hears about this!” She cackles, doubling over in amusement. Erik finally returns to his senses, grasping Angel’s forearms desperately.
“Angel, you can’t tell her! No one can know, do you understand me? If you value your job at all, you will not share this. Am. I. Clear?” Erik bites out the last part, leveling his most threatening glare at her. Frustratingly, she laughs it off and throws a “Sure thing, boss!” over her shoulder, leaving Erik to contemplate his life’s choices alone in the dark, with only the coffee filters for company.
*
The next day the man shows up is a Tuesday. Erik manages to staunchly avoid staring at him this time, focusing on the orders to avoid the suspicions of his employees. He succeeds on all fronts. That is, until the man comes up to him to order a cup of coffee.
“Good morning, my friend. How are you today?” the man says, a British accent curling around his vowels and consonants in a hypnotizing manner. Erik’s heart flutters in his chest; he’s always had a weak spot for accents.
“F-fine. And you?” Erik says, mentally patting himself on the back for managing coherent speech.
“Oh, I’m doing splendid! Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to order one white chocolate latte,” the man says. He holds out his own mug, gesturing politely with it when Erik has to shake himself to return his breathing to normal.
“Sure thing. And the name?” Erik asks, trying to conceal his excitement at finally learning the man’s name. Their fingers brush when he takes the mug, sliding lightly past each other.
“Charles,” he says, his eyes twinkling with some unfathomable amusement. Erik blushes a bit, though he’ll deny that fact to his grave and beyond. Erik pulls a piece of tape from the dispenser and scrawls “Charles” on it in messy writing, placing the piece onto the mug reverently.
“I’m Erik. Just—by the way. I run this shop,” Erik says, slipping his name mock-casually into the conversation
“That’s a wonderful name! It’s very nice to meet you, Erik,” Charles says, shaking Erik’s hand firmly. Erik coughs awkwardly and says with some forced firmness:
“Your order will be ready in a bit. Please feel free to have a seat while you wait.”
“I definitely will. Thank you so much, Erik,” Charles says, smiling blindingly.
“Don’t mention it,” he says. Erik blushes again, hoping Charles doesn’t notice the abnormal color in his cheeks. Charles walks to a nearby armchair to wait.
Within the next 10 minutes, Erik finishes the coffee and delivers it to an ecstatic Charles, who thanks him profusely once more. Erik—feeling suddenly humble and embarrassed, despite the fact that he makes a mean white chocolate latte—deflects the thanks and shyly tells Charles to come again. Charles only smiles a secret smile just for Erik and leaves the shop.
Erik hopes desperately that Charles will return.
*
And he does, to Erik’s delight. Charles begins to form a routine, coming in every morning before he teaches at the nearby university—through their conversing Erik has learned that Charles is a professor of genetics—and even coming in on weekends. Soon enough, Charles becomes an irreplaceable part of Erik’s day. It’s like their conversations give him life, letting him breathe and be more comfortable than ever before. Day by day, Erik is falling more and more in love with Charles.
Their interactions only serve to increase this affection, it seems. One day, Erik is forced to make a coffee filter run when Alex fails to do his job and restock. Just as he moves to exit the door, Charles enters the shop. Embarrassingly, they both get rather tangled up in the doorway, exchanging awkward apologies.
“I’m sorry, my friend!”
“No, it’s my fault.”
“I insist that the fault is mine.”
“Don’t be silly, Charles.”
“I’ll just extricate myself first then.”
“No wait your scarf is—”
“—caught on your button, I see. Oh dear, this is quite the mess isn’t it?”
“Yes it is.”
They both laugh it off, managing to move past one another. Erik secretly hopes that the blush on Charles’ cheeks isn’t merely from the cold. He can’t keep from smiling all the way to the store.
*
The day that Erik tells Charles about his mutation is one of the best days he can remember having since losing his mother. Charles comes into the shop on a Saturday morning and orders his white chocolate latte as usual. Despite Erik’s attempts to persuade him otherwise, Charles staunchly refuses to drink anything else, insisting that it is simply too delicious to forgo for a day. One time—seemingly just to appease Erik—Charles even orders two coffees just so he can try the bestseller that day. Erik had been at first dumbfounded and then completely touched.
Today he makes the coffee for Charles with the same care as always, stirring a dusting of cinnamon into the drink housed in a sky-blue cup sporting a genetics joke that Erik doesn’t fully comprehend. The weight that tips the scale and reveals his mutation is one of Erik’s few clumsy moments: just as he moves to hand Charles his coffee, Erik’s foot catches on the mat behind the counter and sends him lurching forward. Quickly extending his powers to catch the cup by twisting the spoon about its handle, Erik realizes all at once that Charles is staring at him wide-eyed and shocked.
Fearing the worst—yet more prejudice, from someone he considers to be a dear friend—Erik steels himself and responds cautiously:
“Yes, in case you hadn’t known, I am a mutant. Is this going to be a problem, Charles?” Erik asks, growling the last part a bit.
“A problem? Oh, my friend, no! Quite the opposite, in fact! You see I myself am a mutant as well,” Charles says with a sheepish smile. “I’ve been dying to learn your mutation since Alex mentioned your shop.”
“Wait, you knew I had a mutation? Why didn’t you say something, Charles?” Erik asks, puzzled. Charles looks at him even more sheepishly, flicking his eyes down to his hands.
“Well, I knew that asking you about your mutation would necessitate that I share mine. I’m a telepath, Erik, and I feared that your reaction to that fact may not be entirely pleasurable,” Charles says, a timid lilt diminishing his voice. Reaching out to clasp his hand on Charles’ shoulder, Erik tries to reassure Charles to the best of his abilities.
“That’s not an issue at all, my friend. All my employees are mutants, as you must have gathered. My senior manager and best friend is a telepath herself, albeit one that can turn into diamond. I would never shun you for who you are. Don’t you know that?” Erik says the last part gently, hoping to take the edge off the sadness that Charles appears to be radiating. Finally Charles looks back up, warm gratitude gracing his features.
“Thank you so much for the reassurance, Erik. I’m sorry to have ever doubted you. I merely was too scared to tell you, I’m afraid,” Charles says, his lips curving apologetically. “Though I can’t say that I can do anything as flashy as turn to diamond.”
The mood sufficiently lightened, Erik laughs along with Charles at his remark. Their conversation wanders back to Erik and his mutation, which he explains to a rapt Charles. The specificity of his mutation and its link to his affinity for metal make Charles absolutely burst to life with questions. Being a geneticist himself, Charles doesn’t seem to tire of the subject even after a couple of hours of talk.
At some point during their conversation, Angel takes over manning the counter to allow them to continue. Erik follows Charles to the front of the shop, where they sit in two arm chairs while they discuss mutations in general. Charles’ passion shines through inexorably in his rapid speech and his animated hand gestures.
After some time has passed, there is a gentle lull in the conversation. They smile stupidly at each other, both thankful to have found a friend. Erik basks in a state of perfect contentment, willing to simply soak up Charles’ presence while he can. Then Charles breaks the silence, face taking on a whole new level of excitement:
“Speaking of mutations! I’ve been meaning to ask you, my friend, about the name of your shop. Does ‘The Mako’ refer to the shortfin or longfin variety of shark? From the logo on your apron, I gathered that it must be the shortfin but I couldn’t be sure, considering how similar the two species appear,” Charles says speedily, coming to a stop when he notices the dazed look on Erik’s face. “Oh dear, I’m boring you, aren’t I? When I get going, no one can stop me unless they tell me directly to shut up. You should have said something, Erik.”
“No, no, no! It’s absolutely fine! I enjoy talking to you a great deal, my friend. Please go on,” Erik says the last part shyly, hoping not to have come across too strongly. With a devilish grin that Erik wishes he could kiss off of Charles’ face, Charles begins anew:
“Now that, my dear friend, was your first mistake. I’m afraid you’ll never shut me up now!” Charles says, placing a playful hand on Erik’s forearm. Erik thinks his heart almost stops at the action. “Anyways, as I was saying: the mako shark. Also referred to as Isurus oxyrinchus, it is really one of the most fascinating species in the Lamnidae family. It is one of only four known endothermic shark species, and its heat exchange circulatory system gives it a deadly advantage compared to its cold-blooded prey! If you don’t mind all the questions, may I ask why you named your shop after the mako?”
“No, the questions are fine. I’m just glad you knew it was a shark and not something else!” Erik laughs, caught up in the moment and the brightness of Charles’ eyes. “And the reason I named my shop after the mako is . . . well, it isn’t the happiest of stories. It reminds me of my mother, who was killed when I was 15.”
“Oh my friend, I am so sorry for asking. I did not mean to dredge up painful memories. But that’s a lovely gesture all the same,” Charles says, smiling sweetly and clutching Erik’s hand in his.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad to share her memory with someone I call a friend,” Erik says. His words register the briefest moment of regret in Charles eyes—Erik almost believes he can feel something brush against his thoughts. But then it is gone, and as they finish their coffee and continue their conversation, Erik only feels the love inside him grow.
*
Erik rolls out of bed two hours late, panicking once he notices the time. He had been up until 4ish running expenses for the café and apparently hadn’t heard his alarm. Throwing his clothes on, he rushes out the door—skipping his shower and realizing halfway through the walk to work that he is still wearing slippers. Fuck it, he thinks, continuing on in with messy bedhead and clothes askew.
When he enters the shop, he sees Emma of all people standing at the counter in a pristine white suit, looking ridiculously composed and put together in comparison to Erik. Of course she would decide to drop in on the one day Erik sleeps in.
“My, my, you look quite the mess, sweetie,” she says as he approaches the counter, tacit disappointment evident in her tone. “I thought you ran this business, but you hardly look the part.”
“Good morning to you too, Emma,” Erik growls, yanking on his apron and shooing Alex from behind the counter so that he can start serving coffee.
“Looking good, Boss Man!” Alex throws over his shoulder as he heads into the back, snickering at something Angel whispers to him. Emma gives them a blank glance with the smallest curl of amusement tucked into the corner of her mouth before continuing:
“I mean, honestly, Erik. As the owner, you should at least make a marginal effort to set an example for your employees,” she tsks. Suddenly, a wicked grin spreads across her face as she unfolds her arms and braces one on the curve of her hip. “Especially considering your little crush is approaching the shop as we speak.”
“What—how do you—I am going to kill Angel,” Erik splutters, before he processes what Emma has said. “CHARLES IS COMING HERE NOW?!” His voice reaches a high pitch of unprecedented levels as he desperately tries to think of what to do.
Finally, he yanks the apron back off and throws it towards Emma, who catches it with a huff of dissatisfaction and surprise.
“Quick, put this on!” Erik squeaks, ducking down behind the counter as Emma looks on with clear mirth. She holds the apron delicately, like the smudged coffee grounds are the most offensive thing on earth.
“Sorry, sugar, I’m not going to do you any favors in this department,” she says, grinning again and throwing the apron back at Erik’s face. “Looks like you’re on your own, Erik.” She then saunters over to a nearby armchair and sits down, demurely crossing her legs at the ankle. She studiously ignores Erik’s wild motions for help, perusing a magazine.
Just then Charles enters the shop, looking perky and beautiful as always. Erik has no time to do anything but duck behind the counter again, franticly gesturing towards Angel for help. She walks over and sighs dramatically before moving to stand behind the counter.
“Welcome to The Mako Café, how may I help you?” she says, holding back laughter when she glances towards Erik. He kicks her in the leg to make her look away.
“Oh, um . . . I was wondering if Erik was in?” Charles ventures, looking disappointed and sad around the eyes.
“Well, actually, he’s right—ow—not in yet,” Angel says, glaring down at Erik when he punches her again. Charles looks, if anything, even sadder.
“O-okay. I’ll just wait until him comes in, then?” he says, moving to sit in the chair next to Emma. Sensing impending doom, Erik jumps up from behind the counter and races over to Charles and Emma. If he lets them have even a moment of conversation, Emma will definitely reveal the way he feels about Charles and ruin everything.
“Charles! There you are! I was looking for you,” Erik says, coming to a shaky stop in front of the two telepaths. Emma smirks in triumph, while Charles practically lights up upon seeing Erik.
“Erik, my friend! I thought you weren’t in yet. Apparently your workers were confused,” he says, glancing back towards Angel where she stands stifling giggles into her hand with Alex. “I was concerned since you are always here when I come in. Don’t make me worry like that!” Seemingly oblivious, Charles fails to notice Erik’s state of disarray and is wholly focused on conversing like they usually do.
“Sorry, sorry! It won’t happen again, I promise. Now what would you like to drink? The usual?” Erik asks, thanking any God that’s listening for preventing his complete and utter humiliation in front of Charles.
“Yes, a white chocolate latte please. Now why was it you were looking for me, exactly?” Charles asks. Shit, Erik thinks. Why was he looking for Charles? He doesn’t fucking know, he made it up in the heat of the moment. Time to improvise some more—which would be easier if the only thing running through his head wasn’t because I love you.
“I was, uh, just wondering if maybe you wanted to try a new drink?” Erik says quickly. Charles looks puzzled at first—considering that Erik has just confirmed his usual with him—but then seems to shake it off.
“I’m sorry, my friend, but I simply can’t give up your white chocolate latte. It is my favorite, after all. Like love in a coffee cup!” he says with a blinding smile.
“Okay, if you insist,” Erik says, moving to go make Charles’ order, trying not to wish that Charles was talking about him and not his coffee.
“Wait, before you go, would you mind introducing me to your lovely telepath friend here?” Charles asks. Goddammit, Erik thought he got away with ignoring Emma entirely.
“Charles, this is Emma. Emma, Charles,” Erik grits out the last part, leveling his best “talk and you die” glare at Emma. She remains perfectly unfazed, placing a genuine smile on her face as she turns and extends a perfectly manicured hand towards Charles. Charles shakes the proffered hand enthusiastically.
“It’s very nice to meet, you Emma! It’s not often that I have the pleasure of encountering another telepath, let alone one as stunning as yourself,” Charles says, turning up the charm and practically flirting with Emma. Erik is so very glad that Charles’ natural state of being is a flirtatious one, or else he would have some competition.
“Likewise, honey,” Emma says, still smiling. “Erik here has told me nothing about you, but I’m pleased to meet you nonetheless.”
“Oh, he hasn’t, has he?” Charles says, clearly disappointed, his face going a bit sad once more.
“Only because you’re too wonderful to put into words!” Erik says rapidly, hoping he isn’t revealing too much. Charles lights up at that. Emma’s smirk becomes even more self-satisfied, somehow.
“It was lovely chatting with you, Charles, but I really need to be on my way,” Emma says, voice toned with actual regret. Erik didn’t know she had it in her. Seems that Charles has a way of charming everyone.
“Don’t let me keep you, then,” Charles says. Emma moves to exit the shop, waving to Charles as she leaves, Charles returning the gesture. Turning back to Erik, Charles looks as if something is on the tip of his tongue. But Erik is too terrified of another potentially-awkward interaction to stay and find out.
“Right then, I’ll go make you your coffee!” Erik says cheerily, avoiding the impending conversation entirely. Charles merely nods from where he is seated.
*
And then comes the day when Charles forgets his mug.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Erik. I seem to have forgotten my mug at home. Please forgive me,” he says, his blue eyes sad and regret-filled. Erik is quick to respond:
“Don’t worry about it. It’s absolutely fine. I’ll just get you a disposable one, okay?” Erik says gently.
“Okay, my friend,” Charles sighs. “That’ll just have to do for today.”
Erik turns away to make the coffee, exchanging idle chatter with Charles as he does. He is just throwing a witty remark over his shoulder when he makes a rash decision. A need to do something about his growing affection for Charles has been building within him, and now he will act on it.
Feeling brave, Erik decides to take advantage of Charles’ disposable cup and go for it. He scrawls his number on the side as legibly as he can, hoping Charles will be able to read it. Taking a deep breath, Erik turns around and gives the cup to Charles, trying not to blush furiously. Charles thanks him and walks away, his slightly old-fashioned coat draped snugly around his form as Erik frowns embarassedly at his back.
Erik has never been a superstitious person, but he crosses his fingers nonetheless and hopes for the best.
And then he watches as Charles sits down, finishes his coffee, and proceeds to recycle the cup. Not once does he glance at the number on the side, remaining oblivious. Erik growls and runs his hands through his hair in frustration, forcing himself to act normal when Charles turns to him to say goodbye.
Today just isn’t his day, it seems.
*
A couple days later—after Erik has nursed his confidence back to full health—he decides to try again. This time, he thinks he’s got it covered: he’ll tape his number onto the mug, casually point it out to Charles, and use his smooth charm to ask him out on a date. This way, they can see each other somewhere besides a coffee shop.
But when the time comes to do so, things do not go as planned.
Charles come in far more rushed-looking than usual. He’s holding a haphazard stack of papers that appear to be essays, his scarf is only half around his neck, and his cheeks are flushed from running in the cold.
“I’m sorry, my friend, but it seems that I’ll have to take my coffee to go today,” Charles pants out. He slams the proper amount of money—change and all—onto the counter with a little more force than necessary.
“That’s fine, I’ll just make it as quickly as possible,” Erik says, trying not to let his disappointment bleed into his voice.
He had the tape ready to go and everything.
*
The last day that Erik tries to give Charles his number comes when the winter has just started to intensify. Snow clogs the streets and the trees are weighed down with soft white. When Charles comes into the shop, he looks sadder than normal, and his favorite mug is nowhere to be seen.
“Hi, Erik,” he sighs, looking dejected and run down, as if from a long night of no sleep.
“Hello, Charles,” Erik says. “Is everything all right?”
“Oh, it’s nothing earthshattering. I just had a small argument with my sister last night and didn’t get much sleep afterwards. I was up worrying, I’m afraid,” Charles says with a weak smile. “Oh, and my mug was a casualty of the argument, so a disposable cup will have to do for today as well.”
“I’m sorry to hear about the argument and your mug, Charles,” Erik says softly. “I’ll get you your coffee now, on the house, okay?”
“I really can’t accept—”
“I insist,” Erik says firmly.
“Okay,” Charles says, giving in.
As Erik makes the coffee, he thinks about his resolution to finally give Charles his number today. Considering Charles’ current state of mind, Erik doesn’t think that now is the best time. But last minute, before he hands the cup off, Erik writes his number on the cup regardless, scrawling an “in case you need me –Erik” underneath. Smiling a bit to himself, Erik decides that he’ll let Charles find that himself later.
“Here you go,” Erik says, handing the cup to Charles.
“Thank you—ow!” Charles says, the cup apparently hotter than usual. “I’ll just use one of these, then.”
Erik watches as Charles picks up a cardboard coffee sleeve and, without seeming to notice, slips it perfectly over Erik’s number. Sighing a bit, Charles makes his way out of the shop with a weak wave goodbye. Erik’s feels too sad on Charles’ behalf to feel sad for himself.
*
After that, Erik decides that it’s best for everyone if he stops attempting to ask Charles out. So he gives up and resolves to keep the relationship solidly in the arena of friendship. This lasts for two weeks tops.
*
The day he ruins everything is a day like any other. Charles enters the shop early like always—before the rush of morning people desperate for coffee—holding his new reusable cup in his gloved hands. But something about him that day is particularly beautiful in a way that Erik can’t quite place. Gazing openly at him, Erik makes an unconscious decision that lies just under the surface of his waking thoughts.
Charles walks up to the counter, smiling his lovely smile, breaking Erik out of his daze. He says good morning in his smooth accent, the syllables dropping from his lips like precious gems. Erik sighs dopily and wonders when he became such a sap.
Fetching Charles his coffee, Erik can’t keep himself from smiling dumbly. He hands it over and listens to Charles tell Erik about his day yesterday. Erik would normally be hooked on every word, but he just can’t seem to focus.
The words are shaped by red lips that practically beg to be kissed. So Erik does just that, leaning in and pressing his mouth to Charles’ swiftly, interrupting him midway through a sentence. When Charles doesn’t kiss back, Erik begins to panic.
Erik pulls back slowly, wincing when he processes what he’s done. Charles stands there with his eyes wide and his hand clutching his coffee cup close.
“Why—did you just—what—” he stammers out, face reddening quickly. Erik can’t help but appreciate the pleasant flush, the way it accentuates the pale, freckled surface of Charles’ skin.
Then Erik feels a firm mental hand stroke along his mind. It is clearly Charles trying to ascertain the “why” behind the kiss. Panicking some more, all Erik can think is shit what have I done, his mind filling with regret and self-doubt. He thinks desperately that he wishes Charles wouldn’t enter his mind unannounced. Then Charles’ mental presence vanishes all at once, his face going shuttered and regretful as well.
“Well then, I best be going,” Charles says stiffly. Erik reaches out a limp hand, before dropping it uselessly to his side.
“Charles, I—” Erik begins, halting when he hears the bell on the door chime, signaling the first rush of customers entering The Mako. They push past Charles, jostling him into spilling his coffee on his blue cardigan.
“I’ll just go . . . clean up, then,” he chokes out. And Erik watches as he disappears into the crowd, still blushing and shaken.
What has he done, Erik wonders.