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If fire could run through his veins, then it would, right then and there, as he watched Raven ─ his long lost sister turned into this woman he didn’t know anymore ─ converse with Erik, the man now known as Magneto. He wanted nothing more than to deny the true nature of his ire, of the burning emotion contained so strongly inside his chest he felt he was about to burst. After all, how could he explain to anyone ─ himself included ─ that he was jealous of her?
It was envy, it had always been envy. From the moment she took Erik’s hand and left that beach in Cuba to the present moment, Charles felt it simmering beneath the surface, barely controlled by all his rational thoughts. It was ridiculous, really, how much he desired to take her place, if but a few seconds, long enough for him to know what it’d be like to have all of his old friend’s attention to himself. To have those grey-green eyes gaze upon him the way they did at her from time to time.
That gaze told stories. Stories of a shared past, of shared days and a shared bed. How could he compete with that?
And if he decided to finally admit how he felt about them, then he would have to also accept the fact that he, sometimes, hated her. It’s absurd, primal, instinctual and he loathes the feeling more than anything, more than her, but he feels it all the same. He hates her for allowing him to leave, for joining him and leaving Charles stranded on a beach, watching as the only family he ever knew and the one person who held his heart left at once without a care in the world.
How could she?!
How could she just go? How could she take him with her? Rationally he knows it’s the other way around, and that just makes him believe he’s that much closer to madness. That’s what he feels when Erik is around, utterly and completely mad. The metal-bender awakens the worst in him and yet…
And yet Charles loves him.
Loves him with the fire of a thousand suns, with the depths of an ocean, and needs him like a vampire needs blood. It’s neither healthy nor normal, Charles’ infatuation for Erik. It’s a disease, it consumes him whole and leaves him wanting for something he can never have, it’s more painful than it will ever be pleasurable and it goes against everything he believes and fights for.
After all, why would a man like Charles let Erik run away, time after time, even after he killed millions, if not because he loved him?
Foolish, stupid Charles and his unreasonable obsession with a man he has barely seen for the past 20 years. Seen in person, of course, and not in Cerebro, not during those ungodly hours of a random morning (or could we say night?) when everyone was asleep and wouldn’t notice his absence from the common rooms or his own room. That was another little detail he denied even to himself. Do you know what happened to him? Hank would ask once in a while during the past decades and Charles would answer No, my friend.
Liar.
He had known. Known every single thing, had watched him find a place to leave, get a job, meet his future wife, fall in love with her. If he were being honest, he would concede that after he married, Charles barely watched him. Too painful, too real and too far away, so distant from him. It was unfair, Charles would think then, how much affection and sacrifice she had gotten from him while he struggled to get crumbles of affection, of friendship, and got none, not even while losing blood on the sand, all those years ago.
He had never forgiven Erik.
Not that anyone knew, of course. Sometimes he even forgot how he felt about the whole ordeal, and then a day like this would happen and he would remember. Remember how imperfect and damaged he was, which only made it even more impossible to get the unattainable. How could anyone love him like this? It wasn’t something he would ever voice, of course, because then Hank or others would think he was depressed again, and that wasn’t true. He really wasn’t. He just shut door on that aspect of his life forever. It was troublesome enough before the chair, took too much time and too much work, and he had none of these to spare anymore.
And look. Look at them. How disgustingly perfect, the both of them standing there facing each other, sharing a glance and a smile, letting the sunlight hit them at just the right angle. Any professional photographer would give an arm and a leg to capture just that scene, that blissful moment of ephemeral peace between them, the two fiercest mutants in the world, sharing jokes like they probably did one too many times in the past, in different circumstances, different settings.
Charles watched and watched and watched until the fire burned out and was replaced by something much more excruciating: sorrow. Some would even call the emotion heartbreak, but Charles would know nothing about that for the moment he felt his heart hurt, a knot form in his throat and the familiar prickle in his eyes, he would turn and leave. His masochist streak only went so far.
“Charles.” Trust Erik to notice him at the worst times.
Slowly, he turned, adopting the casual, serene smile he was known for, arranging his posture so he looked completely carefree, caging all he felt for the man quickly approaching him in the deepest, darkest corner of his mind and heart. It did not do to be Professor X and feel such things as he felt at times. It would be an awful example for the kids, and a huge disappointment to all his friends who thought they knew everything there was to know about him.
“Erik.” He acknowledged the man with a nod, feeling exhausted just with that gesture, every cell in his body struggling to bottle everything up once more.
Those eyes. Those eyes like storms, like bad omens, stared into his, searching him for answers, stripping him naked and he wanted to just look away, but how suspicious would it be? And why, why did he of all people had to look at him as if he knew?
“I took the liberty of altering the design of your house in some places, with Jean’s help. It will be easier for you to move around. I hope the alterations meet your approval, my friend.” He smiles that shark smile so easily and pats Charles shoulder.
“Thank you. I’m sure they are up to par.” Erik laughed, and the lovely sound sent shivers up his spine, those tightly contained feelings trying to escape their cage.
“Up to par, Charles? Please, don’t spare the compliments.” He jokes and smirks. Granted, he should look a bit terrifying with those sharp teeth, but to the telepath he looks striking. Like he always had.
It hurt to be reminded of his disability though, despite the fact that it was always at the forefront of his mind whenever Erik was around. It made him feel inadequate, faulty, useless to man who always desired and admired power, power and strength such as those of Mystique’s and Jean’s, or even Peter’s. Charles though…he shook his head minutely, trying to dispel the self-pitying thoughts.
“Charles.” He hears the calling, softer and quieter than the one before, and is shocked to realize he had looked away at some point during their short conversation, distracted by his own haunting thoughts.
“Yes?” His blue eyes find the grey ones again, and he suppresses a gasp when he sees questions ready to be asked in them, worry etched in Erik’s face.
“Tell me.” It was part question and part request, or maybe an order, but so softly spoken, so carefully pronounced that Charles had trouble then, swallowing everything he wanted to say along with the knot on his throat.
That was something that changed as well, sometime after Cuba. He had foolishly believed that maybe Erik would return. Stop that madness. That maybe what they had built together would mean more to him, a chance at a new beginning. That maybe whatever he had with Raven was nothing more than ill-advised curiosity from his sister’s part, a teenage crush, so to say.
But time passed. And they didn’t return. And it killed him. It took him so long, so many, many months, dare he say, years of denial before he admitted that day inside the plane, as he struck the metal-bender’s chest that maybe, just maybe, he loved him. From the moment Charles realized that, everything changed. He couldn’t let Erik get arrested. Couldn’t watch him suffer even if he deserved to. Couldn’t find it in himself to lift one finger to stop him as he left the wrecks of the White House and its grounds.
And, most importantly, couldn’t be honest to Erik ever again.
So many things he wished he could say, so many words on the tip of his tongue, desperate to leave, to be freed from the prison he had made within his mind, but he would not let them go. That was a part of himself no one would ever know. It distanced himself from Erik, and it made him ache, desiring simpler times when they could just talk, no secrets between them. Such times would not come anymore. And distance was good, he always told himself, it kept him from doing ludicrous things, such as confessing his feelings or some other nonsense.
So he sighed and smiled, watching as Erik realized it was futile to ask, Charles would not speak, would not dare spill his worst and most guarded secret, would not close the divide between them. The openly concerned look crumbled and was quickly replaced by the detached mask Magneto wore. Struggling to find his voice, Charles ignored the pain in his chest, a thousand pins and needles striking his heart, and answered:
“Tell you what, old friend? All is well.”