Chapter Text
It’s only when he’s hurtling through the streets of Manhattan, strapped to a stretcher with his blood coating the paramedics’ hands like war paint, the machines around him one by one giving up on his heartbeat, that he allows himself to think of Erik.
*
“Pink or white?” Erik asks, holding up two daisies for Charles to inspect, twirling them between his fingers to advertise the choices.
“White.” Charles answers, not having to physically look at them to make his decision, but looking anyway. Erik grins.
“Yeah, the pink ones are too girly.” he agrees; Charles makes a face at him at that and returns to his drawing pad.
Neither speaks for a while. Clouds cast shadows on the grass, patches of shade slowly passing over the boys’ bodies in the direction of the earth’s spin. Occasionally, Charles hears a quiet exclamation of frustration, but doesn’t stop drawing: he’s onto the sea now, and the waves are very hard to get right.
Eventually, Erik says, “Okay, done.”
Charles tears his eyes away from the blue on his page, smile already blooming across his face automatically. “Oh!” It’s a daisy crown, the links neat and the flowers bright in the sun. Erik shuffles across the couple of feet between them on his knees, placing the crown carefully on Charles’ head, tongue sticking out in concentration as he pats his friend’s unruly hair into submission around it.
“There,” he sits back, beaming at his handiwork. “You’re a king now.”
“Thank you, Erik. It’s lovely,” Charles smiles self-consciously, touching his head. He giggles. “Can I boss you around, then? If I’m king?”
“No way,” Erik snorts.
“But I’m your su- superior. That means I can. I can tell you what to do and you have to do it.”
“No I don’t.” Erik retorts, folding his arms.
“Can.”
“Can’t.” He’s going red now, realising what he’s done. Charles notices and stops laughing. He bites his lip.
“Unless,” he says, frowning in thought. “Unless… you’re… you’re a king too. Of somewhere else. Then we’d be equal.”
Erik looks up at him, swallowing. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Charles smiles. “You’ve just lost your crown, or it’s off being polished or something. But.” – he balances his drawing pad on his knee and rips out his picture – “You do have a piece of art from your royal gallery to prove you’re him.”
Erik takes the proffered picture, turning it around so it’s facing him the right way. It’s a beach scene, with most of the paper filled with oceanic swirls, a tiny strip of sand at the bottom. The sea is rife with creatures, both ones Charles has read about and ones he’d invented. In the corner, a boat bobs along, two figures waving from the deck.
Charles is rather proud of it; it’s possibly his best drawing to date. He spent absolutely ages on the animals.
Erik takes it all in silently, reading left to right as though it was a book. “This is really good,” he says after a while, and Charles sighs in relief, having thought maybe he didn’t like it that much and just didn’t know how to react. Erik glances at him. “You’re a really good drawer.”
“Yes, you’re- you’re lucky you’re a rich enough king to buy my work.” Charles grins, trying to divert Erik’s attention so he wouldn’t see him blush. It works. Erik starts to smile, and Charles thinks he’s going reach over and hug him, but Erik just sits there, opening and shutting his mouth like a goldfish. Charles shoves him playfully in the ribs. “So, ‘cause we’re both kings, neither of us is in charge. Alright?”
“Yeah,” Erik replies a little absently. “Th- thank you. For… Well, thanks.”
“Anytime.” Charles promises, slinging an arm around Erik’s shoulders. Erik smiles down at the picture, leaning into Charles as he folds it twice and puts it in his pocket.
“You’re the best.” he concludes, beaming brilliantly before abruptly pushing Charles away and scrambling to his feet. He sprints down the garden, yelling, “Catch me if you can!”
“No fair!” Charles yells back, struggling to a stand and taking off after him. He feels the daisy crown being knocked from his head by the force of his acceleration, and immediately halts. He picks it up diligently, poking it into a circle shape again and replacing it on top of his hair. He groans, knowing it was a choice between winning the game or keeping the crown intact, and knowing that he’d pick the latter.
“I hate you!” he bellows across the lawn that stretched out before him for eternity.
“Sure!” Erik laughs, voice faint and disbelieving.
Charles can’t help smiling as he begins to walk down the slope towards the house, following his friend’s path and hoping the sun sticks around long enough for them to have a few more hours playing; a few more hours before Erik has to inevitably go home and leave Charles alone with his huge empty house and his wilting daisies.