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The kitchen was already full, in spite of the fact that it was 6 in the morning.
The young mutants had a very tight training schedule, and much to their joy they had to wake up that early every day, no exceptions, so that they could complete their training in less time possible.
“Why is there a post it on my cereal bowl?”
So, at 6 in the morning, the kitchen was full of drowsing mutants or even sleeping mutants (Sean had taken the habit to sleep while his toast burned and he woke up only with Raven screaming at him or Alex smacking him with a towel) and the most Erik got as an answer to his question was a growl and a yawn.
“Please, wash me after using me!” the post it said.
“Sean, you should really stop swapping our bowls.” Erik said.
Sean said something that sounded almost like ' I didn't swap them', but the fact that he was still soundly sleeping didn't help the general comprehension.
Erik sighed, and poured himself some milk.
“There was a post it on the cereal box” Alex yawned, showing the others a little piece of yellow paper.
On it, with a scribble, someone had written “I am almost empty, please throw me away when you are finished with me”.
Raven plopped on her stool.
“I can't start getting emotional over a cereal box at 6 in the morning. It's not natural.”
“I found a post it on my jam as well.” Darwin said, mechanically putting butter over an already over-buttered slice of bread. “Please don't leave me open” he read out loud.
Sean sighed, half asleep.
“Why is the kitchen yellow?” Alex greeted the others.
“Gosh-darned-post-its-everywhere” Raven growled, aggressively throwing yellow pieces of paper in the trash can. “They are everywhere! Open the cupboard, you will find at least a thousand of them. Only this morning I found twenty directed to me and about thirty for Sean. If you look closely, there will be at least ten for you, as well.” She shoved another handful of post its inside the bin.
“This is kind of funny, actually” Hank said, plucking them from various items on the counter like he was plucking daisies, in a clumsy attempt to help Raven.
“Obviously, they're never addressed to you!” Sean complained.
“Well, maybe because he doesn't need to be constantly reminded to take the trash out or to wash his own dishes. Good morning!” Charles said, entering the kitchen at the right moment.
“So you really think that those things are going to change Sean?” Raven asked, sceptically.
“I am fairly positive, yes. Never underestimate the power of a yellow reminder.”
“They are driving me nuts, Charles!” Raven cried, a post it in her hair.
“I know, darling, that's the point.” He answered, angelically, sipping his tea and looking at a post it hanging from the door.
“This one says that you have training with Erik... ten minutes ago?” he remarked.
“fuck!” They said almost collectively, rushing out the kitchen and leaving Charles alone with his tea.
He fished a pen and a yellow block of post it from his pocket and started writing.
At lunch, every mutant found a “Don't use swear words!” post it on their chair.
Raven shrieked, as a yellow avalanche erupted from the cupboard she just opened.
“This is really getting ridiculous”. She said to Charles, who was sitting at the table, reading the newspaper.
“Whatever you say, darling” He answered, absent-mindedly.
She smiled as she saw him turn his head to her.
“Never think that again, please.” He said.
“Only if you promise not to use those yellow things of death ever again.”
As an answer, she had a post it pasted to her forehead, bearing the writing ' Not even in a thousand years'
Erik was mostly indifferent to the “post it war” that was going on between Charles and the kids.
Actually, he almost enjoyed it.
The kids were wary every time they opened a drawer or they entered a room, and the chores were now always fulfilled in time. It was basically a pavlovian reaction: every time they saw a post it, they were ready to tidy their rooms, start washing the dishes or sprint around the house to get fit.
Charles had turned them into perfect soldiers with just a few pieces of paper.
He smirked at the thought.
That could be a military discovery of a certain importance, if applied the right way.
His train of thought was interrupted as Sean's cry pierced the thick walls of his room.
He ran to his room, getting there just in time to hear Sean screaming at Charles” Really, man? Even there ? These are my magazines, you are not even supposed to know about them!”
“What is happening?” Erik cautiously asked, with the result of having his nose swatted by a bunch of erotic magazines.
“Erik, tell him he's exaggerating now! He covered the important bits with post its !” Sean was almost as red as his hair.
Charles managed to keep a blank face, but Erik could hear him laughing his mind off.
One day, Erik woke up alone in bed.
He rolled on his side and watched the spot that belonged to Charles. He put his hand where Charles' head should have been, feeling the warmth that still longed there.
But he felt another thing.
“Paper?”
A simple 'Good morning! X.' had been left on the pillow. He smirked
He found another one on the mirror in the bathroom.
'Looking gorgeous this morning! X'
He smirked again.
He got undressed, and was ready to take a shower when he almost killed himself slipping, for he saw a yellow thing on the shower head.
'I like my man how I like my showers..Hot and wet! X'
He didn't say anything, not even when Raven, horrified, asked how he got that terrible bruise on his face, as he just answered 'Slipped in the shower'.
Charles smiled on his tea.
From that day hence, every day Erik would find a post it in improbable places.
One inside the book he was reading, one on his emergency torchlight, one inside his tumbler, even one inside his chessboard.
It was like Charles had a special gift concerning how to strategically place a post it.
It soon became a secret challenge between him and Charles; Charles would hid the post its, and he would find them all.
They never talked about it, never acknowledged it.
Erik never wrote back and he would have died before admitting it, but that little daily scavenger hunt for post it had become one of the things he loved most about his life at the mansion.
And most of all, they never told anything about that to the kids, who thought that Erik was somehow immune to the post it frenzy and hated him for not picking their parts.
His legs were heavy under the duvet, or at least he supposed that was how he should have felt them if he could.
Charles smiled bitterly. He was alone.
Again.
Everyone he loved had left, leaving him alone in a huge mansions, alone to fight his ghosts.
It was hard not to judge them, not to judge him, now that the pain and the drugs relieved him of the burden of righteousness and moral balance.
He opened the drawer, to look for more morphine.
His numb fingers found a piece of paper.
Even in the dim light, he could see the bright yellow of the post it he was holding.
Charles scoffed.
How foolish he was, how naif.
He turned it around, to see what he had written on it.
Tears blurred his eyes as he realized it wasn't his own handwriting.
It was Erik's.
"I love you. E"