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The reason Charles prefers early labs is because the transit bus for the university stops at six in the afternoon, and the walk back to his flat is nearly two miles long and can get somewhat spooky in the dark. He’s not particularly worried for his safety, given that his telepathy ensures him some sort of natural security, but he doesn’t like traveling alone at nine in the evening.
Still. Nothing he can do, really. His schedule is so tightly packed that oftentimes, the only hours he can make it to the lab is after dinner. So he packs a couple of snacks, slides his laptop into his satchel, and hops onto the last bus of the afternoon at five fifty-five, knowing full well that he won’t be done until eight-thirty at the earliest.
Tonight, he finishes at nine-fifteen. Part of him wants to stay on longer to finish analyzing the data spreadsheets that he and the other lab assistants have been collecting over the last few days, but he keeps reading the same line of numbers over and over again without absorbing anything, which is probably a sign he should call it a night. So he turns off the lab computers, turns out the lights, and makes sure the doors are locked behind him.
It’s only when he reaches the ground floor doors that he realizes it’s raining. Hard. Dismayed, he considers calling Raven to see if she could swing by to pick him up, but then he remembers that she has a date tonight. He’s not sure if she’s back yet, but if she’s not, he doesn’t want to interrupt anything.
With a sigh, he puts his satchel down, slips his phone in, and tries to shift his laptop and books around so they’re as snug and as safe from any water as can be. Then he stops and looks morosely out the door at the sheets of rain skittering with the wind across the pavement, making it impossible to see more than ten feet ahead.
Maybe he’ll just wait it out. He doesn’t particularly feel like ruining his laptop and every single paper in his bag.
He settles on the floor by the door, pulls out his laptop, and tries to work on his dissertation, though he’s yawning too much to be of much use. He checks the forecast and sees a 100% chance of thunderstorms throughout the night. Fantastic.
At ten-fifteen, he slides his laptop back into his bag and stands on the threshold of the doors, gnawing at his lip. The rain seems lighter. At least it doesn’t look like he’ll be swept away by the wind the instant he steps out. Shrugging out of his coat, he wraps it around his satchel and tucks the bundle under his arm. Nothing for it. He’ll have to brave the downpour.
Within ten seconds, he’s completely drenched from head to toe. His t-shirt is plastered to his back, his jeans stick soggily to his skin, and his sneakers squelch with every step. He only hopes his coat is enough to protect his laptop from being too badly damaged, but he’s not feeling very optimistic. Maybe he should’ve hidden his bag somewhere in the science building. Always the chance of it getting stolen, but that would only be a chance; now, he’s almost certain he’s going to get home and find everything in his bag completely waterlogged.
He slogs through a dozen puddles and down three blocks. It’s as he’s turning left on the fourth that he feels the blur of an alert mind near his. Someone close. Pausing in his brisk near-jog, he glances to his left and spots a dark figure across the street, heading in his direction. At the distance and through the rain, all he can make out is a tall, lean shadow with the impression of an umbrella over its head. Charles brushes his mind up against the stranger’s, only enough to ensure that he’s not being approached by a serial killer or a mugger. But there’s no malicious intent lurking in the boy’s—and it’s a boy, that much Charles gets from his cursory examination of the stranger’s mind—thoughts, so Charles stops to see what the figure wants. Directions, probably. People get lost all the time, especially at night when the street signs are harder to see.
As the stranger draws closer, Charles starts to make out his features. He’s taller than Charles by a good few inches, his body long and trim under a blue t-shirt and brown leather jacket. His legs, clad in slim jeans, look like they’re approximately three miles long. And his face is just as gorgeous as his body, all sharp lines and finely curved lips and the hint of stubble that runs around a killer jawline.
Charles really wises he didn’t look half so slummy as he did right then, hair sticking to his eyes and shivering in the cold sting of rain like a drowned rat.
“Hi,” the boy says, raising his voice to be heard over the wind. He looks about Charles’ age, if not a little older.
“Hi,” Charles returns, a bit warily. Even if he’s not about to be mugged or dragged into an alley and murdered behind dumpsters, he’s not used to being stopped by strangers on the street. Certainly not by attractive strangers like this. “Can I help you?”
“Actually,” the other boy says, “I thought I could help you. Saw you walking without an umbrella. Wanted to ask if you were all right.”
“Oh!” Surprise flits through him. “That’s…that’s kind of you.”
The boy shrugs. “If my mother saw me walking near a helpless stranger without bothering to stop to help, she’d skin me alive.”
“Well, tell her thank you the next time you see her then,” Charles says, startled into a smile. “And ‘helpless stranger?’ I hardly think I qualify as helpless.”
His knight in dull, wet leather and denim grins a little. He’s got a charming smile, full of teeth. “Maybe a little.”
Charles looks down at himself and laughs. “Okay, maybe a little. I, um…I’m heading back to my flat. It’s not that long of a walk. I’ll be okay, but thanks for asking.”
“I’ll walk you,” the boy offers. In the course of their conversation, he’s drifted closer to Charles, tilting the umbrella so that it shades Charles as well as himself. The reprieve from the direct brunt of the storm is a relief. The wind whips the rain in at a slant, so they’re still getting wet but at least Charles isn’t being pelted by curtains of rain anymore. He even has some opportunity to wipe the water from his eyes so the world is no longer blurry.
“No, I couldn’t ask that of you,” Charles says quickly, shaking his head.
“You said it wasn’t that long of a walk.”
“It’s still over a mile.”
The stranger shrugs. “That’s not far. Come on.”
He starts to walk in the direction Charles had been heading earlier and Charles is forced to hurry along beside him to keep under the cover of the umbrella. It’s something of a miracle that the umbrella’s still holding strong against the wind. Charles can’t even count how many umbrellas he’s lost to particularly vicious storms.
“Please,” he says as they walk, “you don’t have to. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you or anything.”
“I’ve got nowhere to be anyway,” the other boy says, waving a dismissive hand.
Charles pauses, his brow furrowing. “What are you doing outside in a downpour like this?”
“I live down the street. Got locked out of the house.”
“Down the street?” There isn’t any housing along this street except those reserved for fraternities.
“Yeah. I’m in DAO.” The boy’s voice turns almost aggressive then, like he’s used to offering that bit of information and then having to deal with a backlash.
Charles, for his part, is delighted. “DAO! The bigger mutant frat on campus. You’re a mutant?”
The boy nods. “Metallokinetic. You’re a mutant, too, aren’t you?”
Charles raises his eyebrows, surprised. “Yes, how did you know?”
“Well, I might have seen you speak once or twice.” The other boy’s voice turns nonchalant and easy. “You do those seminars on mutations. Learning to accept yourself, how to deal with late manifestations, that sort of thing.”
“I do.” Charles finds himself grinning. He’s only started doing these lectures in the last semester, since the administration had pushed for a more mutant-friendly learning environment and decided to ask willing graduate students to pitch in with the talks and Q&As. “I don’t recognize you from there. Have we spoken before?”
The metallokinetic shakes his head and shifts the umbrella into his left hand so he can offer Charles his right. “I’m Erik.”
“Charles.”
Despite being wet, his fingers are still warmer than Charles’. That’s the reason Charles hangs on a little longer than necessary, of course.
“I know.”
“Right.” Charles laughs. “From the lectures. Did you go to all three of them?”
Erik nods. “Thought you had good things to say. Most of the speakers they’ve hired to speak to the mutant community on campus are humans. They call them experts in genetic mutation and mutant integration programs, but it’s bullshit. No mutant wants to hear from humans how things are going to work. It was refreshing to see some mutants behind the podium.”
Charles feels his grin widen. He can’t help it; he loves finding people as passionate about the mutant situation as he is. “It’s about time, isn’t it? I’ve written a few papers on the role of human instructors in mutant education. Don’t get me wrong—I have dozens of human colleagues and professors whom I admire greatly. Human or mutant, any person we meet can teach us something. But it’s nice to start working toward a balance between mutant and human educators. It’s a step toward equality.”
He pauses when he realizes Erik is staring at him, his eyes inscrutable. Charles resists the urge to dip into Erik’s mind and asks aloud instead, “What?”
In response, Erik’s lips tip up. “Nothing, really. You’re just…you’re the same in person as you are when you’re lecturing.”
Charles laughs. “What? I don’t have anything like a persona I put on when I teach. I’m just…” He waves a vague hand at himself.
“Just like that,” Erik finishes, and it might be the rain, it might be the darkness, but Charles swears there’s something nervous and eager all at once behind Erik’s gaze. Before he can examine it too closely, Erik glances up the dim street and says, “Are you reading my mind right now?”
Charles shakes his head. “Like I explained in last week’s seminar, I set rules for myself. It’s more comfortable for everyone when you have boundaries.”
Erik’s brow furrows in consternation. “Limiting yourself to make the humans less afraid. Don’t you think that’s unfair? That you have to change yourself to accommodate them?”
“You attended all my seminars, didn’t you?” Charles says in reply. “Then don’t you remember in my first one that I said specifically that we have to get rid of the us versus them mentality? It’s not about mutants versus humans. It’s about finding a middle ground for everyone. You think humans are the only ones who get nervous when they hear I’m a telepath? You don’t know how many mutants I’ve met who’ve asked me to stay out of their heads, or who stop coming to my labs when they realize I can read their minds. Those rules aren’t to appease humans, Erik. They’re to make everyone comfortable, and I mean everyone. If you think prejudice doesn’t exist between mutants, you’d be wrong.”
Erik is silent for a very long moment. When Charles sneaks a glance over at him, his jaw is clenched tight, his eyes narrowed as they focus on the cracked pavement beneath their feet instead of looking at Charles. Finally, he says, lowly enough that his voice is barely audible over the clatter of rain, “I hadn’t thought of that.”
Charles shrugs. “A lot of people don’t, and it’s all right. People learn new things every day.”
Erik considers that for a moment. Then he asks, “And what have you learned today?”
“That if I run around looking like I’ve just been swept out of the sewer, dashingly handsome men will offer to walk me home,” Charles says lightly. Then he almost backtracks—he’s not even sure if Erik’s gay, dammit, he needs to learn to stop leaping to conclusions like this—but before he can, Erik barks a laugh. “I hope you don’t make this a regular occurrence,” he says, smiling with all his teeth.
“I’ll do my best,” Charles promises solemnly. “Though I must admit that this experience has been altogether very pleasant.”
“I hope so,” Erik says, and suddenly he’s looking away again, a current of determination snapping along the edge of his mind, “because I was hoping you’d let me take you out to coffee sometime.”
Charles is so surprised that he stops, getting immediately soaked all over again when Erik keeps walking, taking the umbrella with him. As soon as he notices Charles isn’t by his side anymore, he hurries back, holding the umbrella out to cover Charles’ head.
“Coffee?” Charles manages.
Uncertainty flickers over Erik’s face. “I mean—if you’re not interested, I’d understand—”
“No, I’m—I’m not—”
“Not gay?” Erik huffs out a rapid breath, embarrassment fairly radiating from him. “I’m sorry. I just…I saw you at the that first lecture and then I couldn’t stop myself from going to the second one, or the third one. And I wanted to talk to you, but you’ve always got a crowd around you after talks and I couldn’t get through.” He hesitates, then adds, “Then I saw you earlier, walking past the house. I probably shouldn't have followed you but I just thought…I didn’t think you should be walking in this weather alone, at night.” He shakes his head. “You must think—shit—you must think I’m a stalker or something—”
“No, I…” Charles can’t hold back the smile that spreads wide across his face. There’s nothing frightening he can detect from Erik’s mind, just discomfiture and earnestness. “I think that that was sweet of you. Really. Thank you. And I’d love to get a coffee sometime. I am interested, I was just surprised that…I don’t know, that you’d even be remotely attracted to me when I’m…well, when I look like this.” He nods at his messy, rumpled appearance.
“Are you serious?” Erik breathes, staring at him. “You really have no idea what you look like right now, do you?”
Charles catches a flash of an image: himself with wet, tousled hair, t-shirt clinging to his slight torso, jeans hanging so low on his hips they look like they might slip off, clutching his satchel under his arm protectively, pale skin made paler with the cold, which reddens his lips more than usual, blue eyes piercing even in the darkness.
It’s a much more flattering picture than Charles had expected. He’s glad it’s hard to see because he’s sure he’s blushing madly.
“Coffee,” he says, starting to walk again so Erik won’t notice his pinking cheeks. “I’d, um…Are you free anytime this week?”
Erik falls into step beside him again. Charles is suddenly hyperaware of how close they’re forced to walk to stay underneath the umbrella’s shelter; his shoulders brush Erik’s, and they’re practically rubbing hips. Charles shivers and pretends the cold is why he steps just a tiny bit closer, so that their shoulders press a little more firmly together.
“Tomorrow?” Erik asks. “We could get breakfast if you want.”
Charles nods. “That sounds great. I could meet you on campus? There’s that place on—”
“Fifth Street?”
Charles laughs. “Now who’s the mind reader?”
Erik shrugs and grins. “Everyone goes to that place. It’s great. Is nine o’clock too early?”
“No, that’s perfect.”
“Good. It’s decided then.”
And not a moment too soon: they come up on Charles’ flat within the next block, and Charles pulls them to a stop by the door, shuffling a bit closer so they can face each other but still remain under the umbrella. “So…this is me.”
Erik glances up and sees the light in the window. Raven’s visible through the open curtains, dancing to some music that they can’t hear over the rumble of thunder. Frowning, he says, “You’re not…?”
Charles doesn’t even need to read his mind to know what he’s thinking. Laughing, he answers, “No, that’s my sister, Raven. We’re cohabitating for the moment.”
Relief slides briefly across the surface of Erik’s mind before disappearing into a general excitement. “So I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
Charles nods. “I look forward to it.” He hesitates a moment, then says, “Would you…would you like to come in? It’s just—it’s pouring outside, and I wouldn’t want you to walk back in this. You're locked out anyway, aren't you? You could stay until the storm let up at least.”
Erik’s eyes widen. Then he smiles tentatively and says, “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to impose.”
Charles laughs and takes his elbow, drawing him up the stairs that lead to the door. “Come on, it’s the least I could do. You walked me all the way home in the rain.”
“I didn’t mind,” Erik says.
Charles smiles at him. “I didn’t either. Come on.”
He unlocks the door, swings it open, and steps into the welcome warmth and dryness of his home. After a moment, Erik pulls the umbrella closed, shakes it out over the stairs, and follows him gladly in.