Archive of Our Own ^beta

Charles curses, still bent over his washbasin, his throat rough. The blood–red carnations mock him from the sink, he sighs and grabs them forcefully, shoving them in the dustbin. He’s about to go back to bed when he hears what is definitely a fight happening downstairs, paired with one of Hank’s more animalistic roars.

The silent on the plane is only interrupted by Logan’s snoring. Charles hasn’t stopped staring at Erik, as if he’s expecting an attack. Instead, Erik doesn’t seem to pay any attention to Charles, he’s busy trying to curl himself in the air-plane seat.

After it becomes increasingly obvious that Charles has nothing to worry about, his gaze moves to the windows, the darkness outside the plane. He ignores the sound of someone clearing their throat — it must be Logan, he smokes like a chimney anyway — but he turns back to the cabin when he sees Erik hastily standing up and making three steps to the bathroom.

He’s on the seat opposite to Erik’s, his drink in his hand, when Erik returns, slightly paler and disguising how much he leans into the walls of the plane for support.

“You have something on your chin,” Charles frowns as he speaks, gesturing at the right edge of his mouth. Erik blinks before he mimics the movement, then sighs when he takes hold of the blue petal that was stuck in his skin. Charles can’t help but notice how similar it is to his carnations. But it’s impossible. Hank did his research, the flowers are caused by drowned sentiment. Erik only cares about himself, he has nothing to drown.

Then again, there it was, the petal, the same pallor and frown from ten years ago, when Erik didn’t listen to Charles’s warnings about the meats on the farmer’s market in some small town they visited. And, fuck, Charles can’t stop thinking that the petal is somehow familiar.

“Where did you find a flower in an air-plane?” he lets his curiosity defeat him. Erik shrugs, leaning his forearms on the table between them.

“You’ll think I lost my mind in that white cage if I tell you,” he warns, his voice low to not disturb Logan’s slumber. Charles wants to point out that he already thinks Erik lost his mind, then he wants to correct the statement and say he is adamant that Erik was insane long before he got imprisoned, possibly before they even met.

Instead, he just shrugs and takes a sip of his whisky. “Humour me,” he whispers in his glass, watching Erik slowly retract and sit up straight.

“According to the US government and their tests, and when I say tests I mean they opened me up for this, blue orchids are mysteriously growing out of my lungs. Of course, I would consider that statement absolutely insane if I weren’t coughing out the damned flowers,” he answers in all seriousness he can muster. Charles knows he’s expected to laugh at Erik’s face, to call him mad. Instead, he choked on his whiskey and spits it on the table, his pants, and Erik’s shirt.

This can’t be happening. It’s a dream, a sick prank. And, of all flowers, blue orchids? Hank said that if the drowned feelings are about another person, it’s that person’s favourite flowers blooming, making Charles wish he had the forget-me-nots Raven loved. He doesn’t even know someone who likes fucking carnations, but Erik’s over here, having the same fucking flower that used to grow under Charles’s window when he was a child. Erik fucking Lehnsherr is over here growing Charles’s favourite flowers in his fucking lungs.

“You’re fucking with me,” Charles gasps, standing up to fetch some paper towels. Mechanically, he wipes himself and the table, he even throws a few at Erik’s direction.

“I don’t have the imagination for something like this. They couldn’t figure out why it’s happening. I don’t even know why it’s that specific flower. Thank fuck it’s not roses, but I never cared about orchids, and I certainly haven’t seen blue ones before,” Erik cleans up himself and throws away the towels. He takes back his place in front of Charles, as if waiting for mockery.

“Do you have a preference on- on whatever that is?” Charles raises an eyebrow, almost surprised to see Erik actually consider what to answer. His life is a joke. Someone must be laughing at his expense right now.

“Actually, I always liked those deep red carnations, the ones that almost look like someone bled over them,” and here it is, the nail in the fucking coffin. Of all people, Charles represses his guilt about, all his students, his sister. He has to either confront his feelings about this monster or die a horrible death? Is the universe mocking him?

Charles groans and gets up, refilling his glass to the brim. He feels Erik’s eyes piercing him.

“Charles?” he asks, Charles can see the slight frown without turning around to face Erik. Fuck, can’t Hank just throw the plane in the ocean?

“Nothing, it’s nothing. And don’t fret about the flowers, they’re random. They randomly appear on people, and there’s nothing to be done for them,” he snaps. He does not have hidden feelings for Erik. He hates the bastard, and he’s open about that feeling, thank you very much.

But of course, with Charles’s misfortune, Hank just had to overhear him in the silent plane.

“Actually, professor, I told you. They appear when you hide your emotions, and disappear when you confess them. Even the flowers themselves are representing the person these feelings are about and to whom you have to confess. Why are you talking about that, did you find the person who likes carnations?” Hank speaks casually, as if he didn’t hand Charles over in Satan’s spawn. He sighs and faces forward, seeing Erik’s eyes widen.

“Carnations?” he whispers, watching Charles as if he grew a second head. Charles nods slowly.

“Burgundy ones, like dried blood,” Charles whispers, now not daring to look at Erik, at his shock. Erik doesn’t say anything for a long time, if Charles focuses enough, he can pretend Erik isn’t even on the plane, that he imagined the conversation.

“The… the blue orchids. You had some in the mansion, didn’t you? Near your childhood room… Yes, yes, you had shown them to me, you were so happy they were still blooming-” Erik’s voice, thoughtful as if he’s speaking to himself and unfamiliarly soft, sounds like an accusation in Charles’s ears. He’s fucked. He’s throughoutly fucked.

An exhalation echoes from Erik’s direction. “Scheiße,” Erik whispers.

“Shit,” Charles echoes, rubbing his face with his hands. This is not happening. He can’t still love that cunt, that evil cunt. Charles feels his desperation turn into anger. The chair can’t contain him, he stands up and turns to Erik.

“No, no, do you want to know what repressed feeling I have for you, Erik? I hate you! I hate your very existence. I believed, I foolishly believed, that you weren’t just a violent tool, because I was young and in love and naïve. And do you know what I got? You fucking paralysed me, and then you took my sister, and you abandoned me! You abandoned me, and you turned Raven into a murderer, just like you are, you fucking monster! Oh, if we didn’t have to stop her from following your footsteps, I would jump on you, strange you and watch the life bleed out of you, just to make a world a favour and free it from your sick existence!” Charles yells, his hands shaking and his heartbeat echoing in his temples. He’s breathing heavily as he watches Erik, the moisture in his eyes, the tight mouth as if he was slapped. It hurts, he’s hurt. Good, it’s the least he deserves.

Charles’s lungs can’t take the yelling, they act out and take Charles with him, making him kneel on the cold floor of the plane and cough pathetically. The same fucking carnations come out, maybe he’s finally free from them. He hears steps come closer, he feels that familiar hand, still warm and rough, rubbing his back. He wants to crawl away from Erik’s touch, he hates how his body leans towards it, seeks it.

“What I did to you that day, there hasn’t been a moment when I didn’t regret it, when I wasn’t thinking what I could have done differently. You treated me with such kindness when we first met, the likes of which I hadn’t seen since I was a child. Charles, what… what I want to say is, I’m sorry for the pain I have caused you, you never deserved it, I should have acted differently that day. And, I’ll be forever grateful for the time we had together, I’ll forever cherish it. I can see I won’t get the response that I want, and I have no right to demand it from you, but Charles. Still, I want to tell you, I loved you then, I love you still. And I wish I’d done things different, just as I wish I had the opportunity to show you I can do things different, and show you the kindness and love you deserve. But I cannot demand that opportunity from you, I have no right to ask for it. So, just, let me please tell you I’m sorry, and I love you,” Erik talks quietly, basically whispers in Charles’s ear. His words still gnaw Charles’s insides.

“You should have let the bullets run their course and hit you,” Charles almost laughs, before he can think otherwise. He turns to look at Erik, at his blotched face and trembling chin and glassy eyes, at the terrifying openness and honesty. Erik opens his mouth to say something, but regrets it before he can make a sound. He just stays there, frozen like a statue.

“I hate you. I… I should hate you for what you did, I should tell you to take your apologies and shove them up your arse. I want to hate you, but–” Charles presses his lips tight before he can continue that sentence, but it’s too late now, he already walked down that path. “I can’t… I fucking can’t, it would be so easy to hate you, but I just can’t,” as the words come out, Charles feels that constant fist in his chest loosen, the air around him is once again enough. “But I can’t forget either,” he finishes, now waiting for Erik’s answer.

Erik, who stares at Charles with wide eyes, almost crazed. Who takes several deep breaths before he clears his throat.

“We… we’ll find Raven, we’ll stop whatever we have to stop, and we’ll figure out the rest later,” he finally speaks, raw and unsteady and so painfully open. Charles’s lips quirk up, his head nods.

“I agree, one apocalyptic event at the time,” he mumbles and stands up, extending his hand to Erik. Erik’s warm hand clasps his as he stands up, then let go as he wipes imaginary dust and real carnation petals off his pants.

“And also I want to talk about it when we’re not flying in a tin controlled by Hank. Preferably a park, someplace with grass and natural light,” he agrees, a slight smile in his thin lips. Charles releases a short snort. Then, without a question, he refills his glass and brings another glass for Erik, opening a cabinet to search for the chess board they have shoved somewhere.

“Is it me or is the air lighter in here?” Erik asks, moving on the other side of the cabin to reveal the board on his first attempt. Charles glances at it, metal pieces, of course.

“It’s less like the air is lighter and more like my chest is open, at least in my case,” Charles admits after a moment. And, oh, how much he wants to hate the implications, but he doesn’t. Erik nods silently, setting the black chess pieces in front of him and taking a sip of his whiskey, waiting for Charles. Charles smiles and joins him, moving one of his pawns forward without a moment of doubt.