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Charles hears knocking on the window. He opens it without thinking, considering how most of his students would have no problem reaching the third floor by mutation. What he sees is most definitely not one of his students.
+++
Erik only gives Charles a goodbye before leaving. Looking back at it, why did he do that? He’s already left Charles twice before, and look at how that’s turned out. Maybe he should go back. That’d be so weird though, going back to Charles. He’s never done that before. Well, he’s never almost destroyed the whole world either. Ok, maybe he has, but never did it under the command of the first mutant in existence. There’s a first time for everything. And this something is returning to his Charles. Wait, his Charles? When did that happen? He digs up his memories of Charles for review. Charles dragging him out of the ocean, Charles lowering the gun Erik commanded him to shoot him with, Charles unlocking his power, Charles smiling, Charles worrying, Charles losing his legs, Charles on the brink of tears. Charles when he leaves. The pain on Charles’s face whenever they met after that.
But what if Charles doesn’t want to see him? Can’t look at his face? Can’t even speak to him? Erik’s heart crumples into itself, an image of Charles telling him to leave flickering by. He can’t go back to Charles, not like this.
But then he passes a grocery store and remembers that Charles likes pasta.
+++
“Charles.” Erik murmurs.
“Erik.” Charles gasps out.
Charles is frozen to the ground as he watches Erik float inside and gingerly place two bags of groceries on the floor. Erik then turns around to look Charles right in the face and Charles can’t believe he’s still standing. Erik came back ? If Charles finally beginning to hallucinate? Did his mind just conjure up an Erik for him to mend his constantly breaking heart? Charles squints at Erik, not quite believing. Hell, he doesn’t believe at all!
“Yes?” Erik gulps and shies away from Charles’s burning stare.
Charles forces his feet to move closer and with every step he can smell the man before him. Metal, gunpowder, dirt and trees. Like a lumberjack without the beard and the plaid. Charles looks Erik up and down, then again, and once more. It’s the same clothes as earlier today, the same sculpted body as always. Same stupid turtleneck. God he hates that turtleneck so much. It hides too much of his beautiful neck.
Erik is still eyeing the books when Charles pokes him in the cheek. He doesn’t dare move, not even a bit, but recoils when Charles pinches him.
“So you are real. Huh.” Charles obviously states.
“Yes, I am. Did you think otherwise?” Erik tilts his head. He would be amused if he wasn’t so nervous.
Instead of explaining with words, Charles takes advantage of this helmet-less Erik and pushes his thoughts into Erik. He wouldn’t normally go about it this way, but Charles is too stunned to use his mouth. At first Erik attempts to reject Charles’s abrupt entry, but lets him by with another passing moment.
“Oh.” Is all Erik says after minutes of silence.
“Yes.” Charles responds.
“... Where’s your kitchen?” Erik’s horrible attempt at a smile warm’s Charles’s heart. “I wanted to make you dinner.”
“Really now?” Charles’s smile turns true with Erik’s timid nod.
+++
Erik is nervous. He’s never nervous. His shaking hand pours the shaking salt into the shaking water because of the shaking metal pot. Everything in this damn kitchen is shaking. The only thing that isn’t shaking is Charles’s wheelchair, because there’s no way in hell Erik’s going to let that one happen. It feels like taboo to touch it with his mutation, like he’s taking advantage of what he’s done to him.
He wallows in his thoughts as his body goes through the familiar motions of making pasta. It’s his daughter’s favorite. Was. It was his daughter’s favorite. He’d make it every week for her. And now he’s making it for Charles. He thinks Anya would appreciate Charles, almost as much as Erik does.
He stops this train of thought before he starts crying into the pasta water. No point in spoiling Charles’s dinner with his tears.
He dumps the pasta into the pot and stirs with a metal spoon as he floats over a skillet for the alfredo sauce. Sadly, butter isn’t wrapped in metal, so he has to float himself over to his bags of groceries which he regrets leaving next to Charles. Charles is staring at him with those lovely blue eyes and Erik would accidently let the kitchen burn down if he looked into them. He fumbles with the bags in his arms and goes back over to the middle of the kitchen, far enough from Charles’s stare to not begin trembling again. His fingers refuse to work when unwrapping the butter and after he almost drops it on his shirt he thinks he hears a gentlest of giggles filter past Charles’s lips. Erik relaxes.
+++
Charles didn’t think all it took to defeat the mighty Magneto was to have him cook dinner. How many disasters that could’ve been avoided with this information.
He allows his shoulders to relax and his back to lean on his chair as he watches the trainwreck that is Erik cooking. Everything including the kitchen sink is shaking along with Erik, the pot looks like it’s about to tip over dancing, and Erik’s butter fingers refuse to unwrap it’s trapped brethren from it’s plastic cage. Erik’s face holds more concentration than when he first attempted to move that satellite dish all those years ago, and he thinks Erik’s toes are wiggling in those shoes of his. Every failed attempt forces another frustrated breath out of Erik and a muffled laugh out of Charles. Any more and he thinks Erik will finally hear him.
Finally, after what seemed to be hours of plastic wrap wrestling, Erik manages to pet the butter in the pan. He doesn’t need to be a telepath to sense Erik’s elation at the cream’s packaging. Erik pops off the lid, tears off the aluminum cover at the speed of light and coaxes the cream out of the cup with yet another metal spoon. Then he triumphantly tosses the empty container into the trash as he summons the salt and pepper by their metal caps. Erik tears apart the wrapping on the parmesan and stabs the end of it with a metal fork. Charles assumes Erik’s just letting out steam in the form of cheese homicide, but realizes it’s to control the cheese along with the grater. How practical. The cheese is grated in no time and erik’s already stirring the sauce as he controls the knives to chop up garlic cloves and oregano.
Charles thinks he hasn’t seen Erik this relaxed since those chess games in their youth. The lovely aroma from the kitchen is no match for the joy Erik’s slight smile brings him.
+++
Erik’s able to relax after the horrible butter disaster is over. All the other ingredients are easily taken care of by the metal utensils and the smile on Charles’s face releases the tension in his muscles. All that’s left now is to wait for the pasta to cook and the sauce to melt down. The spoons are in perfect union, stirring counterclockwise with one another. Erik allows himself to sneak peeks of Charles, who’s currently enraptured by the spoon’s choreographed dance.
“Earth to Charles.” Erik turns to him.
“Charles to Erik.” Charles returns.
“Erik to Charles.” Erik smiles. Oh how true that is now.
“Finally.” Charles’s eyes are faraway, busy exploring some moment of the past.
“Yes, finally.” Erik’s mind decides to go exploring too.
+++
Charles wonders what it is about this time that made Erik come back. In truth, he doesn’t really care. All he really cares about is that Erik is here, in their home, with him.
+++
Erik drains the pasta and takes out two plates from the cupboard. He gingerly scoops out the pasta with two forks and pours the sauce over, careful not to spill. He tosses the pasta to ensure the sauce is evenly mixed before placing them on the kitchen island.
“Dinner for two.” Erik announces.
“My thanks.” Charles responds. “Oh, wait! Stay here for a moment.”
Before Erik could ask any questions, Charles wheels himself out of the kitchen and out of Erik’s sight.
+++
Charles wheels himself up to the third floor library as fast as his arms allow. In there is the old chess set Charles and Erik played with, back when they first met. Charles would never admit it to anyone, but he kept it to remember the good within Erik. All the good memories held within those pieces were simply too precious throw away. He pulls out the set from the armoire near his favorite chair and places it on his lap. All these years and the weight of it is still warm and comforting. Like Erik.
He goes back down to the kitchen, where Erik awaits.
+++
Erik is on the edge of lifting the whole school up floor by floor just to find Charles. He hasn’t been gone for very long but every passing second ramps up Erik’s anxiety. Finally, Erik senses the wheels of Charles’s chair and hears the sound of it squeaking closer. If Erik possessed less self-control he would’ve ran up to Charles and hugged him until his arms gave.
“I thought it’d be nice to play some chess while we eat.” Charles holds up a chess set to Erik, and only after Erik has it in his hands that he understands why Charles brought it.
It’s the same one from when they first became friends.
Are they still friends?
Yes. Charles slips into his mind. And before you can scold me on mind reading etiquette you were practically screaming that question into my ear.
Fine. Erik hopes that didn’t sound like a grumpy child.
It did. Charles tries to hide his smile by wheeling himself to the kitchen island. It was an useless attempt.
“Now, how about you use your groovy mutation to set up the chess board while I eat?” Charles’s tone left no room for any argument. Not like Erik would dare. That’s like arguing with a brick wall. And losing.
+++
Peter speeds into the kitchen, ready to rob the refrigerator of any and all food it possesses. What’s actually in the kitchen is Magneto and the Professor, eating alfredo pasta and playing chess. The Professor’s smile is bigger than his face and Magneto is giving the Professor lovey dovey eyes.
“Are you guys on a date?” Peter screams loud enough that everyone in northern hemisphere could hear.
Erik stars him dead in the eyes and responds, “Yes. Get the fuck out before I kill you with my queen.”
Charles’s cheeks flare up hotter than the sun. “Erik!”
Erik’s done letting this chess game cockblock him and grabs Charles by the front of his shirt. Charles manages to let out a squeak before their lips crash together.
Peter sees tongue and shrieks like a little girl who dropped her ice cream.