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Charles had been slowly working his way over the menu and, so far, he had to admit, everything had been perfect.
The little restaurant was small, with four tables inside, and two outside, and the counter had been turned into bar seating with four stools next to the place to order. It wasn’t grand like some of the places he had been, it was almost more of a dinner than anything but he swore the food was some of the best he’d had. A solid home-cooked meal, the menu ensuring that everything was freshly made, fresh produce, made in the restaurant, healthier than most other options.
Plus, the owner could be seen cooking the food anyone ordered after their order was placed, through a glass window. Sure it was a little slower than fast food, but it was almost reassuring to watch them make everything.
The only issue with the place was the owner. Charles had been by more times than he had cared to count. The waiters and waitresses were always polite and smiling, joking around with each other and the regular customers. They were the faces of the place, the man who owned Magneto’s, though, was the cook. The one who stayed towards the back, only occasionally bringing out a plate if he had to and everyone else was busy.
He always seemed angry, as far as Charles could see. A constant frown on his face, looking like he would rather be anywhere else but running a fairly popular business. Charles was certain Magneto—as he had taken to calling him—had glared at him the last time he had to bring his food out. And he’d heard the other employees complaining about how grumpy the man was. Charles wasn’t sure he had ever seen anyone so unhappy in his life.
While it should probably make him want to run in fear of his life, he found himself intrigued by the man more and more with every bit of information he heard about him. This was nothing but another bit of information to add to his list.
And, perhaps, that was a small part of what kept him coming back day after day. Or maybe it was the combination of Jewish and German dishes the place sold and the desserts that Charles couldn’t help but moan as he ate. He could never be certain which was more his driving force.
Either way, he pushed open the door and smiled as the smells hit him. This was something he spent all his last two lectures looking forward to. It wasn’t just the end of his workday, but getting to come here for dinner.
He walked up to the counter with a smile on his face and took the first seat in the line. It was a minute before anyone appeared at the register to take his order but he didn’t mind, even if his stomach was growling almost constantly.
It was a bit of a shock when Magneto himself stepped over to take his order. The man said nothing, just directed his eyes at Charles, an expectant look on his face, clearly waiting for what he wanted but Charles was shocked and just stared at him. The lack of introduction or question caught him off guard. It was clear to him why the man tended to just do the cooking.
As he continued to stare at him, Charles wondered if it was just him or if Magneto treated everyone this way.
When he still said nothing, Charles was forced to shake away his shock and just supply what he wanted, “Hot tea and eleven on the menu, please.” He truly was starting at the top of the menu and working his way down. Ten times he’d been here, ten different meals and he was now on the eleventh.
Magneto looked at him with what was clearly a mix of confusion and disgust, then he grabbed a menu, opened it, and counted out to the eleventh one. He pointed at it, looked at Charles, and raised an eyebrow. Charles simply gave a nod. It hadn’t occurred to him that Magneto wouldn’t know. The others would always keep up with where he was and easily write down whatever was next on the list.
“So where are-“ He started to ask where the other workers were but Magneto simply ripped the receipt off the register and handed it to Charles before walking back to the kitchen. Only now was he noticed that the entire time the man had been taking his order, the kitchen hadn’t stopped, spoons stirring, spatulas flipping, oven opening, and a pan coming out.
Charles may have been a genius but it didn’t take one to come to the conclusion that Magneto was a mutant and Charles was betting a telekinetic. Or…metal? The name was Magneto, after all.
If he seemed like the type to answer questions, Charles would ask him but, as it was, he just sat down with his receipt in hand and waited for his food, taking in the sight of someone so openly using his powers. Magneto seemed at ease with them, well practiced, and Charles found himself wondering just how far his power extended. What was the most he could move, what were they capable of? Was he telekinetic or just metal he could move?
As soon as a plate was put in front of him, Charles found himself blurting out, “You’re a mutant.”
The man stopped and slowly turned—he had already turned his back to Charles and made it a couple of steps away—everything in the kitchen seemed to fall and stop at the same time. Charles had to fight not to slam his face on the counter in front of himself for being such an idiot.
“Sorry,” Charles rushed to say, not even pausing to consider the possible ramifications of outing himself. Even other mutants often had issues with people like him, what he could do. “I am too. I'm a telepath. I’m not complaining or anything.” He thought he saw Magneto relax a little but he couldn’t be certain. He always looked so tense and his back impossibly straight as though he was stressed and carrying the weight of the world. Charles wondered if he ever relaxed and, if he did, whether or not that would help.
“I was just wondering if your powers are telekinesis or if it’s metal you’re working with in the kitchen there? Either way, you have astounding control, my friend.” Charles watched as Magneto turned to face him.
The man, unsurprisingly, said nothing still but his hand lifted and so did a spoon that was on the other side of the counter. His hand moved and, as it did, the shape of the spoon shifted, seeming to melt into a ball of metal and then reformed into a spoon, the handle having a different, more intricate design than the simple vertical lines it was sporting before.
“Metal,” Magneto stated simply, “It bends to my will, I can control it.” He dropped the spoon in front of Charles and then walked back into the kitchen—where Charles just realized the food production had resumed once more.
Once his meal was over, Charles stood at the register to pay his bill. He already had a plan in mind though.
When Magneto came to take his card, Charles couldn’t help but ask, “Do you happen to have any of those…donut things you had a few days ago? They had some sort of jam in them.”
Magneto raised an eyebrow as he looked at the man, “You’ve been coming in here at least twice a week for five weeks now and you still can’t tell me a single thing I have on the menu.” Even as he said it, he walked back into the kitchen, “How many?” He called over his shoulder.
“Two!” Charles called back, deciding he needed the extra sugar as a treat after dealing with Magneto today. The man seemed to have it out for him.
With a bag in hand, the man came back out, placed it on the counter, and then added it to Charles’s bill.
Once he paid and thanked Magneto—getting a grunt in return—Charles made his way onto the street, pulling one of his rewards out to bite into it, only to realize there were three in there instead of two. It would seem Magneto had terrible people skills and terrible math skills.
He turned and walked back in, a polite smile on his face as he stood at the counter once again, waiting for the man to return.
“What?” He heard a gruff voice behind him and Charles turned to see Magneto right behind him.
The smile that had momentarily slipped was put back in place, as Charles held up the little paper bag, “I’m sorry, you gave me three instead of two. I just wanted to pay for the extra one.” He wasn’t going to try to give it back, he had already carried it out, and besides, he loved those things. He could easily eat another one, even if he shouldn’t.
“Keep it,” Magneto stated simply, “Don’t bother.” He turned around and went back behind the counter, seemingly dismissing Charles who watched after him.
“Are you sure?” Charles called after him, “I don’t want to steal or anything. I don’t mind paying for it, it would be no trouble, Magneto,” He added when the man kept going.
Magneto stuck his head back out of the kitchen before he walked back over to where Charles was standing. “Erik,” He stated, “My name’s Erik.”
“I’m Ch-“ Charles started to say but Erik cut him off before he had the chance.
“Charles F. Xavier, I know,” He said, then to the confused look on Charles’s face, he added, “It’s on your card and I’ve seen you signing your name,” He explained.
Charles nodded slowly, trying not to think about how that could potentially be creepy. Or how the man that seemed to hate him now knew his name. Or how he rather liked the way Mag-Erik said his name.
“Well, if you’re sure about the doughnut…” Charles started to say but Erik only nodded before he could go on.
“I assure you, I am. Now get out of here before I change my mind.” Somehow that sounded like a threat and Charles may or may not have squeaked before quickly making his way out of the restaurant.
It wasn’t one of his usual days to go to Magneto’s but work had been terrible, grading a stack of papers that had to be a foot in height had kept him up most of the night. They had all done rather poorly so there was that talk to have with two of his intro classes—which he was never too fond of teaching to start with. One of his upper-level classes had an exam and now he would have to spend his evening grading those so he didn’t fall behind on his work. And then he had a headache building behind his eyes for the last few hours and, so far, it had known no bounds.
It all led him to the belief that a strong cup of tea and sugar could do him wonders so he walked in and found his normal spot at the counter where he sat down. The staff was walking around this time, not just Erik manning the place by himself.
“Can I help you?” Someone asked and Charles looked up to find Erik in front of him, looking down at him as though he had nothing else to be doing but taking his order. At least he spoke this time, that was an improvement over any other meeting.
“Um, tea and two of the doughnut things?” Charles asked, unable to find it in himself to be as polite as usual. His words came out flat, a little strained.
Erik shook his head in amusement as he walked away, Charles really needed to learn the names of those things he loved so much. If there was a menu lying around he would look it up but then again, the thought was enough to make his head throb.
Left alone, Charles rested his elbows on the counter, the heel of his palm pushing in against his eyes as though that would help with the headache. He was certain it wouldn’t but he could try at least and take a bit of comfort from the darkness that came along with it.
Charles didn’t notice when his cup and a plate were sat in front of him. He didn’t notice anything until a hand gently rested on his upper arm and he pulled his hands away from his face to look up at the man. Erik was standing right in front of him with a look on his face Charles couldn’t place it but wanted to say it was worry.
“Are you okay?” He asked, leaning down a little closer to him, voice quiet and low, something that Charles could appreciate.
“Yeah, long day, headache, nothing I can’t handle,” He assured the man with a forced smile, trying to fight off the instinct to wince.
“I can pack this up to go if you’d like. If you’d like to go home?” Erik offered and Charles gently shook his head, careful not to worsen his headache.
“No, thank you, my friend. This will work. I’m hoping the sugar and caffeine will help with it.” He didn’t sound too hopeful but he wasn’t that sure his plan would work.
“I’ll leave you to it then,” Erik replied and then smiled—at least Charles thought that was what the goal was. It was either that or baring his teeth in a threatening way. Whichever it was, Charles smiled back. Somehow it rather fit the man and Charles found it charming.
“Thank you,” Charles said softly and for the first time wondered if Erik didn’t hate him. At least, not entirely. Maybe he had misread the situation until now. Or maybe Erik didn’t know how to show his feelings?
Left alone with his food, Charles took a sip of his hot tea before starting on his baked goods. While he couldn’t say it was taking care of his headache, it did ease it a little and certainly did well in helping his spirits.
By the time his cup and plate were emptied, Erik was in front of him once again, this time holding a paper takeout bag. Nothing that Charles had ordered but Erik had proven to be stubborn so Charles wondered if there would be a point in trying to tell him that.
“This is something extra, for you,” He said, holding out the bag and Charles smiled a little as he accepted it, something extra he could handle. He pulled out his card to pay for what he had ordered.
“How’s your head? Are you going to be alright getting home on your own?” Erik asked as he focused on the register, as though he wasn’t sure about asking Charles such a question.
Charles felt his face heat slightly at the question and the knowledge that someone cared enough to ask. Someone who was still practically a complete stranger. An attractive stranger, but still.
“Yeah, there’s not much that your food won’t fix, darling.” If Erik was going to be flirting with him, then Charles could return the favor. As long as he wasn’t mistaking the situation and Erik wasn’t flirting with him. That would be disastrous and Charles wasn’t sure he could bring himself to come back after a mistake like that. The food was too good to give up. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything.
But Erik didn’t seem to mind at all. He simply gave another one of those smiles he had and Charles found himself returning it. The man seemed almost pleased with the pet name, something Charles thought someone like Erik would protest through and through.
When he had paid, he walked out and looked in the bag to see what he had been given. There were a couple of desserts in the bag, a takeout container with some sort of soup, and a few napkins. That would be dinner sorted, at least, Charles decided. But then something caught his eye as he walked slowly down the sidewalk. He pulled a napkin out to find writing on it a number with Erik written under it.
Charles slid it back into the bag for safekeeping and continued on his walk home. He would add the number to his phone as soon as he got home and thank Erik for his dinner. But for now, he could only smile like an idiot as he kept walking. It was apparent now that Erik hadn’t hated him.