"He didn't know much." Charles pushes himself up and quietly makes his way to the doorway again, creeping a few steps back along the hall.

"And it doesn't matter." He stops, arms folded around himself as he looks on at the back of Erik's figure. And he repeats it for good measure, "It doesn't matter. Not to me."

Not that he thinks that makes much difference. He stays perfectly still, despite absently wishing he had gotten himself a glass of water. His mouth feels dry, his pulse is still racing, and he doesn't quite know what to do with himself.