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September 2, 1955
Charles was not at all ashamed of his soulmate.
He had to repeat this to himself about once a day.
However, he couldn't stop the groan when he woke up, rolling out of his bed and stumbling over to his mirror, and staring in disbelief at the blooming bruise all across his cheekbone, a bright, watercolor mark, starting just a inch below his eye and spreading out across his face. He grumbled, grabbing the concealer that Raven had helped him match to his skin, and began messily smearing it across the mark.
Charles was lucky enough that the wounds didn't do more than ache dully, for the most part at least, because if he felt them in full force, he was sure he would be quite incapacitated most of the time. Still, he didn't miss the way that his colleagues eyes lingered, when the cuff of his sweater was rolled up a bit too far, or how Raven would wince when he woke up in the morning, every single day it seemed collecting a new mark.
He started to resent it, the way that he could do nothing for the person these wounds were being inflicted on. Surely, he thought, there had to be some document somewhere where you could catalogue where you'd been wounded, and match them to marks on another. That was the worst part of it, he thought, that he had no clue who it was. If he'd met his soulmate, he could give them ice packs or stitches and lecture them on staying out of bar fights.
That was, he assumed, the only option, for what was causing these marks. They had, so it seemed, always been there, but they'd begun growing in recent years. Since he had turned 19, his skin hadn't been unmarked in one way or another, by his soulmate. It also leaned towards a possibility that Charles wasn't quite ready to admit out loud yet.
"What kind of girl is getting into so many fights in the middle of the night?" Raven wondered out loud, wincing as she saw deep gashes all up and down Charles's forearm. "Are you sure those don't hurt?"
"Barely," Charles said truthfully. "I can't really feel much from them."
"Maybe she's with some asshole," Raven muttered. Charles echoed agreement at the possibility, examining the mark. Experimentally, he put his other hand out, tracing his nails over the red gashes.
It was plain as day, these were not wounds made by the perpetrator. He feared someone had been clawing to escape his soulmate's grasp.
And he couldn't think of a woman he knew strong enough to keep a hold that long.
Now, this had been a wrong assessment, Charles would learn over the course of his relationship with his sister, plenty of women could have been a perpetrator of the kind of physical violence he believed his soulmate was committing, but it was easier for him to explain the nagging feeling it wasn't a women, coming home every night with a broken nose, or split knuckles, than to confront the other reasons he was sure his soul was bonded to a man.
‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿
Erik had not given the idea of a soulmate any thought, in all honesty, for several years. He hadn't had a single bruise that he couldn't explain relatively easily appear on his skin, let alone any cuts or marks that didn't hurt to the touch. Perhaps his lifestyle was to blame, but really, he could not for the life of him believe he had a soulmate out there.
Which, really, worked out better for him. He didn't have time to go hunt down someone he was meant to settle down with, spend some sleepy domestic life together with, if was wrong, and there was someone out there for him, than he did not want to meet them.
His life was fantastic, in the sense that he was able to focus on the things he need to, and there was no one that he had to fight to for his own autonomy. Hours normally spent coaxing a conversation to a conclusion, and debating over the right ways to approach conflict were saved, and he was beyond grateful for it.
What he had not accounted for, was the mark that appeared on his arm one night, sitting alone in his hotel room, poring over plans. Glancing down at his arm, feeling a slight twinge, he felt his eyebrows raise suddenly, as he examined the mark.
Hello!
The dull, red lines began fading quickly, and he stared at the faintest imprint they left for several moments before he felt another, dull, almost ticklish pain in the same spot for a moment. Nothing more than the faintest scratching sensation and light pressure before another word appeared.
R U OK?
He continued to stare down, breath coming quickly as he examined. It hadn't occurred to him, as embarrassing as it may be to admit, that he could have a soulmate dealing with his admittedly frequent marks on his own body. Glancing in the mirror, he winced. It was clear why they may have been compelled to ask, one of Erik's eyes had been entirely swollen shut, and deep purple bruising rippled across his neck, where hands had just recently had him pinned.
Debating for a moment, he reached out, grabbing a steel blade, one of his flashier ones, more for letter opening than any real combat, and answered the ask, using light pressure to avoid drawing blood or leaving any long-lasting marks.
Yes. He said, even taking the time to add a period at the end. Moments later, another etching appeared, this time, a sequence of numbers, followed by a question mark. Erik stared for a moment before seeing the phone number fade, and quickly grabbed a pen, scribbling it down, before his arm was left blank, only dully stinging from the abuse.
Glancing briefly at the rotary phone on the nightstand, he shook his head, turning away from it for a moment, before his eyes looked back. He had never heard of someone using such methods to find their soulmate, and as much as he hated tradition— and he did hate it, there was a sense about it all that felt wrong. Were you not meant to meet them in a predestined way?
Perhaps such thoughts were childish, and before he could talk himself out of it, he dialed the number quickly, waiting with baited breath as the phone rang twice.
"Hello there?"
The voice that answered was warm and bright, a velvety British accent that Erik had most certainly not expected, followed with somewhat lesser shock that it was a man. He paused, opened his mouth, and then closed it again, unable to produce any words, despite his effort. The line was quiet for a moment, nothing but hushed breath from the other line, and Erik quickly shook his head, hanging up before he could speak.
If he did have a soulmate, as it seemed he did, they were better off not knowing him.
‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿
December 13, 1957
Charles was sitting alone in his room, staring at his arm. Raven, for her part, had been warning him for the last several years that he was not just an idiot, but a hopeless romantic idiot at that. Soulmates, simple as the concept sounded, proved more complex with time. Many people now, in a recent trend, actually put off meeting theirs for as long as they could, knowing all casual fun and easy-going romance went out the window as soon as their destand person walked into their life.
There were other cases too. Murder suicides, violence between couples, plenty of evidence, in more recent years, that a soul bond with someone did not remove any of the troubling aspects of their relationship, any more than their hair color might. It was not unheard of, for a soulmate to ignore their connection for a long while.
Charles was not one of those people.
He picked up the pen again, using just enough force it would show up on the other's skin, and etched out Ok? slowly, putting a little extra work into the letters to ensure they read legibly, before setting it down. Not three minutes later, his phone rang. Scrambling, he picked it up, waiting a moment. When no one spoke, he licked his lips, taking a shaky breath.
"Hello?" He asked. Another beat of silence. "Is anyone there?" Still without an answer, indignation sparked in his chest, and he glared at the wall. "Is it you?"
"Yes."
He startled at that. Over the years, since he had first tried to make contact, he had never heard their voice, although he had heard Charles's many times over. A few years older, and with more life experience under his belt, he was much less shaken at the male tone than he might have been years ago, although there was still a jolt that ran through him at the realization.
"Hi," Charles said. "Er… I wanted to check on you. There's a horrible mark on your side, and I wasn't sure if you'd been to a doctor about it because… well… I don't know you."
"It'll heal," The low tone said, sounding more frustrated than enthused.
"…right," Charles said. "Well… be sure to put some antiseptic on it, and maybe run it under some cold water. Infections can be nasty things."
"I'm aware," The man said, in a tone that matched the rough lifestyle Charles's marks hinted at.
"Well, that's good then," Charles said slowly, "I um, I have to go- I'm sorry, I didn't ask your name."
"Why do you need my name?" the man asked, suspicion heavy in his voice.
"I don't need your name, but I would like it," Charles said slowly, looking around the room, before shaking his head. "Are you not at all curious?"
"You could tell me your name, if you desire," he said. "But I don't reveal personal information over the phone."
"I'm Charles Xavier," Charles said slowly, hoping for some kind of reciprocation. The man gave none, entirely silent for several seconds. "Don't feel inclined to share?"
"Charles Xavier," He repeated. "That's a good name."
"I think so," Charles said with a laugh. "And you are?"
"Going now," He said quietly. "I am sure we will talk again."
"That does seem to be how this works," Charles said. "Well, until next time, whoever you are,"
"Until next time."
‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿
April 8th, 1960
Charles woke up with a pounding headache, his chest and body aching as he stretched and began to work his way downstairs. it was as he was in the middle of making tea, one hand lazily running through his hair as be began to read groggily through the latest draft of his thesis. Having only just begun it, he was finding each day that he worked on it to be more and more frustrating and less exciting as time went on. It was only when Raven walked downstairs, exclaiming and dropping her book.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Charles, have you looked in a mirror?" She asked, walking over to him and brushing a hand over his cheekbone.
"No?" He said. "Is it bad?"
"Look," She insisted, dragging him away from his tea kettle, which he cast a morose glance at it as he was marched into the hallway and to the mirror hanging by the entry.
"Oh my," Charles said, touching the side of his face. It was beyond a normal beating, and he almost winced sympathetically, the pain that normally manifested as a dull ache, now a sharper sort of jab. His stomach twisted a little, and he chewed his lip, watching his own reflection with concern.
"You think she's okay?" Raven asked, glancing at him.
"She… oh," Charles said, "Um, I don't know."
"I wonder if someone's soulmate dies if you know," Raven said aloud.
"Raven," Charles chided. She shrugged, turning around.
"Just saying," She said. "I don't know how much more of this she can take."
"…right," Charles said. "I'm sure they are fine."
"I don't know," She replied. "I mean, she could be in real danger. Have you tried contacting them at all?"
"No," Charles said quickly. "No, nothing like that, that kind of thing just isn't right."
"I know," She said. "But these are kind of weird circumstances, you have to see that. I mean, what if whoever this is really hurts her?"
"Don't worry about it, Raven," Charles said, before paling, realizing that he was not giving off anything like the normal attitude he would have in this situation, and adjusting. "I really think they are okay. If it happens again, I will try to find them, okay? It'll all happen when the timing is right."
"…okay," She said, giving him a wary look. "I just want you to be aware, if things like this keep happening, you might wake up one day to no marks, and a grave instead of a soulmate."
"Yes, thank you, Raven," Charles hissed, exhausted by the morbid line of questioning. "I will check on him."
"…him?" She asked. Charles, realizing his mistake, feigned dumb, tipping his head.
"Hm?" He asked.
"You said 'him'." She said. Charles shook his head.
"Said 'them'." He replied.
"…you know, Charles, if you have been talking to them," Raven said, for the first time, making an effort to use more neutral pronouns. "You could tell me."
"I haven't," Charles said quickly, giving her a look.
"Right," She said. "But if you had."
"I have work to do, Raven."
‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿
Erik was half awake in a motel room, fighting to keep his eyes open as the ripples of pain and fever gripped his body. Three days in, and the wounds had it seemed only grown, each day becoming a little harder to move and a little bit hotter to the touch, his teeth gritted in pain as he slowly rewrapped bandages over the wound. It shouldn't have been a surprise, but it still made him sigh when he felt the telltale pressure on the outside of his forearm.
Need Help?
He sighed heavily, picking up the phone and dialing a number he knew now by heart. It wasn't exactly because he wanted to talk, he told himself that repeatedly, it was more a slight concern for the skin on his soulmate's arm, knowing it was currently being abused for the sake of communication.
"Charles," He said quickly when he picked up. Charles sighed, and it was a clear, frustrated noise. More audible than he had normally heard the man, making him wonder how far they were from each other at the moment.
"What happened?" Charles asked quickly, his voice tight. "These are very serious injuries, my friend."
"I'm aware," Erik replied. "I'll be fine."
"Do you have medical supplies? Are you at a hospital?" Charles's words coming quickly. "Can I send you anything? Do you need anything?"
"I'm more than capable of handling this," Erik said.
"This one on your leg is definitely infected, loo,k it's all red all the way around," Charles said, making Erik groan in frustration. "Are you sure you-"
"I'm hanging up now, Charles," Erik said.
"Wait just- promise me, you'll take some kind of antibiotic?" Charles asked quickly. "Even if you're not going to the hospital?"
"I don't have time for this," Erik said, as if he wasn't activly hoping to drag the conversation out.
"Where are you right now?" Charles asked. "Are you near New York?"
"What's it matter to you?" Erik asked, glancing around the hotel room, which very much, was in New York.
"I could leave you medication; you won't have to see me at all," Charles said. "Tell me a store or something near you, I'll drive out and leave them."
"Why would you do that?" Erik asked.
"I'd do this for anyone that needed it," Charles said. "I've got a friend with a script pad, it's not a big deal."
"Are you offering me free drugs?" Erik asked, smirking. "That's illegal, you know."
"You of all people, do not seem concerned with the law," Charles countered.
"Now, you don't know that," Erik said playfully. "I could be a cop for all you know; these injuries may have been incurred during the line of duty."
"I'm sure," Charles said. "And did you get shot?"
"Perhaps," Erik said. "If you want to leave something, I will take it."
"Will you?" Charles asked, not trusting him.
"…I might."
"Then I will," Charles said. "If you'll take them."
"Maybe."
"Maybe?"
"Maybe."
‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿
Febuary 14, 1962
Charles hadn't heard from his soulmate in at least four months, and he tried not to worry about it. He hadn't encountered many more bruises; his nose very so often showed evidence of a sharp blow, or a mark on his ribs, but over all, it seemed whoever his soulmate was, they had sorted themselves out.
It wasn't that a piece of him had wanted to find the same, violent bruising that he had witnessed in the years prior. Since he was a boy, he'd woken up with a heavy blanket of anxiety over him, and every glance in the mirror held the possibility of finding himself covered in bruises, cuts, and any manner of marks. Since it had begun to die out, he hadn't winced every time he looked in the mirror, hadn't even found himself covering the marks with high colored shirts and Raven's makeup in a few months.
But a very tiny part of his heart made him worry, even if he resented it. It had to be a good sign that his soulmate wasn't being beaten black and blue about twice a week; he knew that, but he couldn't help but wonder what had changed. The pattern had been reliable, familiar even. Every few months, sometimes years, Charles would get it in his head that the man would be killed by his wounds, although he'd only accepted help the one time. They would call; once Charles reached out, he almost always got a call.
Without the pretences of the battle wounds, Charles didn't feel right about reaching out. Other than the vaguely grotesque method of contact, he had never received the other's number, meaning that whoever it was had the ability to call at any time and chose not to. There must be a reason for it, so when there wasn't any reason for Charles to question it. Perhaps, fate really did have a way of making people appear when you needed them.
Besides, for such a hopeless romantic, someone who had never desired a serious relationship beyond his soulmate, he had finally begun to see the draw.
It was with more hesitation than he cared to admit that he slipped out of his bunk, steadying himself on the wall and hovering by the door. One last time, he checked his body for wounds, his own or others. Still, nothing had appeared, at least nothing dark enough for him to be sure. His eyes lingered over one faint, pink mark before turning and opening the rickety door.
He had someone to check on, and if his soulmate was so committed to not reaching out, he didn't have any obligation to not help out a stranger. If the stranger was tall, with piercing eyes and sharp features that made his stomach twist into knots when he stared, that was beside the point. He hadn't known that when he'd jumped into the water, it was an altruistic act, and any other feelings were kept locked away.
Someone had needed to pull Erik out of the water.
‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿
Charles Xavier was on this boat.
And Erik was feeling very normal about it.
Charles Xavier, his soulmate, was a telepath and he was on this boat. Actually, he was why Erik was on this boat.
Surely he knew by now. He'd been inside Erik's head, and he doubted his thoughts had been anything other than quiet. He hadn't stopped pacing his room since Charles had shoved dry clothes and a pillow into his hands, telling him that if he needed anything, he could come find him, before going off with a long argument with Moira over the security risk of Erik's presence.
He had barely stripped off the wet clothes, pulling on the naval uniform that had been provided to him, and continued his pacing when he heard a knocking at his door. Approaching, shoulders high, and hand reaching out to grab onto the metal with his powers, he opened it slowly, before sighing, seeing a pair of sincere, ocean eyes staring back at him.
"Charles," Erik said, opening the door, forcibly clearing his mind. Charles smiled at him, watching carefully.
"Erik," He said. "Sorry, I was just coming to see if you needed anything or… I don't know. You don't know anyone here, or have anything on you, I thought maybe you'd be getting restless in here."
"I'm perfectly capable of entertaining myself," Erik said. A faint look of recognition flittered on Charles's face before he shook his head, seeming to ground himself.
"Right," Charles said. "Of course. Well, if you do need anything-"
"Who is Moira?" Erik asked, interrupting.
"Moira?" Charles asked. "Oh, she's great, CIA. She's helping us with some of the mutant-"
"CIA and working on mutant rights?" Erik asked. "Is that such a good idea?"
"Well, she came to me for help," Charles said quickly. "And she is rather trustworthy, the rest of them, not quite as much, but I have to admit, it's a concern I've had. Her mind is rather earnest though, and she's kind."
"She's useless," Erik said, crossing his arms. "I have seen her do nothing other than stand around and make faces while others work."
"That's not entirely fair," Charles said, souring a little. "She's CIA, you don't get there without hard work."
"I'm sure," Erik said, watching him carefully.
"Well… I'll let you have your night," Charles said, nodding awkwardly.
"Let me?" Erik asked.
"Oh you know what I mean," Charles shot back, although there was no heat in it. He paused for a moment, eyes moving rapidly as he took Erik in. "You remind me of someone."
"Do I?" Erik asked.
"You do," Charles said. "You're way of talking."
"I cannot imagine you've met anyone quite like me," Erik said, now slipping into a teasing tone. "Would you like to come in?"
"I should go check on my sister…" Charles said, staring without shame. Erik raised his eyebrows, taking a step back to close the door, and Charles quickly shook his head. "Well, as long as I don't stay long."
"That is entirely up to you."
‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿
October 15th, 1962
The reality of the coming day had not really carried the weight it should until the night, when Charles was sitting alone at the chess table in the room, slowly moving the pieces back and forth, studying the winning move, pieces still where Erik had left them. All signs of a soul mate had been entirely slipping away from him in the last few months. Without the bruising to remind him, he found it suprisingly easy to forget about the reality of his soulmate existing somewhere without him, living his life unaware of Charles.
It helped that Erik had been taking up most of his free time to think. Not that this was much of a positive. It was undeniable that they were close, but the more time that Charles spent with him, the more concern grew over Erik's ideology. He knew that Erik's desires for revenge were beyond understandable, but at the same time, the world would react against him in ways that Charles was sure he hadn't factored for yet, and he couldn't think too long about their future as mutants before anxiety began to seize his chest.
Nevertheless, when Erik knocked on his door, poking his head in, Charles couldn't help but perk, smiling brightly at him.
"One last game?" Erik asked, gesturing to the board. Charles nodded quickly, grinning at him.
"You ready for tomorrow?" Charles asked. Erik gave him a look.
"I've been ready for most of my life," Erik said. "We will be able to bring justice."
"Yeah," Charles said, idly twirling a pawn, and something in Erik's tight face softened a little.
"Are you?" He asked, taking a seat. Charles gave a tight nod, eyes downcast to the board.
"Raven's bold, I'm worried she'll put herself in harm's way," Charles said. "And that is if any of us survive."
"We're stronger than the humans," Erik said. "Raven's smart. She will carry herself as such."
"I'm sure you're right," Charles said, for Erik's benefit more than actual belief. "How are you so calm?"
"I've set myself out to do this my whole life," Erik said. "If I die, as long as it's after Shaw, I will have completed my mission."
"That's a very narrow view," Charles said. Erik scoffed, shaking his head.
"I've been accused as such before," Erik said. Charles smiled a little, nervous.
"Do you ever…" Charles trailed off, seeing Erik's patient expression before continuing. "Do you ever worry about your soulmate? You haven't met them, I take it."
"I don't," Erik said. "I think they might be better off without me."
"I doubt that's true," Charles said quickly, looking at the man in front of him with a little bit of shock. "I don't think anyone is better off alone."
"You're naive," Erik said, shaking his head. "Some people are destined to bring nothing but pain with them."
"Oh, and you're one of them, are you?" Charles asked, almost amused at the theatrics.
"Maybe," Erik said. "What about you? Do you think about your soulmate?"
"All the time," Charles confessed. He didn't want to explain that he had been in contact, so he focused on moving a pawn instead, chewing his lip. "They have a knack for getting themselves injured."
"You worry about them?" Erik asked, brows raised, when Charles glanced up.
"Sometimes," he replied. "I almost told them about what we're doing, just in case."
"How would you do that?" Erik asked, and Charles saw too much amusement in his face for him to make sense of it.
"Oh, it's silly," Charles said, holding out his arm. "I'll just scratch my arm a little, not much at all, just enough to turn it red. They have my number, but er… I never got theirs. So I'll check on them and they'll call me. Not often, though."
"When was the last time you talked to them?" Erik asked, smirking.
"Over a year ago," Charles said quietly.
"…are you sure?" Erik asked. Charles looked up, brow drawn.
"What do you mean?" Charles asked. "Of course I'm bloody sure."
"Just checking," Erik said. "Could be someone you already know."
"I would know," Charles said, feeling a little indignation rise in his chest. He would know if he found his soulmate; he had to know.
"I'm sure," Erik said. "Well, if you survive tomorrow, maybe you'll meet them."
"…I feel like you're implying something here," Charles said, squinting at Erik.
"Now, why would you think that?" Erik asked calmly.
"What are you trying to say, Erik?" Charles asked.
"You're a telepath," Erik said, making a winning move and standing up. "If you want to find out, why don't you come inside and see?"
"….Erik?"
"That's check, Charles."
‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿
Perhaps it was cruel that Erik left Charles without explaining. He had really meant to, he had no idea how the overwhelming anxiety he'd felt the whole conversation hadn't been enough to tip Charles off, but each time he thought about it, something stopped him. Charles hadn't taken him up on his offer to invade his mind, and Erik figured that was enough of a tell for Charles to at least have a guess.
If he didn't, that was really on Charles.
But Charles was too trusting, too unwilling to explore the depth of his mind without explicit permission. Or, even, it seemed, with it. So Charles was left without the information that Erik knew he was waiting for. However, at this point, Erik was beginning to realize his mistake that first night. Had he been honest upon hearing Charles's name, he would have had, at the very least, a few months with him.
Now that he had kept it secret for so long, he had no clue how Charles might react to the information, unaware entirely that he had spent the last several months working closely with his soulmate, while Erik knew the entire time, he was sure, would leave Charles more than a little miffed. And as much as he wanted to tell him, he didn't think he had it in him to face another, larger, fight with Charles moments before the events of tomorrow.
Or, that had been his plan.
"Hey, I'm sorry, I just wanted to see if you'd like a little bit of tea?" Charles asked, poking his head in. Sighing heavily, Erik stood.
"Why not?" Erik asked. Walking over to him, Erik gave a stiff smile, walked down the stairs, and found it empty.
"I always drink tea before bed," Charles said, sharing as if Erik didn't already know this. "It calms me. I wonder if there is a biological reason for it, maybe the heat activates something."
"Maybe," Erik said distantly, watching Charles as he puttered around the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove. He spent the time memorizing Charles's face, focusing on the bright eyes, fluffy hair, and absolutely horrible choice in sweater.
"I should look into that sometime," Charles said, turning around to rummage. "I'm sure the parasympathetic nervous system is at play. Did you know, your parasympathetic nervous system and sympathetic nervous system cannot be engaged at the same time? That's why hobbies are calming."
"Right," Erik said, ignoring what he was saying in favor of watching him more closely.
"It's why everyone should have a hobby, creativity triggers the parasympathetic system, and your body actually physically has to calm down, can stop panic in a- oh bloody hell."
Charles, who had been reaching out to grab the kettle off of the stove, had misjudged the angle in his haist, reaching out and grabbing it with his bare hand just under the handle, where the hot metal immideatly sizzled, coming into contact with his skin. Erik reacted before he could think, reaching out and floating the kettle away quickly, moving it safely to the counter, on top of a hot pad.
But the damage was done to Charles's hand, angry and red and already peeling from the contact, Charles moved to put it under cold water before Erik stopped him.
"It'll make it worse," He said. "Damages the skin more, let me see."
He didn't think, taking Charles's injured hand in both of his own, turning the palm over and looking at the damage. It was bad, but not horrible, no worse than a second degree, he thought, and he slowly cooled a wash cloth, putting a piece of plastic over the wound, before applying the room temperature water through the plastic, slowly cooling it.
"Fucking hell," Charles grumbled. "This is ridiculous."
"Be careful," Erik warned, watching his fingers twitch. "You're not going to be able to use that tomorrow."
"I never was one for hand-to-hand combat," Charles chuckled, although his expression was lined with pain. He smiled a thin, tight line at Erik, fighting for a peaceful expression in the face of the injury.
Erik couldn't respect the attempt at apathy, however, and smoothed his hand a few times over the cold cloth, watching Charles's face. Charles shook his head, looking away, and Erik gave him a look.
"What?" Erik asked. "Painful?"
"Not exactly," Charles said. "I mean it is, but I'm just worried about my soulmate, is all."
"Why are you worrying about them right now?" Erik asked, exasperation unintentionally creeping into his tone. "I'm sure they are fine."
"I just don't want to bother them with something so mundane," Charles said, with a wince.
"I'm sure they don't mind," Erik said, lifting the wet cloth and checking the angry wound, before pressing it back down.
"I never get injured, and who knows how I will be tomorrow," Charles said slowly, sounding almost guilty. "I just hope they don't worry."
"I promise you," Erik said, staring at him with an intense expression. "They are fine."
"…Erik?"
"This should be fine," Erik said, fisting his right hand to hide any evidence of his mark. "Keep the cool cloth on it, but don't take off the plastic."
"Okay," Charles said, a little breathlessly. They stood in the kitchen for a moment, Erik left only with the sound of his own, ringing ears. Finally, Charles reached his free hand out. "Hey?"
"Hey," Erik responded. Charles's good hand moved to cover Erik's fisted left, a questioning raised eyebrow making Erik swallow hard. "Hiding something?"
"Why would you think that?" Erik asked, a combination of breathless panic and guarded anger.
"Because you won't open your hand?" Charles said. "What's in there anyway?"
"Nothing," Erik said. "Don't worry about my hand."
"We could die tomorrow," Charles said. Erik swallowed, watching him carefully. He was sure, if he had up and to this point hidden his thoughts, he no longer was. "You should just show me."
"Show you what?" Erik asked, taking a step back, although he didn't know why. "My blank palm?"
"You're being weird about it," Charles stated. "I don't know why."
"Because," Erik said. "You're being pushy."
"I'm sorry," Charles said quickly, raising his good hand and edging back. "Didn't mean to weird you out."
"Well…" Erik said. "That's… it's fine. You're just nervous."
"That must be it," Charles said. "Still, you should just let me see."
"Why are you fixating on my hand?" Erik asked, trying to slip out of the conversation. If he could have picked the worst time to have this conversation, it would be now, their stress and fear mingling with the attraction.
"Because you're being so weird," Charles reiterated. "I don't care, but how can you not see how weird you're being?"
"Does it hurt?" Erik asked, ignoring Charles's words in favor of turning his hand over. "Will it affect tomorrow?"
"I don't think so," Charles said, flexing the hand. "Like I said, all that matters is my mind."
"Well," Erik said, patting his arm. "Keep it in the game."
"What is that?" Charles asked, reaching out and grabbing Erik's right hand. He turned it over, before Erik could flinch back, seeing the bright red, itching, soul mark on his hand, the exact pattern of Charles's burn bright red on the skin. "Oh."
"You didn't see anything," Erik said, snatching his hand back. "Head in the game, Charles."
Charles's expression showed so many emotions in such a short time it made Erik's head spin. He brushed a hand over Charles's elbow, before slipping away from the wide-eyed man, forcing an apathetic lilt to his behavior, even as his mind screamed at him, heart pounding in his throat.
Taking the turns back to his room slowly, deliberately, as if he had something to prove by not rushing, Erik forced his breath to come in low, steady huffs. Panic was a luxery he could not affored. The next several hours would mean more for mutantkind, for him, than ever a day had before, and he would not ruin it over a relationship.
Those values left him in the moment a soft knock came at his door. He knew that knock; he had memorized it on the road trip months ago. He briefly debated a swallow of whiskey before opening the door, something to manufacture the calm he didn't feel, but the only thing worse than a conversation beyond his control was a drunk conversation beyond his control, so he shook his head to himself and opened the dark, mahogany wooden door.
"Show me your damn hand."
Charles, eyes bright and flaring at him, stood in the doorway, his brow drawn tight and good hand on his hip, with an aura closer to maternal disappointment than a lovers rage. Erik held it out, not wanting to cause a fight, and Charles took the cool towel off his own wound, studying the edges of them, good hand coming to trace the outline on Erik's palm.
"You weren't going to tell me?" Charles asked, tipping his chin up, almost petulant.
"Have you not pieced that together?" He asked. Charles just stood. "No."
"Well bloody hell, why not?" Charles asked. Erik sighed, shaking his head, and took a step back, giving Charles access to his room. Charles walked in steadily, glaring at the chair by the dressor like it had personally offended him. After a minute, he sat on the edge of Erik's bed with a huff, before seemingly deciding that he was too amped up to sit, and he stood again.
"Restless," Erik said. Charles gawked, offended, and crossed his arms gingerly to avoid injuring his pained palm.
"I have half a mind to smack your smug face, you know," Charles said, lips in a thin, angry line.
"But you're not going to do that," Erik said, sitting down, crossing an ankle over his knee. Charles huffed, looking away.
"I could," Charles said. Then, he stilled, glaring at him. "You knew this whole time. You've known my name for years- well before we met."
"That's true," Erik said. Charles turned in a half circle, as if looking for an explanation on the dark wallpaper.
"Then why not bloody tell me when we met?" Charles asked.
"Instinct, for a minute," Erik said, careful to keep his words entirely true, resisting the ever-present urge to hide, wait out the intimacy, lie through it until Charles didn't know what was real and what wasn't.
It did not help that he was a telepath. Forced honesty wasn't ideal, but better, he supposed, than deceit.
"…okay," Charles said. "When that faded?"
"Instinct can last a rather long time," Erik said, trying to not take delight in the frustration in Charles. He sighed after a second, looking away. "I figured you would have gotten that from my mind already."
"You don't like me in your mind," Charles said, as if that made total sense.
"Hasn't stopped you before," Erik replied, equal barbs in his tone.
"I can't help that," Charles said grouchily. "But I don't go digging. It's only surface-level thoughts- you know this."
"Well, I assumed, wrongly, that it had been on the surface already," Erik said. Charles glared at the floor, and Erik softened, feeling guilt curling hot in his stomach. "Charles, I should have told you."
"You should have," Charles said, his face set in an angry pout as he looked over his shoulder. Erik leaned forward a little, and Charles finally sagged, moving over to the bed and sitting heavily across from Erik. "I could have known this whole time."
"You could have…" Erik said, biting his tongue. Charles sighed, gesturing at him, and Erik raised his brows in confusion. "Hm?"
"Elaborate," Charles said. "You want to elaborate, I can tell."
"Doesn't it all seem rather… odd to you?" Erik asked. "The moment you meet this supposed soul mate, you are meant to be tied to them forever, regardless of anything you may know, or who they are, or how your actual interactions go… it's just what you're meant to do. You should love your soulmate, so how can you know if you actually do?"
"Bloody hell," Charles whispered, which had to have been the hundredth time Erik heard the curse tonight. "That's it?"
"I don't like obligation," Erik said. "Especially to fit within social norms."
"Erik," Charles said, laughing a little breathlessly, hiding his face in his good hand. "So once you knew me, why didn't you tell me then?"
"…it had been too long to admit it."
The excuse hadn't sounded nearly as understandable when he said it out loud. Charles chuckled again, and Erik resented the rising heat in his face, eyes flickering between Charles and the door, while he took delight in the flimsy excuse Erik provided. Perhaps it was the looming stress of the next day, fears of what was to come, that pushed Charles's laughter into something less light and sweet, and more hysterical, but finally his breath steadied, and he glanced up at Erik, tears in his watercolor eyes.
"You're a riot," Charles said, wiping away tears of laughter. "I haven't laughed this hard in a long time."
"Glad to see I bring you so much amusement," Erik said.
"I thought you sounded familiar," Charles said quietly, sobering a little, although humor glinted in his expression still. "On that first night, I knew it. I mean, I brushed it off, but I shouldn't have; I should have asked you point-blank. Or gone around in your head, it seems you had been betting on that."
"Well, I'm glad you didn't," Erik said with a huff he hadn't earned.
"I'm not," Charles said. "I should ignore your wishes more. So, really, this whole thing was because you disliked the social implications of a soulmate?"
"That's diminishing," Erik countered.
"You don't like the social obligations; those are your words," Charles said.
"I just don't think the world can tell you who you're meant to love, any more than you can. I didn't believe in soulmates," Erik said. Echoing, just behind his words, was the rest of his unfinished sentence. I didn't believe in them until I met you. But it was Erik, and the implication of it was too much for him.
Charles seemed to have caught that thought, though.
"You wanted me to like you for who you are, not a soul bond, is that it?" Charles asked in a low tone that made Erik bristle.
"Something like that," Erik said, his anger sounding pathetic in the face of Charles's direct question.
"Oh you are ridiculous," Charles said. Erik bristled, shifting back, and Charles held out his good hand, shaking his head. "I don't mean that to be a bad thing, I just… cannot believe this is the real reason we've not spoken of it before."
Erik stared, and Charles stared back.
"Well, it is," Erik said through gritted teeth.
"I know," Charles said. Erik shifted a little further away, and Charles gave a soft smile. "I don't mean to laugh at you."
"Funny, you're doing a awful lot for someone that doesn't mean to," Erik said, his tone more pouty than properly angry. Charles supressed his smile a little.
"My mind's just racing," Charles said. "Lots in my head."
"You should go to sleep," Erik said. "You're already down a hand for tomorrow."
"Maybe…" Charles said, lingering. Erik stood, and Charles followed, walking to the door. His hand moved to turn the knob, and acting on instinct, Erik reached his hand out, holding the knob steady, not letting it turn. Charles turned, a question on his face, and Erik grabbed his arm. "Hm?"
"Wait," Erik said, his hand absently moving to fiddle with Charles's sweater, pinching and rolling the fabric to have something to do with his hands. Charles, amused, just smiled, watching him with confusion lining his forehead.
"Waiting?" Charles said, gesturing a little. Erik paused, tried to reach out, and then stopped himself. He shook his head, angry with himself for his lack of action, and moved to release the door knob before Charles tried it again. He had tried; he had not had the courage. It was how things went.
But now he was not the only one who knew what was between him and Charles, unnamed and simmering under the surface for months. He felt Charles's hand, sliding up has arm a little, and watched him curiously. Erik had meant to do it, but a man that had been running his whole life, all he could do was not lean away, when Charles's hand gently came to his chin, pulling Erik into a sweet, soft kiss, uninvasive or assuming, deceptivly simple in it's nature, not betraying the stress and relief and fear barely masked by desire, shared between the pair.
"Just in case we die, in the morning," Charles said. "Figured I should do that before."
"…yeah," Erik said, staring at Charles, trying to remember how to speak. "That's… good foresight."
"You okay?" Charles asked, his hand still lingering just a little on Erik's jawline. Erik, whose brain was closer to static than it was articulate thought, stood for slightly too long in silence. "Erik?"
"Yes," Erik said. "I'm good."
"Good," Charles said. "Well, I'm going to go to sleep, like you said, big day and all."
"Yeah," Erik said. "Okay."
"We should have had this conversation sooner," Charles said playfully, finally turning to leave. "This was fun."
Erik had no idea how Charles defined fun, but it must have been different than Erik.
‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿
October 18th 1967
Erik did not leave.
He almost did, knowing the itch under his skin could be absolved by fleeing, leaving everything behind on that sunny beach.
But he hadn't, he had sat alone by Charles's hospital bed for the first several days, unable to sleep or eat, watching carefully when doctors came in to check on him, his wary eye sure to keep them on task and from poking around too much. There was a quiet, desperate sense in the air.
Charles had woken up properly for the first time after seven days, and he had reached for Erik's hand instinctively. Erik hadn't given it to him, too busy on his own self-flagellation to provide comfort. Charles hadn't taken that well, not offended, but indignant at Erik's fixation on self-blame.
Once he'd gotten the hang of the chair, his words had come quick and enthusiastic, explaining to Erik that, though it still hurt, he was getting around better than he'd thought he could. Erik had watched, haunted by his own actions, almost regretting that he had stayed. A piece of him wished he had gone off somewhere, begun the brotherhood in earnest as he frequently thought of; or threatened if you asked Charles. If he had, he wouldn't have seen Charles in the chair he had put him in.
Charles didn't seem to tolerate that line of thinking for long, and his tumbled words had lept from plans for wheelchair tricks (which he had made good on learning) and enthusiasm at the training they had completed with their "X-Men". The name, Charles admitted, might need work, concerned that the general public's lack of education on the X gene may associate it with his last name, raising concerns of being egotistical.
But they didn't change the name, and the jumbled enthisasm had grown legs, fueled by Erik and Charles's unending work, leading to the golden glow of the school, which Erik had stayed in longer than he'd ever lived in a single place. When the government had come for the students, informing the young men they were needed in the war, Erik had gotten them out of duty, although he'd put the school on every single government watch list known to man at the same time, although Charles had turned a blind eye to the violent defense of the student body.
Oh, and they had gotten married. Quietly, without letting anyone on too quickly, it was only Hank and Raven, finally noticing the thin, matching gold rings, that had tipped them off.
"Do you think that cat's ever get depressed?" Charles asked him that morning, his smile bright and musing. Erik turned to him, confused, watching as he navigated around the kitchen, putting the same kettle on as he tried to wake up.
"Good morning to you, too," Erik said.
"I mean, they sleep so much all of the time, it would be hard to know," Charles mused aloud. "I know dogs can get depressed, I've read enough tragic books about that to be sure-"
"Why are we talking about this?" Erik interrupted.
"Oh, I saw a tomcat in the window," Charles said. "His eyes were sad… maybe he was just Eastern European."
"I'm choosing not to take offense," Erik said, leaning down and kissing Charles. He'd meant it to be quick, but Charles rarely allowed that, cupping the back of his head and pulling him in for a longer one, before cheekily pushing him away, the faint taste of his toothpaste tingling Erik's lips.
"Maybe he didn't get the worm," Charles said.
"…that's birds," Erik replied. Charles blinked, clearly still groggy, and a shit eating look wormed its way onto Erik's face. "Early bird gets the worm, and all?"
"Oh…" Charles said. "Wel,l maybe he didn't get the early bird."
"Maybe not," Erik conceded, because he was not in the mood to talk any more about the pathetic tomcat that Charles was currently taking pity on.
"I'm going to set out some milk for him," Charles decided, making Erik groan a little. "Oh please, I collect stray humans, what's a stray cat?"
"I am fairly sure that's offensive," Erik said.
"Oh, you can make anything offensive if you think long enough," Charles said. "And that's not a universal 'you', by the way, I'm commenting on your specific abilities."
"Thank you," Erik said dryly, floating the tea kettle up when Charles reached to grab it, never forgetting the shiny patch of scar tissue on his palm, a reminder of how Charles had found him out.
"Oh, hey," Charles said, his face sobering as something seemed to cross his mind. "I was hoping you could come to a meeting today. I am trying to mediate between a student and her family. Not a fan of mutants, that household."
"Why do you want me to come?" Erik asked bluntly, watching Charles steep his tea with an expression of vague confusion.
"I just think it would be good for you to have met them," Charles said, his tone hinting at something else.
It was one of their unspoken agreements, never brought up, because Charles couldn't stomach the actuality of the price he paid for Erik to remain contented. The worst of the worst families that students came from, horrible people that did horrible things, often vanished, unexplained, after a meeting with Erik and Charles both. People talked, of course they did, and had become school lore that a pair of parents meeting Erik had the same connotations as a black raven, circling a grave.
Charles never told him to do anything; his eyes only lingered for slightly longer, his comments afterward hinting one way or another. And Erik never told Charles where he would go, when he'd leave for a few days at a time, coming back like a cat with a bird in it's teeth, happy to drop it's prey off. He thought one of these days he might actually bring a body back, just to see the reaction he'd get.
But none of that mattered quite yet, the sun squarely in the sky, morning light filtering into the kitchen as Charles sipped his tea quietly, occasionally closing his book to make wild comments about it, forcing Erik to laugh along with him, even though he found it ridiculous.
Erik had gotten soft, since meeting Charles, tamed in a way he had never thought possible. And if he had been told that this was on the table for him, he surely didn't believe he would enjoy it as much as he did. But the flighty desperation for independence had already settled in his chest, and it wasn't escape that he craved, but their stolen moments like these, between political campaigns and fights for justice and Erik's work in the mutant community, stealing him to the furthest corners of the earth on a regular basis.
"I wonder if there are antidepressants for cats," Charles mused, breaking Erik's line of thought. He leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to Charles's temple, before condescending to answer.
"I'm sure you'll invent one someday."