Work Text:
“Writing again?” asked Erik, smiling softly. These days, Charles always had a pen or pencil in hand. He even carried that little notebook around with on the rare occasion they went out, in the event he caught sight of something interesting he could record a line or two about; perhaps a halfhearted doodle on a good day.
Charles nodded, looking up just to smile back at Erik. “Nothing much, now,” he replied, a content sigh to his tone. “Just whatever comes to mind, I suppose.”
Erik settled at the other side of Charles’ desk, fingertips lingering on the telepath’s shoulders as he rounded the corner. He brought a mug of coffee to his lips, sipping idly while pale early-morning sunlight filled Charles’ study. The sound of a pen scratching on paper filled the air, steam curled up from their largely untouched breakfast, and Erik reminded himself how grateful he was that he’d decided to stay.
At Charles' request, months ago, he had been unsure. Erik had spent most of his life in a state of constant flight, always hunting down those who had made him crumble and always running from those who wanted to break him even further.
Erik had barely known Charles for much longer than a few weeks, and yet this innocent telepath had offered someone like him, of all people, safety. A place to return to each night, if not a well-and-true home. Erik hadn’t had many other options in the first place – he was tired of running, tired of the endless cycle, tired of the hatred and anger.
Charles had helped him more than he could ever hope to fully repay. That much was fact. As for what little Erik had to give back... well, they could work that out in the meantime.
As if sensing Erik’s reverie, which he almost always did whether without the use of his telepathy or otherwise, Charles looked up at him again. “You’re not thinking about leaving, are you? I mean, I know it’s selfish of me to ask so bluntly, but…”
He trailed off. “No,” Erik studied Charles’ impossibly blue eyes for a moment, “never.” And while he hadn’t said that for the first time in their admittedly brief relationship, perhaps this time he meant it with more conviction. Perhaps this time he knew he wasn’t just lying to himself and filing the thoughts away for later.
Charles smiled, but it was a melancholy thing on this particular morning. “You know I won’t keep you here against your will, if you truly do want to leave.”
Erik leaned back in his chair, fingers looping through the handle of the mug and wrapping around. The heat centered in the palm of his hands. “I think I’ll stay with you, Charles.” He looked around them; at the floor-to-ceiling shelves lining the back wall packed with books new and old, at Charles with his feet propped up on the desk, at the beginnings of a rainstorm outside. “I rather like it here, after all.”