Chapter Text
Sometimes they had pizza days.
“Pizza days” was more of a conventional name, because it started as pizza, but there were all sorts of takeout involved. It sounded nice, and it probably was for the children. Not so much for Erik, at least not in the present. Now he ordered in when he didn’t have strength headspace to do the simplest things, like making dinner. He often wasted the saved time staring blankly at the wall.
Not always, though. There were days when he managed to find enough energy to sit with his kids and bond with them a little. He would listen to their stories from school and raise an eyebrow in silence when they exchanged glances saying “wait, that’s the part he can’t hear”. He would try to keep up with the number of Nina’s new friends, because it looked like she decided to befriend every animal in the city. Erik was a bit concerned that his daughter has more animal than human acquaintances, but he was an introvert too, maybe she just took it after him. As long as she wasn’t feeling lonely, he would try to keep track of the names of pigeons, cats and other animals she talked to. And try to not worry too much, though it wasn’t easy.
Today was one of the days when Erik felt like lying on the floor and crumpling under the weight of his own existence like a wet newspaper on a sidewalk, so he just knocked at the left ajar door to the girls’ shared room. Then he poked his head through the door.
“How do you feel about a pizza day today?” he asked. Wanda turned around on her chair to look at him.
“Why not?” she muttered.
“So, what do you want?”
“Maybe actual pizza this time?” Nina suggested. “We got Chinese the past few times”
Wanda just shrugged, accepting the proposition.
“The usual?” Erik asked. It meant a vegetarian one and pepperoni one, with hot sauce Pietro ate in truly concerning amounts.
The girls confirmed, so he went to also ask Pietro (more just inform him, because even if he wanted something else, he’d lose the voting), already dialing the number to the closest pizzeria.
Erik knocked at the door an pushed it open when he heard an invitation. Pietro’s room was Nina’s old one – they moved places at some point, so the twins weren’t switching the beds they slept in every night (like they did when they were five) anymore. The walls were blue, and Erik’s eyes involuntarily averted to lopsided flowers painted on one of the walls. Wanda and Pietro drew them when they wanted to decorate their newborn sister’s room, and for some reason nobody bothered to cover them up. Erik didn’t think they really wanted to.
Pietro was sitting at the desk with an open notebook and laptop in front of him. Erik couldn’t be sure that he’s actually learning and not doing something else, but he had absolutely no intention of trying to investigate.
“Nina and Wanda want pizza for dinner” he said, looking at his son again. Pietro muttered something along the lines of “yeah, okay” and turned back to whatever he was doing.
Erik hesitated in the doorway for a moment, but after a second or two he just left, sighing quietly.
There was a time when Pietro was more eager to talk to him. Maybe it was the fact that he was a teenager, maybe that they spent less time together now. Or maybe Erik just didn’t stop his son from falling when it actually mattered.
He remembered it so vividly like it happened yesterday, not nine years ago. He remembered the way wind played with Magda’s and Wanda’s brown locks, and the way the girl was sitting with her arms crossed on her chest. She was mad, because they decided that Pietro will be the one that first tries riding a bike. They only had one, so she was forced to wait, her only entertainment being watching her brother or her little sister. Admittedly toddlers weren’t very interesting for a five-year old to watch, and she turned her head away from Pietro to show her outrage and disappointment in their obviously wrong choice. She ended up staring at the ants on the concrete ground.
Pietro was eager to learn, and even more eager to escape Erik’s reach, so soon he was a few yards in front of him. The bike swayed, and Erik steadied it with his powers, one of his hands reaching out for it – even though he couldn’t possibly touch it physically. He quickly reduced the distance sharing them, still keeping the bike in his mutation’s grip.
“You can’t do this every time” Magda told him. “It’s better that he falls now, when we’re here, than if he’s reckless in the future”
“It’s an instinct. I panic every time” he said to that, because it was true. The moment he felt that the bike was off-balance, his power tried to ensure Pietro’s safety almost without his control. He didn’t want to stop it from doing so.
“Well, he needs to learn how to not fall by himself. You won’t always be at his side”
“You’re only terrifying me more” he replied, but he did a little less to steady the bike next time.
Sometimes he needed to let Pietro fall, but what does “fall” even mean? When should he do it? When is it too important to let him learn from his own mistakes, when can Erik actually prevent it?
Erik put his jacket on, trying to banish this memory and those thoughts from his head. It felt like his whole life was one big fall, with no one to stop it. Maybe Erik let them both fall – and maybe he was the one that pushed them off the edge.
He began walking down the stairs. He was not going to pay for a delivery, the pizzeria was close enough for him to go on a walk there.
★★★★★
It looked like he can’t go one walk without thinking about Charles.
Charles himself didn’t make it easier, because he kept texting him – and Erik kept responding. What he assumed will be one hookup, casual sex with no strings attached, turned into pretty regular meetings. A bit ironic, since he assumed that Charles will never even reach out in the first place.
It’s been going on for about two months – probably; Erik stopped being the best at keeping track of time years ago – and Erik never texted him first. There was just something so gut-wrenching about the image of Charles rolling his eyes and sighing heavily when he looks at the notification – something Erik saw him do once. Then Charles proceeded to explain that he has this new assistant at the lab and she’s a bit disorganized.
“I don’t blame her, of course” he said, putting his phone back in his pocket after quickly replying. “It must be stressful for her too, I just wish she’d stop misplacing things that aren’t hers”
Then Erik heard about the way it impacted Charles’ and his lab partner’s project, even though he had little to no knowledge about genetics. He already knew what Charles did for work at university, heard anecdotes about it, about his sister, about his cat (named after Nettie Stevens; Erik was too embarrassed to admit that he doesn’t know who he’s talking about, so he just googled it later) and student life at Oxford. Erik was more reluctant at sharing information about himself, but Charles didn’t seem to mind.
Erik didn’t like to think how Charles’ life is like outside of their meetings. He listened to the stories, laughed at them – genuinely, which seemed strange to him – but when he was with Charles he thought about Charles, not about comparing their lives.
Erik had foolishly (realistically?) thought that it will be just sex, but it was never like that with Charles. There was always a date before, though he didn’t have to do this. He didn’t have to take Erik to restaurants or other (most of the time fancy) places. Erik supposed that he just loved to talk, which they did a lot when they met. They weren’t a couple, obviously – Erik still claimed that he doesn’t date, even if it was only in his head, and if Charles wanted to date someone he could just find the right person instead of repeatedly proposing another meeting to Erik – but it wasn’t just sex. Erik would say that the closest way to describe what they had would be “friends with benefits”.
He hated that term.
He also hated what his mind did with memories from their shared time. It happened after they bid each other goodbye, in the most random moments. For example now, while he was walking down a street and realizing that the end of September might be an appropriate time to start wearing sweatshirts again.
Honestly, he should focus on anything else. Even counting his fucking steps would be better than thinking about how does a man with vocational education/too much grey hair and wrinkles/three children look next to someone who is an Oxford graduate/seemingly stopped aging when he reached 30/has a cat.
The answer was simple: not good.
Despite all the comparing (and the humiliation he felt when he insisted he can pay for himself while knowing that Charles paying is actually very much beneficial for him), Erik continued to agree to the meetings and fucking Charles after them, letting him mind-control him as he likes. Maybe it was the telepathy he was so drawn to, that feeling of absolute freedom from responsibility for his actions.
Whatever it was that caused him to come back again and again, he didn’t want to end their kind of weird, but strangely nice relationship. He just needed to stop thinking about the man who doesn’t think about him during his normal day – and he could keep things as they are. As long as Charles doesn’t stop asking whether he wants to meet, that is.
When Erik came back home with the pizzas, he just put them on the table and called his kids. He was not hungry.
Erik went to his room, where he sat on the bed and sighed. He closed his eyes to put his fingers on them and apply pressure there. They hurt him more often lately, and he wondered whether it’s just his imagination or if his vision really is getting worse. He should go to an ophthalmologist or something, but the thought alone about having to bother with that made him postpone making an appointment every time. He will do it. Someday. Probably. If he has time. And money.
Hiding in his bedroom felt like cowardice. He should get it together. Get it together. Get it together. Get it together.
Thank the fucking god that he doesn’t have to do anything for the next few minutes. The laundry is done, the ironing is done, he vacuumed, cleaned the kitchen. The dinner is being currently eaten, and he was certain there will be enough leftovers for the next meal. It was definitely unhealthy. He shouldn’t be ignoring his responsibilities as a parent like that. He should just get it together and find enough motivation to do something so mundane like making dinner. He should be there with them. Get it together. Get it together. Stop hiding. Stop failing them. Stop failing Magda. What would she think if she saw him now?
Erik firmly believed that he should be happy. Yes, he was a widower, but he has been for the past eight years, so he’s mourned. He had the little rays of sunshine that were his children. They were healthy, they weren’t living in poverty, all of their needs could be fulfilled. There were millions of people who had it so, so much worse than him. He should just grit his teeth and get his shit together, stop being so pretentious and be grateful that it isn’t worse. Just get it together. Get it together. It’s not that hard.
“It’s not that hard” he whispered to himself, getting up. The pain behind his eyes only intensified, but he ignored it, walking out of the room. His head pounded with every step he took.
★★★★★
Sometimes they met in Charles’ apartment. That didn’t mean Charles’ material status didn’t strike the eye – Erik didn’t even want to think how much the wine they were sipping cost. Even the chess set Charles had looked expensive. Erik played very rarely in the past years, so he lost the first game miserably, but the more they did it, the easier it was to use his rusty skills.
They both would sit on the couch during their matches, because Nettie took over the armchair entirely. Erik thought that Charles lets the cat do too much, like it was his roommate, not his pet. Charles just laughed it off.
Chess and wine made the conversation easy. They swiftly moved between talking about chess clubs, high school and sports when Charles said that he ran track back then.
“You don’t really look like an athlete” Erik joked “Especially while clothed”
Charles laughed at that. Erik was well aware of how his body looked, but the what he wore (and his height) made him appear as a scholar, not someone particularly interested in any kind of physical activity. The cane only added to that image.
“Oh, I’m sure I could pick your skinny ass up with no problem”
Erik chuckled, watching Charles put his glass away onto the table. He was always pretty thin – his not very healthy lifestyle only made it more visible – but he didn’t think Charles’ words could be anything more that an empty declaration.
“Yeah, I’d like to see that”
He didn’t expect that Charles will move closer to him, that he will feel his hands around his waist and under his thighs. He certainly didn’t expect that he will find himself on Charles’ lap after a few seconds.
“See?” Charles said, smirking. His face was very close to Erik’s, who could feel himself blush. “It would probably be harder while I’m standing, you know, imbalance…” he kept going, and Erik just put his own glass to his lips a took a big sip of the wine he almost spilled a moment ago. Fuck, is that what turns him on now? Getting manhandled? Well, it was more the matter of who was doing it, but Erik didn’t have time to think about that. Charles’ fingers wrapped around his, taking the glass out and putting it on the table too as he dipped his head forward, quickly reducing the remaining distance between their lips.
When Erik was leaving that night, he passed the chessboard – and he couldn’t resist rearranging a few pieces. Maybe he’ll come back here, and maybe they’ll finish that game. He doubted Charles will remember exactly where they stopped. It was always good to have advantage.
Other times they met at the bar. Erik had nothing against that – the place wasn’t bad, though if he could change something he’d definitely lower the volume of music. When he started working here he would get a headache within ten minutes from starting his shift for the first week or two. Now he was used to it, so they happened much rarer. Oh, and he’d definitely fire Azazel. His coworker was probably the closest thing to a friend Erik had, but he started teasing him about the meetings with Charles, and it made Erik want to strangle him. Or at least accidentally spill a drink all over him.
Meetings with Charles started happening much more often than Erik expected. The ones at the bar were focusing on chatter frequently interrupted by something, rather short in comparison to the ones outside. Plus they didn’t end in sex. Erik didn’t really know why they had those.
He also kept wondering why they had them at all.
Outside of the bar their meetings were… better. More private, longer, certainly more interesting – especially at the end. It always happened in Charles’ apartment. Before that they would go to many different places, and talked about… many different things.
“I know that British cuisine may seem a tad bit strange to you- ”
“A tad bit strange” Erik repeated, mocking him. “It’s a war crime”
“Your British accent should be considered a war crime!” Charles said, laughing almost hysterically. Erik smiled to himself, looking at his face, pink cheeks and wide grin. They’ve just come out of a restaurant where Charles has marveled over some of the dishes – ones that would made Erik hesitate before trying, and he was not a picky eater. That lead to another of theirs not-really-arguments, and what’s more important, making Charles laugh. He was not looking at Erik, so he only had a view of his profile. He noticed crow’s feet in the corner of his eye; a sign that Charles is, in fact, only three years younger than him. It felt surprisingly out of place. Neither of them really looked their age, just… in opposite directions.
Erik pressed his lips into a tight line, his teeth sinking into the inside of his cheek. Why is he doing this? He quickly looked away, his eyes fixing on the sidewalk in front of him. They both drank a bit some time before; it wasn’t a lot, just enough to loosen tongues. It was probably why he was making Charles laugh and smiling when he did. Too tipsy to think straight and too sober to acknowledge it. There’s nothing more to it.
“Were you ever in Britain?” Charles asked. Now he was looking at Erik, and he had a brief moment of panic, suddenly too aware of how unpleasant his expression must seem. Stop pressing your lips together. Stop being so tense. Stop biting your cheek, Charles will be able to taste blood if it’s in your fucking mouth.
“I passed through” he replied, finally looking away from Charles.
“Oh, well, I certainly made more memories, then” he said. “Not always good, though”
Erik started to doubt that they’re still talking about cuisine.
“Would you like to go back there?”
“Maybe someday” Charles said after a moment of hesitation. “I like my life here”
“Congratulations. Any tips how to achieve that?”
Charles chuckled, and Erik failed to stop himself from looking at him again. Damn it. Damn it. At least he made him smile. Why does he even care about it?
“Do you want to move from here?” he asked. He was looking at Erik too, and Erik felt like looking away now would make it awkward, so he just hoped he’s not embarrassing himself at the moment.
Charles’ smile grew a bit wider. Whether it was the fact that they got to know each other a bit or that Erik was tipsy, his mental shields stopped being so strict, allowing the telepath to partially feel his sudden embarrassment. He thought it was cute.
“Well, I can’t really do that” he finally responded.
“But if you could”
“I don’t like to waste time on wondering about unrealistic things”
He got lightly smacked in the back of his leg with Charles’ cane for that.
“Come on, Erik, use your imagination”
“I don’t think imagination is stored in calves, you won’t achieve much by hitting me in them”
He heard Charles’ laughter and bit his lip not to smile, feeling heat on his face and way too fast heartbeat. God, what is he doing? What is happening to him?
“Yeah, I’d move if I could” he said when Charles’ laugh quieted down. The world seemed strangely silent without it. Erik has always liked silence, but… not this one.
“Where?”
“Well, there are plenty of countries that I’d consider. Ones that have the tax included in the prize you see. And with actual democracy, not this weird system. And where garbage disposals aren’t in the sinks and don’t cut your fingers off. And where I can be sure that my neighbor doesn’t own twenty guns. And- ”
“Okay, I think you’ve made your point” Charles cut him off. “I certainly see what you mean”
“Do you, though? You, Americans, are insane in large numbers”
Another laugh; maybe Erik should throw everything away and just become a comedian. It would end in disaster, like everything, but maybe he should.
“You know” Charles said when he collected himself “as much as fun my life was when I lived in the UK, I don’t really miss it. Do you?”
Erik opened his mouth to respond, but then he actually thought about it. He thought about the times when his father wasn’t home because he was working, and when Erik was climbing trees and pretending to be Indiana Jones; when his mother didn’t buy new clothes for herself to buy them for him and when she kissed him goodnight and didn’t go to sleep herself. When he despised his sister ninety percent of the time, but loved her when she shared her candy with him. When he had time for reading books and lived their plot for the next days before finding something new, more interesting. He’s always liked the adventure ones, with a bit of real world and a bit of magic. Back then he actually believed that it all could also happen to him.
“As hell” he finally said, briefly glancing at the sky above him. Grey, as usual. “I miss it as hell”