Chapter Text
Deafening music, sticky floors, lasers, sweat, bodies pressed up too close together… As soon as Erik sets foot in the club, he knows it was a mistake.
“It’ll be fun,” Emma and Azazel had said, “you need to get out more.”
He follows them to the bar now as they both buy themselves drinks. They ask if he wants one but he declines – he drove.
The three of them move onto the dancefloor, where Azazel and Emma quickly get into the groove of the music, bobbing their heads and swaying in time to a song Erik doesn’t know. Clubbing sober is always awkward and all Erik can think about is the loud music hurting his eardrums, and the woman behind him who keeps elbowing him in the ribs.
I’m going to the bathroom , Erik sends mentally to Emma. Once he gets a nod of acknowledgment, he begins to weave through the crowd in the direction of the ‘toilets’ sign.
The noise is thankfully muffled in the bathroom, though the walls still tremble in a steady rhythm. Erik goes straight for a sink and splashes some cold water onto his face. It’s refreshing after the stuffy heat of the dancefloor. Why Emma and Azazel thought he would enjoy this is beyond him.
As Erik runs his hands under the cool water, the bathroom door creaks open. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees whoever just entered stop dead in their tracks on the other side of the room, and he looks up. At the end of the row of sinks stands a man in a denim jacket and ripped black skinny jeans. His dark wavy hair is slightly dishevelled and his wide eyes are alarmingly blue. Erik can’t help but stare.
“Hello,” the man says after a moment. He has one of those voices that is light and gentle, and yet commands attention. He also has a posh accent that entirely at odds with his appearance.
“Hello yourself,” Erik replies, cutting off the faucet’s stream of water with a wave of his hand – this is a mutant-friendly club, so there is no need for secrecy. The man watches this appraisingly.
He hops up on the counter a few sinks down from Erik, Converse-clad feet swinging freely over the tiled floor, and the bathroom light glints off the metal of his several ear piercings. He retrieves a joint and a lighter from one of his jacket pockets and gestures to Erik, “d’you mind?” Erik notices the slight slur to his words.
“Go ahead.”
As the man lights up, Erik grabs a paper towel from the dispenser beside him.
“Why’re you not dancing?” the man asks, exhaling a stream of smoke.
“I’m not much of a dancer,” Erik says, looking down at his hands as he dries them.
“Really? I bet you’d look great out there.” Erik finally looks up at the man, who is most definitely checking him out now. After all, drunk people have never been known for their subtlety. “Your mutation,” the man continues, “it’s so... groovy.” He giggles to himself. “Can I see? I mean, can you do it again?”
Amused, Erik agrees, “sure.” Erik waves his hand and all five faucets in the room start running. Another wave and they are off again. “Beautiful,” the stranger mumbles to himself.
“What’s your name?” Erik asks.
“I’m Charles,” is the reply, “Charles Xa- um... just Charles. What’s your name?”
“Erik.”
Charles smiles delightedly. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Erik. Are you here alone or…?” Charles asks, tilting his head like an adorably curious kitten. His eyes seem far away for a second, but he speaks again before Erik can answer: “ah, I see, you’re here with your friends.”
Erik’s eyebrows raise slightly. “You’re a telepath,” he states.
Charles ignores this. “So... no boyfriend? Girlfriend?”
Erik pauses for a second. “No,” he finally replies, “no one.”
“Must be my lucky day!” Charles says. He attempts a wink, but in his inebriated state it comes off looking more like a strange twitch.
“Look Charles, I’m flattered, but I’m not really looking for… anything at the moment,” Erik says gently but firmly.
For a second, he’s almost afraid of how Charles might react, but the man just nods slowly and looks down at his swinging feet. “Oh, that’s too bad,” he says with a sad smile.
Despite the guy’s drunkenness and very blatant flirting, Erik thinks he seems genuinely sweet and certainly harmless.
“I should probably go find my friends now,” Erik says, “it was nice meeting you, Charles.” He tries for a friendly smile.
“Likewise. See you around...” Charles replies, then takes another drag of his joint as Erik finally throws away his disintegrating paper towel and leaves the toilets.
Out in the club, he is once again hit full force with pounding music. Where are you?, he sends out with his mind, but gets no response. Emma probably isn’t hearing his call through all the mental noise. Erik doesn’t see Emma or Azazel at the bar so he heads for the dancefloor, pushing through the crowd in search of his friends, but he can’t seem to find them anywhere.
As he stands still in the middle of the dancefloor, craning his head and looking around, the music finally transitions into a song he actually knows, and he can’t help nodding along to the familiar tune. A group of girls who are dancing beside him take notice and encourage him to dance, exaggerating their own movements in example.
The girls are confident, shameless, enthusiastically showing off their goofiest dance moves, and even Erik joins in half-heartedly, at least for a while. They cheer him on and one of them even attempts to spin him, although that doesn’t turn out too well.
At the end of the song, Erik bids goodbye to his new friends and returns to his search.
As he makes his way to the edge of the room, he spots Charles’ tousled hair and dark denim jacket by the club’s entrance. He appears to be arguing emphatically with a bouncer, who is impatiently trying to lead him outside. Erik can definitely see why: Charles is swaying on his feet and flailing his arms, the drink in his hand spilling messily onto his own clothes as well as the bouncer.
He’s not sure why he decides to do it, but Erik finds himself walking over to the two men.
“It’s alright,” he says to the bouncer, “he’s my friend, I’ll take him outside.”
The man looks sceptical for a moment, but then Charles exclaims “Erik!” and claps his free arm around Erik’s shoulders and the bouncer decides to let them go.
“Come on, Charles. Let’s go,” Erik says, carefully extracting Charles’ half-empty drink from his hand and placing it on the nearest table. He leads the way out of the club, Charles stumbling along with his arm still draped over his shoulder and Erik supporting most of the other man’s weight.
Once they make it to the curb, Erik sets Charles down on some steps and sits down beside him. Charles is still swaying, threatening to slump forward onto the street, so Erik holds on to his shoulder.
“Charles, hey,” he says, leaning over to get a good look at Charles’ face, finding his eyes closed. “Can you hear me?”
Charles’ forehead creases and he reluctantly opens his eyes. “Erik…” he mumbles.
“Charles,” Erik says gently, “can you tell me if you came here with someone? A friend maybe?”
Charles shakes his head slowly from side to side, his eyes unfocused. “No… s’just me.”
“Okay, I’m going to drive you home, alright?” Erik says, “can we stand up? Come on.”
They shuffle down the street to where Erik parked his car; Erik deposits Charles in the passenger seat and buckles his seatbelt, before getting behind the wheel. He shoots a quick text to Emma, telling her the situation, then starts the car.
He slides out of the parking spot and onto the street, coming to a stop at the first traffic light. While he waits for it to turn green, he turns to Charles. “Where do you live?”
There is no reply. Charles’ head is leaning against the window, his face turned away from Erik. Erik taps the man’s shoulder. “Charles, what’s your address?” Still no reply, but Charles lets out a soft snore. “Shit.”
Erik decides to drive around town for a bit, hoping Charles will wake up, but after he’s driven up and down the backstreets a few times, he realises that isn’t going to happen. He considers forcibly waking the man up, but he somehow can’t bring himself to do it. Plus Charles is drunk enough that he probably wouldn’t be coherent anyway.
Erik sighs. He drives a little longer until he finds a spot to stop the car.
Once the car is parked curb-side next to a local park, Erik checks his phone. It is almost 3 am, and he is definitely starting to feel the exhaustion now.
Erik looks over at the man next to him. Charles has shifted slightly in his sleep, his profile now visible. His breathing is slow and steady, exhaling little puffs of air that form a circle of condensation on the glass under his nose. Erik studies Charles’ face. Unconscious, his expression is serene, a far cry from his clumsy flirting or drunken antagonism from earlier in the night. He looks younger like this, but so tired. His subtle cheekbones are sharper, his round cheeks hollower – half skull-like – but his hands grasp onto his denim jacket like a child would his favourite blanket. He looks so soft, but so cold and fragile. It is an image full of contradictions.
Erik takes a deep breath, reclining his seat and resting his head back.
“Erik?” a soft rasping voice calls him. Erik opens his eyes, not even realising that he had fallen asleep. He looks over to find Charles squinting at him through the morning sun shining directly into his face. In the golden light, his eyes are extra blue and Erik can see hints of red in his hair.
“Hey, Charles. You’re up,” Erik says, voice husky with sleep. “How are you feeling?”
“Like someone’s taking a jackhammer to my skull,” Charles replies, but he smiles a crinkly-eyed smile. “I’m sorry – I take it I fell asleep on you?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry about it,” Erik assures. “You were really drunk, and I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”
“Thank you for that. You’re a good man, Erik.”
Erik gives a small smile. “So, how about you tell me your address and we can finally get you home?”
It turns out Charles’ flat is only a few minutes away, not far from Erik’s own. Erik stops the car on the street in front of the building. Charles opens his door, then turns back to look at Erik. “Thank you again, Erik, I really appreciate it. And sorry for being so much trouble – the next one’s on me.” He winks again, this time successfully, before getting out of the car and shutting the door.
Erik watches Charles walk up to the front door, which he unlocks after struggling for a moment with his keys. He turns around to grin and wave one more time, before disappearing into the doorway.
Erik checks the time – 6 am – and sighs. He drives the few minutes to his own flat, the streets practically deserted this early on a Saturday morning, and once inside, heads straight for the bedroom.
He wearily pulls off his shoes and socks and slacks, and climbs into the left side of his bed. He curls up under the duvet and falls asleep almost instantly.