[closed] sadness is a blessing

[cerebral]

Who: Charles Xavier & Erik Lehnsherr.
What: The aftermath of future revelations.
Where: Casa del X-bros.
When: Late Newdi evening.
Notes: Sad feels :C
Warnings: None yet.

The man you know is capable of everything I just said and more. But out of all of Logan's words, what hit Charles most was you can't change his mind. Well, that wasn't the exact wording, but it was close enough and it raced around Charles' thoughts regardless.

It wasn't fair.

He had been graced with an ability where he could do incredible things, but he wasn't able to fix things, make things right, in the few instances when it really mattered, with people he cared about most. It wasn't fair.

Luckily it had been late in the evening when the transmission had broadcasted and Charles was so grateful that it hadn't happened at work because how on earth would he have been able to get through an afternoon or a day of other people's thoughts while having to smile, smile so charming at everyone. On the other hand, he was alone at home with nothing to do but pace and think, try to read, toss the books aside, contemplate going out but not knowing anyone well enough in this city and the only person that he does --what is he even going to say to Erik?

Half an hour passes before he pours himself a glass of Scotch. Some part of him realises it's probably a bad idea to drink alone when trying to cope with a problem, especially when a prediliction towards alcoholism runs on one side of his family. And then he thinks to hell with it and takes the bottle with him into the sun room, closing the blinds and reclining on the sofa.

Three drinks in and things don't feel better, but they don't feel any worse, either.

Comments

[cerebral]

With a small sniff, Charles finally looks away and towards the kitchen.

"I need a drink of water." That's what, apparently. See? Thirsty. Nothing to do with this whatsoever.

Both his fists are clenched and his shoulders look incredibly tense, every part of him, in fact, feels tense. But that's besides the point. Or the fact that, when he finally enters the room, he leans heavily against the counter on both arms, head hanging down, where he hopes Erik can't see him.

[magnetic]

He can't see, no—and anyway, he doesn't try to look. While his eyes do follow the other man's departure, Erik himself remains there in the hall, barefoot, arms folded. His gaze soon softens to the middle distance.

Presently, he turns back toward the doorway behind him, steps toward it, and... no, you know what, Erik stops there, and leans with his shoulder blades on either side of the frame.

"What did he tell you?"

[cerebral]

"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.

[magnetic]

Hmm. Perhaps it's for the best that he doesn't hear it, anyway. If he knows, he might be more apt to head in that direction. That must be what the rest of them decided, he thinks; it would explain a few things.

His head turns toward the hallway—not far enough to see over his shoulder, but enough that the vague impression of Xavier enters his peripheral vision. "You're certain." Despite the intonation, this is indeed a question (and a clear tonal indication that he's well on his way to becoming guarded again).

[cerebral]

"Yes." It comes out quiet, on the end of an exhalation. That tiredness is creeping over him again, and he moves off the wall, thinking to head towards the stairs. "It's not the Erik Lehnsherr I know. And may he never come to pass."

He takes a step or two to go past the door, arms unfolding, and there is the briefest, briefest, hesitation as his hand goes half-way out, then stops, thinking better of it.

He walks a few steps on instead, before saying, "I'm sorry I even asked in the first place." And his shoulders sag slightly. Because he could have chosen to avoid all of this, really.

[magnetic]

There are several easily predictable responses to such an admission, none of which he'll receive. What Charles does get in response must be quite familiar by now: wordless scrutiny, its bearer contemplative, the faint crease between his eyebrows. He may come to think this will be the end of their conversation, but just as Charles reaches the foot of that narrow staircase, Erik says, "Thank you."

Should he turn in time, he may glimpse partially Erik's narrow figure, already withdrawing into the bedroom.