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Erik half wakes up when he feels Charles get up. “Stay…I’ll cook you breakfast. And you can come down when you’re ready.” Charles presses one kiss to his lips before he leaves, taking half the warmth from the bed. Erik hums, arm reaching out over his bed to feel as the imprint of warmth leaves the bed. When it’s gone he’ll get up.
Of course he falls asleep instead.
When he wakes up again to a clanging pot and a swear, he resolves to get up. As he’s leaving his room, he smells something which alarmingly smells like burning bread. He hastens his ritual of splashing his face with water to wake up and heading to the kitchen. Another clanging pot has him forgo putting on his shirt to stopping Charles cooking whatever mystery meal he is attempting to go through with.
This time , he says, I’ll stop Charles and be honest.
Charles is, as he usually is, struggling at the stove. Erik walks up behind him, grinning when Charles jumps. He reaches for the spatula, stopping Charles from poking the…mass on the pan. “What are you doing?”
Charles turns to him, grinning. “Breakfast. I told you earlier.” Erik’s resilience begins to wane when faced with Charles’ wide eyes. Still, he has enough inner strength to pick up and move Charles from the stove, discreetly turning the stove off.
“Hey…isn’t that my shirt?”
Charles grins, “maybe…” The grin fades abruptly. “Wait! I have to finish your breakfast.” Erik almost flinches… he almost had it.
“Charles…can’t we just go back to bed for a bit?” He tugs playfully at, well, his shirt on Charles. “Come on now…” He flashes his most winning smile and presses a kiss against the corner of Charles’ lips.
“Erik, I have to finish this.” Charles turns his pleading eyes, the ones that absolutely obliterates Erik’s internal strength. He’s losing this round, he can already tell. “You’ll love it, just wait and see.” Erik freezes, and then lets Charles manoeuvre him to a chair at the kitchen table. Another loss. What is it? 15-0? “I’m trying something new. Oh…I must’ve turned the stove off accidentally.” He flips it on to the maximum setting. Erik flinches.
“What…what’re you cooking?” Erik hesitates, unsure if he wants to know, or if it’s better to go in blind.
Charles, oblivious to Erik’s struggle, hums happily while cooking, a sad scraping noise coming from Charles doing…something with his prized non-stick pan. “Couldn’t you tell?” No. “It’s pancakes. When I was making scrambled eggs last time,” Somehow rubbery and half-raw at the same time. Too salty, and too much pepper, “I realised I’ve never done waffles or pancakes or one of those kinds of traditional breakfasts.”
Erik imagines Charles and a waffle machine. Horrifying. Instead, he thinks of the most easy to assemble, no-cook breakfast. “Have you ever thought of yoghurt and muesli? Some fruit too?”
Charles chuckles, “but that would be too easy. You probably make that for yourself anyways. Fridays call for a special breakfast.” He flips…something that Erik might say vaguely resembles a pancake. Then, he waits for about half a minute before he’s plating the abomination. Then, he takes more batter, lumpy and obviously not mixed enough, and spoons more onto the pan with a sad sizzle. “I didn’t have enough eggs, so I just added some water. Oh, and the flour also wasn’t enough so I added extra powdered sugar.” Erik’s close to feeling physical pain.
“Sounds…wonderful.” It sounds strangled even to Erik’s ears. Luckily, Charles doesn’t seem to mind since his smile is bright as he delivers the plate.
Sure enough, brown vaguely circular shapes are plated with heavy dollops of syrup. Charles coyly dips a finger in the syrup before tasting it. “Looks nice, doesn’t it?”
Erik’s throat struggles against the bitter burnt smell of the pancakes. “Yes…” Charles laughs and presses a kiss to his cheek before going back to cook. It’s worth it, he tells himself sternly, fighting the urge to raise his fingers to his cheek. Instead, he picks up his fork and knife and, feeling vaguely like he’s a man heading towards his execution, begins to cut into the pancakes.
They’re cooked at the very least, which sometimes Charles can’t even manage. Very cooked. Too cooked… He presses lightly, then harder, then with even more force until he finally pries off a piece. Erik brings it up to his eyes, observing the blackened, lumpy mass covered in dark brown syrup before he gingerly brings the fork to his mouth.
Salty, is his first thought. He must have mixed up salt for sugar. Again . Mixed with the sickly sweet syrup, store bought so not tampered by Charles, it creates a horrible tableau of flavours on his tongue. He often wonders how Charles exists. Never does he do it more than when he eats Charles’ food, because only something completely unreal could create a dish so horrid.
Thankfully, Charles is busy at the stove, humming softly while cooking, and completely ignorant to Erik struggling to swallow the bite of pancake. Little mercies. He inhales, fortifies himself, and finally chokes down his mouthful just as Charles turns back.
“Good?”
Not really. Too cooked. Salt mixed with sugar. Raw flour taste. This time, he resolves himself to say it. Erik coughs, “yep.” He struggles out a small smile. “Very…hearty.”
Charles lights up, smile spreading and dimpling his cheeks, making what Erik’s about to suffer through absolutely worth it. He takes another bite, this time ready for the awful taste and texture, and manages to swallow it down in only a few bites. Charles turns back as the pan almost falls off the stove. Erik works quickly, carving away some of it to slip onto the napkin and then into his pocket, headed for the bin as soon as he can. He apologises mentally to his mama, who might have murdered him for wasting food. You try his food, and you’d understand.
When Charles turns back a few minutes later with a fresh batch on his pan, Erik’s managed to choke down all but half a pancake. “That good? I’m glad.” He places three more, leaning down to press a swift kiss to Erik’s cheek. Worth it . Erik thinks, and he just manages to convince himself. “Do you need anything else? I can toast some bread?”
“Just tea, if you would?” It’s about the only thing Charles won’t mess up, which considering it involves only pouring hot water into a pot, says much about Charles’ skill. Charles turns to go, but considering he’s going to suffer through three more of the worst pancakes in his life, Erik reaches for him. “And a kiss.”
Charles grins again, obligingly reaching down to kiss him. Well, at least Erik has a kiss to tide him over. And the possibility of more later. “One tea coming right up, darling.” He moves away, and Erik’s faced with the monstrous pancakes. Inhale, take a bite, exhale, swallow. Game plan set, he begins tackling the pancakes with methodological precision.
He’s vaguely aware of Charles boiling and preparing tea. He’s managed to eat a pancake and a half when Charles turns back after pouring the water and waiting for it to steep. Grinning, because its ‘sharklike aspect’ never fails to make Charles smile, Erik forces down another bite. A gag rises, but Erik has iron will…or so he tells himself. He barely manages to force it down before Charles is approaching with his tea. With a grateful look, he’s taking a large sip to make sure any half-cooked salty pancake batter isn’t lodged somewhere in his throat.
“There’s more in the pot, alright. I’ll go and get changed.” Charles presses another swift kiss against his cheek before breezing up. Erik waits just a moment before he’s scrambling for kitchen paper to hide Charles' crime. “Oh, before I forget,” Erik hurriedly stops his scramble and sits back down as Charles scurries down the stairs, “Love you.” With that, he’s running back upstairs.
Erik sighs, looking at the pancakes. He takes a bite, almost expecting it to taste better. Of course it doesn’t. Instead he gags, coughing into his fist. The rest is for the bin. He feels awful as he presses it down into the bin, hiding it under some kitchen paper and assorted rubbish.
All in all, it’s a typical breakfast with Charles. Truly awful food that Charles cooks paired with Erik’s absolute inability to say anything negative about it. As Emma would, and has said: Erik’s whipped. It can’t be bad though, not when Charles wanders down the stairs while Erik’s busy cleaning the burnt mess left on his pan, smiling gently and pressing gentle kisses against his neck. The small hug he gets accompanied with Charles’ grin when he’s thanked for breakfast makes it more than worth it.
When Erik heads into work, Emma’s sitting there while filing her already stiletto sharp nails. She looks up for one second, no more, before she’s looking back down. “Morning Lehnsherr.”
“Frost,” he greets. “There doesn’t happen to be some kind of bakery nearby, is there?” He should have known better to ask.
Her customary neutral look turns into a slight frown as she looks up. However, oddly enough, it then turns into a wide smirk. “Charles cooked, didn’t he?” Erik doesn’t respond. Obviously he did, but it’s best not to fuel the flames that are Emma's interest and attention. “Oh he did. You’re absolutely whipped, Lehnsherr. Really, you couldn’t even tell him his eggs, or his toast or whatever was shit, oh my god.”
“Shut up.” Erik growls, only to be met with a tinkling high laugh. She smirks when she’s done, looking pleased while she gazes at Erik.
“What was it you had to suffer through? Raw flour, shredded vegetables, over-salted food?” Erik groans and throws himself at his chair, wondering how long he can go without responding before Emma gets too upset. She pokes him with her nail, and to be honest, Erik’s a little surprised it doesn’t draw blood. “Come on, spill.”
“Pancakes…” he finally says quite reluctantly after a moment. Emma’s grin turns positively evil as she laughs to herself. It’s common knowledge after all that Erik can never refuse Charles’ abominable cooking, nor can he bring himself to say anything to Charles about siad cooking. Well, common knowledge except to Charles. “Back to work.” He says, trying to hold on to some semblance of control.
“Yeah, yeah…” She murmurs while waving her hand vaguely in his direction. There’s silence for a moment. “There’s a bakery two blocks to the right from the entrance.” Erik contemplates the trouble he’d get for yelling.
Instead, he just settles himself with a deep, deep breath before tugging on his coat to leave. “Thank you…” He manages to bite out before he’s leaving the building.
Emma, of course, must have the last word, and shouts out: “don’t forget to be back in time for the meeting with Shaw.” Great. His mood sours. It worsens with Emma’s chilling laugh as he leaves the building.
Emma’s right, of course. There is a café nearby, with its bakery boasting fresh croissants, sandwiches, and even pancakes. Feeling, well, ironic, he gets the pancakes. They’re good, even if he can’t help but feel a little bit guilty, as though he’s betraying Charles by enjoying these pancakes. He’s being ridiculous, of course, but Charles seems to bring that out of him.
He’s down to his last serving when disaster strikes.
“Erik!” Charles quite literally pops up from behind a moving customer, his tea cup sloshing dangerously before he’s putting it down next to his pancakes. Of course, he then notices the pancakes and his smile falls into confused grimace. “I didn’t know you were hungry… I thought…”
“Ah, well. I-” He really has no idea what to say. And the panic’s starting to rise as Charles’ eyes seem to lose his little sparkle.
“Did you…not like it?” How is he going to fix this? His brain scrambles as Charles’ eyes move from the incriminating pancake to sadly look at him. A small part of his mind thinks, rather traitorously, that he should take the opportunity to be honest. But how could he, when Charles is looking at him as though he’s personally called earl grey tea the worst thing in existence.
“I did, I liked them.” He struggles for an excuse, “I just got hungry.” He finishes lamely, aware of how pathetic the excuse is.
Charles takes a sip of his tea, “I suppose. Well, are they good?” Erik can tell that the cheer is forced.
“They’re, ah, ok.” He hurriedly shoves the rest of the last pancake into his mouth. He does choke…a little. Ignoring Charles’ gaze, he begins to clear up his table. “Well, I gotta get to work.”
“Erik, wai-” Erik cuts him off with a small kiss, inwardly panicking at the thought of facing Charles’ disappointment.
“Sorry, love, but I really have to get going. I’m about to be late.” He pretends not to hear Charles’ protests as he nearly runs out of the establishment and to his office.
The day passes in a blur with his anxious levels rising steadily. It’s not that he thinks Charles will hurt him, he’s just absolutely terrified of disappointing Charles or making Charles sad, or making Charles think that Charles isn’t the absolute perfect being he is. He’s useless at work, enough so that even Janos, who hardly ever gets the courage to talk with him, mentions it. When he gets home, he’s gone through multiple scenarios involving Charles leaving, even though he knows logically that Charles would at the very least wait to explain to him why.
He pictures various scenarios. Charles cooking something, Charles eating chocolate dejectedly, Charles distracting himself with his grading, Charles waiting to confront him, all sorts. The reality is a little underwhelming.
He’s sitting at the table, his typical cup of tea and a few boxes of Chinese takeout. The table’s set and there’s a candle flickering, yet Erik somehow feels ever so slightly like he’s walking into a dangerous situation. “Hi, love…” he says, only a little warily. “What’s all this for?”
Charles stops from where he’s absently twirling his chicken noodles glumly. “Dinner.” He looks so sad that Erik can’t help but lean over and press a kiss to his forehead in an attempt to get him to smile. His glumness doesn’t disappear.
“Love, what’s wrong?” He’s devastated, seeing Charles so sad absolutely ruins him. “I…how can I help?”
“Why?” Charles croaks, his voice very clearly upset. “Why did you lie about my breakfast? I thought-”
He’s tempted to lie, he really is. “I did,” he begins, but at Charles' light glare, he forces himself to continue, “I thought it was a kind gesture. Even if the taste was…less amazing.”
Charles’ face falls, “I thought it was nice, but…now it turns out I’m just an awful cook!” Erik kneels next to him and reaches for his hands in order to press his lips against Charles’ knuckles. “I just…I wanted to do something for you, but I wasn’t even good at it.”
“I loved the thought,” Erik says with a tentative smile. Charles’s response is to begin to sniffle.
Alarms blare in Erik’s mind. He absolutely can not be the reason for Charles to cry. Not in any way. He absolutely refuses. “I-If you want, we can take cooking lessons together?” He practically vomits out the suggestion, cringing right after he does.
Charles, blessedly not sniffling, shoots him a suspicious look, “but you hate cooking shows. You’d hate lesson-”
“No, I’d love them if you were with me.” He’s quick to reassure. “And, well, we should really learn how to properly do it. What better way than with some lessons together, hmm?” Charles is right of course. Mama taught him how to cook, so anyone who has methods other than Mama’s have the wrong methods. But he can go through cooking lessons for Charles, anything for Charles.
Charles takes one hand back to wipe away the corner of his eye before he goes back to holding Erik’s hand. “I…I suppose, it’s ok then.” Phew. Crisis averted with only minor inconvenience for future Erik to deal with. “Raven did tell me about some restaurant hosting a lesson for beginners, I guess we can sign up?”
“Of course,” Erik grins wide, smiling in the way he knows Charles can’t help but giggle at. He watches, filled with relief, as Charles smiles in response to his so-called shark grin. “All good now?” He asks, sitting up and hugging Charles.
“Yes, it’s perfect.” As it should be. Now all Erik has to deal with is a few hours with idiots who think they cook better than his Mama did. For Charles, though, he’ll gladly suffer twice.