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Erik honestly knew better than to leave Charles alone with the baking. It was just that work was so incredibly busy right now, and he was so tired these days, and the kids’ absolute favorite holiday was Purim - and meanwhile Charles seemed to be hitting a lull in work, and (as always when he was restless) was eager to help. So Erik, against his better judgment, let Charles handle the hamantaschen just this once.
“The dough is in the fridge,” he told Charles, frazzled and disorganized, trying to wrangle his three little gremlins to school. Tonight they will be going to temple to celebrate Purim with the community, so the kids were extra jittery this morning. “You just need to fold it, fill it and bake it. You can do that right?”
Charles, who seemed way too calm for this chaotic morning, gave a cheery, high pitched hum of agreement. “Don’t worry, love, I got this,” he ruffled Lorna’s hair fondly, and she giggled at the attention, “I’ll make the best hamantaschen ever. I know how much the kiddos love them.”
Charles’ pronunciation of hamantaschen was absolutely atrocious, and it made an anxious knot form in Erik’s stomach as his trust in Charles plummeted. He took a deep breath, held Pietro tighter to his chest so he wouldn’t bolt away to check on his costume one last time, and reminded himself that it was just filling, folding and baking. It was Erik’s mother’s dough recipe in the fridge - that was the important part. Charles couldn’t mess it up that badly. “Ok. Call me if you need anything,” he said, nevertheless, still not completely convinced.
Charles rolled his eyes, which in Erik’s opinion was uncalled for. “Honestly, Erik, they’re just cookies,” he drawled, perfectly patronizing, “don’t worry so much.”
Erik bit back the reply about how he was one of only three people to volunteer to make the “cookies”, and he knew the other two, and their baking was absolutely vile, so it was actually extremely important that Charles wouldn’t mess up, and Erik absolutely had every reason to “worry so much”. But they were already late for school, and Erik didn’t have time to stay for the teacher’s usual remarks at drop offs about his kids being late. This latest client was kicking his ass and he was seriously considering murder. “Alright,” Erik said, trying not to seem as agitated as he was, “fine. Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Charles said with an entirely too bright smile, that nevertheless made Erik melt a little, “bye, honey! Have a good day!”
“You too!” Erik yelled back as he caught all three of his kids by their shirt collars and directed them towards the car. All three of them began to whine about how Erik was “choking them” or “babying them” or “being way too bossy, dad!”
“Wait!” Charles called out from inside of the house when Erik finally floated them all into the backseat, buckling them in. Erik turned around, alarmed to find Charles rolling towards him quickly, yelling out, “you forgot something!”
Fuck! What did he forget? His keys? His computer? Oh, he did NOT have time for this. Charles better have whatever it was with him, cause Erik isn’t going back inside the house to look for whatever it is. “What?” Erik said, helping Charles roll faster with his powers, “what did I forget?”
Charles came to an abrupt stop right in front of him, looking too calm for Erik’s agitated nerves. “This,” he said and then pulled Erik down by his collar to kiss him deeply.
Erik was vaguely aware of the twins gagging in the backseat and Lorna aww-ing at the display, but he didn’t care much for their little audience as he found himself smiling into Charles’ mouth, kissing him back. Charles was right - he did forget something. It would have been disastrous if he left their home without this.
Charles pulled away with a small smile, projecting out to Erik, have a groovy day, darling in such a dorky way that Erik felt his heart squeeze with love for the man. Just as quickly as he appeared, Charles was gone, turning back around to the house, and rolling away.
Erik opened the driver’s car door with a smile that was probably a little dopey. Not even his kids’ loud complaints could dampen his mood. Maybe , Erik decided, it would be okay.
He was wrong.
Charles was staring at the huge ball of dough sitting on the counter, looking at it as if it would start telling him the answers for what he was supposed to do. He knew the answer technically- fill, fold, bake. Erik had made it sound so simple, look so simple, when he projected the memories of the countless times he had made hamantaschen. Except Charles was decidedly not Erik, and he was finding himself utterly clueless because of it.
Maybe he should call - Erik did offer after all.
No. No he couldn’t. He couldn’t, because Erik was already busy and stressed, and Charles offered to do this to lighten his workload. He couldn’t be another one of Erik’s burdens; he wouldn’t. Erik was already convinced he couldn’t do this simple task, and Charles had to prove him wrong. Charles had to prove to Erik that he could fit into his life - every part of his life. That he wasn’t just a boyfriend, he was a partner. That he was useful. Charles couldn’t bear the thought of Erik thinking anything else.
No, he had to do this himself.
Armed with Erik’s memories and his conviction to reign victorious over this piece of dough, Charles began.
Nervously, he began with unwrapping the seraph tape the ball was inside, figuring that was a good first step. There. Now, he had to… flatten it, probably. Yes, flatten it, so then he could fold.
He began kneading the dough with his fingers and thumb, pressing down onto it hard, until some parts of it were looking a little bit flatter, the dough spreading wider on the counter. There. Seemed good enough.
What was next… ah, fillings! In Erik’s memories, Charles remembered seeing chocolate and fruit and poppyseeds. He supposed they were somewhere around the house. Erik wouldn’t leave him stranded.
He began searching around the kitchen and pantry, looking for any of the three fillings. After a surprisingly long time - Charles had checked, it was half an hour. Erik had the most dreadful habit of keeping things on the top shelf - he had returned with black paste that looked like poppyseeds, many types of jam, and three bars of milk chocolate. They didn’t seem to have nutella, but Charles figured he could improvise. It seemed simple enough - melt the chocolate down, stuff the dough with one teaspoon of jam/poppyseeds/melted chocolate, fold, bake and viola - the perfect hamantaschen!
He started with cutting up the cookies - hamantaschen were triangles, so Charles probably had to cut them into tiny little triangles. He tore a piece of dough from the flattened surface and tried to shape it into a triangle with his fingers. That was probably close enough, right? He had to fold the edges anyways, so it probably wouldn’t be a big deal if the sides were a little wonky.
He picked a filling for the first hamantaschen - strawberry jam, Wanda’s favorite - and scooped up a spoonful onto his little triangle. The jam dripped down onto the surface easily, the dollop staying in place. Now, just to fold it up. He grabbed one edge, the second edge and smooshed them together, sticking them to one another, just how Erik did in his memories.
Charles blinked as the jam immediately squirted out of the cookie, dirtying his shirt. Oh.
Damn. He liked this shirt.
He must have done something wrong. And wasn’t the cookie supposed to be a little bigger? It looked tiny now, folded up.
Charles tried not to panic. He could fix this. So the first hamantaschen wasn’t perfect - that happened. What was it they said about the first pancake? At least now he learned his lesson. The cookie was too small. He just had to add a smithereen more of jam, fold it up, and he’d do better next time.
The second cookie was much, much bigger - almost the size of Charles’ hand (and Erik had always said he had big hands). Charles tried again with the spoonful of strawberry jam, this time folding the two edges together with no problem… but as soon as he tried folding the bottom, the dough went splat, the cookie flattening onto itself. Shit! Too much force!
Maybe he should try his luck with chocolate. Maybe he needed to do some with chocolate first before he attempted jam. Maybe jam was just more complicated.
He cut up another piece of dough with his fingers, and then scooped up a spoonful of melted chocolate from the bowl he had prepared. The liquid immediately started spreading out, and Charles panicked, folding up the edges quickly, before the chocolate could leak. The dough only became soggy and flat, and resembled a dumpling more than a hamantaschen.
Charles didn’t know what to do. Maybe less chocolate?
He continued experimenting with different folding techniques and fillings, panicking more and more as he went on, as the surface of dough became smaller and smaller. It was only when he was halfway through the dough and with no good result, that he considered calling Erik again.
He looked nervously onto the small amount of dough left. Fuck. It was too late to call Erik wasn’t it? He glanced at the clock on the wall, and noticed it was almost two hours until he had to meet Erik and the kids at temple, and he still needed to bake the cookies and shower. Besides, he couldn’t undo - he glanced back at the “hamantaschen” that he littered across the baking tray, and the various shapes they took, none of which Charles would really describe as triangles - all of this.
I’m really sorry, Erik , Charles thought sadly, as he rushed through the last of the cookies, stuffing them with poppyseeds which was the easiest, and then shoved everything into the oven.
Erik had a productive day. He finally managed to submit the project to the annoying client, and thankfully received little comments for improvements. He finally had time to catch up with the report Pepper had been nagging him about submitting, which he had put off for at least a week because of said annoying client. He even had time to take a nice lunch break in his office, undisturbed by his noisy coworkers. He left work just in time to pick up the kids - who for once were all in the agreed-upon pick-up spot, instead of making Erik have to find parking and then run around school to collect them - and they were all chattering happily about Purim and their temple friends in the backseat. Erik knew that he still had to help them with their costumes, and then watch them during the party, but that was honestly a cake walk compared to some of the days he used to have.
Charles was a blessing - if Erik had to deal with the hamantaschen on top of everything, his head might have exploded. He forgot how hard it was sometimes to be a single parent; the many long years of having it as the status quo made him forget that there could be another way. Having a partner in Charles now… he could feel the weight of the world slightly lifting off his shoulders. He couldn’t believe how lucky he had gotten with that man - a partner that adored both him and his kids, that wanted to help him with everything and that cared about what Erik thought was important. Not to mention he was kind, and funny, and smart, and unbelievably hot-
Right. He was getting off track. The point was that Charles was amazing and he’d show him exactly how lucky he felt to have him once the kids were asleep.
He parked in the synagogue’s parking lot, pleased to find it full with cars he recognized, and then herded the kids inside, where music and childish laughter could already be heard. Bathroom and the costumes, first, and then they could join the party, he reminded his gremlins.
The temple was decorated with colorful streamers, the costumed kids were running around with their noisy gragers and the table which held the spread of food was nearly full. The sight made him smile, reminding him of the good parts of his childhood, filled with love and joy and fun. He knew the kids wanted to say hello to their friends, but he still had to drag them to the bathrooms first.
Wanda was now at the age where she was embarrassed to have her dad see her naked, so he listened to her grunting and struggling in the stall, while he helped Pietro and Lorna zip up. It was hard not to ask her if she needed help more than five times. He just waited anxiously outside, while Lorna and Pietro chased one another, dressed in blue and green.
Charles was the one who had the idea for them to dress up as the Powerpuff Girls. He had claimed he was only joking, but the kids (even Pietro, who was supposed to be at the age where he thought girls were yucky) took to it with enthusiasm. Erik had spent a week finding the perfect dresses for Wanda and Lorna, and sewing up Pietro’s bodysuit which he insisted had to have a lightning bolt on it for some reason. Those brats better appreciate his efforts. Looking at them now - Lorna shrieking with laughter and Pietro’s grin stretching across his face, still waiting impatiently for their sister to emerge - he thought that maybe, just maybe, it was worth it.
(“Of course I’ll do it!” Charles insisted while Erik was nursing his needle pricked fingers, talking with Erik about surprising the kids with his own costume, “they’re good kids, they deserve it.”
“Are you sure?” Erik frowned, wondering if he should worry that Charles was so excited about it, “it’s an old show, I’m not even sure they know who Professor Utonuim is. Besides, I never dress up with them.”
“All the more reason for me to swoop in and claim myself as their new favorite,” Charles joked cheekily, and Erik gave him a stink eye. Charles could be the fun parent as much as he wanted, but Erik knew those kids would need much more to win them over. “No, seriously, Erik. I’d love to. I adore them - I’d do it just to make them smile.”
And yeah, maybe Erik felt the same.)
“Wanda?” he knocked on the door, asking for the seventh time, “everything okay in there?”
“Fine, dad!” she insisted, in a tone Erik knew to mean she found him annoying. “I’m almost done!”
“You’re taking foreverrrrr,” Pietro moaned, having caught Lorna in his arms, holding her tightly to his chest as she tried to struggle away. “Just let dad help you, it’ll take two seconds!”
“I can do it myself!” Wanda snapped, with a temper that made even Pietro blink in surprise, taken aback. “There! I’m finished!” And she opened the door, dressed in a pink dress, a big red bow tied to her hair. “How do I look?” she asked, shyly, shuffling with her dress.
“Finally!” Pietro said, dramatically (Charles insisted he got it from Erik), “can we go now?”
Erik ignored him, leaning down to help Wanda straighten up her dress. Sometimes it hit him, how grown up all his kids were becoming. It was going by too fast, it seemed. “You look wonderful, bubbeleh,” Erik said earnestly, smiling at his daughter.
Wanda gave him a small, grateful smile, and then looked over to Pietro’s impatient shuffling, rolling her eyes. “Yes, we can go now. Right, dad?”
Erik stood up, feeling his bones aching with it, and nodded at them, “right.”
Lorna, as if she was only waiting for this moment, leapt out of Pietro’s arms, and started sprinting towards the main hall. “Last one there is a loser!” she yelled out to them, and Wanda and Pietro immediately began chasing after her.
“Hey, no fair!” Pietro protested. They disappeared beyond the hallway, probably to spread out to their respective friends now. Erik didn’t mind them running - as long as there was no shoving involved - Erik was all for the kids getting out their excess energy whatever way they could. Made bedtime less of a hassle.
Erik walked towards the hall much calmer, spotting Lorna, Wanda and Pietro immediately due to their loud, bright costumes. He scanned the crowd, smiling and nodding politely at the adults that caught his eye. But there was definitely something missing - Charles should have been here by now. Where was he?
Erik checked his phone, finding two unread text messages from Charles.
Sorry, I got caught up! Omw now.
I’m almost there, don’t worry.
The last message was timestamped one minute ago. That meant that any second now Charles was due to roll into the room, probably wearing his dorky costume.
Ah, there he was. Dressed in a white doctor’s coat, his hair slicked back to look like Professor Utonuim, a large box of what was probably the hamantaschen on his lap. Erik grinned as he saw him, going over to kiss Charles on the cheek before he could notice him (it was easier to sneak up on a telepath in a crowded space). Charles jumped as Erik’s lips touched his cheek, but immediately softened as he noticed it was just Erik. “Hey there, handsome,” Erik purred, pressing a smaller kiss on the tip of Charles’ ear, “fancy seeing you here.”
“Hey,” Charles returned, sounding slightly nervous, “I was told three little science experiments I made were here. Have you seen them?”
Erik chuckled, enjoying Charles’ nerdiness for some reason he couldn’t explain, “impossible to miss them. The colors are radioactive I swear to god.”
Charles snorted, pushing into Erik’s mind the word dramatic , “it’s not so bad.”
“At least I don’t have to make them wear something that will be noticeable in the dark,” Erik teased and Charles smacked him lightly. “What took you so long?” Erik asked, still nuzzling Charles’ neck, enjoying the smell of his freshly showered boyfriend, “you were supposed to be here before us.”
“Oh,” Charles said, sounding even more nervous than before, “yeah, about that, um-”
“Well, well, well!” someone said loudly, jerking Erik out of his boyfriend’s neck, as he turned to find Gabirelle Haller looking at the two of them, “look what Erik brought!”
Erik groaned, standing up. He moved himself and Charles so they wouldn’t be blocking the entrance. “Be nice, Gabi,” Erik pleaded, knowing the synagogue’s ladies' habits of scaring off newcomers. Gabi was one of the better ones, but Erik was still suspicious of the idea that she was completely pure of heart.
“I’m always nice,” Gabi protested and Erik could barely hold back from rolling his eyes. “Now, hush, and let me work. Who might you be?”
Charles blinked, caught out by being addressed directly. Charles was usually suave and easily charismatic, but he must have been nervous, before the way he acted was less than smooth (by his standards). “Me? I’m… I’m Charles Xavier. Erik’s boyfriend. I’m not jewish, I just came here as a show of support.”
Gabi quirked a skeptical eyebrow, “support?” Erik closed his eyes, knowing the imminent freakout Gabi was about to inspire. Watching Goyim freak out was only fun as long as they weren’t his boyfriend.
“Not! Not that you need it, of course! I just meant, I’m an honorary Jew- No, that’s worse, I- Erik invited me and it seemed nice… Not that I’m just here for Erik, of course! For the kids, too. I mean, for Erik’s kids. Not for all the kids, that would be creepy. Though I love kids - but not that way I swear, I’m-” he looked onto Erik desperately, searching for some kind of help. Gabi only looked amused. Help , he said, his voice small.
“He means it’s nice to meet you,” Erik said, helping out his panicked boyfriend, “Charles, this is Gabirelle Haller. She was one of my friends until now.”
“Awww,” Gabi cooed, “don’t be like that, Lehnsherr. It’s no fun if we don’t get to see them squirm.” She winked at Charles, who looked relieved to be messed with, but still not completely comfortable.
“Are you done now?” Erik asked, with a deadpan look, squeezing Charles’ shoulder for support.
“Almost,” Gabi said with a cheeky smile and then turned around to call out, “hey, Theresa! Come meet Erik’s boooooyfriend!”
Damn her. Charles, can you tell Gabi telepathically that I say ‘damn you’?
I think I should gain a little more of her favor before entering her mind unprompted, love, Charles replied, and even his thoughts had the hint of the chuckle he used when he was nervous. Erik wondered what that was about - Gabi wasn’t that scary, was she?
In any case, it didn’t matter, because Theresa was already walking towards them, a huge grin plastered on her face. Now, Erik loved Theresa almost as much as he loved his own mother, but he knew she was definitely one of the worst ones. He gave Charles a small warning pinch telepathically. Theresa smiled at him, kissing his cheek in greeting, and then turned a critical eye towards Charles, “Erik’s boyfriend, huh? What’s your name?”
Erik wished the Earth would swallow him whole. Him and Charles, actually, and then they could both escape this hazing torture.
“Yes,” Charles said, his voice cracking with nerves. That was unlike him - Erik had to find at least a little humor in Theresa's tiny frame intimidating Charles so much. “I’m Charles. Charles Xavier. Ma’am.”
Erik’s eyes widened. Oh no. Theresa hated being called ma’am. Abort, abort!
“Oh please, call me Theresa, everyone does,” she said, kinder than Erik had expected. He let out a little sigh of relief. “So, you and Erik, huh? We were starting to think it was never going to happen for him after Magda, aleha ha-shalom. How serious is it? Are you thinking of getting a rabbi for the wedding?”
Erik wanted to groan and bury his face in his hands. Why did he bring Charles here? Why? Why didn’t he tell Charles there was a reason he didn’t want him to come and it was decidedly not because he was ashamed of Charles? Why did he let Charles’ infectious excitement make him forget about all of this?
Don’t worry, love , Charles assured him, squeezing his arm, I know how to deal with overbearing, nosy women from the many, many parties my mother used to throw. Charles laughed, and Erik was relieved to hear the laughter had more amusement in it than nervousness. At last - maybe Charles was getting back into his groove. “Oh, we’re not quite there yet, I think,” Charles said, tactfully, “but meeting all of you is a good sign, isn’t it? Not to mention we’re in the process of moving in.”
Erik would have preferred if the nosiest people he knew didn’t know that private detail about his life, but at least Charles’ easy going attitude and openness might endear him to the ladies, especially when compared to Erik’s aloof and closed-off nature.
Gabi’s eyebrows raised, “moving in? How come we hadn’t met you until now, then?”
“You’re not exactly making me regret it,” Erik muttered pointedly, his tone bitter.
“Hush you, you love us,” Threasa said, but then her inquisitive gaze turned towards Charles, “what do you have to say for yourself, Charles? Didn’t want to come?”
He knew Charles could handle light good-natured teasing from Gabi, but there was a reason he knew Thearesa to be one of the worst ones. Erik didn’t only love her like a mother - she insisted on acting like his. That included, apparently, interrogating his boyfriends. He was 32 for fuck’s sake. He was too old for this.
Charles’ face fell immediately, in a way not even he could hide behind a smile, “oh, I don’t know really. I mean, I wanted to come, of course, but Erik didn’t seem too keen on it. You’d have to ask him why. I suppose since I’m not Jewish, he was worried about me fitting in. Embarrassing him and the like. I really don’t know…”
Erik was about to bristle at Charles throwing him so quickly under the bus, but he was horrified to learn about what Charles really thought was the reason he was reluctant to come with Charles to temple until today. Charles was the most confident person he knew - almost to the point of arrogance really. He never would’ve imagined that’s what Charles had thought all along… “Charles, no…” he said softly, “of course not. I could never be embarrassed of you.”
Theresa looked at them both with a critical eye, her arms folded across her chest. Charles still wasn’t looking at him, only fiddling with his hands in his lap. “Maybe you’re not the one Erik is ashamed of,” Theresa suggested, her tone cold and clipped like it was when someone insulted her daughter, Kitty. Erik found he didn’t like being on the receiving end of it.
Gabi, who actually was a good friend, no matter what Erik said beforehand, glanced between the three of them, clearly noticing the palpable tension. She found a way to change the topic of the conversation quickly, pointing at the box in Charles’ lap, “say, Charles, is that Edie’s world famous hamantaschen I see in your lap? Why don’t you add them to the spread?”
Charles looked down from his hands towards the box, as if he forgot about it until now, “oh right. The cookies. Um, about that-“
“Yes!” Erik exclaimed, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically considering the way everyone jumped. He was just so grateful for the segway. “Hamantaschen! I made the dough and Charles did the filling and baking! I was too busy today to come home early so he graciously offered to help me out.” He said that all in a tone that he hoped conveyed, see? He’s a great boyfriend! Stop making him sad!
“Um,” Charles said, uncertain, “about that-“
“Well, this I have to see!” Gabi said, equally enthusiastically so that it would make Erik seem less weird, and snatched the box from Charles’ lap, despite the panicked look on his face. Gabi opened the box with fanfare, and revealed-
A bunch of flat, vaguely triangle looking, overcooked hamantaschen. They were an insult to hamantaschen really. The baking sheet they laid on seemed dirty with jams and leaking chocolate, the spilled fillings cooked to the point where they were barely recognisable. All three pairs of eyes turned towards Charles, who couldn’t look at any of them.
“What happened?” Erik uttered, speechless, “what are they even filled with?”
“Melted chocolate and jam. Oh and poppy seeds are underneath. I’m really sorry, Erik, I have no idea why this happened.”
“Melted chocolate and jam…” Theresa repeated in a whisper, seeming just as stunned as Erik felt, “bubby, they’re liquids! Hamantaschen can’t hold that! You must have squished it down onto the dough when you folded them…”
Charles’ eyes widened in realization, “oh.”
Erik was mystified. He left Nutella and the fruit reserves he always used for Charles to use as fillings. “Why did you even…?” Oh. Wait. Erik remembered where he put them now. On the top shelf where the kids couldn’t reach… and neither could Charles. “…you couldn’t reach them. Charles, I’m so sorry! Why didn’t you call me?”
Charles shrugged, sheepish, “I didn’t want to bother you-“
“Hey the poppyseeds don’t look too bad,” Gabi said, reaching for one.
“Wait, don’t!”
Gabi immediately choked, pieces of overcooked dough and some kind of paste leaving her mouth, gagging on the taste. She immediately sprinted towards the garbage can, dry heaving into it.
“I tried to warn her… I don’t know why it tastes so bad - it’s just poppyseeds…” Charles looked completely humiliated by the whole thing. Erik couldn’t blame him.
Wait. The poppyseeds were on the top shelf with all the other fillings (not because the kids would try to eat that, but because it was convenient for everything to be in one place). So whatever Charles had filled the hamantaschen with, it couldn’t be poppy seeds, just something that looked like it. What looked like poppyseeds…
“Charles,” Erik said slowly, piecing it together, “did the “poppyseeds” came in a closed jar by any chance.”
“…yes?” Charles responded, nervously.
Erik closed his eyes, “that was black sesame paste.”
Theresa actually gasped at that, truly horrified and Charles’ gaze skirted over to where Gabi was still hugging the trash can close. “Oh,” Charles said, probably because there was nothing else to say. He looked back at Erik, guilty, “um. Happy Purim?”
Both the adults and the kids kept a healthy distance away from Charles’ cursed monstrosity. Only Erik’s kids (who Erik threatened with doing the dishes if they didn’t eat the hamantaschen for Charles), braved them, but their reaction only seemed to make Charles feel worse. Lorna made a face and immediately let the half chewed piece of goo roll from her mouth to the floor, much to Erik’s horror. Pietro took the tiniest bite possible for a child like him, and then said semi politely, that they weren’t to his taste, before he stuffed his face with “proper hamantaschen”. Only Wanda, to whom Charles admitted he made the strawberry jam ones for, managed to swallow one fully, and then lied through her teeth when she said they were the best things she ever tasted. Charles pretended to buy it as he hugged her, but Erik knew better.
At the end of the evening, the box was still completely full, untouched by even the hungriest of the guests. Charles clearly knew, but Erik still went outside and dumped all the cookies out, so at least he could pretend they were eaten.
Charles was despondent throughout the car ride, his mood was leaking throughout the five of them. Pietro and Lorna somehow didn’t notice, just kept squealing about their evening, clearly having had a good time. But Wanda clearly did, as she kept reassuring Charles that “it was really yummy, Charles, honest. I want you to make more!” Charles smiled weakly at her attempts, but even she knew he wasn’t buying it.
Erik remained quiet, glancing at Charles from time to time. He felt unsettled - it wasn’t just the stupid goddamn cookies that Charles was upset about. It was more than that; Charles’ words from earlier today stuck in his head, showing him the root of the issue. The kids still needed to be bathed and tucked in, but come hell or high water, Erik knew he had to talk with Charles about this.
Once he had all the kids showered, dressed in their PJs, and put to bed, he went downstairs and heated up a pot of his emergency kreplach. Charles was sitting at the table, waiting for him, reading through one of his genetic books listlessly. He looked up when the microwave beeped, announcing the soup was heated up. Erik served it to Charles straight from the box, handing him a spoon as well.
Charles gave him a confused look.
“You looked like you needed it,” Erik explained, “it’s actually traditional to eat kreplach on Purim - but for us, well, I just give it to the kiddos when they have a particularly bad Purim. Last year some girls were whispering about Lorna’s hair… so she got it. You looked like you needed it too.”
Charles gave a small smile at that, a little endeared by the story and gesture, but clearly not comforted yet. He took his spoon and sipped a little bit of soup with it. “Thanks,” he said, his voice small.
Erik let Charles sip in peace, unwilling and unsure of how to break the silence, but sure the soup would at least make Charles’ heart feel warmer, would make his limbs feel comforted. It was how his mom showed love too - through food. It was only fitting that he’d continue her legacy. The clock on the wall ticked by calmly, the sound and feeling of the metal moving making Erik’s senses hum. Charles would talk soon. Out of the two of them, he was the one with trouble shutting up.
“I just-” Charles finally sighed, probably noticing Erik was waiting for him to start talking. He put down his spoon on the table, uncaring that there was no napkin underneath it for stains. “I just feel so humiliated. God, Erik, I’m so sorry - I just wanted to help you and instead I embarrassed you in front of your friends.”
Erik reached out a hand, surprised to find that Charles didn’t immediately grab onto him like he usually would have. Something must be truly wrong then. “You didn’t embarrass me,” Erik insisted, feeling it was important to stretch that point, “you never could. And even if you could… it’s just cookies, Charles. Nothing big. Besides, it was my fault; I didn’t even think when I put it all on the top shelf, I should have realized…” Erik sighed, shaking his head at his own stupidity. If Charles and him were going to move in, they needed to find some kind of compromise for the top shelf - there were some things Erik would still like to keep out of the kids’ reach, but obviously not out of Charles’ reach. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t call me if you were struggling - I could have helped you. I would have been happy to,” Erik said, and felt his hand getting lonely without Charles’ reassuring grip on it. It was the only way Erik could know Charles was okay - he wasn’t a telepath, unlike his boyfriend.
Charles shook his head, shrugging once more, “you were busy at work. I didn’t want to…” Charles sighed, “I wanted to help you, not bother you. You clearly thought I couldn’t do it. I wanted to prove you wrong.”
Erik scoffed, “that’s what this is about? Your pride is wounded? Honestly, Charles, I-”
“No, it’s not that,” Charles harshly cut in, “I just wanted to help. I didn’t want to be…” Charles hesitated, trailing off on the sentence without a resolution.
Erik did not have a good feeling about this. “To be what…?” Erik prompted.
Charles looked away from him, “Erik, I’m tired… can we not do this today?”
But Erik could be equally as stubborn as Charles, “didn’t want to be what, Charles?”
“Erik…”
“What were you going to say, Charles?”
“A burden!” Charles snapped, and the words felt like a physical blow across Erik’s face. Tears were streaming down Charles’ face now and Erik’s heart clenched at the sight of the man he loved so distraught. “I was going to say I didn’t want to be a fucking burden alright?!” Charles wiped away at his tears, almost angry at them for appearing, “christ, I’m the one who fucked up and now I’m making it all about me. I’m sorry, Erik, I-”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Erik said and immediately lunged towards Charles, finding it unacceptable that the table was still separating them. Even if Charles wasn’t going to reach out and take his hand, Erik was going to kneel beside him and brush away his tears for him. “Charles, I… you’re not a burden. You fucked up a little, yes, but you’re definitely not a burden.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Charles said, sounding almost annoyed at him, “you’re even less convincing than your daughter, bless her heart. You really should do something about that people's pleasing habit of hers, by the way.”
Erik smiled at Charles’ attempts to psychoanalyze his kids during this important conversation. Charles did minor in psychology for his undergrad degree. “I’m not lying to you,” Erik insisted, though, not taking the bait for the change in conversation, “I would never lie to you about that. In fact, just today I was thinking about how lucky I am to have you - how kind and passionate and funny and smart you are. How you adore the kids and make their lives better. How you make me feel… not alone.”
Charles scanned his face through watery eyes, looking to see if he was lying. Erik had never been more earnest about anything, however. Absent-mindedly, Charles wiped away his own tears, “I don’t understand… I don’t understand how you can say that. I can’t even… I can’t even reach the top shelf, Erik. I can’t run around after the kids, or fuck you the way you deserve, or just help you at all with anything. I don’t understand why… Lots of people are passionate and funny and kind and smart. Lots of people can make you feel not alone. Why me?”
Erik’s heart broke at the sound of those words. He wanted to somehow make Charles never ever think about himself like that again. He didn’t know what to say - he didn’t know what he could say that would make Charles see how truly amazing he really is.
Charles scoffed at him. “Don’t pity me, Erik,” he said, clearly having read Erik’s mind, even if he misunderstood it.
“I’m not,” Erik said, still contemplating on what to say, “I’m not pitying you. I’m just…. You’re the best person I ever met, Charles. Meeting you has changed my life - I can barely remember what it was like before you, I don’t even want to remember. It breaks my heart that you don’t know that… it breaks my heart that you can’t see that.”
Charles stayed silent at that one, clearly stunned beyond words. Erik wasn’t naive enough to think that meant Charles believed him yet, though. Unsure what else to do, Erik just leaned forward, kissing Charles’ lips, only the tiniest bit, to make the affection he felt for the man shine through.
“I want you by my side, Charles,” Erik said, “nothing you could do or say could ever make me want anything else.”
Charles shook his head, more tears spilling down his cheeks. This time, however, he didn’t hate them just for existing. That was progress at least… “Erik, I… I don’t know what to say,” Charles said, biting his lip, an anxious habit, “I wish… I wish I didn’t feel this way about myself. I wish I could see what you see in me.”
Erik took Charles’ hands in his, “that’s ok. I will remind you of it everyday until you believe me.” And then Erik leaned forward and took Charles’ lips, letting all the adoration and love and appreciation he had for Charles bleed through the telepathic bond between them.
Well. Erik did just promise him everyday. Perhaps… Perhaps it wasn’t too early to look for a rabbi after all.