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His home — well, home is a very generous term for the ensemble of metal that it is — Erik realises, is not as functional as he’d thought it was all this while.
He’d had a few days after Paris, in which Erik had made the scant space wheelchair-accessible and had installed a rudimentary lift for Charles to move up and down his first-floor shack. He had also expanded his bathroom to accommodate a bench and a tub.
But in all that time, he hadn’t thought about adding a desk and shelf against the wall where Charles could sit to read.
Damn it, Charles had mentioned in detail all the books he’d wanted to catch up on and read, hadn’t he?
All of Erik’s possessions boil down to two sets of clothes and shoes; small enough to fit neatly in a trunk.
As Charles looks around the space with wide blue eyes and what is no doubt a trepidation that a rat might pounce on him at any minute, Erik realises with a sinking feeling in his gut that he forgot to install a wardrobe.
Damn it!
Now that Erik’s actually looking around the place he’s been living in for five years, he notices he doesn’t have a sofa either.
He really hadn’t needed one before. He didn’t entertain guests and hadn’t found the need to. But now that Charles is here, it’ll be different.
It’ll all be different.
The curtains haven’t been changed in ages, too, and the excuse for cutlery he owns is chipped and charred. In his defence, home décor isn’t his first priority.
Erik had, however, replaced his narrow single bed with a double set-up and had added a few more pillows to his one. But even that might have been a misjudgement.
He watches as Charles slowly transfers himself from his chair to the bed and runs his palms across the white sheets.
Damn, it isn’t even half of what Charles’s bed is at the mansion.
‘Where’s the kitchen?’ Charles asks, turning towards Erik.
Well, fuck!
‘There isn’t one, actually. There’s a community canteen down the road where I usually take my meals.’
Maybe he should add a small kitchen along the eastern wall — which is currently engulfed by seven of Charles’s suitcases — a small kitchen where he can cook meals for Charles, and a small table with two chairs on the balcony where they can have meals together.
‘Ah. Of course,’ Charles nods.
‘There’s tea if you’d like,’ Erik stammers, because his entire attempt at making Charles comfortable is failing miserably.
A small smile cracks on Charles’s face at that. And the bed is lovely, too, he says into Erik’s mind, his voice amused and fond. And so is everything else.
Erik sighs in relief. Maybe his shack isn’t half bad after all.
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