Work Text:
Erik saw the arrow drive straight through the heart of his daughter, the heart of his wife, piercing both vessels in a mere second. Killing two with one. An interminable tragedy, he thinks, as the silver necklace returns to his hand after traveling mercilessly through the necks of all fifteen warriors.
Erik heard every metal worker crumble to nothing but dirt and dust as Apocalypse's eyes went white. His victims demolished by a power far greater than himself, disintegrated whole by a single thought of command. It unnerved him, but it also drew him in.
Erik felt the unmeasurable surging of raw power through his body, calling the metal buried deep underground, in every standing building around him, wedged between the slots of rifles or entwined through guarded fencing. The electricity from his fingertips reached all the way down to Earth's very core, hot and colossal and yielding to his strength.
Erik tasted the bitter feeling of losing victory so close only to be steered away by his own morals. Raven's pleading voice echoed in his mind, along with Peter's- there was something about his hesitant stance that made him think of something entirely impossible but possible.
Erik smelt ashes and burnt wreckage, unsalvageable, surrounding himself and the X-Men and Apocalypse's team. Storm's eyes blazed still, silver armor riding up her body and golden cape billowing behind; Angel lying bloody on the ground, metal wings torn up and innocent face smeared with dirt; Psylocke slipping away with a flashing violet sword trailing her like a snake.
And now, Erik smiles in pure relief as Charles looks up at him, because as far as the eye can see, there only seems to be blue.
"Bastard," the professor spits, but even through the agonizing hatred, Erik can see the love struggling to split through. A battle of morals. "You never cease to betray me, you two-faced-"
"I love you."
There's a beat of silence.
Erik knows he means it, but he also knows that it'll be knocked down like everything else once Magneto's rage takes over. Maybe in the near future, distant, no one knows. He means it with all his heart and yet, his love for Charles may just... destroy them.
And Charles knows it, too. Very well. But the human heart is weak. Even the mutant heart, hardened by childhood trauma of prison camps and dying mothers, by an overwhelming haunting of voices and feelings, is human.
"And I..." Charles closes his eyes, as if physically pained. His lashes cast thin, inky shadows onto the pale, unblemished skin Erik has kissed so many times. "...I will always love you, Erik. Always. Even if you do insist on breaking my heart and destroying the world."
The gentle glow of dusty rose brushes over the forest and water in sight. It's a humid night, bursting with cricket violin, night sky clear besides looping threads of golden stars. Two sillouhetted figures sit quietly across from each other, over an old chess board, occassionally breaking the silence to speak or position a new piece.
It's peaceful. Yet, sorrow hangs in the air, cutting deeply into both men. In his head, Charles traces every fine detail of the mutant beside him: a sharp cut jaw, chiseled cheekbones, the hint of stubble...
"Must you leave?" Charles asks quietly, even though he already knows the answer. He just needs to hear it for himself, even if it feels like a stab wound.
Surprised, Erik glances at him, lips parted. The professor furrows his brow in confusion, until realizing he must've accidentally projected some of his thoughts into Erik's head. It's scary, how one person can make him slip up so easily.
"You'd miss me that much?"
"I do hope you're joking," Charles replies, looking down. There are no existent words to describe the constant ache he would feel, like possessing a vacant heart, whenever Erik left. He's learned to live with it, but that doesn't mean it still can't hurt. It's a constant throbbing pain, yet he'll bear it, because it would break his heart to hold someone else where they don't belong.
Then there's a soft hand carressing his face, and Charles looks up to find Erik mere inches away. With a jolt, he realizes his face is damp. "Fuck, Charles, don't cry."
The tears are coming freely now, constricting his posture, his composed manner, everything he has worked so carefully to keep so as not to pressure Erik. "God, I know- I know it's inevitable, you leaving. I know. It's just- it still hurts, alright?"
"I love you," Erik whispers, and Charles feels a sudden burst of anger.
"Don't tell me you love me!" He's sobbing now. "Apparently you love me, but not enough to stay. Just leave if you're going to leave, Erik, I can't-"
He's cut off by an umistakable kiss, needy and comforting, packed with so much emotion it catches him off guard. Erik is kneeling down beside his chair, hands wrapped around his waist. Almost by habit, Charles snakes his arms around his neck, kissing back with fierce desire even as the tears continue.
It's a sad kiss. A goodbye kiss.
Their lips pull apart, but remain together with their foreheads pressed against each other's, breaths mingling. Heatedly, Erik murmurs, "I love you," once again, pressing a kiss somewhere below Charles' left eye, on a tear stain.
Long after he leaves, Charles sits motionless at the table. The chess pieces stay still.
A half of him gone. Split down the middle.