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Erik watches the building burn to the ground, the screams and sounds reverberating in his helmet and thinks Charles must be prescient too. This world of smoke and flames was never meant for him, for Charles, who brings a different quality of light into everything he touches.
His followers leave the compound and scatter. They'll meet again in two days time at the base.
He still smells of death when he climbs through the window, but Charles smells of soap and clean skin and the dangerous, forbidden taste of his lips is the same as it ever was.
*
He should have known better. Everything he touches is dirt and ash, broken and infected with the lingering smell of smoke and sulphur. Beautiful things are not meant for him, precious things will shatter under his hands, beautiful, precious things like the way Charles smiled at him that first night.
He tried to resist and then he dismissed those instincts as childish. He could take what he wanted and leave when the time came and it would mean nothing.
He held Charles in his arms and and tasted the red of his lips and pretended he could leave whenever he wanted, never to return.
*
Charles bathes him, chips away at the filth that makes up his flesh until he's raw and new underneath. He'd forgotten what his skin looks like when it isn't hidden underneath his sins.
Charles peels him down to his core and touches him like this is where he belongs, like this is the person he really is. Erik knows it's not true, but he can let himself believe it now, just for a few hours when he's bathed in Charles' light. He pretends he belongs here.
"You always belong here," Charles whispers against his skin. "Whenever you're here, it's because it's exactly where you need to be."
Erik looks around at the lavish furnishings, the warmth and color, the bright beauty of Charles' eyes. This isn't for him, no matter what Charles thinks. It never can be.
Charles smiles at him sadly and kisses him, but doesn't argue any further.
*
He never belonged. He thought, I'll take what I need, what I want, and go back to where I came from. He looked at himself, at the blood on his hands, at the clouds that followed in his wake, then he looked at the vibrancy emanating from Charles and Raven and he knew he couldn't stay. It wasn't for him, Charles most of all.
He was tempted, foolish. He gave in to Charles' kind words and kind eyes, he listened when Charles told him there was more to him than he imagined. He let himself have Charles' mouth and body and heart, the taste of it lingering still when the time came to return to where he belonged.
He let himself give in, and, for the first time, the dark of his life felt foreboding and foreign. For the first time, he longed for the light he knew he could never keep.
*
The world outside of Charles' windows is green with new life. The sun makes Charles' skin glow in the places not covered by the rumpled sheets. His hair falls into his eyes and his lips are curled into a sad smile.
"I can't stay here," Erik says, even as he traces the line of Charles' back. He will leave like he always does, before he can damage Charles anymore than he already has. His fingers brush scar tissue that Charles can't feel.
"You could," Charles says. "It can't hurt more than watching you go over and over again."
Erik is long past flinching. He accepts the accusation because it's nothing compared to all he owes Charles. Like Hades in reverse, he took what was offered, carelessly, thoughtlessly, and this is his price--stolen moments in the light, half a life in the dark.
He stays another night and leaves before morning. He doesn't wake Charles when he goes. He tells himself this is the last time, but it never is. It never will be.
*
He remembers Charles' voice in his head, clear and incandescent. He remembers Charles' red, red mouth telling him he wasn't alone. He thinks he never should have come to the surface.