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This close to dusk, the crisp autumn air is seeping into Charles’s jumper and beginning to freeze the tips of his nose and ears. Against the vast expanse of the pinkish-golden sky, Erik’s silhouette is a speck of black. His ratty old motorbike is parked against the lone tree on the cliff edge.
When Raven had told him that Erik had left, Charles hadn’t expected to find him here, of all places — on a hillock a few miles from campus that overlooks the valley. It certainly hadn’t been a fun trek to make on foot. Charles takes a deep breath to steady his erratic breathing and walks towards the speck of black against the sky.
Puffs of clear smoke rise into the cool air from the cigarette pinched between Erik’s lips. Either he didn’t hear Charles’s footsteps or he’s simply choosing to ignore them. With his face turned away, Erik continues to stare into the distant valley. His right hand is a balled fist in his pocket.
As unobtrusively as possible, Charles comes to stand a few feet away. It’s a moot point, really, for Erik is radiating anger from every fibre of his body like a triggered pulsar. His mind is locked behind heavy shields. Charles takes it for what it is: a clear sign to stay away. Still, Charles is nothing if not persistent. He stands firmly beside Erik, soaking in his body heat, and looks out across the valley.
On any other day, Charles might have appreciated the picturesque panorama before him immensely, but today, his mind is an unmoored net teetering on turbulent waters; inutile.
Raven’s words keep replaying in his mind like a broken record. Erik decked up Warren’s face pretty badly. Why? Because he was spewing shit about you, Charles. He had paid attention to very little after that, before taking off to find Erik.
There are a plethora of things Charles wants to ask, but he settles on, ‘Why?’
Erik doesn’t answer at first, and Charles doesn’t expect him to. In the month he’s lived with the man, Charles has learned that Erik speaks in his own time. So he waits. Waits for Erik to gather the glowing embers of his anger, quell them with reason, and pick his words from the ashes.
Erik takes another drag of his cigarette. ‘Because he deserved it.’
Charles smiles woefully. If every person got what they deserved, there would be carnage. Besides, if Charles concerned himself with every unpleasant thought or comment or rumour spread about him, he would drive himself — and everyone around him — insane. As a telepath, he knows better than that.
‘And do you get to decide who deserves what?’
Erik releases a puff of smoke slowly. ‘In this case, yes.’
And just like in all their debates, it always comes down to this.
‘What were you thinking?’ Charles says, turning to face him. ‘Punching the poor guy on campus, Erik? You could get suspended for it.’
Erik doesn’t reply for a very long time. ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he says finally, still looking away. The lit end of the cigarette is dangerously close to his face now. ‘You should go.’
‘And why should I do that?’ Charles asks, piqued.
At that, Erik whirls towards him. His face is a roiling wall of steel. ‘Because that’s what you should do, Charles! Because we can debate this a thousand times and I’d still be the bad guy. Because you should finally listen to your friends and run away from me — as far as possible.’ As if to emphasise his point, Erik jabs his right hand in the direction of the campus — and that’s when Charles sees it.
A gasp escapes Charles’s lips. A deep red coats the knuckles and fingers of Erik’s right hand.
Erik realises his gaffe, and stills.
As if approaching a wild animal, Charles slowly takes Erik’s outstretched hand and turns it in his own. Miracle of miracles, Erik allows it. His knuckles are drenched in red. The skin has abraded where the bones rise, and the wound is still raw. The bleeding may have stopped some time ago, but thanks to the driving and flexing, it has started afresh.
A sharp pain shoots somewhere below Charles’s chest at the sight, a pain as though a thousand needles are pricking him at once. It’s probably that pain that kicks him into action. Pulling the white handkerchief he always keeps in his pocket, Charles shapes it into a band and lays the flat side against Erik’s knuckles, gingerly. Pinpoints of red bloom on the white like poppy buds on a blanket of fresh snow. Just as carefully, he turns Erik’s palm in his and ties the dangling ends of the kerchief in a knot — tight enough to stop the bleeding, but not tight enough to cut off blood flow.
Charles is reminded of Moira’s words then. Erik’s a loose cannon, Charles. She’d told him almost two months ago. You try and stay away as far as humanly possible from men like Erik, not share a dorm room with them. What makes you think he’s any better than Kurt? It’s up to you, of course. But Erik’s not nice.
A tight lump forms in Charles’s throat. Below that lump are things he wishes he could tell Moira — how inexorably thoughtful Erik is when he thinks no one’s around. How unconsciously kind he is to the stray puppies and kittens Charles adopts for an afternoon or two. How there’s so much good to Erik that the world seems to overlook entirely. More than anything else, he wants to tell Moira now what he couldn’t say two months ago — No nice man has ever stood up for me.
Charles wants to scream at the top of his lungs that Erik’s a good man. He may not be nice, but he is inherently good. Not being able to say so vexes him beyond measure. And at the tail end of that vexation comes an unexpected warmth, a feeling so potent it warms Charles’s insides bit by bit, until he no longer feels the chill of the twilight wind.
Belatedly, Charles realises he’s still caressing Erik’s knuckles. He should let go. Erik doesn’t appreciate anyone in his personal space. But he doesn’t. Still caressing Erik’s knuckles, Charles says softly, ‘I’m not running anywhere.’
There’s an indecipherable expression on Erik’s face when Charles finally dares to look up. It’s the look of a man swimming against ocean currents, or drowning in frigid waters, or both. Charles doesn’t dare to discern it now. There may come a time for it in the future, but not now.
Now, Charles drops their hands to the side and inches closer to Erik. Now, he’s content to watch the sun set in golden glory across the horizon as he holds Erik’s hand in his. Something warm settles over Charles’s mind and body. He doesn’t feel the autumn chill for a very long time after.
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